There we are driving down Boulevard on our way to get ice cream for H.o.p. and I see a pint-size purple restaurant with a couple of tables outside and customers headed inside and big letters proclaiming honest to god New Orleans PO’BOYS!
Marty had already proposed eating out, which I’d nixed, though we were all starved as it had been an afternoon filled with shopping on empty stomachs. I just did not feel like eating out. We were frazzled. Shopping for paint for the kitchen (I still love our landlord but he never painted it after ripping it up when replacing pipes last autumn) with a bored ten-year-old boy and trying to settle on colors with a bored ten-year-old hopping around wears on the nerves. Seriously, I’m choosing colors I’m going to have to live with how long, colors to go in about a 3 by 3 foot space, no one’s helping, Marty wants nothing to do with it and I’m suspecting whatever I choose is going to look like hell no matter what, it’s going to be Dirk Bogarde in “Death in Venice” lying on the beach with his vanity-of-vanities rejuvenating hair dye and make-up and rouge melting all down his face. You’d understand better perhaps if you knew how hot and greasy our kitchen gets which isn’t really a kitchen but a small (almost) 100 year old room which may have once been a boiler room and into which was squeezed a stove, refrigerator and sink. Having seen a bathroom in an apartment decorating blog painted a magical evening blue, I’d been talking blue the past few weeks. Marty said finally for me to stick with the blue idea and H.o.p. pulled out of the Behr paint section just the right blue when I couldn’t find it in the Glidden. I stood around for too long afterwards considering considering and considering some more then at the last minute I opted for a “sweet honey” to go on the lower half to give a dash of brightness as there’s no sunlight in that room. At the moment it sounded great.
H.o.p. was, truly, fit to be tied by the time we were done and we were all half starved. Thus the promise of ice cream for him and a stop by Grant Park for some running around time before fixing dinner at home.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had a Po’Boy. And now here was this little purple place, Just Loaf’n (that link’s an opportunity for you to view a commercial of theirs), promising real New Orleans crawfish boils and Po’Boys. How long has it been there? I don’t know, but Sunday was the first time my eye lit on it.
As soon as we found the ice cream shop was shut down we headed back to Just Loaf’n.
After ordering we sat at one of the three tables in the shop, drinking Community Coffee, and stared just stared at the kitchen with high hopes. After a while of sitting and staring, H.o.p. said he thought it was getting a bit long and I told him no this was not too long at all not at all at all for a Po’Boy, just as the sign on the wall cajoles to be prepared to patiently take your time and wait for a good New Orleans Po’Boy prepared with fresh ingredients.
The Po’Boy we had yesterday was saucy fairly falling apart under the weight of its own juiciness wonderful good (I don’t know why it is that the pickle in the Po’Boy always tastes extra special). It made me happy. How true blue it was I honestly don’t know, all I can say is Marty approved and it stood up well to the memories I have of Po’Boys past (admittedly long past), it wasn’t dressed up to be anything more than what it was and its weight and its dressings and its textures and all the mixings of flavors were such that it didn’t need to be dressed up to be anything more than what it was, which was really crumbly good.
I didn’t care for the dirty rice but slather it with hot sauce and it’ll serve okay. Though blander, the dirty rice actually wasn’t far removed from what I’ve had in NO. I just like Marty’s dirty rice better.
Their Old National Highway location promises muffalettas. 24 hours a day. The Boulevard location is only open 24 hours on Friday and Saturday and doesn’t have muffalettas.
“Only open 24 hours on Friday and Saturday.” Not that I expect restaurants to be open 24 hours. No, it’s just that 24 hours of opportunity means after some late sessions at the studio, when Marty’s saying “What can we eat” and I’m saying “I don’t know, what do you think” one of us can now say, “Po’boys!”
I love Central Grocery muffalettas. Every time we pass through NO I get a Central Grocery muffaletta.
I wonder what a Just Loaf’n muffaletta would be like? We’ll have to drive all the way down to the airport to get one and see.
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