Two Girls, Four Wheels

http://www.2girls4wheels.com/
On Facebook

Food truck season is here!
The office building where I work is also occupied by three or four other companies. A management recruiter, a medical billing company and a hospitality company, (I think they manage hotels). This means that our building holds hundreds of bored and mostly hunched over cubicle workers. Often at lunch time on nice days many of the workers escape for a spell and venture out into what is known as 'outdoors'. In other words it is a food truck's dream come true. Which begs the question, do food trucks actually dream? I'm no mechanic or metaphysicist but I think that it is more likely that they don't.
There had been little printed signs up in the hallways for several days. Coming soon, one we hadn't been visited by before.
2Girls 4Wheels. The sign promised St. Louis style food. If you don't know what that is, well shame on you. It means exactly:
1. Meat
2. Potatoes
3. Fried ravioli
4. Gooey Butter cake.
5. Square, thin crust pizza with Provel cheese.
It turns out they didn't offer #5, which was fine with me.  They didn't offer #3, the locally ubiquitous appetizer, fried ravioli either. I think I know why, my theory has to do with mobile kitchens on pitted and frequently stop and go trafficked city streets and a huge sloshing vat of 360 degree cooking oil. They don't offer French fries either. I bet I'm right about this.
For meat they offered midwestern favorites, pulled pork, St. Louis style cheese steaks (with provel), chili and Budweiser braised brats. For sides they listed baked beans, 'parmesian brussel sprouts' and Billy Goat Chips.
The chips are a locally made brand, an offshoot product of a thriving downtown restaurant.
As I stepped up to the truck, the only customer there at the early time, I locked into my head what I would order. The truck was not huge as food trucks go, nor terribly new. I got the feeling that this operation was still new, still working their way up the food truck hierarchy.
"Pulled pork and the Billy Goat Chips." I called.
One of the 2Girls wrote down the order and called it back to the other of the 2Girls. The speaker mounted to the exterior of the truck was blasting Simon and Garfunkel. Odd, I thought, I like S&G as much as the next middle aged white guy, I'd just never heard it 'blasted', nor thought it ever needed to be. "Bridge over Troubled Waters" just doesn't improve that much with higher volume.
I told the 2Girls that I had a question about the chips. I was sure it was one that they'd never heard before. They answered before I asked though, like they had heard it before, "Yes they're made from real Billy Goat." They laughed, I wasn't amused that my joke had been predicted. Never one to get cut off at the comic knees like that I spat out: "Organic and free ranged Billy Goat?" 
They handed me a tiny brown paper bag with the Billy Goat logo on it. Just to make sure I checked the ingredients. They had lied, billy goat was NOT on the list, just potatoes. I didn't let them see how disappointed I was though.
I was starting to be concerned for them though, after a few minutes I was still the only one at the truck. They asked me if any signs got posted ahead of their visit, I assured them that there were plenty.
I was concerned because I like small businesses to succeed. I felt an unrealistic and irrational  sense of responsibility being their only customer at the moment, I mentally urged others to show up. Yeah, that was my contribution, I thought positive thoughts.
Soon enough they handed me the foil-topped paper bowl and I went on my merry way. Fortunately they had parked near my favorite lunch spot, my car. I had my own drink, a bottle of water, a roll of paper towels in the passenger seat, and my book.
I couldn't read while I ate the sandwich, it was bulging with meat and slaw and was definitely a two-handed meal. So I turned up the radio to 107.3 and rocked to the real classics as I chomped into the big sandwich. It was thick and meaty, and topped with a pretty good slaw. The pork was moist and smokey without being sickly sweet. The kaiser roll was soft, but dense enough to keep it all together.
The chips were pretty good, but hardly gourmet. Nothing fancy at all. I had bibbed up with a paper towel hanging from my top shirt button, but didn't ever drip any on myself. Mostly because I kept the back side of the sandwich in the paper bowl, using it like a wrapper. Stuff fell out for sure, but only into the bowl.
There was much more there than I usually have for lunch so I didn't quite finish it. I had plenty though and was quite pleased with the flavors and textures.
Summary:
Like I said, nothing fancy, nothing exotic, but that's to be expected from a joint that boasts St. Louis style food. It's the midwest, the extreme left edge of the rust belt, a city that served as the gateway to the rugged western frontier. It's not about frilly pastries delicate spices and sliver-thin seafood. It's a meat and potatoes city.
The price wasn't too bad, I paid eight and a half bucks for the sandwich and chips. I've paid more for less. The 2Girls were friendly and efficient and after I left, quite busy. There was a twenty person line standing there as I walked back through the lot. Apparently my positive thinking had paid off for the 2Girls.
I like food trucks, I like the very notion of food trucks. It's a great way to start up in the retail food business. All you need is a couple of solid, portable recipes with limited ingredients and variations, a truck, an attractive paint scheme and a working knowledge of the city. It's a great small business. For a cubicle-bound patron they provide a pleasant relief from the local joints. It's like importing a new restaurant for a day.
Today's trucks are a long step up from the old roach coaches that once hustled bad hotdogs and greasy nachos. This truck is not gourmet, it's not snooty, and there's no 'chef' on board, but it serves up some pretty good food.
Kudos 2Girls!

