Hot Sausage Double Meat Dressed on Bun. With Cheese, Please!

Kateb-Nuri-Alim
Jun 3, 2025
3 min read

by Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

Now lemme tell you somethin’ down here in New Orleans, food ain’t just food. Naw. It’s a whole testimony. And if you ever been to a neighborhood corner store, then baby, you already know: that hot sausage po’boy? That’s gospel between two pieces of French bread. That’s communion with extra napkins.

Picture this you walk into that corner store, the one with the busted screen door that don’t never close all the way. It squeaks when you walk in and slaps behind you like it got an attitude. That smell of fried somethin’ already hangin’ in the air like incense. You pass the racks of chips, the cooler with the dusty red drinks, and head straight to the counter where the lady in the hair bonnet and bedroom slippers is takin’ orders like she runnin’ heaven’s kitchen.

You lean in, no hesitation, and with your full chest you say:

“Hot sausage, double meat, dressed on bun. With cheese, please!”

Now, you ain’t just hungry you’re speakin’ life. That’s a declaration. That’s faith. You tellin’ the universe: I might be tired, I might be broke, I might be on my last nerve and my last dollar but I still want it all. You’re sayin’ “Don’t hold back on me. Give me the full blessing, and throw in that cheese!”

Because when we say “dressed” around here, we mean all the good stuff: shredded lettuce like it just got baptized, big ol’ tomato slices so juicy they might run down your elbow, pickles that crunch like they got something to say, mayo so thick it’s practically a love language. Dressed means you ain’t showin’ up halfway. You want all of it. You deserve all of it.

And that hot sausage? That’s you, baby. Life done put you in the skillet. You been sizzlin’ in stress, flippin’ in frustration, seasoned with struggle. But listen the heat don’t ruin you. It brings out your flavor.

That double meat? That’s when life hit you twice once in your money, then again in your spirit but you still showed up to the corner store of grace and said, “Make mine heavy. I can handle it.”

Now let’s break this sandwich down, real spiritual-like.

The lettuce? That’s peace. Fresh, light, necessary.

The tomatoes? That’s joy. Sweet, a little messy, but always welcome.

The pickles? Oh, that’s those sharp lessons. Sour situations. The ones that made your eyes water but taught you what to watch for.

The mayo? That’s mercy smooth, spread over all your rough edges, holding things together when you feel like fallin’ apart.

And Lord, don’t you dare forget that cheese.

That cheese? That’s the extra. That’s grace on top of grace. That’s comfort when the bills late, when your car won’t start, when the people in your life don’t know whether they’re comin’ or goin’. That cheese is the Creator whisperin’ to your soul, “I still got you even in the grease.”

Now sometimes, that bun get soggy, don’t it? Life heavy. You tryin’ to hold it all together, but the sauce drippin’, your hands slippin’, and you think you might drop the whole thing. But even messy, that po’boy still hit. And guess what? So do you.

You see, when you walk into the corner store of life tired, stretched thin, prayin’ with crumbs in your pocket but you still bold enough to say, “Hot sausage, double meat, dressed on bun. With cheese, please!” you ain’t just orderin’ food. You’re claimin’ your blessing. You’re sayin’, “I done been through the fire, I done got flipped and fried, but I’m still standin’, and I want mine with everything the Creator promised me.”

And when folks look at you, tryin’ to figure out how you still standin’, how you still smilin’, how you ain’t lost your mind or cussed out everybody within reach you look ’em dead in the eye and say: