Off the Map: The Adult Version of Fish Stick Day

Shrimp Po Boy -- Domilise's Po Boys, New Orleans, LA

Domilise's Po Boys

In our Uber en route to our next Best Thing I Ever Ate location, Whiskey Sour remarks that we have set aside 90 minutes for lunch, which seems like overkill considering we are headed to a takeout sandwich joint.

"Po Boy Bar" Sounds Like an Ideal Business Model

Cut to: We arrive at Domilise's Po Boys, home of Alex Guarnaschelli's REGIONAL FAVORITE, the shrimp po boy, and we find a crowd loitering on the surrounding sidewalks, spilling out from the counters within.

What Is This, Free Po Boy Day?!

"Never mind. Ninety minutes may not be enough," Whiskey Sour says as we weasel our way inside to take a number. We are number 8, and they are currently serving number 44.

This Sign Did Not Look Like a Bad Ophthalmologist Chart in Person

"What do you think they go up to?" Vodka asks.

"Hopefully not 100," Whiskey Sour answers.

Could've Used Some of These Beauties at Galatoire's

As we wait, we note that the workers behind the counter, building dozens upon dozens of (mostly shrimp) po boys, are not what we had pictured. 

A Cluster of Condiments

More akin to the cheery demeanor of your elementary school cafeteria ladies than to harried workers at a consistently-packed hole-in-the-wall restaurant, they are a comforting presence in their array of hairnets.

Does This Place Also Serve Chocolate Milk?

Before long, we see that two stools have opened up at the bar (yes, there is a bar), so Vodka rushes off to claim them. 

Bar-Slash-Accountant's Desk-Slash-Merch Stand, but Bar Nonetheless

Feeling sheepish for squatting at the bar without drinking, she scans the liquor menu, which consists of beer, bloody marys, and, smudged at the bottom of the chalkboard menu, a hastily scrawled "chardonnay." Not finding any of these options pleasing, she asks for two bottles of water and a diet root beer, merely so the slightly surly bartender doesn't yell at her.

The First Time Vodka Has EVER Ordered a Soda at a Bar

After a seemingly interminable amount of time, our number is called, and Whiskey Sour returns to the bar clutching a paper plate of one large shrimp po boy cut into four pieces. After a solid 45-minute wait, the sandwich itself took approximately 3 minutes for the cafeteria ladies to construct, so we are not exactly sure what warranted such a delay between numbers (which thankfully go up to 50, not 100).

McDonald's Drive Thru, This Is Not

The sandwich itself is every bit as amazing as Alex Guarnaschelli had promised. The shrimp are small, slightly sweet, and perfectly fried, and there are A LOT of them. 

A Non-Shrimpy Shrimp Po Boy

They spill out the sides of the sandwich before being guided swiftly into our mouths. The accompanying sauce brings the ideal amount of zip to the proceedings, and all of the components are enveloped by a truly excellent roll.

These po boys really are THAT good.

Splendor in a Bite

At first, we're unsure whether to give the sandwich 4 or 5 stars. But after we a) wish for another sandwich as soon as we finish the first, b) continue to think about it for the remainder of the day, and c) compare it to other po boys (namely Mother's) and find Domilise's to be significantly better, we decide it really does deserve the 5 star designation.

And Considering Vodka's Constant Level of Impatience, This Distinction Really Is a Feat

While Vodka is put off with the amount of waiting involved in order to procure the delicacy, she would come back at time that is not LUNCH on a SATURDAY (so our timing choice, in retrospect, was not Domilise's fault). Also, as we leave, we are genuinely thanked for coming multiple times by the owners and the once surly-seeming bartender, further heightening our good cheer about the place.

Not Quite Beating the Crowd

We exit Domilise's approximately 80 minutes after we arrived with a solid 10 minutes to spare on our itinerary, thus proving that sometimes, cafeteria-style fried shrimp is worth the wait... and the weight.

Domilise's Po Boys's Shrimp Po Boy: 5 stars*

*Certifiable Best Thing We Ever Ate

Off the Map: A Rose by Any Other Name IS NOT ROSE

Roast Duck -- Upperline, New Orleans, LA

Upperline

We had such high hopes for Upperline. Boasting an owner with a distinct resemblance, at least in personality and wardrobe, to our beloved Elaine Stritch, we Uber to the place expecting an experience.

One That Is More of an Upper Than a Downer

 Unfortunately, we got one, but not in the way we were anticipating.

In Other Words, a Downer

We are here to eat Simon Majumbar's CRAZY GOOD roast duck from Best Thing I Ever Ate, but since it is our actual dinner time, we're going for the full shebang. 

