Mahony's Po-Boy Shop

Mahony’s fits the bill of a traditional New Orleans neighborhood po-boy shop. Besides the sign out front, they set up shop in a nondescript, converted Uptown shotgun. Since we live only two blocks away, the neighborhood feel of this Magazine Street restaurant is utterly unmistakable. We’ve been here a few times for some of their New Orleans’ classics, like an overstuffed fried shrimp po-boy. But the owner, Ben Wicks, utilizes his culinary talent learned at Rio Mar to create some specialty sandwiches that are both adventurous and delicious. Since it is practically in our backyard, we’ve even ventured out into his more inventive sandwiches on the menu, like the grilled shrimp/fried green tomato po-boy and the peacemaker (fried oysters, bacon, and cheese).

These signature po-boys are what have won this restaurant awards at the annual New Orleans Po-Boy Preservation Festival. Chef Wicks po-boy prowess has even garnered the attention a few celebrity chefs.

Unfortunately, one of the downfalls, for me at least, of gaining local and national attention is gaining an enormous following. Trying to get inside on a Saturday is like trying to get into a porta-john at Jazz Fest. We knew this already, so we slipped in on a humid Friday night. No huge crowds. Not even a line at the order counter. We quickly placed our order, grabbed a NOLA Hurricane Saison and waited for the forthcoming deliciousness at one of the tables in the half-full dining room. We waited, and waited, and then waited some more. The kitchen is the size of a small bedroom, and getting a seat in the dining room on most days is like playing musical chairs with Bill Goldberg, so I usually anticipate a lag between ordering and eating. But seriously, this was a slow Friday night. After looking around at all the miserable looking diners inside, we weren’t the only ones getting anxious; each time the saloon doors to the kitchen opened up, every head in the restaurant whipped around to see if their mound of butcher-paper-wrapped po-boys were on the brown plastic serving trays. The party next to us had never been here before and wasn’t prepared for the wait. After just 15 minutes, they asked the bartender how much longer it would be. She explained that all po-boys were fresh and made to order. True, but I’ve been in and out of Freret Street Po-Boy in 10 minutes, and they don’t even mix the batter for the shrimp until I order.

After 45 minutes, we finally heard our name called. Ah, there was hope. Regrettably, it was only our large order of fries (seriously, don’t be a hero, one order can feed 3 or 4 grown men). These hot, crisp, hand-cut fries appeased our appetite, but served as a mere teaser. Finally, after nearly an hour, our name was called again. Thank the Lawd. I almost had to break out into a Southern Baptist hymnal. With thick, spicy brown gravy bleeding through the chewy Leidenheimer bread and white butcher paper, you could already tell that Erin ordered the super sloppy roast beef before she even unwrapped it. Even though she proclaimed that it was a little to fatty for her, I like my slow cooked roast to have some of that melt-in-your-mouth fat intermingling with the tender beef. Wait, what the hell am I doing? I’m hungry, and I’m now wasting time analyzing a roast beef while ignoring my own po-boy sitting right in front of me. I hastily unwrapped my sandwich- a chicken liver and Creole cole slaw po-boy.

The crunchy Creole slaw, made with Creole mustard, provided a textural contrast to that characteristic organ meat texture of the golden-brown livers. The tanginess of the slaw also provided some flavor contrast by cutting through the minerally quality of the chicken livers. It’s the quality of sandwiches like this one that cause me to continually ignore the long lines and even lengthier wait here. Still, it perplexes me to have high quality po-boys right here in my backyard piss me off and soothe my sandwich soul at the same time.