* Please forgive the lousy pictures, I forgot to take my Nikon with me and had to use my sucky cellular telephone. It takes pictures about about as well as my toaster plays DVD's.

Go Gyro Go (Food Truck)

http://www.gogyrogostl.com/

On Facebook

I can’t say I’ve ever actually had a gyro. Not that I have anything against them, I just don’t recall ever having one.  

Growing up in the lovely, rural, slightly inbred backwaters of western Kentucky, there weren’t a lot of Greek people, and few if any of their traditions or inventions, like gyros, urns, or western civilization. Unlike Greece though, western Kentucky has evolved a little since the Bronze Age, adopting certain modern innovations like electricity and regular bathing.

Somewhere along the way, in ancient times, the Greeks invented the gyro, a type of bread-wrapped working man’s meal containing meat, produce, cheese and yogurt.

In some places in the U.S. these things are very popular. In other places they are heavily Americanized. In a few other places, like my first hometown, Cadiz Ky., they exist only in a slightly modified form, eschewing the lamb and goat products in favor of bovine byproducts, and replacing the arrogant, snooty, yogurt based sauce with a more basic tomato-pepper sauce. Instead of feta, real American pasteurized, processed cheese product is used, as God intended. Oh yeah, it’s not even called a gyro in Cadiz, it’s called a ‘taco’.

The Truck:

Go Gyro Go is owned by Nick and Linda Cowlin. Nick’s grandparents are Greek, they hail from the small island of Zakynthos (pronounced Zxzkntthhss). Linda is described on their web page as “first generation Greek-American” and is by far the prettier of the two, Greek or not.

The truck, outfitted by Nick himself, has been on the road since mid-2011.

It showed up at my workplace right on time, with a three person crew. I immediately recognized Linda from the website; I didn’t really pay much attention to the two dudes. I’m sure they were quite handsome and worked pretty hard.

Linda manned the window, taking orders and sweating a lot, though not the least bit offensively. This heat wave must be brutal on food truck workers, crammed in a hot, oven’ed and grilled motor coach in near triple digit temperatures. Seeing the crew sweat like that made me glad I went to college and established a cushy indoor career.

The paint job on the truck was blue on white, like the Greek flag. The lettering was faux-Greek, using a heavily angular script just like that used on every fraternity house across the U.S.

The aroma rising from the truck was inviting. Inside, the spiced meat was being freshly grilled. On the window counter sat a jug of fresh lemonade and a jar of pickled peppers.

The line was quite long when I got there, twelve or more people lined up. None of my immediate co-workers though. Rumor had it that someone among them had discovered a lunch-provided meeting of some kind and most of the folks in my village of cubicles hunted it down. Business meetings are usually terribly tedious, bordering on mental menstruation, brain cells actually dying and sloughing off. Add a free lunch to a meeting though and all bets are off. I was busy though, I needed to get back to my cube to move some more big, ugly upgrade files around from server to server. (not as easy as it sounds)

The Food:

I was curious to hear how everyone would pronounce the word ‘gyro’, I’ve heard it several ways. Hi-ro, gy-ro, guy-ro,  even he-ro. I listened closely to those in front of me and ended up ordering it like they did “A classic, please.”

The classic gyro was billed as: “A blend of beef, lamb and spices, served in warm, grilled pita bread with fresh tomato, red onion, feta cheese, parsley and tzatziki sauce.”

The classic cost $7.50 and came with regular, generic potato chips. I didn’t add a drink, though the lemonade looked pretty tempting. It only took about five minutes from order to delivery. The truck had a second window for pick-ups, a good idea, it kept Linda free to take more orders without having to share a cramped window.

They wrapped the gyro in a foil diaper and put that into a Styrofoam box. I marched right back up to the cube, without delay.

