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I don’t get to New Orleans nearly as often as I’d like, but in between visits, Bayou Bakery in Arlington is where I fly to get a taste of what I miss in the Big Easy. It helps that owner David Guas is a Louisiana native and a pastry chef; his praline scones alone are reason to drop in. But just as fine are the classics. Bayou’s pile of salami, mortadella, smoked ham, provolone and minced olive salad crammed into a toasted Italian roll makes a convincing muffaletta. Monday brings red beans and rice, meaty with bites of andouille and hugged with a warm square of corn bread. Eating the zesty jambalaya is like hosting a jazz band in your mouth. Did I mention this is a self-serve operation, that you place your order at a counter and wait to have the name of a Louisiana parish called to retrieve your eats? Not a problem, unless you want another drink or biscuit and have to get back in line, a daunting prospect at brunch in particular. The flavor of New Orleans extends to the window-wrapped interior: weathered wooden shutters above the kitchen, Mason jars repurposed as light fixtures, Zydeco on the soundtrack. Some of the desserts are achingly sweet, and if you order the chicken salad sandwich with sprouts, well, you’re missing the point of the place. Like much of the cooking, Bayou’s signage slips in some sass. “Please bus your own table,” instructs a note above a dish tub. “This ain’t your mama’s house!”