Update: The eaters of St Bernard Parish have been put out of their misery. We drove by Captain Troy’s who authored the worst meal we ever ate in Louisiana, and the business has shuttered.
“Women used to throw their panties at me on stage.”
“I’d come out in a coffin and have a leggy brunette play Priscilla while I dressed up like the King.”
We’re chatting with a St Bernard Parish tomato hawker named Buster who used to be an Elvis impersonator back in the 70s. Buster’s moment in the spotlight has passed but he’s still eager to relate tales of his old exploits at the VFW Hall off Judge Perez Highway in Chalmette, Louisiana. Buster’s lonely, and chatty, and looks like he knows his way around a supper plate so we inquire as to local eats that might garner a mention from an old Elvis lover.
“Captain Troy’s is good, used to be called Tony’s, it’s right down the road a piece” he announces gesturing broadly West.
The catfish po boy arrives and indeed it looks promising. As is the custom in Louisiana, it’s roughly a foot long, and features a nice fluffy loaf encasing the fish.
It’s also stone cold.
Captain Troy’s is almost deserted. The restaurant seats roughly 400 people but there are only a half dozen eaters at the tables scattered around the cavernous dining hall.
The table is sticky with stale sweet tea. The floors are sticky with stale sweet tea, and there’s an air of neglect to the room. Maybe Captain Troy is busying himself on a fishing boat near Venice-he’s certainly not in charge of his restaurant.
Housemade potato chips offer a little verve to the sad, cold filets. Unlike reputable fish houses in the greater New Orleans area, there is a paucity of seafood on this sandwich. When the food’s this lousy perhaps the parsimony is a favor to the diner?
While the fish is cold, scant and flavor-free it’s actually the bread that is the prime offender. Fluffy white, floury, zero flavor and discarded cotton ball-like crumb combine to make this the worst bread I’ve ever eaten in Louisiana.
We are at the height of Creole Tomato season in New Orleans so it’s unfathomable that a restaurant would be serving watery, white/pink tomatoes that appear to have been shipped in from some god forsaken tomato hating country 1000s of miles from Louisiana.
But that’s what they’re serving at Captain Troys.
After hundreds of meals in Louisiana stretching all the way back to the 70s, it figured we’d roll snake eyes eventually.
We were done in on a bad tip from an Elvis impersonator slinging Creole Tomatoes from the back of a pickup in rural St Bernard Parish, Louisian