On This Day, Louie Mueller Takes the Prize

You can almost see the weight of 60 years of barbecue tradition bearing down on the shoulders of Wayne Mueller, third generation heir to the Louie Mueller Texas barbecue dynasty.

The faithful line up at Louie Mueller Barbecue

I say "almost" because 1) Wayne is at least 6'4" and built like a linebacker and it would take a lot of weight to double him over, and 2) more practically, it's hard to catch a glimpse of the guy as he darts around the perpetually smoky main dining room of Louie Mueller Barbecue in Taylor, Texas.

Of course I'm speaking figuratively — the burden to which I refer is traditional, not physical. And although Wayne's physical bearing may help alleviate the daily grind of producing world class barbecue, it doesn't offer much protection (other than maybe a thick skin developed over many years in front of a firebox) from the inevitable and unavoidable opinions that Louie Mueller Barbecue just isn't the same since Wayne's father, Bobby Mueller, passed away suddenly in 2008.

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To be clear, such suggestions are completely unfounded. Louie Mueller Barbecue is easily as good as, and possibly better than, when the James Beard Award-winning Bobby Mueller ran the operation. It's obvious that whatever tradition and goodwill that Louie Mueller garnered over the decades will not go gentle into that good night if it's up to Wayne Mueller.

On a recent Saturday I stepped up to the counter at Louie Mueller Barbecue and was warmly greeted by Wayne himself, who was working the carving block just like his father did before him. We chatted briefly and Wayne stepped over to shake my hand, but being covered from fingers to elbows with the carbonized debris of barbecued meat, he offered a sweaty elbow bump in exchange.

I ordered a half pound of the fatty brisket and in no time a quivering, steaming pile of meat lay before me on the counter. The crust on this brisket was coarse and complex, and of the same dark brown/black color of the smoke-caked walls of the main dining room. You might imagine that if someone got up the gumption to take a big lick of the dining room's walls, it would taste something like the crust on this brisket.

Louie Mueller brisket

Louie Mueller's rub is famously simple and effective: coarse ground black pepper and salt. That such a complex overall flavor can be imparted through barbecued meat is, in my opinion, a tribute to Mueller's decades-old brick barbecue pits — layers of smoke have built up over the decades to infuse a rich smokiness to the meat that just can't be duplicated elsewhere. Post oak wood is used as the smoke source ("Where do you get your wood?" "From trees!") and adds another layer of flavor complexity.

On this day, the slices of fatty brisket were exceptionally moist and tender, with a dense web of gelatinized collagen that had seeped into the surrounding meat. The fat had been completely rendered and had the texture of butter and an exquisite flavor of smoked meat. The crust was pleasantly peppery, not too much salt, and a slightly bitter note of chocolate and coffee.

After I took the first few bites of this brisket, I announced to my tablemates, "This is the best brisket I've ever had." Which is something. I've had the brisket at every one of Texas Monthly's top five barbecue joints, and up until this time, I had Snow's BBQ brisket as my favorite. But today, the barbecue Gods aligned the planets over Taylor, Texas: the perfect piece of brisket, perfectly smoked, perfectly seasoned and perfectly served with a generous helping of sincere friendliness and tradition.

As one of my dining companions so thoughtfully suggested: Texas barbecue joints are a lot like human beings, they have good days and bad days and you're never sure who's going to show up. Which is both frustrating and exhilarating at the same time; will I get a piece of meat as tough as shoe leather, or a transcendent slice of smoky, fatty goodness? With Texas barbecue, as with people and boxes of chocolate, you never know what you're gonna get.

Wayne Mueller has stated publicly that his vision for Louie Mueller Barbecue is to maintain both tradition and consistency. I can see how some people believe that when Louie Mueller is "on" (which is more often than not), when it's having a good day, when everything is clicking and smoke and tradition soak everything, it's the best barbecue in Texas, and therefore the world.

Louie Mueller Barbecue
206 West 2nd Street
Taylor, TX 76574
512-352-6206

This blog entry was originally posted 9 March 2010 on the www.29-95.com website.

An Ode to Octopus

The first time I ate octopus was in a sun-drenched back alley on the Greek island of Santorini where tourists — mostly young Americans and Brits — go to act stupid.

