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Enter the Sammich—boldly stating its post-po’ boy purpose by stepping over the requisite local nomenclature (we do po’ boys here, not sammiches). Starters of escargot and foie gras terrine are the next clue. Lest you start thinking they’re too big for their britches, it’s a paper plate and plastic utensil kind of place, albeit with snappy nautical decor; and their 40-item beer selection includes $2, $3, and $4 options. But we digress. Start with an order of the addictive, perfectly crisped duck fat fries—not for the table but for each of you, lest fisticuffs ensue. The depth of flavor in the smoked tuna dip comes from capers and Kalamata olives. Get some. Other places do shredded roast beef po’ boys; here it’s a soul-hugging osso buco with marrow mayo; the standard fried oyster is elevated with brie, applewood bacon, and meuniere sauce—crazy good! We’re not usually mixed-meat eaters, preferring our surf-and-turf on separate plates, but their fried chicken sandwich with barbecued pulled pork and house-made coleslaw converted us.