Visiting New Orleans and not devouring as many of the city’s beloved po’boys as humanly possible is, well, like not visiting at all. Locals across all demographics celebrate the massive submarine sandwiches as one of the standard-bearers of the city’s belly-busting cuisine. You’re as likely to see construction workers downing meatball po’boys at Parran’s in Metairie as you are to see suited-up lawyers tucking into roast beef at Mike Serio’s in the Central Business District—although you’d be hard pressed to find them agreeing on the best bread, the most satisfying filling, or the appropriate hot sauce. (Answer: They’re all good.) Here’s where to find superlative examples of the species in its native habitat. Bet you can’t eat just one.
Domilise’s is the archetype of all that’s right with New Orleans po’boys: the history, the care, the flavor. The five things they get right are:
1) Butcher paper, wrapped with masking tape
2) The pile of crisp iceberg lettuce on both sides
3) The fresh, chewy Leidenheimer loaf
4) That red sauce: ketchup, hot sauce, and mayonnaise
5) The addictively crunchy battered shrimp (or oysters)
We’ll go with the most popular theory: Brothers Benny and Clovis Martin moved to New Orleans, worked as streetcar conductors, and then opened their own sandwich shop. In 1929, there was a transit strike, so they decided they would serve their out-of-work former colleagues for free. Soon, the sandwiches took on the name they called their pals—poor boys.
It’s not really a complete meal without these four local accompaniments, which are heavily debated throughout the whole city:
The Bread: What differentiates these sandwiches from other foot-longs is the “French bread,” made at three bakeries: Leidenheimer, Gendusa, and Dong Phuong. If the bread is fresh, as the po’boy gods intended, your teeth shatter the crust and sink into the gossamer interior.
The Drink: It’s hard to improve on the po’boy’s typical beverage: a long-necked, ice-cold Barq’s root beer, its minty, medicinal flavor balancing out the fried and the fatty. Unless, of course, it’s one of the local (real) beers: Go for Abita Amber, Bayou Teche’s LA 31, or Tin Roof’s Perfect Tin.
The Side: Thickly cut, heavily seasoned Zapp’s kettle-fried potato chips come in locally inspired flavors, tucked into jauntily pinstriped foil bags. Try to track down the Spicy Cajun Crawtators, which layer aromas of boiled crawfish—hot sauce, cayenne, seasoned salt—atop the golden spuds.
The Hot Sauce: Purists agree that no po’boy is complete without a liberal dose of spice. But which one? The most popular choices are Crystal (smoky, peppery hot); Louisiana (balanced, complex, and salty); and Tabasco (vinegary, barrel-aged in oak), all of which are still made in-state.
Five terms that will up your ordering game
Debris (n.) — Shreds that fall off the roast beef while cooking and braise in the meat’s juices until reduced to a pure, meaty essence. The ideal topping for a roast beef po’boy.
Dressed (adj.) — Covered with mayo, lettuce, tomato, and in some places, pickles. Variations abound: At Mother’s, cabbage is swapped for lettuce to keep things crisper.
Erster Loaf (n.) — Another way of asking for an oyster po’boy. At Casamento’s, try one of these between slices of rectangular, pan-made bread.
Peacemaker (n.) — A po’boy that combines two different proteins, such as fried oysters and fried shrimp.
Vietnamese Po’Boy (n.) — The preferred New Orleans term for what’s basically a banh mi.
Head to Ye Olde College Inn for the very meta fried bread pudding po’boy. It’s a crispy, sugary hunk of the classic New Orleans dessert. To make it, day-old bread is soaked and baked in custard. The next day, it’s deep-fried and served alongside rum sauce and powdered sugar. You can dance it off at the Rock ‘n’ Bowl next door or...just order another one! The crazy local delicacy is on the menu at the bowling alley, too.
There are an insanely large number of po'boy options in Louisiana. We took a little bit off your plate and made a list of our favorites.
Fried trout at Sammy’s
At a place known for its crispy seafood, the cornmeal-crusted fried trout is a standout.
Thanksgiving at Parkway Bakery & Tavern
Yes, a po’boy with turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and gravy. Only available in November, obviously.
The Peacemaker at Bevi Seafood Co.
More is more in this combo, in which Louisiana shrimp share space with roast beef and Swiss cheese.
Shrimp at Domilise’s
Go Uptown for the coolest hand-painted sign—and arguably the world’s greatest fried shrimp sandwich.
Roast beef at R & O’s
Gravy-soaked, this is the Platonic—make that Rabelaisian—ideal. You’ll be licking meat juice off your arms.
Vietnamese at Dong Phuong
It’s loaded with liver pâté, jalapeños, cilantro, cucumbers, pickled carrots and daikon, plus homemade aioli.
Pork belly at Killer PoBoys
The small, seasonal menu focuses mostly on super-fresh local ingredients. Try the pork belly with lime slaw.
Grilled shrimp at Guy’s
Half the appeal of this buttery, griddle-cooked version is watching boisterous owner Marvin Matherne make it.