Taverna with Octopi http://www.flickr.com/photos/byrdiegyrl/ / CC BY 2.0

The days there begin at night, in some unnamed taverna, usually involving table dancing and copious libations followed by a drunken, groping tryst in a spartan hotel room or, more uncomfortably, on the black volcanic sands of an ancient Aegean beach. Sleep is minimal, and morning demands a brief respite of coffee and "continental breakfast." This is followed by an adjournment back to the beach, often with your companion of the night before, topless depending on nationality (oh, those German girls) and supine yet again, but this time in the worship of Apollo (the sun) rather than of Eros or Dionysus.

In such a cycle of debauchery, food is a necessity rather than a pleasure or diversion. The main goal is to line your stomach with material that will soak up the deluge of alcohol that will flow in the next few hours. With this in mind, the tourist haunts of Greek islands earn their reputation for shoddy food. Hawkers use broken English to shepherd you into their establishment where gooey moussaka is the standard fare.

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Tenderizing Octopus http://www.flickr.com/photos/63391301@N00/ / CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

And then there's the octopus. It's a dish that's on almost every menu in the Greek islands, and will often be the focus of a restaurateur's tourist-inspired show — if it's not the dancing or the plate breaking, it's a swarthy Greek fisherman pounding a newly caught octopus against a rock to soften its notorious toughness. Preparation is almost always grilled, and when it's done well, octopus is a culinary revelation for even the most sun-burnt and hung-over international tourist.

Grilled octopus is prepared by cleaning fresh octopus, marinating it overnight in a citrus/olive oil/white wine/herb mixture, and then grilling it on an open flame while basting it with more citrus and olive oil. To ensure tenderness, the octopus will often be boiled for 30 minutes to 1 hour before marinating. The end result will be both visually stunning — long, suction-cupped, tapering tendrils of caramelized octopus arms — and wonderfully flavorful. The mild seafood flavor of the octopus combined with the citrus and olive oil, and a dusting of sea salt and oregano, results in a classic and timeless Mediterranean delicacy.

Grilled Octopus http://www.flickr.com/photos/prettykatemachine/ / CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

In Houston, a few Greek restaurants have grilled octopus on the menu, usually as an appetizer. Occasionally it seems to be on the menu as an afterthought, mainly to uphold the Greek-menu-street-cred of the restaurant — no octopus means not really a Greek restaurant. Grilled octopus at Houston Greek food joints is usually pretty decent, with a few caveats.

The grilled octopus at Alexander the Great restaurant near the Galleria is a good example of what's good and bad in a typically Americanized and tourist-ified grilled octopus dish. The octopus itself is nicely grilled with a smoky char, and reasonably tender. But in deference to American squeamishness toward eating anything that looks vaguely monster-ish, including things like suction-cupped tentacles, this octopus has been roughly chopped into mouth-size chunks.

Grilled Octopus Salad at Alexander the Great

The surrounding salad is all quite average, punctuated by a flabby and uninspired dressing of olive oil and citrus, and some obligatory cucumbers, tomatoes and olives. Really, the octopus here could be replaced by chicken, tofu, or shrimp, and there wouldn't be a noticeable difference. Next time I visit I'll just ask for the whole octopus arms on a plate, with a wedge of lemon and sea salt on the side.

On the upper end of the Houston restaurant scale, grilled or braised octopus will often appear on seafood menus. On a recent visit to Tesar's Modern Steak and Seafood in The Woodlands, the menu included a wonderful braised octopus with avocado, aioli, chorizo, and braised celery.

Braised Octopus at Tesar's

This may seem like an unusual combination of ingredients. But after tasting it, you realize there's a sophisticated thought process involved in the combination of flavors and textures. First, the mild seafoody/briny flavor of the octopus is offset by the rich, buttery flavor of the avocados and the tart aioli. The chorizo flakes offer an extra dimension of spiciness to the dish.

Texture-wise, the braising technique yields an al dente but not chewy hunk of octopus arm. Combined with the creamy avocados and the crunchy slices of celery, there's an inspired formulation of textures in this dish.

Finally, presentation has not been sacrificed — a whole octopus arm is seductively coiled around itself, suction cups protruding unapologetically. The rusty red octopus floats on a slick of pale green of avocado aioli. Flecks of orange chorizo float throughout.

