Mother’s gets the haters who accuse it of being touristy, but hey, Paris is touristy. And if it’s good enough for Beyoncé and Jay- Z (who selfied from here in 2013), it’s . . . actually that has no bearing on anything. Mother’s worth is in direct proportion to the line of people waiting to get in. If it extends past the second window (say, more than 3 to 4 parties ahead of you), it’s not worth waiting. It’s good, not great. If you can waltz right in, fine: You’ll get solid Creole cooking in an easy-access location, good for an introduction to the cuisine and family-friendly. The traditional Creole hot plates (jambalaya, shrimp Creole) are serviceable; mild or hot homemade sausage elevates the red beans (go hot). Po’ boys are the safer bet, especially anything that revolves around Mother’s signature baked ham. The Ferdi (ham, roast beef debris) is the top seller, but we think the ham gets lost in all that. We prefer it solo with cheese, or combo’d with turkey, which stands up better. We’ll also have the ham with biscuits at the unsurprising breakfast. The bread pudding needs to be experienced, if only to guffaw at the retro use of canned fruit cocktail, maraschinos and all (it’s also freakishly good). Make no never mind, Mother’s has rules: 1) Get in the cafeteria line to order food and get steam-table items; 2) order and receive drinks; 3) pay; 4) then and only then find a table—don’t send a scout to save one; 5) a server delivers the rest of the food. Follow these rules lest you get some hostess lip.