It's like it was meant to happen

Being ESPN-less at home, and wanting to watch the Saints tonight on Monday Night Football, I treated myself to bar food. First item on the menu I wanted: not available tonight (it was a smoked salmon salad) and what did I see on the menu then but a catfish po'boy. Catfish. Po'boy. Both of them foods you're likely to eat in the same city where the Saints were figuratively running over the Patriots (even with some Patriots almost literally running over Saints).

So I ordered it (with the catfish blackened, don't hate me, docbrite, I wasn't in the mood for fried), and enjoyed the taste and the elegance along with the game. (My eating of it was not elegant. I made a mess.)

A bit in docbrite's The Value of X ran through my head during this where Rickey's culinary classmate, the guy who's developing a mad-on for Rickey, disparages New Orleanians for eating catfish because they're "bottom feeders." "Yeah," Rickey says, "because they taste good." True. Except for anyone who doesn't like catfish.

In other news, I really do want to visit New Orleans someday. Maybe after I consistently pronounce "New Orleans" correctly.