BBQ in 'The Big Easy'

Patrons huddle around small wooden tables while a blonde waitress in a sugary-pink t-shirt shuffles between the benches, hollering the name of the person whose food is ready over the chatter in the restaurant.
A young man raises his hand and quickly stands up from his seat to help her lay the steaming-hot plates upon his table while the tinny of the bell above the front door ushers in more hungry customers. They join the queue snaking its way through the center of the room to the far end, where orders are speedily jotted down on a notepad and the meat crackles from the open-plan kitchen.
I step outside and spot my dinner companion across the street, sitting at the base of a live oak. The waitress emerges, balancing the various components of our meal along her slim yet sturdy arms. We thank her effusively, surprised that she knew we were on the other side of the street, getting the sense that the place is always busy. She apologizes for the wait and lack of available seating, offering us a roll of paper towel. “You’re gonna need it, honey,” she says with a smile.
Not one to usually order the meatier choices on the menu, I had decided that now was as good a time as any to try at least one local delicacy vital to understanding what real New Orleanians eat. I figure that if even the gas stations offer barbecue chicken then succulent poultry at a local restaurant known as ‘the joint’ is the place to start.
Spread out on the grass before us is our picnic of barbecued ribs, potato salad, Mac n’ Cheese and the ubiquitous barbecue chicken. On the menu, it’s called a ‘Half Chicken’ and that is exactly what it is. By the end of the meal, only empty black baskets are left and we lean back on the grass, top buttons of our jeans undone in light of our recent feast.
It’s true that the food here is nothing fancy but that is a strength, not a drawback. There may not have been any dashes of truffle oil added to the food, yet I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun eating.