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?
New Orleans is one of the great sandwich cities, rivaled perhaps only by Philadelphia. Though it lays claim to just two iconic sammies — the po'boy and the muffuletta — both are transcendent, and the po'boy comes in so many varieties that it's pretty much a category of its own. In honor of Mardi Gras, take a 'wich trip through New Orleans's sandwich history.
Meanwhile, I'm going to New Orleans again in April, so if anyone has any recommendations, please share. I haven't been to Parkway, so that might be on my list.
Ever since I heard there was a po'boy place in San Francisco that orders its French bread from Leidenheimer in New Orleans, I have been dying to eat at Yats. Originally tucked away in an outer Mission dive bar called Jack's, Yats recently announced it was closing for a few months to open a standalone location in Bayview.
I cursed myself for never making it to the original eatery, but the soon-to-open restaurant in Bayview is hardly more convenient. So imagine my ecstatic delight when Yats decided to come to me! On Friday, the owners temporarily took over the kitchen at Annie's Bistro, a restaurant about nine blocks from my place. However, I am not quite sure if sandwiches are on the menu. From Yats' site:
Ok..We got bored fast. While the new location is under construction, Yats has taken over the daytime kitchen at Annies Bistro . . . We will be featuring such items as Crab and Corn Bisque, Rustic Gumbo, Shrimp Etouffee, and Catfish Courtbouillion.
I will have to give them a call next weekend and see if they can satisfy my fried seafood jones.
Source: Yelp User Diane D.
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. Here's why they are worried.
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