Po' boys, rich girls

In the search for the perfect sandwich, I visited Memphis, Tenn. this past weekend where I encountered spicy sausages and crusty breads. Joanna was unable to join me, representing New York at the Cutest Physically Handicapped Baby Contest in Blubbersburg.

Still, unlike Joanna, I know my meats. And I know the thick and veiny sausages I encountered in Memphis were among the most satisfying I will ever have the pleasure of enjoying for lunch. That's what she said. That is, the waitress who served me the fatty pig parts.

Maybe not more interestingly, the "sammiches" on the menu at the Memphis cafe I intruded were called Po' Boys which, according to my part-time Tennessee guide, mostly just means that there's enough bread involved to be used as a sleeping bag for two.

Indeed, there was. But it was delicious. And I realized that, for me, men and sandwiches are alike in that as long as they got character, I don't care if they're po'.