It's the best octopus dish I've had in greater Houston. I'd make the journey out to The Woodlands just for this dish. Although no one will ever mistake The Woodlands for a Greek island, apparently there's still delicious mischief to be had.

A version of this blog entry was originally posted 29 Jan 2010 on the www.29-95.com website.

New Ruggles Grill: Southwest meets Slow Food

Back in the day, Ruggles Grill was big. Big food with big flavor served in big portions to big people with big hair who drove big cars and lived in big houses.

The Ruggles Grill

It was richly rewarded with accolades ranging from "best restaurant" to "most popular restaurant." It became a Montrose institution.

Then the eighties and nineties turned in to the oughties and new restaurants popped up all over lower Westheimer. Ruggles' big, meandering menu looked unfocused compared to restaurants like nearby Da Marco or Dolce Vita, which brought clarity and focus to a specific cuisine, in this case Italian. But Ruggles still did a good business, even with the calcified menu, until a big storm called Ike put the kibosh on the martini-and-mimosa-fueled party.

Damaged by Ike, Ruggles remained closed for more than a year after the storm, even as other restaurants celebrated grand re-openings. Insurance and city permit problems contributed to the delay, and surely the bad economy didn't help. Riding out the storm, both literally and economically, seemed a wise strategy for many restaurateurs.

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Meanwhile, owner Bruce Molzan partnered with Federico Marques to open Ruggles Green on West Alabama. This casual, counter service restaurant focused on organic and locally sourced ingredients and "green" restaurant procedures such as intensive recycling programs and styrofoam-free to-go containers. It became a big hit.

Fast forward to New Years Eve 2009. I was driving by Ruggles Grill and saw a banner draped across the front that announced it would reopen that night. Reservations were being taken. The reopening of Ruggles Grill was imminent. I checked the restaurant's website and found the same pre-Ike menus. This was disappointing, but curiosity led me to visit the restaurant the following week.

The first thing you notice is that the dining room is basically the same, but spruced up a bit. The main room to the left of the entrance is still where all the action is, with a small bar in the far corner and the hustle and bustle of Westheimer a few feet away through the French doors along the front. But that's where the similarities to the pre-Ike Ruggles end. The menu is a different story.

The new menu at Ruggles Grill retains some of the highlights of the old menu but with a lot of tweaks and a strong push for organic and locally sourced ingredients. Local vendors listed include a who's who of local farms: Gundermann, Georgia's, and Hatterman, to name a few. The dishes are far from minimal, and retain a Southwestern feel with lots of peppers and chiles and chipotles spread throughout. All of the dishes we sampled were fresh and well-executed.

Organic tofu and tomato salad

One of the more successful dishes of the visit was the organic tofu and Gundermann Farms tomato salad with Animal Farm mixed greens, dried blueberries, and organic shoa mai vinaigrette. Yes, it's a vegetarian dish, but Ruggle's philosophy of throwing lots of ingredients and flavors at a dish works well in this case. Yes, it's swimming in some kind of crazy vinaigrette, but the flavors are bright and well-balanced. Vegetarians, forever the red-headed stepchildren of fine dining, finally have a dish they can sink their teeth into. As someone who is as far removed from vegetarianism as you can get, I'd actually order this as a starter.

Grass-fed, bacon-wrapped filet with quinoa salsa

A less successful dish was the grass-fed, bacon-wrapped filet with passion fruit demi-sauce and spicy roasted pineapple organic fair trade quinoa salsa (it's a mouthful to say and to eat). There's something cheeky about pairing a thick cut of grass-fed tenderloin with quinoa, a couscous-like grain that's a trendy ingredient for the rabbit food crowd. It could work, but the dish also includes a roasted pineapple salsa whose plethora of ingredients detonate like a cluster bomb on the unsuspecting palate. This was the embodiment of an overwrought dish. Editing the ingredients and components would be welcome.

