TulaneLSU's Top 10 boudin stands

Dear Friends,

Do you remember the first time you had boudin? My first bite of it was around 1993 at a wedding reception at Mulatte’s on Julia Street in the Warehouse District. I confess that I spit it out and I reprimanded Cousin, who had tricked me into eating it by saying, “TulaneLSU, this is the best thing you’ll eat this week.” My British and Creole sensibilities were not prepared for the untamed, some might even say feral flavors of the boudin. Granted, Mulatte’s was also a terrible restaurant and not the best way to introduce an eight year old to Cajun cuisine. Neither Mulatte’s nor Kolb’s had outstanding food, but I remember both of those ethnic restaurants for their dance floors, both of which helped transform me into the male Terpsichore of the JCC sock hops of the late 1990s.



As I walked through the Quarter last week with a goal of eating at The Napoleon House, which was empty but as delicious as ever, I came across K-Paul’s Louisiana Kitchen. It broke my heart to hear this summer that it was closing. Some will blame the coronavirus, but honestly, the restaurant was never the same after the masterful Paul Prudhomme died in 2015. To see its last posted menu, the gone fishing sign, an empty dining room, and its iconic sign and cayenne door handles nearly brought tears to my eyes. I stood on that beautiful slate sidewalk and began remembering the meals I shared in that now empty room with Mother, Uncle, father, and even Ms. Mae. As you all know, Ms. Mae died in 2004 and the last out of house meal we had with her we shared at K-Paul’s.









Ms. Mae so loved K-Paul’s. She also loved Fong’s on Williams and we traveled to Kenner every December as part of her Christmas present. She reserved K-Paul’s for her birthday meal, and I believe there was a string of at least ten years where we celebrated her birthday in Chef Prudhomme’s restaurant.

It was her 1998 birthday -- I remember vividly the year because I had to walk on crutches from the parking garage of the Omni, where our Money Board friend, cgrand, once worked. That ankle accident on Dumaine destroyed the most promising middle school volleyball career of the last generation.

On the menu that day was an appetizer called smoked duck boudin. After my experience at Mulatte’s, boudin was the b-word to me, and I made a rude comment to the table. “I thought K-Paul’s was a fine restaurant, so why on earth are they serving boudin tonight?”

Ms Mae would not let me speak so negatively. “His boudin is delicious. Please do not ruin this meal for us.” Ms. Mae knew of Prudhomme’s boudin, perhaps from a birthday meal at Commander’s when he cooked there. “I am getting an order and I want you to try it.”

Anyone who knew Ms. Mae knew that you did not say no to her. After she ordered the meal, the time, as it does when dreading something, dragged to a halt like the clock in Three O'Clock High. Finally, it did arrive -- a long link of rice stuffing with meat and entrails blended together. The smell was actually quite pleasant. I waved my hand over the sausage to bring closer the meat’s waft.

“Stop smelling it and eat it!” yelled father. There was no humor in his voice.

As I chewed the boudin, the rice and meat mixture collapsed in my mouth followed by a burst of the most wonderful flavors. It was warm, but not what I would call spicy. It was the perfect amount of spice, not to the point of burning the taste buds but to the point of heightening to attention every papillae of the tongue. I quickly went back for more and before I knew it I had eaten the entire link.

“Get her another one,” father commanded the waiter.

I have since eaten many boudin, but none were as good as Chef Prudhomme’s, who was in the kitchen that evening and came to greet us and wish Ms. Mae a happy birthday. There no longer is good boudin in the city. I know some will argue for the boudin served in that local Cajun chain of restaurants opened by an Anglo whose heritage is closer to blackeyed peas and biscuits than to boudin and andouille. But it is not so, and to get good boudin these days requires UPS or a trip to Cajun country.



It is quite an anomaly that New Orleans has neither great Cajun food nor good butchers. The borders of Cajun Louisiana abutt the city on the southwest and come within a stone’s throw of Armstrong International Airport. One would think that there would be a mild infiltration of Cajun culture into the city, but it never has come. Perhaps K-Paul’s will be as far at it goes. Though there are few reasons one should leave New Orleans, one of them is to visit Cajun Louisiana’s boudin shops and butchers.



I really know quite little about the history of boudin. I know the word means sausage and that people speculate that red boudin, boudin prepared with pig’s blood, was how the food first appeared in Acadia, whose meaning comes from that Greek region, Arcadia, meaning refuge. Southern Louisiana, of course, was a refuge to the French who lived in current day Nova Scotia. The English had conquered that land in 1710. Mostly civilized and optimistic, the English patiently waited for the French of that island to swear allegiance to the Union Jack. After 50 years, the English grew tired and finally forced out all the French. Of all the places in the world to go, the Cajuns decided on south central Louisiana’s swamps and bayous.

The children of the Cajuns, born in Louisiana, technically were Creoles, often known as Cajun Creoles, but eventually the second term was jettisoned. Cajun came to mean someone who was French and from rural areas, and almost always poor. As Cajuns today will tell you, their ancestors arrived with almost nothing, and the lives of most Cajuns were filled with an ongoing battle of sustenance. Thankfully for them, the waters and lands of this region were teeming with food aplenty.

Boudin, it seems, was a good way for poor people to eat and eat well. While the good parts of the pig were probably sold and shipped to the cities, the Cajuns learned that just about any part of the pig, if seasoned properly, could taste like a delicacy. Rice was abundant and cheap, so it made sense to throw it all together in a delicious intestinal tube, easy to grip with the hand and bite.