Two nights ago, during the weather report, Big Man began laughing so hard that he choked and I had to slap him on the back to help him catch his breath again. (He was laughing so hard, he scared our cat, Smokey Robinson, who went running out of the room.) When he caught his breath and could speak, I asked him what set him off, as I had not noticed anything amusing -- let alone THAT amusing.
Big Man asked me, "Didn't you hear the weatherman? He said it was like September or October, and not the end of August." "Yes?" I returned, still not getting it. "The weather showed temperatures in the 80s!" Big Man said, almost shouting, "That's so ridiculous, it's funny!" And he began to laugh again, I think at least partially because I was so dense.
Well, how could I think that was funny? It was only normal to me. For the weather, the heat, to "break" (go "down" into the 80s in the daytime and the 60s at night) in August is so unusual as to be record-breaking -- and indeed, we've been told the last two nights that the temperatures have broken records set way back in the 1950s.
Funny or not, it is a blessing, a relief, for this weather to arrive, however early.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
A Truly Great Italian Restaurant
(with a weird name)
Today, the regional group of ministers of my denomination had their monthly meeting, this time in New Orleans (we alternate between here and Baton Rouge -- we used to also go to the North Shore and to the Gulf Coast, but those ministers are no longer in the area). When it's my turn to pick the restaurant, out of pure selfishness, I always choose Eleven-79. I say "selfishness" because Eleven-79 is located on my street, only a few blocks from my house, and so I can walk to the gathering, and because it is one of my favorite restaurants in the city -- which of course is saying a lot.
You can't tell what kind of restaurant it is by the name, which merely refers to the location. You also can't tell from the exterior, which is a neat little four-bay Creole cottage, typical of the 1840s or earlier, with a diagonal door cut likely done in the early twentieth century, when one side of the original double was made into a neighborhood grocery. A loving renovation was done around 2000, turning it into an elegant and intimate restaurant, perfect for a romantic dinner, or a nice business lunch.
But the real draw of Eleven-79 is the food, which is classic Italian, not the usual Creole-Italian that is so prevalent in New Orleans. With a few exceptions (like the addition of buster crabs, for example, and the -- alas! -- absence of broccoli rabe), the restaurant's menu could be duplicated in South Philadelphia in the Italian Market.
The portions are large (I always go home with a box or two of leftovers), the pastas are fresh and al dente, the sauces rich and satisfying and authentically redolent of Italy. Another treat is the classic jazz playing on the sound system, with an emphasis on the Italian greats (Dino Martin, Sinatra, Louis Prima) and of course the New Orleans greats (Satchmo is in heavy rotation).
On the wall as you enter the dining room from the bar (stepping up from ground level into what once was the family living quarters adjoining the grocery), you pass a three-quarters portrait of a young Louis Prima holding his trumpet. This is not a surprise, because the owner of Eleven-79 is none other than Joseph Segretto, Prima's last manager before suffering the stroke that eventually resulted in his death. (You can bet that when Big Man and I eat at Eleven-79, we are happy to swap stories about Louis and Sam Butera and all the guys in the band with him!)
Favorites at Eleven-79 include the duck lasagna (oh my god!), the fried oysters topped with caviar, the thick and homey cucuzza sauce over pasta, the creamy alfredo sauce, the pasta with wild mushrooms, the roasted artichoke appetizer, and the traditional classics like pasta bolognese, the meatball sandwich, the eggplant parm and ALL the veal dishes (if you're a person who lets yourself eat veal, that is).
Some of the desserts are from Brocato's (of course!) and the bread is a wonderful, crusty Italian ciabatta. The coffee is dark and rich and satisfying. The service is usually excellent to wonderful, and only slips a bit when the place is packed, as around a holiday period.
If you're in the mood for some great Italian food, in a lovely, unlikely place (Eleven-79 is located almost under the Pontchartrain Expressway, across the street from an auto body shop), we highly recommend Eleven-79.
