My dear friend Anna always claimed not to like oysters. Having grown up on the Gulf of Mexico, this makes me sad — and suspicious that, as a Wyoming native, she just never had a good oyster. But in New Orleans, she came around.
After sampling her husband's fried oyster po'boy at Parasol's, Anna realized it was just raw oysters that made her squirm, so before we left town, she had to have an oyster po'boy of her own, over brunch at The Old Coffee Pot. I mention this because it's wonderfully in keeping with the oyster po'boy's reputation as an offering from husbands to wives.
One of the country's oldest sandwiches, the "oyster loaf" in the 1800s was called la mediatrice, or "the peacemaker," because boozin' husbands brought them home to make their waiting wives less angry about their misdeeds. In Anna's case, her husband's mediatrice helped her make peace with fried oysters.
Y'all, I had no idea when I planned my recent trip to New Orleans that it was soft shell crab season! Well, at least it was, until thousands upon thousands of gallons of oil spilled into the Gulf, contaminating the local sealife. As upset as I am about this, I'll try to focus on the joy of po'boys for the moment.
I had heard good things about Parasol's, a neighborhood bar in the Irish Channel with a back room for grub. According to my wise friend Shirley Bordelon, "One of my friends used to say that it was the only po'boy where she felt like licking her elbows when she finished because the gravy was so thick and luscious that it ran down her arms." Alas, I wanted to try the beef, but I could not resist the rare, in-season soft shell crab. So how was it?
I can't believe I lived in Evanston, IL, for four years and never made it to Al's Deli. Of course, that was in college, when I was just an aspiring young journalist with a burgeoning sandwich obsession. Thankfully, my friend Adam visited Al's on his last Evanston adventure and had the foresight to snap some photos.
This quirky French deli accepts both dollars and Euros (!) and piles its fillings on croissants and French bread that are just as authentic as the currency. Above is Adam's croissant sandwich dressed with what he dubs "the damndest bernaise sauce ever." See the quaint menu and the other bon pain.
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