Between the Bread

Perhaps no humble sandwich comes dressed with as many stories as the New Orleans po'boy. Dating back to the 19th century, the fried oyster version was called "the peacemaker" because it was offered to angry wives when their husbands stayed out too late. But it was reborn as the po'boy during the Great Depression, when so many great American sandwiches, including the sloppy Joe, came of age.

The po'boy tale begins in 1929, when New Orleans's streetcar workers went on strike, and Bennie and Clovis Martin — the owners of a local coffee stand and former streetcar workers themselves — announced they would feed the strikers free sandwiches. In a letter to the union, they pledged: "Our Meal is free to any members of Division 194. . . . We are with you till h--l freezes, and when it does, we will furnish blankets to keep you warm."

So what was in these free sammies? You might be surprised.

When the footlong slab of snapper arrived on my dinner plate (really more like a platter) at Suppenkuche the other night, I immediately had visions of serving it as a sandwich, pork tenderloin style. I saw it spilling over the sides of an undersized hamburger bun like the Wiener schnitzel-inspired pork sammies of Hoosier land, its golden bread a glistening testament to German cuisine.

I ate about half my fish, and so did my future mother-in-law, so I ended up with a whole serving of snapper leftover. I abandoned my Indiana sandwich dreams and instead turned to New Orleans for inspiration to create a sort of makeshift po'boy. To hear about my supper, read more