It's obvious that Chef Molzan has created a clever fusion between ingredients and dishes from the previous incarnation of Ruggles Grill and the organic/local/green lessons he's learned from the success of Ruggles Green. The question is, if you re-build it, will they come? It's quite possible that the River Oaks crowd will make the trek down Westheimer to get a taste of Ruggles past and present, and to see and be seen. And the vegetarians and Green Party voters who inhabit the surrounding Montrose neighborhood will walk or drive over in their Smart cars to feel that they've eaten well and responsibly. If these two constituencies can be reliably satisfied, Ruggles Grill may have a new life after all.

This blog entry was originally posted 22 Dec 2009 on the www.29-95.com website.

Looking for Tacos in All the Wrong Places

Baytown's not Pasadena. Pasadena's known for Gilley's and Bud and Sissy and oil refineries, and even stakes a claim to culinary celebrity with world's largest strawberry shortcake.

Taqueria Sahuayo in Baytown

Baytown's got the refineries and suburbs and a giant shopping mall right off I-10, but it lacks whatever faded patina of glamour that Hollywood bestowed upon its neighbor many years ago. And when you think of food destinations in and around Houston, Baytown never gets mentioned. That's why I had to go there.

There's an old traveler's trick I use when searching out interesting places or people. I ask a local resident where a tourist should never go, and then that's where I go. This inevitably results in the most interesting experiences. Many years ago, on the advice of a Frenchman, I stumbled into eastern Europe and spent a week in Belgrade, (then) Yugoslavia, at the start of that country's civil war. That was memorable. Turns out that responses for where tourists should never go often involve war-torn countries.

This technique also works for food exploring: ask someone from Houston where they would never go to eat good food, and Baytown usually gets the nod. The problem is trying to get anyone to go with you; even the most hardened food explorers shy away from Baytown. You have to get creative to find a dining companion.

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So I convinced my friend and fellow 29-95 blogger Jay (GunsandTacos) into joining me by telling him that Chamillionaire was giving a free Saturday morning concert at the Baytown Masonic Lodge, complete with a bricklaying exhibition and a BBQ and haggis potluck. He was initially skeptical, doubting I could ever be admitted to such an august group like the Masons, and suggesting that the Baytown Masons' musical tastes probably skew more toward Chingo Bling anyway. So I made up a few secret handshakes on the fly and showed him how they worked. He was impressed and liked them a lot, maybe too much, giggling and shaking hands with himself most of the rest of the day when he wasn't holding a taco. Anyway, he was on board.

Birria de Cabrito

Our first stop was Taqueria Sahuayo in an old part of Baytown that butts up against the mammoth ExxonMobil oil refinery. It's in an old Dairy Queen building, with a hand painted sign and blacked-out windows. Most people think that establishments with blacked-out windows are places where you should never go. Indeed, in my experience, such places yield great reward or great punishment. Nothing in between.

Among the smorgasbord of inexpensive tacos, caldos, and menudos that we ordered was one of the best dishes I've eaten in a long time: birria de cabrito (goat stew). Birria doesn't have anything to do with beer; rather, it's a traditional Mexican meat stew. There are generally two preparation styles: "guisada" or "tatemada." Guisada style involves tossing chiles, aromatics and meat into a pot and slow cooking it until the flavors combine into a traditional stew-like dish.

Tatemada style involves adding chiles and aromatics (and sometimes offal) to a vat of water, then the meat is suspended in a rack over the water and is steamed as the pot is heated. Juices from the meat drip into the broth below. The meat is removed and then cooked a second time -- grilled or roasted. The broth is strained and poured into a bowl and big chunks of (bone-in) meat are added to the broth.

The birria de cabrito at Taqueria Sahuayo is tatemada style. The broth (consomé de birria) is brought to your table in a giant steaming bowl and has a wonderful clarity of flavor marked by an intensely meaty (but not too gamey) essence and a restrained amount of seasoning. The chunks of meat range from chewy to falling-off-the-bone. Grab a homemade tortilla, spoon in some meat (it's OK if you accidentally-on-purpose drip some broth on there), add onions, cilantro and lime juice, then dredge the lot of it in the broth and take a bite. Once you've shredded the last piece of meat off the bones, mix some onions and cilantro into the liquid and drink the broth right out of the bowl. It's one of the most rewarding cold weather dishes I've ever had.

