I’m dreading crossing the bridge.
On the eastern edge of the Atchafalaya river basin, dark’s coming and the rain is pouring out of the sky.
“Honey, you stay here as long as you want, we’re closing but that don’t mean you got to get out in this weather.”
The country quick mart where I’ve taken refuge is closing down for the evening and my options are dwindling. I picture a non-fatal crash, half-way across the twenty mile long bridge, and it dawns on me that I could starve to death before anybody found me or my bike. “Y’all got any boudin?”
The lady walks over to the cooler and grabs some saran wrapped sticks. They have no stickers on them whatever, and I immediately imagine a crusty old Cajun guy selling them to rural convenience stores out of the back of his pick-up.
“Where did y’all get these?”
“Man named Kirk Martin makes them, they’re good, you want me to microwave one of them for you?”
“Nah,” I silently reckon that if it comes right down to it I can eat them raw. Probably taste better that way than out of a microwave.
Kirk Martin Slaughter House was established over thirty years ago in Carencro, Louisiana. It’s safe to say that in spite of this longevity, Martin is still flying under the radar by virtue of the fact that he’s not in the boudin link archive that includes hundreds of vendors in western Louisiana.
No matter. This is some fine boudin. I eventually make it across the dread bridge and all the way back to Austin where I fire up my cast iron pan, slit the boudin longwise and fry it up along side a couple over medium eggs.
The finely textured link has a high meat to rice ratio which is my preference. It’s not particularly spicy but it has been nicely seasoned with salt and pepper. While Mr. Martin’s boudin may not be a game changer on the prairies of western Louisiana, out here in Austin it’s mighty fine.