I picked at the dangling meat, thinly sliced and a little dry looking. It wasn’t dry to the taste though. The spice mix they used made it taste a little like jerky, though much more tender. The veggies were fresh, especially the tomatoes. It’s been a lousy garden year here and good looking tomatoes like these have been rare.

The pita wrapper was thicker than a soft taco, and very soft and pliable. The most prominent aspect of the wrap however, was the sauce.

Tzatzki looks like sour cream, but it isn’t. Traditionally tzatzki (pronounced ‘Tzzttzzkky’) is made from strained yogurt, cucumbers, garlic, olive oil and dill. It is nearly always served cold, like sour cream.

The taste is also kind of like sour cream but with a not-unpleasant added tartness. Atop all that was a sprinkling of feta cheese, which in taste is a little like mild blue cheese. Feta is a protected blend in the Euro zone since 2002. According to the Encyclopedia Galactica, or as it is more commonly known, Wikipedia: ". . .only those cheeses produced in a traditional way in some areas of Greece (mainland and the island of Lesbos), and made from sheep milk, or from a mixture of sheep and goats’ milk (up to 30%) of the same area, may bear the name "feta"

And this matters a lot since it afforded me the opportunity to write the word ‘Lesbos’ for the seventh time today.

The meat was very tender, the sauce, not as strong or bitter as I’d imagined it might be. There was certainly a tartness in the sauce and cheese, and a peppery taste from the meat, but not too much of any of it. I wolfed it down messily and even picked at the crumbs in the box. For my taste there was, due to the messiness, not the taste, a little too much sauce. And the sauce was all located at the top so it was a little uneven in the eating. One bite would be all sauce and cheese, the next meat and tomatoes. It was certainly pretty laid out like that, but I think next time I’ll stir it all up before eating it.

Just as I was finishing, some of the folks from the meeting came back, Doug included. He had a Styrofoam box, identical to the one my gyro came in. No one else had such a box.

“I thought you were going to have lunch at the meeting.” I said.

“I did, two rounds.” He answered, settling into his chair.

“So this is your third lunch today?”

“Sort of, it’s my third lunch in the past hour.”

Doug, usually accused as being the fastest eating mammal on the planet, also eats a lot. He’s a big boy and burns lots of calories coming up with really stupid jokes all day. I have to give him credit this time though, he didn’t eat his classic gyro very fast at all.

Summary:

I have to say I was quite pleased with my gyro. It was spicy, but not too much so, it introduced me to a new cultural experience. I’m not a big fan of living food, like yogurt, but with this meal, I got it. It made sense, tastes and textures blended well, and it was overall, quite pleasing indeed. Doug liked it as well, even as a third lunch. The price was dead-on, maintaining the below-ten-dollar arbitrary bar. There' was a tip jar in the truck's window, it was filling up pretty fast, a sure indicator of appropriately priced meals.

Go Gyro Go’s interpretation of the gyro was quite satisfying. I can’t tell you how it compares universally, since I’m from Kentucky and grew up with only the Mexican version of the wrapped meal, but this thing was for me, really, really good, surprisingly so. They got it all right, Α to Ω.

Zia's on the Hill (Food Truck)

(314) 776-0020

http://www.zias.com

This truck, according to my delightful, witty, intelligent and handsome boss, Larry (not his real name), is the best of the bunch. He recommended a dish and apologized for not being available for this visit. He claimed he had a ‘business meeting’ which in management terminology could mean just about anything.

The Truck:

Brightly colored, like other contemporary trucks. This one had the rear door open, to ventilate I imagine, it was a rather hot day. They've been rolling for a little less than a year now. They're an extension of a well established and popular place downtown. Inside the truck was dark, the two men manning it busy and sweaty. The smell was heavenly. Garlic, oil, mmmmmm….  A line formed quickly.

I spotted two ladies from work, Loretta and Lee, whose names I was asked not to mention, so I won’t. They had been to the truck before and seemed rather positive about it. A few minutes later Doug and Rob showed up.

The posted menus were clear and to the point, everything under ten dollars. Also clearly noted was ‘cash only’. I was prepared for this, I’d done some research. Photos of the truck on the interwebs showed this. I know ATM/Credit cards are somewhat of a hassle, but even my wife takes cards. She has a “Square” device for her smartphone, the same device 'Completely Sauced' used. It only takes a moment. Sure there’s a cut to the bank and a tiny one to Square, but the fact that lots of people don’t carry around much cash anymore makes it worth it in volume. Just sayin’. Yes there's an ATM in one of our buildings, so I'm told, it's just a matter of who you want to pass off the inconvenience/cost to.

