Give Me Morning Wood

Not that I ever give much thought to what's for dinner, but it's come to this: I'm taking dinner suggestions from the Internet.

I may as well put on a foil hat and start communicating with aliens.

With plans to go to Gallery 5 for music anyway, it wasn't much of a leap to go to Saison when I saw them posting that it was their first post-holiday pupusas night.

Suddenly I wanted pupusas, so I trundled down to Saison only to find a full house with one open bar stool.

Fate was expecting me. Or I got lucky, take your pick.

When I heard there were two pupusa varieties tonight, I ordered both: duck, cilantro and chiles for the meat-lover in me and oyster mushrooms, onions and queso fresca because why not?

While I waited for my dinner to arrive, I sipped Espolon, eavesdropped  and flipped through the book that contained my menu, a glossy picture book of photographs of colonial Williamsburg.

Just when I'd decided that dated pictures of school groups in knee socks paying rapt attention to tour guides was the highlight, I came across pictures of a tavern and the motto inscribed over its door.

Jollity - lively and cheerful activity, the offspring of wisdom and good living.

I love research. Here I've been going for a life of jollity all along without realizing the source of it.

The guy next to me began discussing beer with the barkeep, specifically the Morning Wood Amber ale and when I gave him a look of amazement about the beer's name, I saw that his date was giving him the same.

I only wish I drank beer so I could say to a stranger with a straight face, "I want morning wood."

Instead I tucked into my pupusas, first the oyster mushroom one and then proceeding to the duck filling inside the thick, corn tortillas.

Behind me, tables began to empty and I saw a photographer I know leaving, but within minutes the tables were full again.

"It's crazy in here!" the guy beside me said and the bartender agreed, unsure why a frigid Wednesday had brought so many people out, but clearly happy about it.

Maybe I'm not the only sucker for an online tease.

For dessert, I got the chocolate beignets with coffee ice cream, a most generous serving that was probably meant to be shared.

Dateless, I did my best alone.

The beignets were dusted in fine granulated sugar rather than the standard confectioner's sugar and I found the housemade ice cream a glorious accompaniment, high praise from this non-coffee drinker.

But the star of the dish, at least for me, was the housemade granola covering the plate, unique for its pepper kick. Brilliant.

With contrasting textures, temperatures and flavors, the dish was an edible symphony on a plate.

I took so long savoring it that I missed the first couple songs by D.C.'s Andrew Grossman and his band at Gallery 5.

Theirs was an electronic poppy folk, clever and catchy enough to make me sorry I'd missed any of it.

Andrew was fun to watch, sometimes all but laying down across his keyboard as he sang.

"We're gonna finish with a cover if that's okay," he said. "If it's not, we won't. It's important to get consent."

It was fine so they covered Radiohead, bringing a film friend to my side afterwards to comment on the choice.

"Young bands never choose songs that aren't off "The Bends" or "OK Computer," he said with resignation, saying that Radiohead was influenced by the Smiths in his opinion.

Can you tell he's a child of the '80s?

On the plus side I now had company for the show and we set up camp in front of the sound booth together.

I've seen My Darling Fury a handful of times now, but my friend hadn't, so I told him he was in for a treat.

His first observation was that their song structures reminded him of Magnetic Fields but it didn't take long before he commented on singer Danny's fabulous voice, one that has been compared to Freddy Mercury's for its drama and range.

"This song was big in 2013," Danny joked about "Blots in the Margins," which Pop Matters had chosen as a best song last year.

"Yea, it's a classic," the drummer shot back. And it is, beautiful and hopeful for anyone who's ever felt outside the norm.

Is there anyone who hasn't at some point?

Voice aside, it's hard not to appreciate MDF's use of upright bass and, fittingly, my favorite handsome upright bass player showed up in time for their set, calling out, "Bass!" in between songs in support.

They ended with "End of the World" and my film friend acknowledged that he'd been impressed.

It's good to be right.

My bass-playing friend said he was going to Comfort and suggested I come get Comfort-able ("Get it?" he grinned) with him and his bandmates there.

It's hard to pass up an invitation from a handsome bass player, but there was more music.

Last up was Floodwall, the reason the filmmaker had come tonight and whom I hadn't seen since last summer.

I like their forays into post-rock and the dreamy vocals, but, let's be honest, it's their shoegaze leanings full of effects that speak to my inner music-from-a-cave soul.

Moving through songs like "Sunlit" and "Belong," they had the full attention of the small crowd gathered in a cold room on a school night.

