Mere hours after the Saints lost the final playoff game, several hundred people slowly filled the sold-out House of Blues as Albert Hammond, Jr. (formerly of the Strokes) came on as opening act to Incubus. Voices muttered about the defeat and a sense of shock kept the room from watching the stage. There were no bouncing heads, no knee-bops, no swaying hips, but not because the audience was not into it. Albert Hammond, Jr.’s sweetly melancholy lyrics lost their effect on the already depressed crowd. The band left the stage as one might leave a funeral after expressing one’s condolences. Shortly after, when someone started chanting “Screw the Bears” and “Who Dat,” the room roared with angst-ridden response. Incubus took the pulse of the audience and went into an instrumental version of “When the Saints Go Marching In,” instantly capturing the listeners’ attention and revving the adrenaline level for the remainder of the show.
Two guys jogged past me as I approached Tucker’s Tavern. They were getting a midday workout and I was headed to the home of the deep-fried burger. I felt guilty even before my first bite.
I’d heard about Tucker’s for years, but I had never tasted its deep-fried burger. After the original CBD location flooded, I figured that the deep-fried burger was another culinary treasure lost to Katrina. Would anyone have bet their FEMA checks that Tucker’s would return? It’s back, though, in the Warehouse District near the Contemporary Arts Center and on higher ground.
“Get stuffed, get fried,” proclaimed the glass entry doors. Inside, the music was loud. The mainly male lunch crowd sat in the bar instead of the dining room. The guys looked more comfortable in the bar, even if they weren’t drinking.
The surprisingly large menu includes wraps, salads, sandwiches and even plate lunches such as red beans and rice. In the end, though, it’s food better suited to feed the hungry than thrill them. The regular burger was average. A Cuban press sandwich was basically a ham and pork sandwich with mustard and pickles. I didn’t even try the plate lunches, because the waiter assured me I was better off with a stuffed and fried burger.
The Big Al was my choice, a half-pound hamburger stuffed with mushrooms and pepper Jack cheese. I braced myself for an outrageous experience, a meal that might stick out its tongue and shake its fist.
When my Big Al arrived, however, it was tame. The brown mound, which looked like a cross between a crab cake bulked up on steroids and a battered softball, sat exposed and undressed on a plain white bun. I fixed up the burger and took a wide bite. It tasted, well, like a burger with a little extra crunch. More than anything, it reminded me of the hamburgers topped with fried onions sold at mid-level chains.
But that’s not the story I’m telling my friends. Oh no, that deep-fried burger was over the top. You wouldn’t believe it. And me, I was crazy enough to eat one. 896 Magazine St., 522-0440, Mon.-Fri. 10:30 a.m. until close, Sat.-Sun. noon until close
