NEW ORLEANS -- Foodies can't live by banquets alone. And while innovative, memorable feasts at fine restaurants are a reason to come to New Orleans, sometimes you get a gut feeling that you need something basic.

N'awlins answers with sandwiches: generous, dripping with gravy or condiments, boldly flavored, sometimes historic, served in standout settings and always portable.

In 49 hours, I sampled sandwiches at 19 restaurants and shops recommended by locals familiar with the French Quarter and nearby suburbs, and by travelers with longtime favorites. Prices ranged from $2-and-change to $13. Here's what I found.

JUST SAY `POH-BOY'

Po-boys (also ''po'boys'' or, rarely, ''poor boys'') are said to have been invented in the 1920s in the Martin brothers' sandwich shop to feed striking streetcar workers. The sandwiches are sold in half (6 inches) or whole (12 inches) sizes and can be counted on to be a package of beef or seafood, dressed or not, in a tube of crisp-crust white bread.

They aren't sandwiches for neatniks.

''If you leave a po-boy, and your fingers aren't a little sticky, and something didn't drip down your arm or on your pants, then it doesn't pass muster,'' says Laura Claverie, a native New Orleanian.

Within walking or streetcar distance of the French Quarter, I tried pork, ham and roast beef, roast beef and shrimp po-boys.

The big seller at Mother's, one of downtown's best-known restaurants, is the Ferdi po-boy. Its dozen layers of thinly sliced ham and beef are accompanied by a bowl of ''debris,'' beef shreds and gravy left from baking the roast. It's a carnivore's dream, but for combos, I found none better than the surf and turf special at Parkway Bakery & Tavern.

Walls of the diner, opened as a bakery in 1922, are covered with memorabilia, and romantic music adds to a yesteryear ambience. But who notices ambience when a forearm-length sandwich packed with delicately breaded shrimp and wondrously tender roast beef, fixins' and yummy gravy lands in front of you? Specials are highly creative (pork chop, red bean hot pocket, turkey and dressing, etc.) and change each weekday.

The roast beef in the po-boy in Guy's is as generous as at Parkway, though not as tender, but the little cafe is a welcoming gathering spot for friends, and people-watching is part of its charm.

Call Parasol's Restaurant & Bar a dive, because it is. But the party crowd loves it. A beer sends the flavorful though none-too-tender roast beef po-boy down with ease.

Also timeworn but a world of difference in atmosphere is Domilise's Po-Boys. Said to be a favorite stop of N'awlins-born football heroes Eli and Peyton Manning when they're in town, this bitty cafe in an old neighborhood makes its patrons feel like kin. In its third generation of family ownership, Domilise's remains a place where patrons hang snapshots on the wall, ketchup and mustard are made in house, Josh Domilise and sandwich maker Mary Lou Borne take time to talk with you, and the tender shrimp of the po-boy wear a thin, crisp coat the color of ripe wheat.

Johnny's Po-Boy Restaurant could count on its location near Jackson Square to guarantee a parade of customers. Instead, the 57-year-old eatery survives by quality. The crab cake po-boy contained two patties so big I thought they were three. Golden and crackling, the cakes have visible shards of crab and flavor that lingers on the tongue.

The Grocery, a cheery stop on the St. Charles streetcar route, offers po-boys pressed on a griddle. The process made a tasty, toasted muddle of a muffuletta's meat and cheese. More interesting was the Avenue Special. Chicken salad sprinkled with pecans and grapes tees off against bacon, avocado and Swiss cheese. It's hot and savory, sized for a mid-range appetite.

One of the best deals among po-boys is the cochon de lait at Lüke, a restaurant created by award-winning chef John Besh. The menu offers a sample of Besh's style at moderate prices. And the $13 pork sandwich (pressed or not) with housemade fries is dreamy, the slow-roasted, peppery meat tender.

BARBECUE THEIR WAY

This is barbecue? The barbecue shrimp po-boy at Pascal's Manale Restaurant & Bar was nothing like I expected. The bread roll was the requisite crusty outside and soft white inside. The shrimp were big, meaty and tender. But where was the red? And no breading on the naked crustaceans? The answer is that shrimp cooked in swirling butter mixed with pepper, garlic and other seasonings is a tradition from the city's Italian community. Once you get used to the idea, the bare shrimp dipped into the accompanying dish of butter sauce are darned good.

