Tony Ford

                                                  
     
   How did this sandwich attain its lofty title? Other sandwiches are known for a singular ingredient. The hoagie for its beef, the hamburger for “its burger”, the muffalotta for the “kitchen sink” of the numerous Italian ingredients thrown into it. The Po-Boy is a symphony of flavor. It is the combination of the bread and the middle. Everyone has their own top three favorites.  Their joy is never limited to just those three. My favorite versions happen to be: The Oyster Po-Boy, The Roast Beef Po-Boy, and The Shrimp Po-Boy. We never say fried…. It is always assumed. 
   When was the birth of the King? In the 1920’s there was strike in New Orleans by the streetcar operators union. A resturanteaur feeling compassion for the operators, those “poor boys” created a sandwich for them. It was simple - two pieces of French bread loaf, some potatoes, and leftover gravy. The New Orleans Po-Boy was born. From those lowly beginnings to its lofty perch atop the sandwich hierarchy, it has been a fabulous journey. They still call the places to get them Po-Boy shops.
   Enough of the history, on to the experience of the Po-Boy.  A more accurate term, at least for me and many New Orlenians, is a “religious experience”. For non-locals, it might be an epiphany. I now live in Houston and get back home to New Orleans several times a year. There are two thoughts that occupy my mind in the weeks and days before the return. They are: seeing my daughter Morgan, and the second is arriving at the shrine- the Po-Boy shop. I anticipate my first smells and bite in my dreams. The beverage accompaniment never changes; it is either a cold Barq’s root beer or an iced draft beer.
   OK, I have arrived at the shrine. At some of these Po-Boy shops you can actually stand across from where they are creating the masterpiece. Once you hit the door of the restaurant, the smells of that bread and other friend specialties fill your nostrils and set your olfactory senses off.  I place my order. “I’ll have the Oyster loaf, the “old way”.  She cuts the loaf very carefully, never squishing it. I see the pots of melted garlic butter. She brushes a generous swatch of it on one piece of the split loaf and then the second. Next she adds the plump fried oysters; so many that they fall off their perch. The finale is three sliced round pieces of dill pickle on top of the oysters. That is it splendid in its nakedness and simplicity. By this time I am drooling out both sides of my mouth. I look down at the droplets on my shirt as she hands me an extra napkin to wipe my face.  Do I care? No way. My focus is the Po-Boy being handed to me. My Po-Boy.
    Arriving at my table, I place the plate down. The anticipation is killing me, but there is a protocol. Because of the number of napkins needed, a good “shop” will have a paper towel roll placed on each table. Step one is to reach for two pieces and stuff them in my shirt collar protecting my body from the “spills” that are destined to occur as I ravenously attack my Po-Boy. As I look around I see businessmen in their suits with these “bibs”. We look like a bunch of babies waiting for our bottles. Next step is the “press”.  You must carefully mash the sandwich. You cannot fit it in your mouth without the “mash. This “mash” results in the wonderful French bread loaf flaking, giving off more aromas. You must be careful, keeping all the ingredients between the outer loaves. The first bite is taken slowly, savoring it for at least a few seconds. The last bite is as good as the first, except sadness ensues. You have this incredibly full warm feeling, but alas “parting is such sweet sorrow”.  You gaze down at the plate. There are some flakes of bread, some debris of the fried oyster. You place a finger to the plate to gather the last morsels up to your lips. All of your memories of the meal come back in a rush. My favorite Oyster or seafood Po-Boy is at Domilisi’s Uptown. Another shop where you can see it made in front of you is Radosta’s in Metairie
   A variation on this theme is the Roast Beef Experience. The accurate description is the “Sloppy Roast Beef”. It is a very close second to the Oyster loaf. The bottom half of the loaf, lies there ready to receive its deluge of flavor. Thinly sliced roast beef which has been simmering absorbing the au jus gravy is scooped and ladled on that bottom half. Swiss cheese is then placed on top and more hot gravy is ladled over it. You had better have you bib on for this one. I have seen grown men cry when eating this. Of course the gravy runs down, everywhere. There is no stopping to wipe. You must eat this one fast. The cleanup crew will arrive after to mop up the drippings.  Experienced diners will order a side order of the bread to mop the delicious leftovers, thereby wasting nothing. My favorite Roast Beef Po-Boy is at R&O’s on the lakefront. Parasol’s also has a great Roast Beef Po-Boy, too. In the French Quarter you can go to Central Grocery & Deli or the Original Pierre Maspero’s. There are a dozen other GREAT Po-Boy shops all over the city.
    The list of what you can put between these pieces of heaven is as numerous as the shops, with each shop having its own “special Po-Boy”. Some examples are fried catfish, fried soft shell crab, fried shrimp, fried chicken, and fried pork chop. There is even a “half n’ half”, which is half fried oyster and half fried shrimp. There is the ham or turkey and swiss. How about a cochon de lait.. Another favorite is the hot or sweet Italian sausage. New variations are the buffalo wing and slow roasted duck.  There are as many additions as variations, such as tomato, lettuce and even French fries. Yes they put French fries in it. Now there is one cardinal rule about lettuce. It is never leaf, and always shredded.
So what is the magic? What makes the Po-Boy the King? Its da bread!
   Not only is it the bread, it’s the bakery and the technique they use. Those ovens at Leidenheimer, Reisings, or Gendusa’s must have seen tens of thousands of loaves pulled out. The aromas of those thousands imbedded in the metal and given forth so totally to each individual loaf. The ingredients are simple: water, sugar, yeast, shortening, flour, and salt. Just size common ingredients that combine to make an uncommon result. It requires a specific technique. It needs a talented baker. Doe the baker “brush” the dough? Does the baker “steam” bake? Whatever that process is, the result is “magnifique”. A fluffy center with numerous air pockets. Some would describe it as bouncy. The crust is crisp and flaky. It is the perfect balance and volume. It almost sounds like I am describing a famous vintage of cabernet sauvignon wine.
Once you have eaten the King, you will become a connoisseur. These verbose descriptions will flow freely from your lips to anyone and everyone you meet extoling your religious experience with the New Orleans Po-Boy.