"Where there is nuance, there is disagreement - and New Orleans food is very nuanced."
"Well, you've gotta have sh*t to talk about at the bar!"
Over at my pal Pableaux Johnson's house for Monday night red beans and rice, I laid my shame bare to the assembled crowd. I'd gotten smacked down on Twitter earlier that day for posting a photograph of the obviously warmed-up muffuletta sandwich I'd had for lunch.
Said the smashing Francis Lam (who's the editor of Salon Food and who's spent a goodly chunk of time in the Big Easy) "Argh! The warm muff!" and then "I just can't countenance a warm muffuletta, though I understand it has its fans."
Food writer and recent Brooklyn-to-New Orleans transplant Brett Martin piled on, "Hear, hear! I'll go further and say Ctrl Grocery or nothing."
I've got no problem admitting I don't know something - especially about food. It's a chance to learn. But, in a city like this where passions run to the frenzied, there are some things worth getting as close to right as possible.
To wit: po' boy, po-boy, po-boy, poor boy, peaux boy? Whaddaya call the French bread sandwich typically filled with fried seafood or roast beef and gravy? There are precedents for each; you lean toward which?
Laissez les bons temps rouler! Eatocracy is in New Orleans this week getting ready for the second edition of our Secret Supper. We'll be sharing the people, purveyors and places that make this such a significant food town, and hope you'll join in with your questions, memories, restaurant suggestions and general bonhomie.
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