The Boudin and Cracklin' Trails

I took off on Sunday morning, zooming to try and catch a tour of an exhibit at the LSU Museum in Baton Rouge. Made great time, listening the Uncensored Blues podcast from the Delta Blues Museum. Great stuff. Had planned to hit Billy's Boudin & Cracklin's for lunch, but I got hungry way before Scott, Louisiana. A quick check of the Cracklin' Trail map directed me to Rabideaux's Sausage Kitchen in Iowa, LA.

I pulled my pants up over my underwear (I'm not lookin' like a fool with my pants on the ground!) and got one link of boudin and a few cracklins. The boudin was OK - there was a lot of rice, and it mostly just tasted like the Cajun seasoning blend - the same spicy powder covering the cracklins. It didn't really float my boat, and suddenly the distance to Billy's seemed much shorter.

Whole. Different. Story.

With Billy's, you taste the pork, the liver, the green onions, the black pepper, and the serious yum. Better cracklins too - this is like Norwegian ribbe meets carnitas - meaty, crispy, dangerously good.

On to Baton Rouge, where I made it just in time! The Visual Blues exhibit was neat, but they didn't let me take any pictures of the art.

Checked into my hotel, and headed out to Parrain's for dinner. I'm starting to wonder about this fetishizing of rural poverty through "shack" imagery. I mean, the parking lot was full of gleaming SUVs, and inside I got a martini. There is something uncomfortable about "slumming" in this way.

The service was abominable, the raw oysters were served on a bar tray, no ice, fork, lemon, or anything. Had to remind the bartender to put olives in my martini. The char-grilled oysters were just OK - nothing like the incredible ones at Drago's in Metairie. Won't slum here again.

Next up is Natchez, Ferriday, Vicksburg, and Jackson - I'm already tired again!