Lunch in Louisiana

Soon after I crossed the Louisiana state line, traveling south on Route 425, I stopped In Bostrop for an oyster po’boy sandwich.   I’d been imagining that sandwich for quite a while.  Sam’s Southern Eatery looked to be the ideal place.  Old.  Their sign could have dated back to the 60’s.  I realized Sam might be long gone, but there were lots of cars in the parking lot.  When I entered I was slammed by with smell of hot seafood in deep fryers.  Fried shrimp baskets were their specialty.  I had my mind on oysters.

Back in the nineties a couple from Louisiana bought Fred’s Carry Outs across the street from the YSB office on Madison and made a go of it for only a short time.  They occasionally put a spicy shrimp po’boy on special and I inquired about oyster po’boys.  They reported they wouldn’t serve them because they just could not find good oysters in Illinois.

Around the holidays I brought them a container of oysters from Kroger, the kind they sell for Christmas and New Years’s Eve up north, and asked if they could Cajun them up for me in a po’boy.  The woman cooking laughed, declared it was the first time anyone had ever walked in with their own sandwich makings, but made it for me.  She said the oysters were pitiful.  Claimed you had to have oysters just shucked from the gulf for a proper oyster po’boy.  I thought it was delightful.  She suggested I get the real thing in Louisiana, and that was exactly what I was doing.

My order was up.  On the plate in front of me were light tan nuggets of fried oysters laid in a row between two sides of a  fresh baked baguette.  They were dressed with lettuce, tomato,and mayo.  On top of it I added several shakes of Crystal hot sauce. 

As soon as I bit into that sandwich from Sam’s Southern Eatery I understood what my old neighbors across the street meant when they said you had to have fresh shucked gulf oysters for a proper oyster po’boy.  If you find yourself in Louisiana, get yourself to a good place like Sam’s Southern Eatery in Bostrop.  You’ll understand what I’m talking about.   

Sam’s Southern Eatery was ringed with trees busting with beautiful white blooms.  It was the end of February in Louisiana and spring had arrived.  I asked the teen age girl who took my order what kind of trees those might be and she didn’t know.  Halfway through my po’boy I inquired of the nice old couple at a booth near me what those trees were and they smiled, looked at each other, and replied

“We can’t tell you, but aren’t they beautiful?”

I agreed that they were.

“You lived in Bostrop a long time?”

They laughed.

“All our lives,” the woman said.  “You’d think we’d know what those trees are don’t you?  I guess we just take them for granted.”

As I walked through the door on my way to the car a man approached the restaurant.

“Excuse me sir, do you know the name of these trees that are blooming here?”

“No idea.”

I concluded if the people of Bostrop could enjoy those trees for what they were, beautiful and in bloom, without knowing their name far be it from me to wonder any further.  Who does it matter?  I resolved to simply enjoy them,  just like I enjoyed that po'boy sandwich.

I got back in the Buick and headed for Natchez.