Casamento's

Well numerous articles, plus some crazy, serial commenter/ranter who hates raw oysters sent Lindsay and I to Casamento's last Saturday. We had hoped to polish off some oysters and then watch the Tigers beat the Gators. Unfortunately only one of those things happened; luckily the more pleasurable of the two occurred.

We get to Casamento's around 12:45. The line has just barely disappeared behind the large white door when we arrive. No worries, waiting offers the ability of the mind to anticipate; a most welcome emotion when dining out. A few Dixie's and half an hour later and there we stand in front of Michael, the oyster shucker extraordinaire, as he expertly plies open three touchdowns with mixed extra points worth of our local delicacy. Topped with self-made cocktail sauce, they proved to be a wonderful reward for our patience. As I slurped down oyster after oyster noticing the liquor draining past the perforated stopper, I asked Michael, "Where does all that oyster liquor drain to?"

His response, classic New Orleans, "Not sure, never thought about it, been working that way since I started here, never gave it no thought."

My belief, now shattered, of a magical stream of oyster liquor somewhere down in Plaquemines relegated to the land of Santa Claus, threesomes, and honest politicians, we continued to enjoy the oysters.

A visit to Casamento's requires a certain amount of patience. Now, the lady behind us displayed no such virtue. From the time she walked in the restaurant till after she sat down (unfortunately near us) it was complaint and pester hour. "We have a party of 7, we should be seated immediately", "I am just going to stand right here and wait until you seat us, so you don't forget our party of 7", "How much longer for the party of 7?" Did that aggravate you, dear reader? Imagine how awful it was in person, especially while watching Peter's Longhorns beat the Sooners.

Sometimes watching people is all the reason you need to go out to eat. And this lady (Ms. Halloween, bedecked in orange and black) provided much enjoyment to us. "Mam, we are a party of 7, do you have a table big enough?"

"I heard you the first time...A party of 7, you will be seated as soon as I can get you in," replied Ms. Gerdes.

Then after sitting down, she remarked to everyone who would pay attention, "this is the rudest staff I have ever encountered."

Not really sure how egalitarianism is rude, but I guess those Parisian revolutionaries did introduce many necks to guillotines. Some people just don't belong.

We sit down in the back, near the fryers which is probably the best seat in the house. Up first a cup of seafood gumbo for me and a bowl of oyster stew for Lindsay. My gumbo was just on the gumbo side from turtle soup. The soup had chunks of okra, briny curls of shrimp, chewy bits of crab meat, and a wayward oyster or two all smothered in a delicate, but slightly tart, brick colored broth. A far cry away from the stock heavy, roux dominated behemoths, this gumbo had a very defined refinement. The oyster stew was milky; thickened and flavored with some of that oyster liquor and chock full of plump, just scared oysters. As if the oysters had to be coaxed into the hot liquid, their edges had just barely curled; their texture remained that of their unheated cousins.

Another dozen of raw for Lindsay. She had been waiting all summer for this moment and nothing, not even a fried soft shell crab, could change her focus. Some pictures were taken, but mostly they sucked.

A half oyster loaf for me would prove a willing opponent. Pan fried, thick bread slathered in mayonnaise with some lettuce and tomato hugged lard-fried cornmeal battered oysters. My first thought, that the addition of bacon would be welcome, slowly went away as I realized the benefit of lard frying obviates the need for bacon.

Service reminds you of eating at a friend's house. The friend's house that you spent enough time at that you are essentially family, and no longer fussed over like a guest. That kind of service does not work everywhere, but it works at Casamento's.

Birdie.