15 miles to the muffaletta

Napoleon once said, "An army marches on its stomach." Actually there's some debate as to whether it was Napoleon who said this or Frederick the Great. I'm going with Napoleon because I think that it would typically take a Frenchman to be so keenly attuned to the vital role of food in every field of human endeavor. (On the other hand I suppose one might argue that the German would be more likely to be so keenly attuned to the minutiae of military strategy.)

Speaking of French people and food, maybe it's our French heritage that helps explain why we're so passionate about good eating around these parts. If you want to observe this passion in action, try this experiment: Next time you happen to be in the same room with two our three native New Orleanians try raising the question of who makes the best roast beef po boy in town. You'll probably find them expressing their preferences with the articulateness of wine connoisseurs and the aggression of a pack of stray dogs fighting over a ribeye.

A tourist once asked one of my colleagues for directions to a restaurant of a certain well-known, middle-of-the-road, national chain, which I shall leave unnamed. The pedicabbie responded, "We don't have that restaurant here. But if you really want sh***y food, I can probably help you find something. And if you want overpriced sh***y food, I can help you find that too."

A friend of mine from Cajun country once went to Jamaica for vacation. When he got back I asked him how the trip was, and he was very enthusiastic. "Oh, it was wonderful!" he said. "I had the time of my life."

"How about the food?" I asked.

"Oh the food," he said waving his hand dismissively. "The food was lousy. But when you're from South Louisiana you don't go traveling to eat!"

OK, back to where I started, which was with that quote of indeterminate origin about an army marching on its stomach. What I had set out to say was that this same principle applies to pedicabbies. A pedicabbie rolls on his stomach. Actually, that doesn't quite convey the right meaning, does it? My journalism degree isn't helping me out much here. Anyway, I think you get what I'm trying to say.

When I first started the job, my boss told me that I could claim the money I spent on food as a tax write-off since food is our fuel just as petroleum products are the fuel of car taxis. My first thought was that this was a bit shady. After all, we have to eat either way, right? I really didn't get it then. What I've discovered is that if you're pedicabbing full time, then you're going to be spending A LOT OF MONEY on extra food.

Since I started the job back in November I've lost about 25 pounds, and I eat like a horse. Not really like a horse because horses eat mostly salad. Not me. I'm eating good New Orleans food. Oyster poboys and fried boudin balls and crawfish pies and bread pudding. All of it that I can afford. I get home at 5 in the morning after working the night shift, and I go to bed, and after a couple of hours, I wake up hungry, so I get up and eat, and go back to bed, and a couple of hours later I wake up hungry again and eat some more and go back to bed. This is my lifestyle lately. Did I mention that I've lost 25 pounds?

I remember when I was a kid,  there were a couple of guys who were riding their bikes across the country who visited our church one Sunday morning. My parents invited them over for lunch after church. To this day I remember how how much those guys seemed to like my mom's cooking. They piled their plates high over and over again, so many times that we finally lost count. My mom was really flattered. Now, all these years later, I understand better what I witnessed back then. My mom is a good cook, without a doubt, but there was another force at work that day. It must take a ton of calories to cross the continent on a bicycle. (Also, those two didn't really talk like churchgoing folk as I recall. I hate to be cynical, but I can't help wondering whether they  knew in advance that they were likely get an invitation to lunch if they went to church. Nothing wrong with seeing the Lord's house as a good place to get fed, I suppose. After all, Jesus was known for giving out free lunches.)

Once when I was riding the pedicab, some smart aleck called out to me from the side of the street, "Hey, what kind of mileage do you get on that thing?" I answered him without missing a beat, "Oh, I get about 15 miles to the muffaletta!"