Whatever. It's sausage.

Most places you go have a favorite food or recipe. One of the Cajun specialties is a thing called boudin (pronounced: boo-DAN!). Almost everywhere you go, you will see signs advertising that boudin is, indeed, served inside. Gas stations, corner delis, diners, restaurants, lunch cafes, even bakeries all boast that the best boudin around can be found through their doors. After seeing a boudin sign for the eleventy-hundredth time, I started asking around to find out just what this must-have was.

One day, DH and I were going to take a road trip and see what there was to see in the countryside of Louisiana. Of course, no road trip is complete without beef jerky and a Mountain Dew, so we first stop at the local gas station for the requisite road snacks. Sure enough, boudin was available inside. I drag DH over to the counter and tell him that he should try boudin. (I am a strict vegetarian. NEVER have I been so glad of this as I have been while down here. 'Cause I'm sure not trying some of the stuff they eat.) DH is staring inside the little glass window at the assortment of meats and fried foods while the little Cajun woman behind the counter is staring at us with boredom. Try it, I prod him again. DH turns to me and asks, "What is boudin, anyway?" It's sausage, I say.

Little Cajun woman behind the counter snaps awake at that. Leaning in as far as the glass window will allow her to and striking quite the indignant pose, she almost screams at us, "It AIN'T sausage--it boo-DAN!! Now, this person behind the counter has her hands jammed on her ample hips, and her eyes (reddened from years of heavy tabasco use) are glaring at us as though we just suggested that Mozart wrote ditties. Now curious as to what delicious treat would inspire such passion, DH orders two of them to go.

As we stand in line to pay, DH bites into one of the boudin links. He looks at me and claims that it is good but that it is, indeed, sausage. Little Cajun woman takes our money, rolls her eyes, and mumbles something about "damn yankees" under her breath as she walks away.

Whatever, Cajunette. I'm from the North. Call it whatever you want, but ground up meat stuffed into a tube IS sausage.