Wednesday, December 22, 2010. All Afternoon At Galatoire's. The fellows with which I failed to graduate from Jesuit High School in 1968 have always considered me an alumnus in good standing. I go to all the annual (!) reunions. That comes up again next week, at the Court of Two Sisters.
Sometimes I also show up at the monthly Blue Jay lunches at Galatoire's. The pre-Christmas lunch at Galatoire's involves much more planning. News of its progress has come several times daily for the past few weeks. The final report arrived this morning at about nine. The young man we are paying to stand in line for us arrived at seven this morning, and was third in line. This assured us a table in the ground-floor main room at Galatoire's. No reservation (if you can call it that) is more desirable or harder to get.
I am taking the day off from the radio show for this, with Mary Ann sitting in for me. I arrived before noon, and figured I would be there until at least three. I would keep pace with the others in the consumption first of Sazeracs, then of wine. I would be moderately raucous, and would compare notes with the other Blue Jays concerning the pulchritude of the well-dressed women who are always at Galatoire's for lunch.
Before I sat down, however, had a run-in at the men's room. A gentleman washing his hands looked at me and said, "I know who you are!" He did, and he had a suggestion. "Since you live on the North Shore, and since you are a powerful person [does he have me mixed up with Abita Springs Mayor Louis Fitzmorris?], you need to tell the people who manage the Causeway that they have to put some portable bathrooms on the bridge." Before I could tell him that my very presence in this facility was occasioned by that lack, he went on to explain his own need.
"After you come to a place like this and have a few drinks, on your way home you have to make a bathroom stop!" he said. I nodded, and resolved not to be the one who brings this up to the officials, lest they think I know curiously too much about the situation.
Our group numbered fourteen. A pool was instituted to guess at one time the chief organizer of these lunches would actually show up. I put up my dollar and guessed 12:59 p.m. Actual time of arrival: 1:12 p.m.
By that time, we were well into the second round of Sazeracs. It was duly noted that these are doubles, and the price is a mere eight bucks. Bargain prices for drinks are a Galatoire's hallmark. We'd also been served souffee potatoes, fried eggplant sticks, and oysters en brochette. As usual, no line of conversation had been pursued for more than a few minutes. The only big news was that Nicky Matulich--a regular at these proceedings, and a guy I've known since sixth grade--became a grandfather for the first time this morning. He was excused from the lunch.
Now here came shrimp remoulade and crabmeat maison. Those disappeared in the time it took for me to have a conversation with my friend Dick Brennan, Sr., who was having lunch with his two granddaughters. The last time I saw these girls, they were children. They're the same age as Jude and Mary Leigh now. Dick's looks, by contrast, haven't changed in a long time.
Dick has a talent for summing up facts in ways you've never thought of before, with brevity and the ring of truth. I said that Galatoire's breaks a lot of rules and gets away with things that would be tolerated in no other restaurant. "If you understand what it is, you'll enjoy it," said Dick, who was clearly enjoying it. "But if you don't, you won't."
The entrees began showing up around quarter to two. Mostly fish around the table. The number of guys in our class who have had heart surgery is in double digits. I pushed myself closer to that column by ordering grilled lemonfish (two days in a row!) with Marguery sauce. That's a rich, buttery concoction with shrimp and mushrooms. At one time trout Marguery was the signature dish of Galatoire's. Nobody ever mentions it now.
At three, I absconded with another free caramel custard by claiming that it was my birthday. We also had café brulot manufactured for us. David Gooch--third-generation Galatoire family and general manager of the restaurant--was sitting with Dick and observed this. He sent word to the desk that the brulot would be on the house. This must be our reward for restraining our behavior more than usual.
The table began to break up at about three-fifteen. Perfect timing. I had an appointment to get an overdue haircut at three-thirty at the Royal Orleans. When I arrived, however, barber Harold Klein said he was feeling bad. I offered to come another day and he accepted.
What would I do with myself now? My route to the parking garage passed in front of Galatoire's. David Gooch and the restaurant's COO Melvin Rodrigue were standing on the sidewalk. They told me that the Blue Jays were still inside--a few of them, anyway. Why not? I re-entered, ordered a cheese plate and a bottle of Zinfandel for the table, and the festivities continued. The waiter said they didn't have a cheese plate, but that Chef Brian Landry (another Jesuit boy, but from a much later vintage) would somehow assemble one. Pretty good, too.
An hour and a half later, I was at the radio station, helping Mary Ann with the last twenty minutes of the show. She said it had gone well, and was happy to let me indulge my Blue Jay camaraderie. She didn't want to have dinner, and I couldn't.
Galatoire's. French Quarter: 209 Bourbon. 504-525-2021.
