Once dressed, we called a taxi and rode through streets already full of excitement. Sailors and their girls were hugging on every street corner, and when Mama objected. Gramp said. “It's better there than dark lonely places, Must keep our boys clean and whole-some.”
We went up Bienville Street. Arnaud's. new that year, I think, was not overly ornate, just right. The Count himself came over to pump Gramp's arm and call him a few foul names. And he kissed Mama's hand, pinched her arm, and patted me flat on the head.
“This,” he said to Gramp, “ is almost enough to close the place.” And he led us to a table, a spot over which his picture in oils hangs today; for the Count himself has gone to his rewards (so have Gramp and Mama, I brood as I write this, and my hair is turning gray, and my daughter Joan Elizabeth is looking over the lads, thinking of making me a grandfather—so spins, as Gramp used to say, “the rotten old apple of fun and turmoil”).
We began with shrimp Arnaud. which the foolish think is a mere shrimp remoulade, then came trout menière and artichokes à la grecque mixed with sweetbreads récgaicc (if Gramp wrote it down right). The Count himself brought us a sauterne, a Château Coutet 1907. Later there was Haut-Brion, Pontet-Canet and Richebourg.
For those who could eat it after the rest of the food, there was chicken cooked in paper and the famous dessert, pineapple in burning wine sauce. After dinner, the Count pulled up a chair and showed us a dusty bottle covered with dirt and wax seals. “You have heard of Napoleon brandy?”
“It's all a big lie,” said Gramp,
“Of course,” said the Count. “A big fable. For fools and millionaires. Pardon me, General.”
“Excused,” said Gramp. “I've wasted most of my money.”
“But what people do not know,” said the Count, “is that there were about twenty old bottles from the cellars of Josephine. Napoleon, between you and me, didn't know his elbow from a sallim-bocca cutlet. But Josephine, she knew fine living when Nappy was away making battles. She put down a good cellar and I have been lucky. I bought a long time ago ten bottles, the last of the bottles of Josephine's brandy. This is the last one left. I open it for you, mon Général.”
Gramp wiped back a tear, or acted as if he did. “I am impressed, I smile, but ce n'esi pas étre bien aise que de fire.” The Count pulled out the cork. “Thank you. The cork is out. Ce n'est que le premier pas qui coûte, Glasses!”
A waiter, shaped like a bird dog, ran up and put down three small crystal glasses. The Count poured the thick yellow brandy into the small glasses. “No large ballons. Just three special glasses.” Mama and Gramp lifted their glasses, the Count clicked his against theirs. “What can I say to friends? Live just long enough. Love just the right people, make of this world something wonderful, and when we have to go, let us leave with our fingers to our nose, not because of smell, but because the thumb is held stiff against it—the nose—like this”
It was pretty beautiful and pretty wonderful. I had some clear water with a little wine in it and I guess I know why Gramp listed that dinner in his journal as cena domini,
The Count corked the bottle with his palm and handed it wrapped in a crisp linen napkin to Gramp. “This is yours, my friend. No one else would take as good care of it—in the proper manner, as you.”
Gramp rose and bowed. “A fool would protest, a half-wit would decline, the average American would feel inclined to fight it off. I take if and thank you.”
So with the bottle of rare brandy we went back to the hotel and to bed. Mama moaned, the food was too much. But she didn't protest too much. We slept late and saw the town and ate the Creole cuisine from Antoine's—I disagree with those who think it the best—Arnaud's is still number one—to the Commander's Palace, where the soft-shell turtle stew with sliced lemon is still to be had and where I think, the best food out of the Quarter is to be had even today.
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