[Disclaimer: this was written before Katrina, so insensitivity is okay.] You would have figured the folks of the newly acquired Louisiana Territory would have picked the French up by their scrawny arms and thrown their cheese-eatin’ asses into the Dakotas somewhere. Apparently they let them stick around and spawn odd French hybrid freaks called Creoles (or is it Cajuns?) They, in turn, made food out of alligator, butchered the English language like no other subculture in the US and brought a weird flamboyance to an otherwise scary redneck population. Shit, New Orleans is the only place on Earth that you’ll see a 350-pound pig farmer named La Croix with a Confederate flag tattoo drunkenly staggering down the street in a tutu and full make-up. New York City this ain’t. But that’s where you’ll find this joint in all its Cajun glory. There’s a weird cross-over with its neighbor, and Southern kin, Brother Jimmy’s express that is more than just a little confusing. After all, they serve almost the same food. Or at least that’s the way this Cali boy sees it. I mean is there really a difference between blackened chicken and pulled pork? BBQ ribs and a catfish sandwich? Hush puppies and okra? The difference is as subtle as Manhattan vs. Hoboken pizza. I suppose it’s French influence vs. Good ole boy influence. Who knows? What I do know is that the blackened chicken sandwich is great–and exactly the same as the one they serve at Brother Jimmy’s. Finding a table in Grand Central during lunch is always tough, but with a little vigilance you can sit and enjoy your sandwich knowing that at least the French did something useful. [MF]
Grand Central Terminal
212/661-4022
