by Franky Vivid
I would now be its high priest…
Okay, I know I’m prone to a little hyperbole. It’s been brought to my attention like no less than a trillion times. But this is not one of those times.
It is not an overstatement to say that what I’m about to state is an understatement. It isn’t possible to overstate it.
Killer Poboys is the best poboy I’ve had in New Orleans ever. Period.
I’ve eaten well this week (mL’ calls it a Boudin Booty), including a trip way out into the Bayou for some deep swamp cajun at Boutte’s. But the guys at Killer Poboys just blew my feeble mind into fragments of awesome shards and then reassembled them into a new man – a high priest of Poboyist Philosophy…my new religion. (TM, mo-fo).
It’s a simple concept so I won’t muddy it up by adding my zealous, verbose descriptions. Just go. Conti on the Lakeside of Bourbon. IN THE BACK OF ERIN ROSE. There’s no sign out front. Chef says it’s to “keep the riff raff out…not you guys”. Thanks, Chef…for not riffing my raff. I’ll be seeing you again and again. And again. Is it bad to be in love with a chef I just met? Or is it his Dark and Stormy Poboy? Yeah, I said Dark and Stormy Poboy – rum braised pork in a lime slaw with garlic aioli. If you go, order that with an “appetizer” of the Jameson Grilled Cheese. Holy damn.
The awesomeness of this place cannot be overstated. So there.