Well there’re a couple of boys in our kitchen who I wouldn’t even be able to barely understand if I hadn’t grown up in Texas. No problem as there’re here to hustle the drillin’ folk, so I don’t really have to talk to 'em. And they have brought us, as happens every couple of weeks (various sources), big piles of homemade sausage and boudin. I love that boudin - no sweat with lunch today.
But I pause to wonder. Whenever these gifts of food of the cajun gods appear, the sausage disappears fast (district geologist cut me off, aggressively, at the door to the kitchen to scarf the last sausage) while the boudin lingers on. Fine with me, I prefer the boudin. This place is rife with folk whose last name includes “eau” and I must consider whether or not they know something I don’t.
Does the sausage go and the boudin remain because they all know some deep dark secret about the ingredients of which I’m unaware (I thought it was just pork, rice and spice). Or is it just that they’re all jumpin’ on the expensive stuff first?
Or something else?
(Of course I wouldn’t ask this until I’d had my fill.)
