Po’Boys and Muffulettas in NOLA

A visit to New Orleans is always a banquet for the senses.

New Orleans, Louisiana.

The stately, double-gallery homes, imposing French provincials, and narrow shotgun houses that sit in shady lots beneath gnarly live oaks dripping with moss. The smoldering heat and humidity. The swing of bright jazz emanating from open doorways and performed by street musicians on crowded corners. The heady aroma of sugary, fried beignets and rich coffee flavored with chicory. And the tastes.

There is an impressive menu of gastronomic delights associated specifically with NOLA (New Orleans, Louisiana, for the uninitiated): boiled crawfish drowned in spice, thick gumbo, Cajun jambalaya, red beans and rice, and seafood étouffée, among others. Depending on how long you stay and where you eat, you may get lucky enough to try some or most of these specialties, but there are two items that should top the list: a po’boy and a muffuletta.

The po’boy

The famous po’boy sandwich dates from the 1920s when a New Orleans restaurant served an inexpensive sandwich to striking streetcar conductors. Made with French bread, gravy, and scraps of roast beef, the Martin brothers (former streetcar conductors themselves) gave out free sandwiches to out-of-work men who showed up at their restaurant’s back door.

“Here comes another poor boy!” Or so the legend goes.

Po’boys are now a staple of NOLA cuisine, available at sandwich shops as well as upscale restaurants. The French bread is crispy on the outside, soft on the inside, and stuffed to overflowing with your filling of choice. The original roast beef is a favorite, often described as roast beef with “debris”—bits of meat melted into a succulent gravy. Po’boys are also available with fried oysters or shrimp (or both), fried green tomatoes, sausage, ground beef, and any number of other fillings unique to various specialty shops. They are usually served with a side of fries.

My first experience eating a po’boy was with a friend who grew up in New Orleans. It was at a small restaurant on Magazine Street. I opted for fried shrimp. My friend coached me in the proper etiquette of ordering.

“You should get it dressed.”

“French fry with gravy, dressed.”

I thought maybe I didn’t understand the order, but yes when it came it was a heaping pile of fries on French bread smothered with mayo, lettuce, tomato, and pickles then drowned in hot gravy. The messiest sandwich you will ever see. And absolutely delicious.

The Muffuletta

NOLA’s other famous sandwich is the much more refined muffuletta. Said to have been created at the turn of the 20^th century by a Sicilian grocer who suggested it was more practical to put ingredients of an antipasto together into the bread instead of eating it all separately, the muffuletta starts with a round loaf of sesame seed bread. Split horizontally, the bread is then smeared on both sides with a salad of marinated olives mixed with giardiniera (pickled vegetables). Layers of meats and cheeses come next: a variety of salamis with bologna or mortadella, maybe some ham, and a slice or two of provolone or swiss. Close the sandwich and wait.

When I recently had a slice of muffuletta, I was hesitant. My hosts had bought the sandwiches earlier that morning and it was now dinnertime. Everyone knows a sandwich sitting around is going to be stale, or soggy, or dried out. But it was Mardi Gras and we’d been “busy” all day. When it was finally time to eat something, my friends pulled out the muffuletta showing no concern that it had been sitting in the refrigerator for hours. “Let it come to room temperature first,” they said, further aging what had once been fresh.

I said I had recently tried a slice of muffuletta but that was a lie. Muffuletta sandwiches don’t come in slices, they come in chunks. A round loaf cut into wedges. And I didn’t have one, I had three. Okay maybe four. Turns out a key ingredient of making a great muffuletta is Waiting. The juicy olive salad has to have a chance to marinate and a chance to soak into the bread. And it’s not at all soggy as the bread is thick and robust enough to absorb the juice and stay strong. And at room temperature the flavors POP.

My favorite muffuletta story is my husband’s experience visiting a friend in New Orleans years ago. He and his friend, a Nola native, went out for a sumptuous meal at a high end restaurant—Antoine’s or maybe Galatoire’s. After their meal they were strolling around the French Quarter and happened upon Central Grocery, home of the original muffuletta. The sandwiches looked so enticing, the aroma so intoxicating, they both agreed without hesitation to get one “for dessert” — and had no trouble polishing it off.