Bare-bones outfit furnishing boiled crawfish & other Cajun staples in a converted gas station.
Address and Contact Information
Address: 1205 Forsythe Ave, Monroe, LA 71201
Phone: (318) 322-0414
Website: http://cormiersrestaurant.com/
Menu Photos
Photo Gallery
Related Web Results
Cormiers Restaurant | Monroe LA – Facebook
Cormier’s Cajun Catering & Restaurant | Discover Monroe West …
Cormier’s Cajun Catering & Restaurant – MapQuest
Reviews
The staff was fabulous, loved talking and listening to everyone. They loved seeing my daughter in law and my grand baby eating crawfish for the very first time. My son said Pops I needed that……
Awesome place and feels just like family at home!! Thank you for a great night out and all the lagniappe , the bread pudding was awesome!! This is one of the biggest things I miss from back home is good old Southern Hospitality.
The outdoor patio vibe was really cool too. Hats off for the best handwashing station!!!
Let’s talk about the crawfish crime scene they’re calling food. You see, a real crawfish boil infuses the meat with soul—seasoning through and through. But these clowns? They cook the poor little bastards in plain water, then douse them in a salt tsunami after they’re already dead. The result? The outside’s so caked in seasoning it’ll singe your fingerprints off, but crack it open and the meat tastes like it’s been boiled in regret and served on a plate of disappointment. It’s like someone handed you a can of La Croix labeled “hint of crawfish.”
Now, because my wife is an optimist—and I’m a masochist—I gave this place a second chance. This time? The pulled pork Poboy. What did I get? A sandwich so sad it should come with a therapy hotline printed on the wrapper. No toppings. No sauce. The bread was cold, like it was stored in a meat locker with the last shreds of their culinary ambition. Pulled pork? More like pushed aside pork—dry, flavorless, and so forgettable I almost needed a mirror to remember I was still alive.
Oh, and the paper towel holder? Empty. The entire time. You’re in a place slinging greasy crawfish like a frat house at a kegger, and no one thought, “Hey, maybe folks will need to wipe their fingers?” The server? Came by exactly once—to drop the food—and vanished like my last shred of patience. No check-in. No refills. Nothing. I half-expected to see a chalk outline where their customer service used to be.
Final thoughts? If you like your food underwhelming, your sandwiches cold and naked, your crawfish tasting like someone whispered a spice rack’s name over them from a mile away, and your hands left greasy with no napkins in sight, then this is your spot. Otherwise, save yourself the trip and lick the salt off a cracker instead. Same experience, fewer calories.
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Orion’s Grade: F for “Feral Disappointment.”