As stated in the previous Eating the Obvious entry on
Primanti Bros. in Pittsburgh, we at LocalEats delight in
finding restaurants off the beaten path and hidden gems frequented
by locals-in-the-know. Sometimes, though, the best way to orient
yourself in a new city is to visit the most iconic restaurant or
try the most obvious indigenous foodstuff. With Eating the Obvious
I'm exploring well-trafficked restaurants that are popular for a
reason and haven't let quality suffer by coasting on their
reputation. Today's completely obvious choice: Mother's in New
Orleans.
Pretty much everything is allowed in the Crescent City:
gambling, open containers, frontal nudity, Alabama fans, hurling
cabbages into crowds, and plenty of other acts pertaining to public
intoxication or done in the name of acquiring MORE BEADS. One thing
that is not tolerated however, is bad food. Any restaurant worth
its salt simply can't survive in a town with such a superior food
culture. So while there are plenty of restaurants that do indeed
thrive on reputation and draw huge crowds of tourists, there aren't
many that have slid into mediocrity or beyond. One restaurant in
particular that still has an intimidating line extending well
beyond the door is Mother's,
"home of the world's best baked ham."
How did I become yet another tourist in this line? On a recent
trip to NOLA revolving around a major sporting event hosted at the
Superdome, I found myself in a hotel downtown with a group of about
10 family members and no car. Left to my own devices, I'd avoid the
ballgame crowd and head uptown for a barbecue shrimp po' boy at Pascal's
Manale or make my way to Jacques-Imo's.
But with no transportation and a large group in tow, I became
resigned to the fact that most of dining on this particular trip
was going to happen downtown. We were a large group of tourists, so
we might as well not pretend otherwise. A mere block or so from the
hotel we spotted the line from Mother's and, after much
deliberation (hooray, group dynamics!), we decided to at least get
in line and see if it moved. And nary a better decision was made on
the trip.
After only about a 20 minute wait, it was our turn to step up to
the cafeteria-style counter and place our order. It's slightly
chaotic, so it's good to have most of your order figured out well
in advance, lest you get menu anxiety and just start pointing at
things. I couldn't resist trying what Mother's is best known for:
the Famous Ferdi Special po' boy. That would be Mother's signature
baked ham and roast beef topped with debris and gravy. For the
uninitiated, debris refers to the scraps of roast beef that
fall into the gravy while it's baking in the oven. And it is
divine. Two soft but crusty pieces of French bread complete this
behemoth of a sandwich. The group agreed that the food and
experience were well worth the wait. So Mother's qualifies as yet
another renowned restaurant that is popular for good reason and
able to maintain quality despite the volume. I somehow managed to
finish the decadent po'boy and chase it with a few bites of pecan
pie. In danger of slipping into a day-killing food coma, I had to
seek out the most delicious revitalizing drink known to man: the
frozen Irish Coffee at Molly's on the Market.
But that's an entirely different gustatory undertaking
altogether.
The Famous Ferdi Special
Ignatius J. Reilly: another victim of the New Orleans diet