Today, the regional group of ministers of my denomination had their monthly meeting, this time in New Orleans (we alternate between here and Baton Rouge -- we used to also go to the North Shore and to the Gulf Coast, but those ministers are no longer in the area). When it's my turn to pick the restaurant, out of pure selfishness, I always choose Eleven-79. I say "selfishness" because Eleven-79 is located on my street, only a few blocks from my house, and so I can walk to the gathering, and because it is one of my favorite restaurants in the city -- which of course is saying a lot.
You can't tell what kind of restaurant it is by the name, which merely refers to the location. You also can't tell from the exterior, which is a neat little four-bay Creole cottage, typical of the 1840s or earlier, with a diagonal door cut likely done in the early twentieth century, when one side of the original double was made into a neighborhood grocery. A loving renovation was done around 2000, turning it into an elegant and intimate restaurant, perfect for a romantic dinner, or a nice business lunch.
But the real draw of Eleven-79 is the food, which is classic Italian, not the usual Creole-Italian that is so prevalent in New Orleans. With a few exceptions (like the addition of buster crabs, for example, and the -- alas! -- absence of broccoli rabe), the restaurant's menu could be duplicated in South Philadelphia in the Italian Market.
The portions are large (I always go home with a box or two of leftovers), the pastas are fresh and al dente, the sauces rich and satisfying and authentically redolent of Italy. Another treat is the classic jazz playing on the sound system, with an emphasis on the Italian greats (Dino Martin, Sinatra, Louis Prima) and of course the New Orleans greats (Satchmo is in heavy rotation).
On the wall as you enter the dining room from the bar (stepping up from ground level into what once was the family living quarters adjoining the grocery), you pass a three-quarters portrait of a young Louis Prima holding his trumpet. This is not a surprise, because the owner of Eleven-79 is none other than Joseph Segretto, Prima's last manager before suffering the stroke that eventually resulted in his death. (You can bet that when Big Man and I eat at Eleven-79, we are happy to swap stories about Louis and Sam Butera and all the guys in the band with him!)
Favorites at Eleven-79 include the duck lasagna (oh my god!), the fried oysters topped with caviar, the thick and homey cucuzza sauce over pasta, the creamy alfredo sauce, the pasta with wild mushrooms, the roasted artichoke appetizer, and the traditional classics like pasta bolognese, the meatball sandwich, the eggplant parm and ALL the veal dishes (if you're a person who lets yourself eat veal, that is).
Some of the desserts are from Brocato's (of course!) and the bread is a wonderful, crusty Italian ciabatta. The coffee is dark and rich and satisfying. The service is usually excellent to wonderful, and only slips a bit when the place is packed, as around a holiday period.
If you're in the mood for some great Italian food, in a lovely, unlikely place (Eleven-79 is located almost under the Pontchartrain Expressway, across the street from an auto body shop), we highly recommend Eleven-79.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
In Praise of the Shrimp Man
(and Shrimp Lady)
Big Man and I are big fans of the Shrimp Man whose spot is the empty lot on the downtown side of the Dollar Store on South Claiborne near the intersection with St. Andrew Street. Five days a week, rain or shine (and it's been raining a lot lately), the Shrimp Man parks his beat-up pick-up truck on the edge of the lot, gets on top of a small ice chest he's placed on the edge of the road, and dangles gigantic shrimp by their whiskers at passersby, making the shrimp jump and the drivers take notice. People pull to the side, up onto the lot, idle at the red light, or pass by and make the next U-turn they can. Those shrimp are like magnets, drawing people in. Suddenly, everyone going by thinks, "I need me some SHRIMP."
The Shrimp Man habitually wears a dingy canvas hat (apparently formerly white) and white shrimp boots. Lately his wife, who I've taken to calling the Shrimp Lady, has been with him, wearing a bright yellow visor hat, staffing the back of the pick-up truck, measuring out and weighing the shrimp, and packing them in ice for you to take home. They are always smiling and friendly, making passing conversation with the customers, and greeting repeat regulars -- like Big Man -- with big waves and grins. The other day, the Shrimp Man told Big Man, "You always make me laugh when you are here." (That time, Big Man got out of the van, walked over, pointed to the sign, and said, "My favorite 3 words in a row: FRESH - LARGE - SHRIMP!")
