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Created by Chef Remy
Smoky, snappy chunks of Louisiana's beloved pork and rice sausage, kissed by open flame until the casing blisters and chars, served hot off the grill with a sharp Creole mustard that cuts through the richness like a cool breeze off the bayou.
Boudin is the soul of Cajun country. Every gas station, every meat market, every family gathering in Southwest Louisiana has their own version. My grandmother Evangeline made hers with pork shoulder, liver, and rice cooked in the same pot liquid, stuffed into casings and steamed until the filling was creamy and the casing just barely held together. That was eating boudin the traditional way: squeezed straight from the casing into your mouth, standing in the kitchen, no plate required.
But here's what I learned running Lagniappe for over twenty years: when you're feeding a crowd, you need boudin that travels. Grilling solves the problem beautifully. The casing firms up over direct heat, developing char marks and a satisfying snap. The filling stays creamy inside while the outside gets smoky and crisp. Thread them on skewers and you've got party food that disappears before it hits the table.
The Creole mustard is non-negotiable. That sharp, grainy bite cuts through the richness of the pork and liver. I've watched grown men stand at my grill eating four or five skewers in a row, dipping each piece in that mustard like their lives depended on it. That's the reaction you want. That's what good food does to people.
Quantity
3 pounds (about 6-8 links)
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
1 teaspoon
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| fresh boudin links | 3 pounds (about 6-8 links) |
| vegetable oil or melted butter | 2 tablespoons |
| Cajun seasoning | 1 teaspoon |
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