Johnny’s Po-Boy Restaurant
511 St. Louis St.
New Orleans, LA 70130
(504) 524-8129
(504) 524-8120 Fax
In the Historic French Quarter
Sunday morning, August 8, 2010
The hot sauce thing been sneaking up on me ever since I watched a college boy load up his hamburger with the red liquid at The Camellia Grill in the Carrollton neighborhood of New Orleans three years ago.
Here I am at Johnny’s Po-Boy, a small, retro, non-trendy eatery on St. Louis Street in the French Quarter. The place is filled with a Sunday jambalaya of the usual suspects in the typical range of attire - a few loud Jimmy Buffet short sleeve shirts, tank tops, T shirts, polo shirts, the occasional little black dress - all chattering away.
The AC hums, banter from the line cooks and servers bubbles from behind the order counter, legs of wooden chairs squeak on the brown speckled floor tiles as they’re rearranged in new configurations around tables, the metallic clatter of spatulas rings from hot grills, some barely audible R&B drifts from speakers in the corners.
I’m sitting at one of the dozen wooden tables covered with red checked vinyl tablecloths. The tablecloths must be bulletproof considering the daily assault from spilled gravy, coffee, and sauces of all kinds. With one swipe of a wet towel, they’re clean as a whistle, ready for the next customer.
At 11 AM most customers are ordering breakfast, but here in New Orleans PoBoys must be considered breakfast food. I’m overhearing lots of orders for shrimp or roast beef poboys.
There’s a line (as usual), so I sit back and take in the atmosphere while waiting for my order number to be called. An autographed black and white photo of Clarence “Frogman” Henry, one of dozens of photos of famous customers, gazes down upon me as I watch the show.
“Johnny’s is one of the top food values in the country,” a dad is telling his grade school daughter at the next table as he snaps a photo of her with his iPhone. He registers amazement at the low cost of his meal for his wife, and two daughters.
Johnny’s was opened by Johnny and Betty DeGrusha in 1959. Their sons and grandchildren now run the place that has been going strong ever since. When I inquire about when they reopened after Katrina, “Halloween Day, 2005, we were one of the first restaurants to come back,” the line cook says with pride.
“Number 812!” My ship has come in.
A few bites into my scrambled eggs, with bacon, grits, and coffee, the slender bottle at my elbow coos, “Baby, don’t you think it’s time you tried me?”
I reach over, unscrew the little red cap, and ever so gently pump a few drops of “Louisiana Hot Sauce” on my unsuspecting eggs. Deep breath. I dip a forkful of eggs into the tiny blob and pop it into my mouth. Wooeeee. My eggs appear to have had the equivalent of a sex change.
My taste buds are dancing around as if they’re marching along to the Rebirth Brass Band. My New England eating habits had long considered hot sauce to be a dangerous substance. Wonder of wonders, I keep swooping my eggs into the red blob till it’s gone. It ain't subtle but it peps up the taste of my scrambled eggs to a degree I never experienced at home.
I’ve crossed a frontier. With those few tentative shakes of that bottle of Louisiana Hot Sauce, I’m on the road to becoming an official Louisianan.
Photos by Paul A. Tamburello, Jr.
There's always a line at Johnny's Po-Boy...
where photos of famous entertainers like Clarence "Frogman' Henry...
and many others add s sense of history to the little eatery...
while a small army of line cooks and waitresses do a great job of making sure your food is prepared and served with efficiency.
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