My visit to Smitty’s was at the very beginning of my culinary, historical, filmic and sporting visit to the South. As per John T. Edge’s proclamation in his brilliant tome Southern Belly: The Ultimate Food Lover’s Guide to the South, I ventured not West of I-35. Keep it East of I-35 in Texas, says John T. and you’re still in the South. well, for 9 weeks and over 7,000 miles, I kept it South of the Mason Dixon Line and East of I-35 and had some extraordinary food, sobering experiences and really odd encounters.
After South by Southwest, I hopped in my rental and made the 540-odd mile trip East to the Crecent City, The Big Easy, NOLA…N’awlins. I hadn’t been there in about 30 years, so I really had no idea what to expect. All I knew was that I was excited to visit what is the only US city with its own fully-developed native cuisine and one that is still trying to recover from one of the worst natural and governmental disasters in American history.
Looking Northeast up the riverfront streetcar tracks. Toulouse St. station, New Orleans. ©Mark Rabinowitz 2009
I rolled in quite late and after checking into the “Royal O,” I did what any smart traveler does: I asked the bellman where a guy could get something to eat at that late hour. Sure, I could have had room service, but it was my first night in the French Quarter in my adult life in a city that really doesn’t sleep and I’d be damned if I was gonna stay in. Chartres House Café was the recommendation. It was apparently one of the only place nearby whose kitchen stayed open late (NOLA’s restaurants close early, who knew?) and it was a favorite hangout for the local service industry. Seeing that some of my best friends are/were members of said group and they’re always fun, I bit. Dinner was the Creole Crawfish Platter – Fried crawfish tails, crawfish etouffee and crawfish cakes. Served with fries and hush puppies. What can I say? I wanted crawfish! The fare was a nice intro to NOLA and the hushpuppies were exceptional. Then again, I had no frame of reference…. What I did discover was Abita Turbodog beer. If you can find it where you are, buy it. You won’t be sorry.
The Chartres (pronounced “CHAW-tuhs”) House proved to be my home base and go-to joint after each meal in various NOLA eateries in the 7 days that I spent in New Orleans in two visits. It was there that I met Steve the bartender (later to become a maitre’d at the Royal O’s Rib Room) and Steve the bartender (not to be confused with Steve the bartender). It was these fine people who directed me to Johnny’s Po-Boys.
Claiming to be the oldest family owned po-boy restaurant in New Orleans, the founder Johnny De Grusha’s quote boasts: “Even my failures are edible!” Alas, I can’t really speak to either his failures or to the other Po-boys in New Orleans. I was only there for a few days and only had Johnny’s special (Beef with Grilled Ham, American and Swiss, fully dressed, of course). Next time, however, I’m taking my friend John Currence’s advice. Johnny’s was a great experience. Storefront, tourist families, locals, and a polite and patient counter staff. They helped this newbie order correctly and what I got was a marvelous and massive lunch. Roast beef and drippings, grilled ham, 2 cheeses, lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, onions, mustard and mayo. The perfect mixture of flavors, textures and smells. By the time I had gotten to the last 1/8 of this behemoth, the roll had pretty much disintegrated and I suspect this is not ideal. I’ll let you know….
And the sandwich to scale…..
As you can see....a mighty sandwich!
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