I finally visited Taranto’s Seafood in Biloxi after you recommended it. Here’s my review
It was time, anyway.
Located four miles from my house, Taranto’s Crawfish, Po’boys and Seafood has been calling me since I arrived in South Mississippi and I just haven’t been able to pick up the phone. Until now.
The Sun Herald ran a poll asking readers where our next food review should take place. You chose Taranto’s and I was given purpose.
I made my journey across the bridge gliding over the Biloxi River and into the city limits. I parked in the gravel and placed my order, asking for something I don’t normally get.
Po’boys aren’t typically my thing and I love a healthy helping of crawfish dumped into a styrofoam plate. But I wanted to test the establishment. The reviews were strong and I’ve only heard good things.
So I brought home a crawfish po’boy and a cup of seafood gumbo.
It’s the dryness of a po’boy that isn’t properly executed that prevents me from picking one up anywhere I go. And since I don’t do mayo, I was playing behind the sticks with this order.
But I was surprised. The bread was soft and the delicate taste of crawfish fought through its fried encasement. Then I tried the gumbo and was equally impressed. It arrived with a hidden kick that perfectly complemented every flavor wrapped within the 16 oz. to-go cup.
I was halfway through my don’t-call-it-a-sub sandwich when an idea hit. A thought at first vulgarly pervasive but then perfectly sensible.
What if I changed my world? What if I defied the mystical boundaries society has institutionalized around unwritten culinary laws? What if I dared to wade into swamps perhaps traveled but were nevertheless undocumented?
Would my actions be followed by the rippling effects of any far-stretching consequences? It didn’t matter.
I poured my seafood gumbo into the po’boy.
Galaxies collided. The very fabric of reality shifted. My vision cleared. I saw heaven and it was in that po’boy.
The soup-soaked rice and shrimp transformed my breaded meal into more than just mere substance. It was a soulful experience that challenged my theories of what food can be.
It filled me with a warmth found only within the cypress-shaded waters inhabited by God’s gift to Southern Society.
I was stuffed, but it didn’t matter. I marched through that sandwich like General Edward Pakenham at the Battle of New Orleans.
Like the men under Pakenham’s command, I felt defeated. For in the end I had devoured my own beacon of light. But the battle was won. Glory was attained.
And I will be returning to Taranto’s.
This story was originally published June 9, 2023 at 5:50 AM.