The shrimp these good folks sell are *enormous* -- the larger size are like 6 to a pound, and the so-called "smaller" size (which would be large anywhere else) about maybe 8 to a pound. The really big ones go for $5 a pound and are well worth it; the next size is even less. On our last purchase, Big Man got 5 pounds of those for only $14.
The Shrimp Man became somewhat famous when the Offbeat local music and culture magazine featured him in an interview and story about a year ago. Unfortunately the publicity nearly did him in, as it brought him to the unwelcome attention of the City's permit agencies, and he was hassled by the cops several times, causing the Shrimp Man's truck to disappear for several months. Eventually, the Shrimp Man's family (the business is a multi-generational concern, with the Shrimp Man's father ad brothers going out on the shrimp boat, and the Shrimp Man and Lady handling the retail end on the street) managed to jump through whatever hoops were required to get the necessary permits, and they're back on the street more or less permanently. The Shrimp Man told Big Man that the permits thus obtained were the first given for selling shrimp on the street since 1937!
If you want to impress your family and especially out of town guests with high quality really fresh giant shrimp, then get yourself over to the Shrimp Man and his Lady on South Claiborne. You can't miss the wriggling, jumping shrimp being dangled out into traffic by a smiling man in a canvass hat wearing white shrimp boots. And when you stop and get your shrimp, tell 'em the Big Man with the straw hat sent you.
Big Man and I are big fans of the Shrimp Man whose spot is the empty lot on the downtown side of the Dollar Store on South Claiborne near the intersection with St. Andrew Street. Five days a week, rain or shine (and it's been raining a lot lately), the Shrimp Man parks his beat-up pick-up truck on the edge of the lot, gets on top of a small ice chest he's placed on the edge of the road, and dangles gigantic shrimp by their whiskers at passersby, making the shrimp jump and the drivers take notice. People pull to the side, up onto the lot, idle at the red light, or pass by and make the next U-turn they can. Those shrimp are like magnets, drawing people in. Suddenly, everyone going by thinks, "I need me some SHRIMP."
The Shrimp Man habitually wears a dingy canvas hat (apparently formerly white) and white shrimp boots. Lately his wife, who I've taken to calling the Shrimp Lady, has been with him, wearing a bright yellow visor hat, staffing the back of the pick-up truck, measuring out and weighing the shrimp, and packing them in ice for you to take home. They are always smiling and friendly, making passing conversation with the customers, and greeting repeat regulars -- like Big Man -- with big waves and grins. The other day, the Shrimp Man told Big Man, "You always make me laugh when you are here." (That time, Big Man got out of the van, walked over, pointed to the sign, and said, "My favorite 3 words in a row: FRESH - LARGE - SHRIMP!")
The shrimp these good folks sell are *enormous* -- the larger size are like 6 to a pound, and the so-called "smaller" size (which would be large anywhere else) about maybe 8 to a pound. The really big ones go for $5 a pound and are well worth it; the next size is even less. On our last purchase, Big Man got 5 pounds of those for only $14.
The Shrimp Man became somewhat famous when the Offbeat local music and culture magazine featured him in an interview and story about a year ago. Unfortunately the publicity nearly did him in, as it brought him to the unwelcome attention of the City's permit agencies, and he was hassled by the cops several times, causing the Shrimp Man's truck to disappear for several months. Eventually, the Shrimp Man's family (the business is a multi-generational concern, with the Shrimp Man's father ad brothers going out on the shrimp boat, and the Shrimp Man and Lady handling the retail end on the street) managed to jump through whatever hoops were required to get the necessary permits, and they're back on the street more or less permanently. The Shrimp Man told Big Man that the permits thus obtained were the first given for selling shrimp on the street since 1937!
If you want to impress your family and especially out of town guests with high quality really fresh giant shrimp, then get yourself over to the Shrimp Man and his Lady on South Claiborne. You can't miss the wriggling, jumping shrimp being dangled out into traffic by a smiling man in a canvass hat wearing white shrimp boots. And when you stop and get your shrimp, tell 'em the Big Man with the straw hat sent you.
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