The po'boy is one of the country's oldest and most beloved sandwiches. The fried oyster version dates back to the 1800s, when it was nicknamed la mediatrice, or "the peacemaker," because husbands brought them home to placate angry wives. So why should it need saving?
In the New York Times this week, Southern food historian John T. Edge tackles the topic of po'boy preservation ahead of NOLA's Po-Boy Preservation Festival next weekend. I've never had the honor of attending the festival, but I have eaten my fair share of po'boys, like this fried oyster number at Acme Oyster House.
I've also spoken with Katherine and Sandy Whann, the owners of Leidenheimer Baking Company and the forces behind the festival, about the threats to the po'boy business.
After I spoke to the Whanns, they gave me a bumper sticker that says, "There's no sub-stitute for a New Orleans po'boy." If you've ever eaten a po'boy, you understand: the flaky but hearty New Orleans French bread perfectly hugs even the messiest of fillings, yet only the swampy climes of the Crescent City seem capable of producing the perfect texture. 
Not to mention that the sandwich has a storied history, from its peacemaker beginnings to its po'boy rebirth, when the sandwiches were served to striking streetcar workers during the Depression. Though New Orleans' old-timers value the po'boy's heritage, a younger generation raised on Subway and other sandwich chains may not. As Katherine Whann tells the NYT:
"Most po' boy shops don't have off-street parking. They don't have advertising budgets. They don't have Jared. But what they do have is a history in this place."
The Po'Boy Preservation Festival helps the little guys strike back and raise awareness of the po'boy's place. Because a New Orleans dominated by Subway and devoid of shops like Domilise's would be a sad city indeed.
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