Bigotes food truck

On our way back to Houston, Jay and I decided to explore closer to town and exited at Freeport Street, just inside the Beltway. This was a shot in the dark; no one had ever mentioned this street to me as a food destination. It paid off. Block after block of taco trucks, carnicerias and elotes stands. We stopped at the Bigotes ("mustache") taco truck in the parking lot of E.J.'s Tire Shop at the corner of Freeport and McNair Streets.

As we studied the menu, a Hispanic gentleman sidled up to me and said something I thought was "sabado" or "sebadoh." The "sabado" made sense because it was Saturday, but I wasn't sure why he was asking about Sebadoh, one of my favorite indie rock bands. Jay stepped in and clarified that the gentlemen was actually saying "Salvador," which is the type of food made by this truck. Jay introduced himself to the gentleman and shook his hand, at which point the man got a funny look on his face and walked away quickly.

Pupusas are the calling card of any good Salvadoran street food vendor, and this truck specialized in it. Pupusas are thick corn tortillas stuffed with various fillings. I ordered a queso y chicharrón pupusa filled with cheese and finely chopped pork. It came out so hot I couldn't touch it, so I sprinkled on some curtido (pickled cabbage, onions and carrots) and tomato sauce. I took a bite. The savory, fatty pork combined with the pungent, chalky cheese and the sweet corn and tomato sauce, mixing with the vinegary curtido, was a symphonic taste experience. I ordered a couple of pupusas to-go for reheating later.

Pupusa from Bigotes food truck

On our way back to town we passed a flea market just off of I-10 and decided to stop in. The front half of the barn-like building was an actual Mexican flea market, the rear half was occupied by a dance club, complete with disco ball, throbbing music and a long bar packed with folks with nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon. One surmises that if a metal detector were installed at the door, it would be a different crowd, or no crowd. Gringos who show up here, according to Jay, are either la migra or la policía. "It's a place you should never go," he whispered as he grabbed my sleeve and dragged me out to the parking lot. I really wish he hadn't said that.

This blog entry was originally posted 22 Dec 2009 on the www.29-95.com website.

My Top 10 Food Photos of 2009

When it comes to food, you can eat it, cook it, write about it, obsess over it, talk about it, read about it, make friends over it, and, perhaps most memorably, take pictures of it.

Conos Rellenos de Crema Mexican Pastry
El Bolillo Bakery — Houston, Texas — 7 February 2009

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This pic was snapped at El Bolillo Bakery on Airline Drive before the first Chowhounds taco truck crawl. We were noshing on the delectable goodies and taking photographs the whole time. These conos were some of the most photogenic (and tasty) of all the pastries. A flaky pastry cone is stuffed with a not-too-sweet vanilla custard.

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Frito Pie
Casa de Houston Foodie — Houston, Texas — 29 March 2009

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Cooking took a backseat for me in 2009, with restaurant visits and food writing taking up most of my free time. I did find some time to cook up a bowl of chili for a blog post I did about Frito pies. I wanted to get as close as possible to the Frito pies I ate at Little League games when I was growing up in Beaumont. This was the result. I think I got pretty close.

 

 

Barbacoa Tacos
Noemi's Tacos — Houston, Texas — 30 April 2009

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For a blog post on Menudo, I visited Noemi's Tacos on the advice of Alison Cook. The menudo was great, but I also ordered a side of barbacoa tacos just to try them out. Talk about sexy. They tasted as good as they looked. As my friend and fellow food blogger Ruthie so aptly commented, "I want to make out with those tacos."

 

 

Fried Boudin Nuggets
Al-T's Seafood & Steakhouse — Winnie, Texas — 17 June 2009

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I reviewed Al-T's for the Houston Press, and on one of my first visits we ordered pretty much the whole menu. Catfish and gumbo are the specialties of the house, but one of the most pleasant surprises was a plate of these fantastic boudin nuggets. Thick slices of housemade boudin sausage, breaded, deep-fried, and served with a side of ranch dressing. Awesome road food.

 

 

Tomatoes
The Inn at Dos Brisas — Brenham, Texas — 24 June 2009

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The Inn at Dos Brisas in Brenham sponsored a group of Houston food bloggers on a visit to tour the grounds and sample from a menu inspired by the produce grown in their extensive gardens. During the tour, ranch manager and horticulturist Johnnie Boyd Baker picked these tomatoes and presented them for us to taste. Yes, Virginia, there is a difference between the tomatoes you get at the supermarket and those that are grown locally and organically.

