hunk 'o' cheese. Well, maybe a couple of slices of Swiss on a fried oyster and bacon?
Yeah, I wanted a po-boy.
So without further ado, John, my friend Dani and her daughter Posie all hopped into her bright orange, taxi-turned-personal-van and sped off down to Crabby Jacks. I'd heard they served a awesome Cochon de Lait po-boy, among some other tasty specials, and it was high time I found out for myself.
We all tromped into the small restaurant on Jefferson Highway around 2:30 pm in an attempt to miss the busy lunch hour. Posie was quite interested in the bright gumball machines in the front, especially after she scored a couple of stragglers in one of the chutes, though we were too busy selecting our lunch from the menu to notice 'till it was too late. We placed our order and found a place to sit at one of the communal benches, admiring the the work of local artist Dr. Bob that was plastered all over the walls.
It wasn't long before our orders arrived in a flurry, long packages wrapped in butcher paper dealt to the right person as soon as we deciphered the spidery scrawl in red ink on the outside. Dani's 8-inch, fully-dressed, fried shrimp po-boy was the most visually stunning of the three. Large, crispy, cornmeal-crusted shrimp tumbled out of the overstuffed loaf allowing me to snatch a few. John's large BBQ brisket po-boy was quite juicy and the brisket melted in your mouth, but the sauce was a bit sweet for my taste and I turned to my own.
We also got some fries, onion rings and a side of mac & cheese for Posie. We didn't realize that the mac was made with jalapenos and though Dani doesn't like them and picked a lot of them out, Posie seemed to dig it when she managed to finally get some into her mouth. I got a taste and I agree. It reminded me of nachos you get at theme parks or local carnivals.
It seems that Posie liked everything too much. What with free gum, jalapeno mac & cheese AND accessible jingle bells on the Christmas tree, who would want to leave? Certainly not Posie. She even sat down on the ground in the parking lot to (not so silently) protest our departure. We'll be back, Jack!