Cut to Life

It was literally banner news.

Walking through my beloved Jackson Ward last week, I'd seen a sign hanging on Mama J's proclaiming, "Open on Monday."

They didn't have to tell me twice.

A) It's a few blocks from home and B) it's open on a night when so many are not.

Tonight's partner in crime and I rolled in early so we could catch a movie and, just in case, avoid the crowds.

At 5:15, we had our pick of seats and took two prime bar stools with a view of the cake cabinet.

By 6:00, every single table and stool were taken. It pays to know what you're doing.

And it helps to be a neighbor.

The bartender immediately recognized me and welcomed us back, detailing happy hour specials on libations and wings.

But the cakes in the cabinet were too alluring not to admire first, so we tried to figure out which cakes on the chalkboard were still available.

My companion was leaning toward the strawberry lemon cake when a server got it out of the case and cut the last two slices.

Knowing how it works at Mama's we immediately lamented not having called dibs on a piece of that cake.

The server took one of the two she'd cut and laid it in front of us. The last piece.

Whew, that was a close one.

Since he'd picked the cake, I got to choose dinner, opting for Mama's seafood salad followed by country fried steak smothered in onion and pepper gravy and mashed potatoes with more gravy.

It's rare that I can refrain from ordering Mama's fried chicken, but I stayed strong.

The reward was on the plate.

Mama's seafood salad combines elbow macaroni with shrimp and crab legs in a mayo and Old Bay-based dressing.

It's a fitting start to any meal at Mama's.

The fried steak had a wonderfully flavorful breading, perfectly fried and still crispy despite a liberal ladling of (red and green pepper and onion) gravy sitting atop it.

We were half way through when a server not our own came over to ask, "How are y'all doing with your food?"

"Great," the monosyllabic one said, while I went with, "Wonderful!"

"I like her answer," the server said, filling a water glass and smiling broadly. "She had to close her eyes to answer."

Yes, I did.

Say what you want about the lowly country fried steak (the inferior cut of beef, all the tenderizing required, the requisite gravy to hide any shortcomings), it's a tasty dish when done as well as this was.

Even the mashed potatoes were a treat, full of bits of red skin and seasoned to be a standalone and not just a vehicle for gravy.

While we ate, a woman came in for a piece of cake to go.

She requested the coconut pineapple and when our server went to cut it for her, he mentioned that it was his favorite.

After cutting and boxing her piece, he put the last piece of that cake in a box and set it behind the bar.

"Is that for you?" the customer asked, laughing.

"Yea, I've learned to cut mine early," he said. "Otherwise we run out and I don't get mine."

Leaning in conspiratorially, the woman confided, "I used to come down here every week after church and get a slice of that cake."

If she was looking for us to judge her, she'd picked the wrong people.

"I had to stop!" she finished.

It doesn't take many trips to Mama's to learn that the smart people choose their cake first and put it on hold for later, we all agreed.

Our cake was a two-toned and moist delight with strawberry icing on the lemon layer and lemon icing (my favorite of the two) on the strawberry layer.

We ate it down to the crumbs.

By then, the place had filled up with two large parties and our server confirmed that last Monday had been their biggest Monday ever.

Clearly I was late to seeing the banner, since this was their 6th Monday and I was just now taking advantage of it.

Now I know.

From Jackson Ward, it was on to the Westhampton theater for a beautiful and at times difficult-to-watch film about love and death.

"Amour" won the Palme d'Or at Cannes, all kinds of European film critics' awards and is nominated for scads more here.

Surprisingly, there was a decent crowd for tonight's showing, albeit a talkative one all the way through the opening credits.

Like the woman beside me who said loudly, "It's gonna be subtitled so it doesn't matter how loud we are," to her companion.

Actually, it does.

The story of an 80-something French couple deeply entrenched in their simple, cultured lives and long-time marriage was a revelation in acting and storytelling.

After the wife has two strokes and surgery fails to help, the loving husband takes on her care.

The beauty of the film was the lack of sympathy or any sort of overriding emotion in the way the decline of the wife unfolds.

When she directs her husband mid-meal to fetch the family photo albums, it is so that she can reminisce about their life together while she's still able to.

"It's beautiful," she says, turning pages of an album.

"What?" he asks.

"Life," she says simply, but devastatingly for the audience who, like her, knows she's not long for this world.

Because the movie allows each scene to unfold, there are many that would have those with short attention spans squirming in their chairs, itching for something faster to happen.

But life doesn't always move in quick cuts and the film's pace befits the character's mindsets, slow to accept the inevitable.

The enduring love shown between the couple, the way she chides him for being overly-attentive when she comes home from the hospital, the way he essentially gives up his life to provide her care, is what gives the movie its title.

It's an amour for the ages.

By the time they are both gone and the quiet, unhurried, music-less movie finishes, sobs and sniffles could be heard all over the theater.

Okay, so it wasn't a feelgood movie, just an unflinching look at a stage of life and infirmity that most people would prefer not to imagine, but as love stories go, it was exquisite.

A banner cinema experience even.

A reminder that even beautiful lives end and if that's not impetus to savor every bit now, I can't imagine what would be.