 

 

Barbecue Crabs
Sartin's West — Beaumont, Texas — 19 September 2009

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Nothing says "good eats" to my Southeast Texas born-and-bred palate like these spiky crustaceans. These barbecued and fried crabs at Sartin's West in Beaumont were the pinnacle of my BBQ crab eating season. Just the right heat and spice level, with tender, steaming and flaky crab meat. I ended up writing an overview of Beaumont/Port Arthur BBQ crabs, with a more ambitious Southeast Texas review slated for this spring.

 

 

Natto
Nippan Daido — Houston, Texas — 21 September 2009

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Natto is not something you usually find on Houston menus, even on Japanese restaurant menus. For a Houston Press blog post, I headed west to the most authentic Japanese market in Houston: Nippan Daido. Natto has one of the most unusual textures, colors and flavors I've ever experienced. The slimy, snotty texture and the funky orange-brown color make for a great, if not particularly appetizing, visual.

 

 

Bacon Cheeseburger
Hubcap Grill South — Houston, Texas — 23 September 2009

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There's lots of goodness in this pic of the bacon cheeseburger at the Hubcap Grill South location. The slightly charred top bun, the impossibly thick slice of tomato, the gooey cheese, the jauntily tilted hamburger patty, the glistening and vaguely erotic slices of bacon. Note the burger drippings soaking the bottom bun and pooling to the bottom right.

 

 

Roasted Pig Snout
Feast Restaurant/Jolie Vue Farms — Brenham, Texas — 27 September 2009

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The roasted pig snout picture is back in all its majestic glory! Few of my pics have elicited such a broad range of responses from "Cool!" (my nephew) to "Ewwww!" (everyone else). It generated a popular blog post too. And to answer your questions in advance: 1) no, you couldn't feel/taste the whiskers, and 2) it tasted like fatty ham.

 

 

Boudin
Cochon Butcher — New Orleans, Louisiana — 13 December 2009

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On a recent trip to New Orleans with a group of Houston food bloggers, Jenny and I ventured to one of the more notable restaurants open on a Sunday: Cochon Butcher. We ordered up a couple of dishes, sat down, and started snapping pics. When the counter person saw us, she kept sending out more dishes, including this very nice boudin.

Notes on the pics

I have no idea what an f-stop is. Or an exposure or an aperture. I have a trusty Fujifilm F20 point-and-shoot that does the job. I guess. I've never had a pro photographer look at my pics and render judgment. I like my pics. That's all that matters.

The only settings I use on my Fuji are the flash and the something-is-really-close-up setting. All of the pics listed here are un-retouched, except for resizing. All are taken without flash, except maybe the Frito pie, which looks like there might have been a flash involved.

Since I'm not mucking about with camera settings, I can turn my attention to subject, composition, lighting, and scale. When food is the subject of a photograph, texture is the key. Absent smell-o-vision or taste-o-vision, the visual texture of food is the best way to get your mouth watering. The texture of the sliced boudin at Cochon Butcher is a good example, the whiskery pig nose, maybe not so much.

I love (lurve?) curves as part of the framing of my compositions, the Frito pie and boudin nuggets being good examples. Needless to say, I'm always a little disappointed when a restaurant uses square plates. Lighting is always a crap shoot — one of the most important food blogger skills is the ability to arm-twist a maître d' into seating you at the best lit table in the house.

Scale is a quality of food photography that I find intriguing. In a recent food photography workshop we were taught to place a fork or other utensil in the photo to provide scale. However, most of the time I find it interesting to leave the scale (relative size) of the food ambiguous. Just how big is that Conos de Crema? The size of a quarter or the size of a fist? And is that cheeseburger a full size burger or a slider?

At the end of the day, I write about and photograph food because it is an endlessly fascinating subject. Everyone has to eat food, and seemingly everyone has an opinion about food, and many make their living working with food. People who are passionate about food are inevitably the most interesting people I meet.

