Hipster Union

Ahh, summer. It the season when I remember why I will never be able to keep Kosher (or even be a vegetarian). There’s spare ribs to smoke, bacon cheeseburgers to grill, fish to catch, and Lipitor prescriptions to fill. As I gear up for my annual trip to the Outer Banks (OBX - respresent!), I stumbled on this New York Times recipe for soft-shell crab Poor Boy sandwiches Po’ Boys. Being in the New York Times, though, they call them “Poor Boy Sandwiches.” Facking Chardonnay-swilling Hampton-loving prats.

“THERE may be no bad way to prepare soft-shell crabs. They contain so much moisture they’re just about impossible to overcook, and they cook so quickly they’re hard to undercook. … Having said that, the near-universally favorite way to serve soft-shells is fried. Most people agree that the coating should contain some cornmeal, and that a quick dip in milk or eggs to thicken the coating and help it adhere is useful.

“When you put those fried crabs on bread, you have a riff on the New Orleans poor-boy. The specifics of this creation can be endlessly debated, but the fixings* usually include lettuce, tomato and mayonnaise. Oddly enough, the true poor-boy is made on less-than-fabulous bread, labeled “French” or “Italian” in supermarkets. The sandwich is vastly improved by removing some of the mushy white crumb, and toasting what is left.

“(After a few tries using better bread, I began to understand the logic: the best baguettes are too tough to use for stout fillings like the crabs.)“

O RLY? The New York Times understands a po’ boy. I beg to differ.

Here’s where I’m coming from: I eat sandwiches from skeevy joints. The best Cubano I’ve ever had was from a bat-and-tackle gas station shop called “Mervis Market” in Okeechobee, FL. I buy oysters by the peck at Awful Arthur’s, a raw bar in Nags Head, NC. I’ve eaten ribs from street vendors in DC who use an old oil drum for a smoker. I’ve knocked back beers while eating gator bits and conch fritters at a roadside dive in St. Augustine.  And I eat sliders from barmaids of ill-repute at dive bars in New York.  The New York Times writers eat cucumber sandwiches while windsurfing at Martha’s Vineyard.

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