“I figure that about 80 percent of the boudin purchased in Louisiana is consumed before the purchaser has left the parking lot, and most of the rest is polished off in the car. In other words, Cajun boudin not only doesn’t get outside the state; it usually doesn’t even get home.”
– Calvin Trillin, from his essay, “The Missing Links: In Praise of the Cajun Foodstuff That Doesn’t Get Around.”

Food is a tie that binds, a constant, an equalizer, or in the words of James Beard: “Food is our common ground, a universal experience.” Food can also function as one of the defining characteristics of regional and cultural identity. Boudin, a unique but simple culinary concoction of cooked pork, rice, onions and seasonings squeezed in to a sausage casing is one of those foods.

Throughout the area defined as Acadiana or Cajun Country, of which Lafayette is the hub, boudin is ubiquitous: Signs and banners signal one to stop and grab a link of HOT BOUDIN where it will be pulled from a steamer, weighed, and usually handed to you along with some napkins or paper towels so it can be eaten right on the spot. Displaced Cajuns frequently fill ice chests with up to 50lbs of their favorite sausage for the return trip and relish the opportunity to share it with the uninitiated. Boudin inspires fond memories of good times with family and friends as well as heartfelt debates about whose recipe is “best.” To say that folks in south Louisiana are passionate about their boudin is an understatement. Perhaps obsessive is more appropriate, since in-depth discussions about the crispness of the casing, rice to meat ratio, eating method, appropriate spice, and best texture are all too common when people start talking about their favorite “link.”

Although the archival record may never reveal the precise origin of Louisiana’s boudin sausage, we do know that it traces its culinary lineage, like the Cajun people trace their ancestry, back to France. The French have a sausage called “boudin blanc” (white boudin) which is similar to Cajun boudin almost solely through its nomenclature; for French boudin blanc is a highly perishable sausage made with pork, chicken, and/or veal mixed with milk, cognac, and spices. While this is certainly a delightful treat, it bears no resemblance to the link you will sink your teeth into in Louisiana. When the French Acadian’s (today’s Cajuns) made their way out of Nova Scotia, after having been expelled by the British in 1755, they adapted their traditions and culture to their new surroundings. Many made their way to the bayous, prairies, and backwoods of Louisiana where life required ingenuity, flexibility, and creativity. So, when they set out to make use of a freshly butchered hog, and to make good use of every single part of that animal, it was not much of a stretch for them to add some rice (as filler and flavor) to the “leftover” pork, mix it with the seasonings at hand, shove it into the intestines and call it what they had always called such a sausage: boudin. Today in places like St. Martinville, at La Grande Boucherie des Cajuns ( the hog butchering) held the Sunday before Mardi Gras, the age old practice of making boudin is embraced and the custom and community spirit continues to be passed from one generation to the next.

Regional variations exist from parish to parish and neighborhood to neighborhood, but the best links always come from specialty meat shops, stores, or restaurants that make it in-house. You are as likely to find a true boudin craftsman in a gas station convenience store with an added kitchen as you are in an established meat market. For many, boudin is essentially a sort of Cajun fast food, quickly filling the hunger void at any time of the day or night. However, the most common time to eat a link is in the morning, and many Cajuns refer to a Dr. Pepper and a link of boudin as a “Cajun Breakfast.” But this porky pleasure is significantly more versatile. Consider that there are a myriad of variations worth trying. Boudin rouge (red/blood boudin: made with copious quantities of coagulated swine brine) is hard to come by these days since most recipes fail to meet modern health codes. Some, particularly transplants from Texas, insist on putting their links on the grill and or having them smoked. Boudin balls are the filling from the link that is rounded, breaded, and deep-fried. A boudin sandwich is the filling smeared between two pieces of white bread. Boudinalaya (a twist on Jambalaya) is a budding new variation. Various places tout nouveau fillings: shrimp, crawfish, seafood, chicken, and even alligator boudin. New-fangled creations pop up all the time.

To begin understanding why such a simple food gets so much attention from the locals, one must venture out, oftentimes into the countryside, to meat markets and corner grocery stores where boudin craftsmen, or as some call them, boudiniers, employ generations-old recipes to make a product so versatile that it is as properly enjoyed as a meal-on-the-go as it is served from silver platters at the finest wedding receptions. Still, when it is all said and done, at its best, boudin is about tradition as much as it is about delicious food: the links shared between a father and son on their way to the duck blind, between buddies as they venture out on an early morning fishing trip, or between friends who set out on a Saturday morning “boudin run” become ritualistic. George Bernard Shaw may not have been referring specifically to boudin when he said, “There is no love sincerer than the love of food,” but in south Louisiana he certainly could have been.

– Bob Carriker

Bob Carriker is a history professor, SFA member, and boudin-lover. He is also co-creator of , a comprehensive taste guide to boudin in south Louisiana.