The Food:

Larry had recommended the portabella mushroom ravioli. I decided to test his judgment. Zia’s truck offered salads, sandwiches and a couple other pastas. Loretta, (I’m sorry, I meant to say ‘one lady I talked to’.) said she’d had the ravioli before and was pleased with it but was going to try the penne primavera this time. Lee (ooops! ‘another lady’)  said she wanted the Chicago sandwich.

I stuck to my plan, not always a good idea, and charged ahead. The line moved quickly, orders and names were taken and those who were waiting formed a small group under a tree. The wait was not bad, five minutes or so.

The lidded plastic, earth-killing plate was very hot, the proprietor had warned me about it though. I headed alone back upstairs to my lovely and comfortable cubicle. Doug and Rob were still  in line.

I took off the lid. It was very, very pretty. The large raviolis, five of them were rather dull in color, but the sautéed tomatoes and asparagus made the serving pop with bright, fresh color. There was also some melted cheese and a layer of garlic-laden oil. The cheese was fine, and though the oil tasted good, made it taste Mediterranean. . . well, more on this later.

Rob and Doug came in a few minutes into my meal. Doug went through his cannelloni like a chainsaw through a kitten. He said that while pretty good, with a slightly sweet filling, the serving box was a problem. The steep sides kept him from being able to cut the big noodles very easily. He added that he was tempted just to eat the box. I didn't doubt this.

Rob had ordered the penne primavera as well. He said his was spicier than expected, but very good. There were no significant complaints from either of them.

I finished mine up, pushing aside most of the asparagus. It wasn’t bad, but I just don’t see the fuss about this particular veggie. It has very little taste, less so than a green bean, but top TV chef’s use it like it’s something spectacular. For me, it’s like artichoke, I just don’t get the ‘wow’ factor. I have to say though, the asparagus and tomatoes were sautéed perfectly. The asparagus still had some snap and the tomatoes had sweetened without turning to mush.  The ravioli was plenty-stuffed and perfectly cooked. The portabella shined, but didn’t overpower. 

I headed over to the nearby area of cubes to visit those ladies I mentioned earlier. I know them, but not very well, so I approached with caution and timidly announced my intentions. They seemed pleased, maybe even flattered, but I may have read it wrong, they may actually have been disgusted and angry, I don’t read people very well.

Though Loretta one of the ladies, the one who likes dogs, was slowly picking at her pasta dish, she said she was quite pleased with it. “It could use some more veggies though.”

Lee The other lady liked her sandwich except for the fact that the sauce had completely saturated the bottom side, turning it into a fork-food.

I asked the lady who likes dogs if she was bothered by the puddle of oil forming in the gutter of her plate.

I asked her this because mine had done the same thing.

“I think maybe that’s just an Italian food thing.” She replied. The other lady jumped in to praise the side salad, with its sweet and sour dressing.

They had no harsh remarks, pretty much just nice comments. I on the other hand was struggling to be positive. My meal had tasted fine. If anything it was a bit garlic-heavy, something I didn’t actually notice immediately. My real problem was the amount of oil. I had tilted my plate after finishing and a puddle of one or more tablespoons of oil formed quickly. I know the garlic oil sauce was supposed to add flavor, and it certainly did, but unfortunately as the oil cooled, which it always does and rather quickly in a flimsy plastic dish, it thickened and took on a filmy, greasy texture. Even a few hours later I was feeling oiliness in my mouth and oddly enough, my whole body. About that same time the garlic started becoming prevalent as an aftertaste.

I had mentioned this to Doug. Later, he reported back that Doreen, another lady whose  name I did not exactly get permission to use, said she’d noticed the same thing.

I’m no low-brow, canned spaghetti-eating, Italian food n00b*, I’ve been around. I’ve had lots of great Italian food. I don’t recall an overdose of oil being an issue anywhere else. I love olive oil and garlic, I fry my eggs in the stuff. But even Florence Henderson could cook an entire skillet full of chicken with only a tablespoon of oil.

