Thursday, January 31, 2013.
Pop's, And The Zen Of Roast Beef Poor Boys.
Mary Ann had much to do in the city today. I didn't. With the restaurants already being crammed with Super Bowl visitors, and many of the larger places engaged in catering activities, it's not a good time for me to perform my usual investigations.
Besides, my brake tag expires tomorrow. It's just my luck that I would get pulled over for that offense if I let it go. So I went, as I usually do, to the Abita Springs Service Station. It's an old-time gasoline alley in every way, from the old full-service pumps in front to the two-bay garage in back where they actually work on cars. They even close for an hour for lunch every day.
That's when I showed up, of course. So I went out to lunch myself. LA 59 has an unusually large number of neighborhood-style breakfast-and-lunch places. One of the newer ones is Pop's Place. I was in the mood for a roast beef poor boy--something the sign advertised as a specialty.
"Welcome to Pop's!" said the lady who greeted me. "I'm Mom." She looked the part. "Have you ever been here before?" No, I haven't. "Well, let me explain our menu. We have great daily lunch specials. Today it's the hamburger steak with onions and gravy. We have sandwiches and seafood, and also breakfast all day long if that sounds good to you!"
"How's the roast beef poor boy?"
"It's one of our best things!"
"Then let's have it."
The sandwich was unusual in two ways. First, the bread was toasted, but on the inside--not the outside. I would say they should rethink that. Putting the whole sandwich, complete with all its dressings, into a hot oven for a couple of minutes performs a savory and aromatic miracle on a roast beef.
Second, the gravy was dense and dark. Good flavor, but not that of the classic roast beef poor boy I grew up eating. However, if someone else told me that Pop's version qualifies and his classic roast beef flavor, I wouldn't argue with him.
I ate the whole sandwich, something I can rarely do with a roast beef poor boy anymore. So I must have liked it. It wasn't until I was almost finished that I recognized what I found different about it. If there were any mayonnaise on the sandwich at all, there wasn't much. I don't like the mayo to be gloppy, but it's the blend of gravy, pickles, and mayonnaise that create the golden flavor.
The Abita Service Station was back open when I returned. The inspector told me that one can now get a brake tag that goes two years before expiring. Although you don't save any money--it's still ten dollars a year--I was happy to hear this. Getting a brake tag makes me anxious. I don't like having to prove things about myself to the authorities. Ridiculous, yes.
The two-year brake tag may ruin my PT Cruiser's chances of getting the all-time record number of brake tags during its time with me. This one makes ten, tying the PT for first place with my 1989 Oldsmobile. That was an amazing car, and unusual: you don't see many four-cylinder Oldsmobiles with five-speed manual transmissions. I drove it 216,000 miles before it gave up.
You have just read the most boring paragraph I have written in some time. Please accept my apologies for wasting your time with it. And this one, too.
Pop's Place. Mandeville: 69142 Hwy 59 . 985-893-9093.
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