I was won over when the guitarist began "Moth" by bowing his guitar and did the same later in the song.

Some people hope for more cowbell; I hope for more guitar bowing.

As it got close to curfew time, they managed to fit in three last songs, including the last which took off in a decidedly post-rock soundscape that could have gone on for another half an hour if it had been up to me.

You know how I hate to see an evening of jollity end.

10x Sugar: The New Face Powder

I love beignet mornings at  Louisiana Flair.

Everyone coming in the door has that expectant look on their face, the one that says, "Oh, boy, fried dough and blueberry sauce!"

Everyone leaving has traces of confectioner's sugar on their lips or chin or shirt. Three kids at the front table today had big white rings around their mouths, evidence of beignets enjoyed in large bites.

A guy came to get some juice from the cold case next to me and held the door open a bit longer than necessary.

"I should hold it open like that all day," he told me laughing. "Wouldn't you like that?" Yes, I would.

Of course, I could have picked a seat further from the beignet-frying, but I get too much pleasure watching the trays of endless dough balls dwindle as they are dropped into the hot oil and come out golden brown.

My only complaint with beignet Wednesday is getting there before the dough is all gone.And with Nate about to close up shop for good, I intended to get there while there was still dough.

I'd made plans to meet a friend there at 9:30 today, because Nate had reminded me that they almost always run out by 10:00.

And I don't get up at the crack of nine only to be disappointed.

No, my satisfaction comes from going from beignets to a meeting and having the guy I'm interviewing greet me by telling me there's something white on my cheek.

And maybe that's slightly better than having him tell me there's a dribble of blue on my chin.

Just one of the hazards of a Wednesday interview.

Beignet Breakfast to Welcome Fall

When I woke up this morning, I remembered that it was the first day of fall. But lying in bed with the windows open, the sunny warmth reminded me of the last time I was in New Orleans in late September. You can call it autumn, but as long as it's still hot, I'm happy.

And somewhere in my reverie about fall in the Big Easy, it occurred to me that it was beignet day at Louisiana Flair. Glancing at the clock, I saw it was 10:15 and I had no idea how late they served beignets, but surely not much longer. You never saw someone jump out of bed so fast, but a quick phone call confirmed that beignets were available until 10:30.

Throwing on a sundress, I was walking in the door of Louisiana Flair at 10:32. Using my very best manners, I asked if I could still get beignets. The guy behind the counter gave me a look from behind his glasses and asked, "Are you the one who called?" Found out! "Did I sound desperate?" I wondered.

"A little," he said laughing. "We still got 'em, but you're lucky today. We usually run out by 10." As far as I was concerned, that was just proof that I was meant to have my beignets. I took a seat nearby and in two minutes I had my three beignets and blueberry sauce.

The charming gentleman who had fried them up (two minutes, one on each side) sat at the table next to me so I had some breakfast company. He said they'd made up five pans of beignet dough last night and had less than half a pan left now, a miracle since they almost never have leftover dough.

I expressed my gratitude for today's slower sales as I ate the confectioner's sugar-dusted fried dough, drizzled in sticky blueberry sauce and making a mess everywhere.

"You should have been here yesterday for the alligator etouffee. Sold out by 1:00," he bragged. I said I wasn't surprised since alligator isn't regularly on the menu, but I was definitely interested in coming back the next time they have it.

"You're mighty quiet over there," the counter guy called to me from across the room. "Everything okay?" It's hard to stuff your face and convey complete satisfaction, but I did my best.

Owner Nate heard my regret at missing the alligator and assured me he'd be serving it again soon. "Like when?" I nosily asked, not wanting to miss out a second time. "Let's see, how about October fifth?" he countered.

I inquired if it would be etouffee again, but he had another idea. Next time it'll be fried alligator in a sauce picante (tomato-based brown gravy) over rice with green beans and grilled bread. 'The sauce will be cooked down until that alligator is fork-tender," Nate promised.

Telling him I'll definitely be back for that, he let out one of his belly laughs. "Guess I better write it down then so I don't forget." Good point, because I have a big mouth and obviously I'm not the only alligator fan.

When my counter bud came to clear my plate, he noted the clean table and said, "You didn't even make a mess," something he had warned me would surely happen. I pointed to the pile of crumpled napkins, saying I'd done my best to erase my mess.

"Honey, I was just trying to make you feel better!" he teased.

I don't know that I could have felt much better than sitting there licking powdered sugar off my lips on a hot fall day. Shades of New Orleans in September.