Let's Pretend We Haven't Been Eating Nonstop for the Past 12 Hours

After being seated behind a table of nuns, we order a sidecar (Whiskey Sour) and a glass of rose (Vodka). And this is where the trouble begins.

Perhaps We Should Have Been Tipped Off by the Alligator Manning the Bar

Believe it or not, for all the griping Vodka and Ginger have done over the years, we very, VERY rarely send drinks back. Food? Yes. Checks? Absolutely. But booze? Booze is usually the saving grace of any meal.

Not at Upperline. 

You Call This... Rose, Do You?

As soon as our waiter returns with our glasses, Vodka eyes the deep ruby color with obvious suspicion.

"It's not white zin," the waiter says, sounding not nearly as comforting as intended.

Words One Never Wants to Hear After Ordering Rose: "White Zin"

Vodka accepts this fact as we order fried green tomatoes, fried oysters, garlic shrimp, and the roast duck. 

A Nice, Light Meal

When In Doubt, Fry It

Once the waiter departs, she takes one sip, and then another. She wills herself to find it progressively more pleasing, but this glass is more "wine cooler" than it is "rose." Sheepishly, she gestures for the waiter to return and, with apology, announces that she cannot drink this wine.

"Fine, get sauvignon blanc," he says.

"I don't like that," Vodka says. "I don't like white."

"Rose is white," he announces, his once genial tone now dripping with condescension.

Um, no buddy, it's not. Rose is rose. And if there is one thing Vodka can guarantee she has drank more of than you over the years, it is rose.

And Thanks to New Orleans Open Container Policies, This Includes Rose To-Go

Vodka settles for a glass of pinot noir, and we begin picking at the day's fourteenth loaf of bread along with our first courses. Both of our appetizers can be described as "fried" -- that's the extent of their memorability. 

"Drowning in Sauce" Would Be Another Description

Similarly, Vodka's shrimp can be summed up as "they're shrimp." 

They Tasted About as Bland as They Look

Granted, we have already eaten five other meals today, so perhaps our enthusiasm for shoving calories in our mouths is waning, but Upperline is not so much resulting in a round of applause as a slow clap.

So Far, Our Highest Compliment Is Over the Preponderance of Tiny Dishes

For Vodka, it is a pleasant change of pace to have someone else willingly order the Best Thing I Ever Ate dish, as she is generally not a huge fan of duck, while Whiskey Sour is. 

Convenient, Since Another Food Vodka Despises Is Sweet Potatoes

The duck itself is very moist and juicy, and Whiskey Sour finds it to be among some of the best she has had. But Vodka, still annoyed about the wine interaction, not that into the duck, and generally underwhelmed by the whole experience, debates the appropriate star rating.

We Haven't Mentioned Our Desserts, Which Sums Up Our Commentary on Them

A Crumble That Our Waiter May or May Not Try to Pass Off as Rose

"If someone were coming to New Orleans to eat duck, I'd recommend this place," Whiskey Sour states."

"That would be a very specific request," Vodka points out. 

And Where, Pray Tell, Would You Send Someone Looking to Eat Cornish Game Hen?

Toward the end of our meal, Upperline's own Elaine Stritch wanders back to our table and asks, "Can I bring you some more hot bread?"

It's Not Like the First Round Was Very Impressive

And for once in our lives, we turn it down.

Upperline's Roast Duck: 2 stars

Off the Map: Diet French Fries Without the Diet

Pommes Souffles -- Galatoire's, New Orleans, LA

Galatoire's

If Bayona is a quiet enclave within the nonsense of the French Quarter, Galatoire's is the opposite. Galatoire's is the indoor version of the French Quarter under the guise of a classy French restaurant.

Chaos, Thy Name Is Galatoire

In fact, when we mosey through the Bourbon Street door under the sign labeled "Galatoire's," we are greeted by a cacophony of sound coming from the nearby bar. 

"Are We in the Right Place?" "WHAT?!"

Vodka and Whiskey Sour attempt to check in and are told that we have a reservation at the "original" Galatoire's, which is apparently nextdoor and requires a ride on an elevator.

"Are You Okay with Going There?" "IS IT QUIETER?!"

Once we make it through the maze of the adjoining restaurants (hindered by the fact that Vodka's two Bayona martinis were not exactly "weak"), we are seated along the wall of a room that could pass for an old-fashioned stuffy French bistro. 