Summary:
Filling, satisfying, and relatively cheap, my dish only cost seven bucks. Nothing they had was over ten, unless you added sides. (They offered fries, oddly enough.)
The comment from the lady who likes dogs got me thinking. There's quite a buzz among food reviewers when it comes to the subject of authenticity. I don't mind 'authentic' food, as long as it's good. If it isn't good, I don't give a rolling rip if it is authentic. 'Authentic' pizza, a Greek invention, would not satisfy the palate of most people who currently eat pizza. I could take you down south and hunt down several fine burgoos, all of them 'authentic' but no two the same. I've been to New Orleans, tried several Jambalaya's there, guess what? They're all authentic, yet all different. Some I liked, some I didn't. So maybe Italian food is supposed to drip oil like the Exxon Valdez, and maybe lots of people like it that way, but I don't. The fact that this may be a thing, an 'authentic' version, simply doesn't impress me.
When Larry got back from his so-called 'meeting' he asked my opinion. I told him about the oil, he laughed. "Am I the only one that tips the plate back to drink the oil like kids do with cereal-milk?" I'm pretty sure he was kidding. Maybe not.

Overall the food tasted good, better than a fast food burger, better than some local restaurants. Will I go back? Probably, but I'll order something else. The consensus was, among my co-workers, that it was pretty good.

A special thanks to all my friends at work who contributed to this review, willingly or not.  Note: All quotes contained herein are approximated. I do take notes but my handwriting is horrific. 

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*n00b: (Urban Dictionary) An inexperienced and/or ignorant or unskilled person.

Completely Sauced

On Facebook

I finally caved to considerable pressure. Pressure from my lovely wife Angel, and oddly enough, my boss, who I will refer to as ‘Larry’.

A few months back fliers started showing up on the doors at work for food trucks. About once per week a different rolling kitchen would park in front of our office complex and serve out meals. The fliers usually listed the limited menu as well as the prices. One of the trucks I’d recognized as being a competitor on Food Network’s “Food Truck Wars” a show I was quite fond of.  It was a competition between modern, upscale food trucks. They’d load up, drive across the country and see who could make the most money in two or three days in cities unfamiliar to them. Each week one truck would get eliminated and would be sent home.
That was my first real schooling on this new wave of food truckery. My only previous experiences with rolling food vendors were the old 'roach coaches', mostly loud, greasy rattletraps serving out nasty burgers, stale sandwiches and dubious tacos. They also served horrific, burnt and probably slightly dieseled coffee. In other words I had no romantic notions of food trucks. This show altered my perspective. Clean, fresh ingredients, upscale offerings, reasonably priced.

I mentioned the fliers to Angel one night, she asked if I was going to try them and perhaps review them. I said I would, but I kept forgetting about them on the days they were there. Though I go outside everyday at lunchtime, I’m not usually thinking of food. Also the trucks tend to park in front of the main building, not our leased annex to the side, so I wouldn’t casually see them and suddenly remember.

"So what do you do at lunch if you're not thinking about food when you go out?” you’re asking. I can hear it.

I go to the gym and work out, lift weights, treadmill a bit.. then punch the heavy bag for a while. In my mind anyhow. Actually I go to my car and read. I am exercising, just a different organ. In my car I keep a stash of cheese nabs* and little boxes of raisins. That’s lunch. I don’t have to think about food at lunchtime since the car’s already loaded with enough to get me by.

“You sit alone in your car for an hour, read and wolf down cheap snacks?”

Yeah I do. I’m an asocial introvert (socially diseased?) and an avid  reader, you should know this already.

Anyway, Larry asked me about the food trucks a few weeks ago, if I've ever reviewed them. I answered no, I keep forgetting. I knew that he was aware of my blog though this was the first time I recall him ever mentioning it. We're professionals, we try to keep our work and our enjoyable pursuits completely separate.

He mentioned it a couple more times over the next few weeks, same answer.

Then on Wednesday he tasked me. He tells me about the one coming in on Thursday and practically insists that I try it and write it up. I say okay, insisting that he and  Doug, also in earshot, go along and offer their opinions.

Larry, to my surprise says “Okay.” Then I offer the disclaimer.

“This will happen on our free, non-billable, personal time. Anything I write up, or anything we say will be considered social, not professional. Any mammal I may compare you to in my written review reflects my observations of you as a private person, not a professional or co-worker.”

He looked confused. Doug piped up. “I’m a star-nosed mole!” which apparently required more explanation. “The fastest eating mammal in the world!” He added, extending two, large, mole-like thumbs-up.  Larry looked at me. “From the time a star nosed mole comes in contact with an object till he decides it is edible and is actually consuming it is around 150 milliseconds. Doug eats just about as fast, it’s kind of disgusting, but also rather fascinating.” I explain.
Doug isn’t ashamed or upset by this.