But if you need to see red, Ms. Hyster's Bar-B-Que & Soul Food is your place. The pulled-pork sandwich is a wonder of color and taste. The barbecue sauce owes its delicate sweetness to maple sugar, says Virginia Johnson, manager and granddaughter of Ms. Hyster (Hester Tyson). The meat's moist tenderness results from eight hours of cooking over hickory wood, she adds. Black-pride artwork decorates the walls of the sunny little restaurant, and favorite soul dishes such as seasoned green beans are on the menu.

NEW ORLEANS-BORN

The muffuletta, sometimes called antipasto on a bun, is a round sandwich almost the size of a dinner plate. Mike Serio of Serio's Po-Boys & Deli heaps it with layers of ham, Genoa salami, mortadella, seasoned Italian sausage, Swiss and provolone cheese and olive salad (whole black and Greek olives marinated in olive oil with Greek peppers, pickled carrots and cauliflower, capers and cocktail onions).

''Nobody in his right mind can eat a whole one,'' says Anne Sullivan, a regular at the sports deli that's dressed to its teeth in LSU Tigers memorabilia. ``Order a half. Everybody does.''

At Serio's, each chomp of the skyscraping stack bursts with buttery flavors that roll over the tongue in wavelets. The sandwich drools olive oil onto your hands.

''That's the mark of a good muffuletta,'' says Serio. ``You want the juices running down your fingers.''

I should have gone first to Central Grocery, where the muffuletta was born early in the 20th century. The Italian grocery's sandwich was low-rise by comparison, its meat and cheese drier, its olive salad less sumptuous. My love at first bite at Serio's made me a tougher judge at Central. But history should be honored.

Napoleon House, in a 200-year-old building redolent of the French Quarter's past, serves a hot muffuletta. The well-prepared sandwich is warm enough to blend the ingredients without melting away individual flavors.

AIRPORT ROUTE

No food on the plane? No surprise. And you're hungry.

In suburban Metairie, near Interstate 10, a main connector from the airport to the French Quarter, three options await.

II Tony's Italian Restaurant & Seafood is a pin-neat, family-owned spot with indoor and outdoor seating and an eggplant po-boy to make a vegetarian's heart sing. Veggie disks are lightly spread with marinara sauce and cozied into a plump roll of fresh white bread. Add mozzarella for zip. Top off with a dessert of locally made gelato.

Across the road, R&O's Pizza Restaurant is casual almost to the extreme. Christmas lights still garland the rafters, silverware is in skinny white paper bags, and brooms lean in a corner. Its shrimp po-boy is two-fisted, dressed with a slab of ripe tomato, mayonnaise and iceberg lettuce. Shrimp are plentiful, but the breading borders on too thick. R&O's offered a local favorite I encountered only twice: french fry po-boy with roast beef gravy. It's an avalanche of carbs, an oddity to outsiders but a cheap fill-up.

Bud's Broiler, a small local chain, serves an inexpensive little hamburger bursting with flavor. Credit charcoal grilling and Bud's tangy hickory sauce studded with bits of fresh tomato. Set off the textures with chopped onion and pink lemonade.

DIFFERENT STROKES

Having bitten into the city's most famous sandwich scions, I'm ready for a change.

Artsy-dark, shotgun-shape Juan's Flying Burrito calls itself a Creole taqueria. Locals nicknamed the friendly cafe's mojado a ''wet burrito,'' but I didn't find it a salsa swamp. Rather, the rolled flour tortilla was plump with savory rice, beans, lettuce and cheese anointed with a delish red chili sauce cooked on-site with anchos, brown sugar and oregano among ingredients. A dollop of sour cream and jalapeño slices crowned the roll-up.

Chicken salad or tuna salad on fresh croissants are draws at Croissant d'Or. French baker and owner Gerard Marchal makes his own breads, rolls and pastries, and if the chunky sandwich salads don't fill you up, a pastry and coffee will finish the job.

Stand atop the towering hamburger at Port of Call, and you might be able to see Dallas in the distance. At least an inch thick, the patty tastes as if it just came in from a backyard grill. The surprise is that in all that meat, I didn't find a bit of gristle or fat, and though lean, it wasn't dry. Each burger comes with a steaming baked potato. Add extras such as the haystack of cheese and the blanket of mushrooms, and you'll surely see Seattle from the summit.

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