In Search of the Perfect Po-boy

A leprechaun was marauding through the crowded streets of the New Orleans Po-Boy Preservation Festival, inadvertently scaring little children and hoisting a sign imploring visitors to visit Mahony's Po-Boy Shop.

Here comes another poor boy leprechaun

As an advertising gimmick it worked great, but I had to ask myself, "Does Mahony's need more recognition?" The week before, a New York Times article had all but anointed Mahony's as the standard-bearer for the so-called neo-tradionalist po-boy makers of New Orleans.

You see, according to the powers that be in the Big Easy, the New Orleans po-boy is an endangered sandwich. An invasion of five dollar footlongs as well as aggressive cost-cutting by long-established New Orleans po-boy shops has apparently resulted in a lowering of both quality and expectations for one of the truly unique creations of this food mad city — the authentic New Orleans po-boy. This "preservation" festival would celebrate and confirm everything that is good and true about the New Orleans po-boy.

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Leidenheimer po-boy loaves

I went to the New Orleans Po-Boy Preservation Festival to find out for myself what makes a New Orleans po-boy truly authentic. For months, my fellow po-boy fanatics and I had debated whether the current crop of Houston po-boy shops served the real thing. Some of my friends would even drag along native New Orleanians to confirm authenticity or to cast doubt (and aspersions) on Houston po-boy shops like Calliope's Po-Boy, Jazzie Cafe and BB's Cajun Cafe. For me, the festival offered a one-stop shop to sample only the most authentic po-boys to be had in New Orleans.

Upon returning to Houston I visited local po-boy shops on a regular basis. As a baseline, I ordered a fried shrimp po-boy at every location, on every visit. After eating 20-plus po-boys in Houston over the last couple of weeks, I was ready to render a verdict.

What makes a New Orleans po-boy authentic? Fresh ingredients are a must, be it the "filling" in the form of shrimp, oysters or roast beef, or the "dressing" in the form of mayonnaise, lettuce and tomatoes. But after much research, both on the web and on the ground at the festival, I confirmed what po-boy aficionados already know: it's the bread. Specifically the po-boy loaf produced by New Orleans bakers like Leidenheimer and Gendusa. The bread has a thin, crisp, parchment-like crust covering a downy, light-as-air interior. New Orleanians claim that due to factors unique to their city such as the sea level (it's mostly below), humidity and even the water, authentic New Orleans po-boy bread can only be produced in New Orleans. These arguments, in my opinion, are specious, driven more by turf protection than scientific fact. But still, such claims did not bode well for finding authentic po-boy bread in Houston.

Acme Oyster House fried shrimp po-boy

As a benchmark, I chose my favorite fried shrimp po-boy at the festival: Acme Oyster House. Acme is rarely mentioned in the same breath as the po-big-boys of New Orleans like Domilise's, Crabby Jack's, Mother's, or Uglesich's (R.I.P.). But on this day, Acme put out a no-frills, authentic, prototypical fried shrimp po-boy: Leidenheimer bread ("hinged," i.e. not cut all the way though length-wise, arguably a sign of authenticity), a simple dressing of mayonnaise, shredded lettuce, and tomato, and an overstuffed filling of perfectly crisp and seasoned fried shrimp. I would evaluate all Houston po-boys against this tasty benchmark.

Calliope fried shrimp po-boy

Calliope's Po-Boy (2310 Jefferson) is owned by a former New Orleanian who left after Katrina and eventually made it to Houston. She claims that her bread is produced locally and is authentic New Orleans po-boy bread. It's not exactly like Leidenheimer bread, but it's close. It has a crisp, snappy crust, with a lighter-than-normal (for Houston) interior. The fried shrimp filling is overstuffed if a bit bland. Dressings are fresh and tasty. Calliope's po-boys may not be completely authentic, but they are a pretty good approximation. The Louisiana hot sausage po-boy is worth a try.

BB's Cajun fried shrimp po-boy

On every visit to BB's Cajun Cafe (2710 Montrose), the bread was the least appealing of all the Houston po-boy joints. Invariably chewy and dense, I would often toss the bread aside and pick out the fried shrimp. This bread was closer to a traditional French baguette, rather than a New Orleans po-boy loaf. Admittedly (and possibly forgivably), BB's bills its po-boys as authentic New Orleans "style" po-boys. Which is kind of like saying you own an authentic Rolex "style" watch, but whatever. Less forgivable are the rubbery fried shrimp I encountered on a couple of visits. Some of my friends swear by the "Midnight Masterpiece," the roast beef po-boy. This may be a better choice than the shrimp.

