Ulloa Street.
Mid-City is a ghost town today. Not literally, okay, yes, literally, but also metaphorically. Except of the picnickers in City Park, everyone seems to be uptown for the St. Patrick’s Day parade in the Irish Channel. I am not going. I have enough cabbage.
I was going to share some useful information but I forgot what it was. Such is life in a New Orleans state of mind. Sometimes, when the mood hits you, you just want to run barefoot in City Park. Should we? Let’s go!
Doris Metropolitan is a pretentious high-end steak house in the French Quarter. It is on the same street as the Chart Room. I am talking about Chartres Street, as long-time readers will recall. I used to kill a lot of time in the Chart Room with Julia. I should go back there. The last time I saw Julia was when I went with Enid to the Vampire Café. You really should be a longtime paid subscriber. You are missing most of the news that is fit to print from New Orleans’ idle underbelly.
I overheard that the starting salary for an assistant general manager at Doris Metropolitan makes $65,000.00 per annum. Waiters and waitresses find this salary ridiculously low. They make more being servers. Why be a manager?
It takes a special kind of person to be a manager. Those who can, do. Those who cannot, teach. The best managers, like the best military officers, rise through the ranks.
I took a poll around the bar. 50% of people’s favorite shade of brown in New Orleans is burnt sienna. Raw umber came in second. Ochre was a distant third.
Doris Metropolitan is overpriced for what it is. It is close to Jackson Square. They think they can charge top dollar and under-deliver on the promise of a good steak. I am sure the owners, whoever they are (John Besh?), are rolling in clover. Every yahoo in bermuda shorts walks down Chartres Street. Some of them have money.
There is a sucker born every minute.
Mrs. King and I went to Doris Metropolitan once. Once was enough. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. That bridge is burned. There is no bridge. It is gone. There is no bridge.
Doris Metropolitan is supposed to be some kind of high-end, fancy-shmancy steakhouse. You could have fooled me. Doris Metropolitan is all show and no tell.
I prefer Crescent City Steaks over Doris Metropolitan. I cannot believe I am talking about this. There is no competition.
It is not like I am comparing Crescent City Steaks to Bud’s Broiler. That would be something to talk about. I am comparing Crescent City Steaks to Doris Metropolitan. I am comparing a real meal to the idea of one. I do not want to compare figs to kumquats.
Would you rather sit in a window like a fish in an aquarium or would you rather sit in a curtained booth with the curtains drawn?
If you go to Doris Metropolitan, tell me how you like it. Read me the itemized receipt. Cry in your beer. I know the feeling. New Orleans is a school of hard knocks, one darned rabbit snare trap after another. Keep your wits about you.
Frenchmen Street is named after some frenchmen who were hanged by their necks. O’Reilly was governor, not Ulloa.
The Buttermilk Drop Café is on O’Reilly Street, in the 7th Ward, where Al Scramuzza used to sell crawfish at Seafood City, where Walgreen’s is now, on the intersection of of North Broad Street and Saint Bernard Avenue.
I used to bump into Mr. Scramuzza from time to time. From what I know he is still alive. I have not seen in a long while. Nor have I heard news of him. I hope he is all right.
I need to go to the House of Broel on St. Charles Avenue. Maybe Newbie Orleans and the lady missing an eye will join me. I am thinking of this because I am thinking about frogs. This is a good idea. Even Mrs. King has not been to the House of Broel. Mrs. King and I got married in the Land of the Cod and the Bean.
It is about time that Bonnie Broel and your humble narrator should cross swords yet again. Everything happens for a reason when the time is ripe. It is almost termite season. Happiness loves company.
I remember the useful information I was going to share. I will share it with you now, right behind the paywall.