In 1993, Money magazine came up with its ranking of the top 15 cities in the country for dining out. As one would expect, New York topped the list. New Orleans came in sixth. Clearly, Money had insulted New Orleans residents and Big Easy expatriates, none of whom ever misses an opportunity to brag about the Crescent City’s cuisine.

In truth, they do have a lot to brag about. In John Egerton’s fine study, Southern Food, Louisiana is the only state that gets its own chapter. Egerton points out that Louisiana’s French connection sets its cooking apart from the cooking anywhere else in the South, but he also points out the African, Caribbean, and Creole influences, as well as the input from Spaniards, Native Americans, and English, Irish, Scotch, German, Italian, and Greek immigrants. Louisiana is a rich melting pot of culinary influences, but it also has the geographic good fortune of a coastline that provides fresh fish and shellfish, not to mention a climate that allows a nearly year-round growing season.

According to Egerton, Louisiana boasts two distinct cooking styles—fine Creole cookery from New Orleans, and the more peasant-oriented Cajun cooking of the south Louisiana swamplands.

I confess I haven’t been to New Orleans in more than a decade, but I’m going to demand an annual eating excursion there as part of my next contract negotiations. It shouldn’t be such a hard sell, particularly if I invite Scene editor and native Louisianian Bruce Dobie along as a consultant.

Watching Bruce scarf down the repast at Nooley’s, a storefront sandwich shop in Franklin, I felt sort of sorry for him. This was obviously a man in serious need of a gumbo fix. An hour after we arrived, he was sated, if not completely satisfied.

Nooley’s is owned by Mike Elder, who came to Middle Tennessee as a result of a job transfer in 1987. Elder’s brother-in-law owns four Nooley’s outlets in Baton Rouge.

When Elder’s employer went out of business, Elder decided to stay in Franklin and open a Nooley’s of his own. He persuaded Beth Groody, who worked in a Baton Rouge Nooley’s, to move north and come on board as manager, cook, and resident culinary conscience. Elder and Groody make it a practice to switch positions in the kitchen and at the front counter, where the menu is posted on an overhead board.

Not surprisingly, po’boys, in 17 varieties, make up the bulk of the Nooley’s repertoire. Muffalettos, gumbo, and red beans and rice round out the Louisiana-style menu. If none of that tempts you (if it doesn’t, you probably can’t be tempted), All-American classics—burgers, deli sandwiches, and salads—are available too.

Nooley’s is located in a strip center just off I-65 at the Highway 96-Franklin Exit. The place isn’t fancy. The floors are covered with industrial carpeting; the peach-colored walls are hung with Louisiana posters and memorabilia. Customers eat at dinette-style tables, using Styrofoam dishes and plastic cutlery.

It’s precisely what you’d find in the same type of joint in a strip center in the Bayou State. All sandwiches are made up fresh, and, while you’re waiting on your order, you can check out the Louisiana specialty foods and the condiments for sale—Louisiana Hot Sauce; Tabasco Sauce, of course (made in the low-country region of Acadiana since the late 1860s); hot peppers; and Tony Chachere’s Famous Creole Seasoning. Quiet those hunger pangs with a bag of Zapp’s chips—several varieties are available, including Gator chips.

We started with the gumbo and the red beans and rice. In that bout of competition, the red beans and rice emerged the winner. The plump beans maintained a nice texture, and the gravy was nice and soupy, a perfect topping for the rice. Mildly but distinctly seasoned, Nooley’s red beans and rice is complemented with slices of Manda’s rope sausage, available only in Baton Rouge and shipped specially to Nooley’s.

Mike Elder’s gumbo begins, as all gumbos should, with a brown roux. On our visit, the gumbo contained the predictables: shrimp, okra, tomatoes, onion, celery, green peppers, and rice; several of the diners in our party found it a little watery, even though Bruce, the expert, opined that it was just what he would expect to find in a similar establishment in Louisiana. I bow to Bruce, who heated up his gumbo with a big dose of hot sauce. We followed his lead.

According to Egerton, “poor boy” sandwiches were created and named in downtown New Orleans during the 1929 streetcar strike. The po’boy starts with a loaf of French bread, sliced lengthwise. (Nooley’s po’boy and muffaletto bread is baked in Nashville by a fellow Louisianan.) The loaf is filled with meat or fish, dressed with shredded letuce, tomato, mayonnaise, or mustard, then sort of flattened down. Among Nooley’s po’boys, we tried the hot roast beef, the hot sausage, the Cajun chicken, the catfish, the shrimp, the oyster, and the crawfish. (The crawfish are available only in season, February through September.) Each was good in its own way, but our favorites were the crawfish, the oyster, the catfish, and the spicy Rope sausage. Each is available by the whole or the half; a half is about 8 inches long. Prices for the half range from $2.29 for an all-cheese version to $3.79 for the oyster.

The muffaletto (also spelled “muffaletta”) sandwich, says Egerton, is actually an Italian creation peculiar to New Orleans. A large round sesame loaf, sliced in half, is filled with ham, salami, and provolone; then it’s spread with olive salad (a tangy blend of chopped green olives, onion, tomato, lettuce, and pimiento), and served hot. The half we ordered was a meal in itself, priced right at $4.99. The Nooley’s Special (turkey, ham, roast beef, Swiss cheese, mayo, lettuce, and tomato served on a hot muffaletto roll) was another winner.

We loved, loved, loved the huge, freshly cut and battered onion rings ($1.99 for a large order). On my personal scale of french-fry satisfaction, Nooley’s curly fries rank right near the top, especially when they’ve been liberally sprinkled with Tony Chachere’s Creole Seasoning. (“Use it like salt—When it’s salty enough, it’s seasoned to perfection,” the package advises.)

Soft drinks, milk, tea, and beer are on the beverage cart.

I couldn’t resist taking home another Louisiana speciality—frozen chickens, which are available stuffed with rice, crawfish, or shrimp. Priced at $4.99 a pound, they come from Chris’s Specialty Meats in Baton Rouge. You can also avoid the pesky ordeal of removing crawfish meat from their little shells by letting Nooley’s do the work for you. At $7.99 a pound, they’re to add to your étouffée, gumbo, pie, bisque, or boulettes. Or how about crawfish on a biscuit?

Nooley’s is located at 118 Royal Oaks Blvd. in Franklin (790-6019). Hours are 10:30 a.m.-8 p.m. Mon.-Sat. No credit cards accepted. Catering is available.