Sometimes the desire for a po boy is nearly overpowering. This is the state I found myself in after a five mile hike through 90+ degree heat in New Orleans this past weekend. I was shaking.
I’d been partying with the Money Wasters, one of the best Social Aid and Pleasure Clubs in Louisiana, and after four hours of intense dancing and marching I was near collapse. Multiple quarts of refreshing coconut/chocolate daiquiris had failed to do their job.The big Treme ‘Under the Bridge’ party was in full roar as I neared the end of the parade route. Dozens of food vendors were stationed under the I-10 bridge but only one was vending po boys, Da White House Food Truck, a shiny new concern from sisters Brittany and Lakisha White.
The lady’s menu read like a dream with all the fried chicken, stuffed peppers, grilled oysters, T-bone steaks and barbecue shrimp you could ever dream of or want.
But I’m only in it for the po boys.Lakisha White is a stunner. She’s racing about taking orders, running food to patrons, and manning a gas-powered charcoal grill that’s covered with oysters getting the Dragos-style garlic parmesan treatment.
I ask after a fried catfish po boy, pay my ten bucks and sit back to take in Bamboula 2000, an African conga-driven band that’s paying little heed to the heatwave.Da White House Food Truck has an interesting gimmick with several food dishes tied into the federal government. You can order Obamachos, nachos with sausage, jalapeno peppers, cheese and crawfish tails or FBI fries with potatoes, shrimp, crawfish and spinach dip. Secret Service crabcakes are garnished with crawfish tails and Bill Clinton’s ‘special sauce’. Not really.
As is custom, the Sunday afternoon vibe under the bridge is a joyous one as everybody is good and drunk. Bamboula 2000 finishes playing and a dj begins a thunderous set with 2 Chainz and Gucci Mane on full blast.
Too bad John T. Edge isn’t here to take part in the merriment.A fried catfish po boy order from Da White House’s kitchen gets you two, big cornmeal-dredged fillets tucked into a proper New Orleans French loaf, and garnished with tomatoes, lettuce and pickles. If you want mayo or other sauces there is a condiments bar screwed onto the side of the truck.
And you won’t be reaching for the salt shaker. The Whites know that we like our food well-seasoned in New Orleans.
Smoke is pouring out of the styrofoam clamshell as I pry it open. I take my meal al fresco as a nearby pack of dirtbike riders speed past popping wheelies and hollering from beneath their Skeletor masks.
Just another Sunday afternoon in Treme.
Da White House roams around New Orleans. Give ’em a call to find out where they are today
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