My
Aunt Mono in Lafayette had a pan of it in little links served on the kitchen
table. Of course there was sweet coffee milk for me. I don’t remember other
items, besides homemade fig preserves from the giant fig tree out in the yard.
I’m sure that fig production area covered an area the size of a New York
apartment. I don’t even recall what we put the figs on at that breakfast table.
One
of my earliest memories of realizing I really liked to eat was as a small child
at this table. I took my mom aside and mentioned that the boudain on this visit
tasted different than the kind usually served, and I didn’t care for it as
much. Mom pointed out that I’d had several servings of this “lesser” boudain
anyway.
In
the ‘80s I noticed boudain being sold more often on a bun, at festivals and
other types of events. So boudain became a later-in-the-day treat food.
I’m
told some people must have their boudain with crackers and I think it’s pretty
handy to serve it in a tortilla that just naturally folds around the contours
of a link.
Then
some smart somebody started smoking boudain, producing a crispy skin that I
just can’t resist. More festival flair.
When
my sister comes from Alabama, she arranges to buy boudain in large quantities
and get it back home. She bought some and put it in my freezer and reminded
everyone to not eat it. Repeatedly!
We
got a text that she made it home safe, and a message that she had forgotten
some of the boudain in my freezer.
She
told us to enjoy, and my mom said she’d serve it up for our dinner. I understood
her to say boudain omelet, meaning boudain folded into the eggs. But she presented
boudain and omlet. Just as good.
It
made a great meal, which we referred to as “breakfast for dinner.”
Readers,
if you have a passion for how your boudain is best enjoyed, let me know at:
No comments:
Post a Comment