In the beginning, there was EaT: An Oyster Bar, and it was good. The people flocked to enjoy its embrace of rich shellfish and po' boys alike. And its founders said "let us not be limited to the East Mississippi promised land, but spread this word to the Pearl, bringing high-class Cajun fare across the waters of the Willamette." And lo, there appeared The Parish
And when the doors did open, light shone down on the host's stand -- a refurbished pulpit from a Prohibition-era Mississippi church -- and so illuminated was the raw bar of half-shelled bounty that the people flocked in, their thirst satiated by an array of
Old Testament old-school sacrament such as Sazeracs and the nectar of St. Tom of Collins. And in this 90-seat church, the people saw visions of wild shrimp from the gulf waters, whole roasted pig, jambalaya made from the bird The Creator dubbed a chicken, and a virtual rain of braised frog legs, such as was seen in the prophecy. And in the mornings on the Sabbath days of Sat & Sun, the rising sun brought gifts of fried green tomatoes with Dungeness crabs and housemade bacon, while the setting sun brought an hour of happiness (nay, two, from 10p-midnight) in which oyster prices -- minute by minute -- miraculously transformed from market cost all the way down to $.50 in honor of St. Curtis Jackson, who doth sought to get rich or give his very life attempting to
But this Parish was yet only a future prophecy: its gates shall burst open May 22nd, except for true disciples of French Quarter cuisine, who, for a small tithing (and with a reservation), can enjoy a Friday preview mass with psalms provided by local blues prophet Curtis Salgado, a Saturday First Supper featuring three courses, and a Sunday brunch of Creole offerings accompanied by choruses of jazz musicians
Amen, and passeth the lemon.