Jazzie Cafe fried shrimp po-boy

Jazzie Cafe in the Heights (1221 West 19th) is another joint opened by former New Orleanians displaced by Katrina. It's gone through at least a couple of ownership changes since opening. A few regulars I know have noted ups and downs over the years. Still, it's gained a sizable following for its large and tasty, but mostly unauthentic, po-boys. Mainly it's the bread: a soft exterior and a dense interior are admittedly delicious but not recognizable as authentic po-boy bread. Ultimately, it's more of a fried shrimp subway sandwich. Some swear by the soft shell crab po-boy here.

The Big Mamou fried shrimp po-boy

My friend and fellow food explorer Jay Francis turned me on to the po-boys at The Big Mamou, the newish Cajun joint in the Heights (903 Studewood). He pointed out that they claim to procure their po-boy bread from Gambino's Bakery in New Orleans (Mama's Cajun in Cypress claims the same). That sounded promising. The bread does indeed have a thin, crispy, crumbly exterior with an airy-light interior (hinged too). Checking Gambino's website, they do offer national distribution of frozen loaves which they (unbelievably) claim to be tastier than fresh baked loaves! The main drawback of this po-boy, however, was a filling of small shrimp whose breading separated after a few bites. Messy and annoying. The remoulade-like sauce was a positive. Overall, The Big Mamou fried shrimp po-boy is the closest to an authentic New Orleans po-boy you can get in Houston.

So is it possible to get an authentic New Orleans po-boy in Houston? Regrettably, but not unexpectedly, the answer is no. You can get a fair but flawed approximation at The Big Mamou, and a very tasty and filling ersatz po-boy at Jazzie. If you pick the right po-boys at BB's Cajun or Calliope, you can get some very good sandwiches there too. For now, the only place to get an authentic New Orleans po-boy is in New Orleans. Perhaps that is as it should be. We should all be happy to let Mahony's, Domilise's and Crabby Jack's continue to hoist the banner (sans leprechaun) of the bona fide New Orleans po-boy.

This blog entry was originally posted 8 Dec 2009 on the www.29-95.com website.

Big Pimpin' in NOLA

A month or so ago, a representative from Ogilvy Public Relations contacted me via Twitter and asked if I would like to spend a weekend at the Harrah's New Orleans casino/hotel free of charge, as a guest of Harrah's. I said yes.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/chaparral/ / CC BY-NC 2.0

The purpose of the weekend is to show me (and several other Houston bloggers and social media "influencers") all the great things that Harrah's NOLA has to offer. The idea, of course, is that we will communicate our experiences to our blog readers and Twitter followers so that Harrah's may get more visitors (and business) from the Houston market.

In exchange for flying me to NOLA, putting me up in their hotel, and wining and dining me (all free of charge), Harrah's has asked for nothing in return. Only that I have a good time. Of course there is the implication that I should tweet and blog about my experience, preferably positive things. But at least so far, no one from Ogilvy or Harrah's has explicitly asked for this.

Which I appreciate. Ogilvy is a very sharp oufit; I've known about their social media blog, 360 Digital Influence, for some time now. In addition to their own Blogger Outreach Code of Ethics, they have made it clear that we must adhere to the FTC Guidelines for Endorsements (PDF) and the Word of Mouth Marketing Association’s Ethics Code.

I also admire the Harrah's brand. The last three times I have been to Las Vegas I have stayed at the Rio or Bally's. As part of agreeing to the free weekend, I asked that they provide me information about Harrah's involvement in the NOLA community and recovery from Katrina. The information they sent me about their community involvement is impressive. I hope to hear more over the weekend.

So, in the spirit of full disclosure: Harrah's New Orleans is flying me to NOLA, putting me up in their hotel, and wining and dining me at no charge. They have asked for nothing in return. During this trip I will be tweeting and blogging about my experiences (objectively, in my opinion). I hope my followers/readers will find my experiences in NOLA entertaining or at least informative.