Great Jones Cafe

I didn't care that it was cold and misty out. I would keep walking until I found a solo-friendly dining spot downtown after jury duty.

I passed by Delicatessen - not inspired.

I passed by Lombardi's - not inspired, though I told Leondardo DiCaprio and his mom that in addition to being America's first pizzeria, it was really good. DiCaprio nodded his head in response, "Yes, it is really good!" My 2008 was made in that moment.

I passed by Il Buco - not inspired. The place was totally empty, mind you it was 3:45 p.m., but I was hoping there'd be some late lunch stragglers. No such luck.

I passed by Cafe Gitane - not inspired. The place was packed like it was the only restaurant open in New York. People were even eating outside in the miserable weather like it was a summer 72-degree day.

I fought the instincts to pop open my umbrella. It was that annoying in between rain -- the kind where you'd rather it just pour and get it over with so you don't have to waffle over the necessity of umbrella protection. I'd been on the jury chopping block on Centre Street a couple of hours prior -- my head filled with awe and amazement on how our justice system works and the intricacies of jury selection. It takes 48 hours to pick a jury for a guy who was arrested on gun and untaxed cigarette possession? Too bad it wasn't Plaxico. How long would it take to pick a jury for a murder trial?

I left court half-relieved, half-disappointed I hadn't been one of the chosen twelve. My mom sat on a murder trial in Conn. and she said it was one of the more interesting life experiences she's had. I wasn't looking to be sequestered in a hotel for six weeks with nothing but soap operas and room service, but I wouldn't have minded watching the lawyers, judge, witnesses and jurors play the game of justice for a couple of days. It was my job in media, and the defense's belief that I'd probably covered New York City crime like Greta Van Susteren covered the Natalee Holloway case that ruined it for me.

It's rare that somebody stumps me with a restaurant. About a year ago, my co-worker Z mentioned Great Jones Cafe was her favorite place in the city and I bent my head like a confused puppy. Huh? Ever since, I'd been meaning to go and it was only after my first stint of jury duty that I fatefully stumbled upon it.

I could barely make out the signs underneath the scaffolding, but when I saw it was the elusive Great Jones Cafe, I jumped for joy. I was giddy like a kid on Christmas morning and prayed the place would be open. The sign on the door read serving lunch until four so I was in business, at least for 10 more minutes.

I busted into Great Jones in one cold wet mess. My bags were falling off my arms, the water had crawled up the leg of my jeans so it was now at mid-calf, I couldn't figure out how to lower my umbrella and god knows what my hair and face were doing. The guy in thick, black glasses behind the bar couldn't help but look at me and laugh.

"Can I still order lunch?" I groaned with desperation.

"Of course. You've got 10 minutes. Take a seat!"

"Thank you, thank you!"

I couldn't have picked a more perfect spot for my solo, late afternoon lunch. It was dark and woodsy inside and not quite what I'd envisioned. I knew Great Jones served Cajun food, but rather than feeling like I was on Bourbon Street, I felt like I'd just stepped into a tavern in the Rockies. It reminded me of Hunter Thompson's divey lunch spot Woody Creek Tavern.

The room was small with about a dozen tables and a bar. There were chalkboards screaming "order me!" It was kitschy, but not in a cringe-inducing sort of way. It was a warm and welcoming kitsch that everyone craves once in a while. And the head to toe Christmas made me smile. It bums me out when places are too cool for holiday decorations. Lights and garlands adorned the walls and made me appreciate Great Jones even more. It would have to take some really bad food to mess up my first impressions.

Before I'd even sat down I witnessed a changing of the guards. The man who told me to order away disappeared to the side and a friendly bartender came to my assistance. I asked him for some recommendations and when he said the word catfish I knew what I had to do. The blackened catfish po' boy now beats Daddy Os as my favorite sandwich in New York.


My terrible picture doesn't do it justice. Each element from the bread to the dill mayo dressing, to the pickles to the catfish was outstanding. I don't even like pickles but I'm now considering adding them to any and all sandwiches I create. The combo of the soft spicy fish and the crunchy pickles worked and I now have a new appreciation for the pickle. The fries were excellent in their skin-still-kind-of-on way. I asked for a side of the dill mayo to dip the fries in and the bartender was more than willing to assist.

I ordered a Pilsner to wash it down, though I barely looked up or took a breath until I'd shoved most of the sandwich down my throat. After that I paused for a few minutes of "Twilight" intermission, then repeat. I could start a whole new blog on my scary obsession with all things (especially Rob Pattinson) "Twilight," but that's a tangent better left unexplored.

About midway through the remaining French fries, the bartender offered me a taste of his Bloody Mary. I don't know what magical ingredient he put in it, or what spell the Cajun catfish had me under, but that too was top notch and the perfect advertisement for their brunch, which I hear is excellent.

The bartender mentioned desserts and it killed me to turn him down. The key lime pie would be my reason to get back. There's no way I could do the catfish and the key lime in one sitting.

It's rare that I walk out of a place dying to rave about it to friends and total strangers, but that's how I felt when I left Great Jones. I couldn't wait for someone, upon hearing about my food blog, to ask me if I'd tried a good new place recently.

"Yes! Great Jones! Great day, you've got to get there!"

Instead of being pissed I walked in 10 minutes before the kitchen closed, the staff was pumped to feed me proper (at least, they pretended to be). I don't eat alone very often, but after my experience at Great Jones, I'm tempted to make it a new habit. They were so warm and welcoming even an agoraphobe could eat at the bar solo.

All things happen for a reason, even jury duty. I just wished I could have directed DiCaprio in the Great Jones direction.

54 Great Jones St., near Bowery
212-674-9304