Well, Not So Much "Bistro" as Just "Old-Fashioned"

We are here to eat the pommes souffles, as recommended by John Besh on the OLD SCHOOL episode of Best Thing I Ever Ate. But despite the fact that we ate a full meal just prior to this, we ask for not only TWO orders of the pommes souffles, but a bowl of gumbo (Whiskey Sour) and turtle soup (Vodka).

It's Vodka's Afternoon of Eating Politically Incorrect Dishes

We are also provided with a loaf of bread which, due to the alcohol sloshing around in our systems, we quickly mop up and eagerly agree to another... which we also eat. And then an additional one

Now You See It...

...Now You Don't

Based on some innocuous exchange with our server, Vodka quips, "I think our waitress is a weirdo."

"I'm sure she feels the same about us," Whiskey Sour retorts. "We just ate three loaves of bread."

And Not for Nothing, but the Bread Wasn't Even That Good

Overall, our respective soups are varying degrees of "fine." 

To Our Bread-Laden Palates, They Taste Remarkably Similar

They are at least more pleasing than the pommes souffles which are simply not good. We're not sure how it's possible to so epicly screw up French fries, but Galatoire's has figured it out. 

Two Plates of DISASTER

While we had initially asked for our own orders to help soak up the day's booze (as we have now moved onto rose and chardonnay), the reason we end up chowing down on a full week's worth of bread is that these pommes souffles will not get the job done.

"Hello, Postmates? Can You Deliver McDonald's French Fries to Galatoire's?"

They're essentially all potato skin without any actual potato, sopping in grease and tasting mostly of oil. They're lacking in both salt and crunch, and taste like what someone who is on a diet would order when having a craving for French fries (except, of course, for the matter that they are composed primarily of grease).

The Greasy Aftermath

As retribution for our pommes souffles displeasure, Vodka grabs a full handful of mints on our way out, which do little to counteract the unfathomable amount of garlic, oil, and alcohol coating our breath. 

Bourbon Street Peacock Strut

We thus exit the French Quarter a little worse off than how we entered, which is our surest sign yet that we are doing New Orleans right.

Galatoire's Pommes Souffle: 2 stars

Off the Map: A Bowl of Soup a Day Keeps the Vampires Away

Garlic Soup -- Bayona, New Orleans, LA

Bayona

If there is one thing Vodka and Whiskey Sour failed to predict in their many iterations of their New Orleans itinerary, it is how UTTERLY FREEZING they would be after a historical boat ride up and down the Mississippi.

Where's That Stifling NOLA Humidity We Keep Hearing About?

Luckily for Bayona, theirs is the next stop on our eating tour, and we are here to consume Simon Majumbar's favorite garlic soup from the WITH GARLIC episode of Best Thing I Ever Ate. 

Please Tell Us You Have Heat

While soup is not generally something Vodka craves, being that her body temperature is lower than it has been throughout the entire New York City winter, it is a welcome vehicle for warmth.

Thank Goodness We're Not Eating Ceviche Right Now

Because we haven't eaten in a solid two hours, along with the soup, we order the veal cutlet, the shrimp and grits, and two ample cocktails: the Bayona martini for Vodka and the Driving Glove for Whiskey Sour.

The Most Surefire Way to Increase One's Body Temperature

Our frozen fingertips are pleased that the soup lands in front of us almost immediately, and it does a swell job of thawing our insides. 

It Tasted Better Than It Looked, Okay?

While garlic soup does not sound like something that would necessarily be pleasing, this variety is shockingly pleasant. In the most surefire sign of our culinary pleasure, we begin sighing contentedly after the first spoonful. 

Our Vocal Cords Tend to Reveal Our True Feelings on Any Culinary Matter

Sprinkled with a solid helping of crunchy garlic, the soup has much more nuance of flavor than we had been anticipating. (Though it also causes us to exhale straight garlic for the rest of the day.) 

Shocking That the Entire Place Does Not Reek of Garlic Breath

Both of our entrees are also quite tasty (read: warm), but the thing we find most lovely about Bayona is, despite the chaotic surroundings happening directly outside, it is a welcome, quiet refuge from the French Quarter shenanigans.

Whiskey Sour's First Shrimp Head Experience

Vodka's Politically Incorrect Meat

Scenic Patio Which We're Too Cold to Make Use Of

Still relishing the novelty of New Orleans's open container policies, Vodka asks for a second Bayona martini to go, and we stumble back into the chaos warmer, drunker, and thus significantly more in line with the riffraff surrounding us.

The French Quarter's Version of "Water"

Bayona's Garlic Soup: 4 stars