A Parasol’s Roast Beef Po Boy. It was absolutely gorgeous to eat. Yes, the adjective doesn’t match up.
That’s the best way to describe this though!
Tap the bread and it’s hard. But don’t think it’s like that all the way through. A crispy, crunch exterior yields a fluffy, white interior. Ah yes. French bread.
Your teeth sink through the bread and you hit the fillings on either side. But if your bite isn’t as clean as you think… a whole bunch of stuff falls out. Mayo slathered lettuce, slices of tomatoes, pickles, gravy, roast beef. It’s ok. It’ll still wind up in my mouth.
But there’s a nice combination of roast beef slices and gravy that made me want to wipe down the drippings with the bread so that none of the bread I ate was white anymore.
When Wen and I walked in, we stumbled into a cramped bar. And then the bartender asked if we wanted to sit in the dining area, which seemed like a better idea! Cause I can’t legally by alcohol yet.
So the dining room is in two rooms, the tables are sorta sticky in that old diner grease kind of way, and your order at the window. The whole place was plopped right in the middle of the neighborhood. If I lived in that hood.. I’d hang out there all the time.
Nom nom nom