How everyone in Louisiana doesn’t weigh 8,000 pounds is beyond me. Their food is devoid of greenery and tends to be fried, or at least cooked in some sort of animal fat. Of course, fried stuff tastes good–as does grub cooked in its own innards. The weird thing about this joint is that they’ve managed to not only bring the food from Louisiana, but the humidity and mustiness as well. Sitting in the very dark, tin-roofed dining room is rather weird while the sun is out. It’s almost depressing, actually. Luckily, the bbq chicken po’ boy cheered me right up. The thing was huge! And it came with a gang of sweet potato fries. We managed to avoid the rest of the fat-bomb-laden menu, but some of it sounded decent, while others, like the batter fried oysters, sounded about as scary as greasy mollusks can sound. If you come here for lunch, don’t expect atmosphere, but think about wearing those jeans you bought when you were in your “fat period.” [MF]
700 9th Ave.