The Place.

It’s a food truck, in our parking lot. Professionally painted, in rather good shape. 'Completely Sauced' has been rolling for just a few months, since April I believe. I don’t know for sure where the name comes from and in my humble (but usually correct) opinion, it doesn't really reflect the truck’s menu which boasts mostly Cajun/Creole fare. Maybe there’s a culinary connection I’m just not aware of. When I think of Cajun/Creole I tend to think of spices, not sauces. Maybe I’m missing something.

There were, as best as I could tell, two people in the truck, one large, fetching woman at the window and a garrulous, energetic young man assembling the food. Both seemed to know what they were doing and were quick, attentive, upbeat and professional. No complaints whatsoever with the personnel. From the middle of the line I flashed my magic debit card as if to ask if they would take it. She caught the subtle gesture and nodded, without skipping a beat as she was taking another person’s order.

There was a sandwich board on the ground in front of the truck. Doug, Larry and I studied our options.

The Food.

Red beans and rice

My strikingly handsome, highly intelligent boss ordered the red beans and rice. A bit bland I thought, but he’s much smarter and better looking than me**  so I didn't openly question his choice. Doug ordered the jambalaya. These items were dipped up out of a warming vat and served almost immediately. Doug added Tabasco sauce before he even tasted it. Doug, besides eating really, really fast also hot-sauces up nearly everything he eats. I imagine that he’s in a constant state of searing acid reflux, which would help explain his occasionally-volatile temperament.
My order, a shrimp po’ boy, house-style, dressed with remoulade and slaw, (referred to on the menu as an 'Oxymoron' (Jumbo-shrimp, get it?) would take a few minutes I was told, since they don’t pre-cook the shrimp. This impressed me. The old roach coaches would precook everything, sometimes several weeks in advance. The wait was not terribly long, I snapped photos of Doug and Larry’s food while I waited. I had to get to Doug’s plate pretty quickly.  I think I might actually need a faster camera, one of those high speed jobs that you can photograph a bullet in mid flight with. Doug eats fast.

Jambalaya

They called my order, we headed back to the office as there was no seating anywhere near the truck.

I found an empty cubicle and sat my plate down. Larry and Doug had been sampling theirs, Doug’s was all gone before we even got inside the building. His face was red and sweaty from the spicy heat.

I sat at the cube and Larry hovered over me.

I examined the sandwich. Red and green cabbage in the simple slaw, a dollop of sauce, just a dollop, and five grilled jumbo shrimp. The bread was very pretty. Fresh, crunchy crust, soft, fluffy and snow white on the inside. The shrimp was spiced, at first I thought a bit too heavily, but it turned out to be pretty good. It made me sweat a little, but not enough to cause pain or abdominal discomfort. The slaw was not strong, frankly, it might as well have just been shredded cabbage. It may have had flavor, but if it did it was stifled by the shrimp spice and the remoulade.  It wasn’t bad at all, just lacked its own distinct personality. It didn’t make the sandwich less tasty though. The bed of potato chips underneath was fine, nothing fancy.

Shrimp po' boy

Larry had said he didn’t like spicy food very much, and his choice bore that out. Red beans and rice are neither very strong by themselves in any way, you have to add heavy spices to make them tasty at all. He said that the beans were indeed a bit bland, not a rousing compliment from someone who openly claims to not like spicy food.

Doug says his was pretty spicy, but not too much, and that even with the additional Tabasco sauce it wasn’t too hot for him. I actually think Doug has a culinary death wish.

Overall, Larry didn’t seem terribly impressed,  I’m quite familiar with him being not terribly impressed, I’ve worked for him for three years. I asked him if given the choice between this meal and a fast-food burger which he would choose. “It depends on which fast food burger we’re talking about.”  Ouch.

Doug claimed to be pleased and even considered stepping out and grabbing a po’ boy like mine.  I don’t recall if he actually did or not, I might not have seen it anyhow since I blinked.

Summary:

I was quite happy with my sandwich. The price was good, eight bucks. The Jambalaya and red beans were only seven. I would certainly rather have that po’ boy than any fast-food burger. The food was good, the price was reasonable, the service, exceptional.
Recommended!

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* Cheese nabs. It's a southern term. Snack crackers, usually bright orange in color, filled with peanut butter or fake cheese. You know what I'm talking about.

** Yes you are correct, this is absolutely and un-apologetically, gratuitous sucking up. My boss will probably read this, but he's used to it.