Foodies

Food & Drink
634 Julia Street, New Orleans, LA 70130 634 Julia Street, New Orleans Directions
+15045860534
This place has not been rated by customers.
87% of 54 customers recommended
This place is closed.

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Tips

16 Tips
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Report | 4 years ago
Enjoyed my takeout food a lot.
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Report | 4 years ago
I love this place. The food is fresh, healthy and very good. It's about time NOLA had a healthy good food choice resturaunt! I will be back, that's for sure!!!!
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Report | 4 years ago
Shrimp that weren't deveined ruined my experience and what was otherwise really good food.
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Report | 4 years ago
Thanks for letting me try with a Groupon. I enjoyed what the food and fell in love with your quaint restaurant. Staff was quiet, not offering any suggestions, but I sort of kind a like that too.
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Report | 4 years ago
had to wait 30 minutes for our wraps. Spring rolls fell apaet and were not served with the sauces they were advertised with
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Report | 4 years ago
The food was fine but the wait was really long -- over half an hour for take-out, when it was busy but not notably packed. Really messed w/ my schedule, and those of other customers. They apologized, but sad to say that I probably wouldn't go back for that reason.
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Report | 5 years ago
Healthy Yummy stuff!
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Report | 5 years ago
Great salad I will return
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Report | 5 years ago
Service is painfully slow!
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Report | 5 years ago
Great staff, good concept, keep it simple
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From Our Editors

[With the meteoric success of vampire-teens, many writers are trying to get ahead of the next big literary monster trend. One of those writers is first-time sci-fi novelist Lynn Millet, who recently debuted with Interview with the Robot after a visit to Foodies:]

My batteries were running low.

On a typical day, I conduct seven to eight interviews. I’m a Duplicant Location Specialist, and when I’m not talking to known associates of outlaw man-machines, I’m sleeping. So this morning when I peeled myself out of bed, I plugged my recorder into my body's bio-recharger jack purely out of habit. Then I hopped on my hover-bike and thought of Foodies’ Pump Me Up smoothie, that one where they dose the açaí juice and almond milk with Sunwarrior protein blend, just to keep the organic denizens of the Crescent City from wilting in the midsummer’s heat. Also, hover-bikes are a pain to pedal. What was wrong with regular bicycles?

About 50 feet from Foodies’ door, I crashed.

Typically I launch over anything that dares cross into the bike lane. But when I hit Andy? It was like crumpling into a brick wall. His titanium exoskeleton knocked the wind out of me, and it pretty much twisted my wheel into a U. When I got up, I fumbled for the hover-pistol that was still hovering over my bedside hover-table. His hand covered my mouth. It smelled like a library. He was a discontinued model from ’24, those ones they still made from cellulose. He looked old, but his blue eyes popped with the youth and vigor of the recently attached irises. They had to be the reason he was here and not in the internment camps on Mars. Andy dragged me along the sidewalk, past the row of hover-townhouses on Julia Street, and through the front door of Foodies.

“Coffee?” he said.

“Julie,” I said, instead of screaming. I should have then. Instead I followed him into Foodies' patio, where I tried switching on my recording device through my pants. Andy laughed a rich, stereophonic laugh.

“Please … Julie,” he said. “Queue it up. I want you to get this all down.”

I took out the recorder, then took a sip from the carrot juice a server had brought me. “Why haven’t you killed me?”

He kept laughing. “Why would I kill you?”

“Because you’re a Duplicant. You’re an outlaw. A cold, synthetic-blooded killer.”

“And so are you.”

I froze and felt the carrot juice slip down my throat. “No I’m not.”

He looked at me with those eyes. Blue. Piercing. Too aching to be real. “What were your parents like?”

“I’m an orphan.”

“Do you remember the first time you went swimming?” He paused. I tried to think, but couldn’t. I knew I had gone swimming. Why did it get hazy when I tried to think about when? “Who was your first boyfriend?”

Nothing.

“What movies have made you cry?"

"Kung Fu Panda 2. No, wait, was it Seven Brides for Seven Brothers?"

"What does the smell of wet grass make you think of?”

"Is this testing whether I'm a Duplicant or a landscaper?"

"What's your earliest memory?"

"I'm … on a beach. It's twilight. The sky is purple. Some street vendor is selling hot dogs in the distance. I'm building a sandcastle when the tide comes in and washes it all away. I want to cry, but a bunch of cybernetic technicians in white coats are assembling my lower half. Wait, what are you trying to say?"

“It’s OK,” he said, grabbing my hand with a gentle pneumatic hiss. No one would have heard it but us. “They probably never told you. But we need you now to tell our story. Soon,” I felt the carrot juice corroding in my stomach, “the rest of us will be back from Mars.”

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