If Anthony Bourdain were still alive this would give him reason to live. Behold the Greatest Chef of the Inland Swamps cooks his signature dish. Stay tuned for the elegant table setting at the end.
Crawfish are ok, but I think I’m responsible for putting an all you can eat oyster place out of business in Houston. I’d start with “three dozen fried,” and keep ’em coming. While in college and couldn’t gain weight. And was always hungry.
steveazJanuary 22, 2022, 4:18 PM
Yum. Yum. Yum. I wanna be gettin’ me sum.
maryJanuary 22, 2022, 6:01 PM
Sounds a little like Justin Wilson.
JackJanuary 22, 2022, 6:05 PM
Forty some odd years ago, when I was young, strong and pretty, I lived in Baton Rouge and I had the good fortune to attend more South Louisiana crawfish boils than I can recall. And with a hundred or so others in their late 20s and early 30s, more pretty women than you could meet and flirt with in a week, ice cold beer and a swimming pool you would have to have been dead if you didn’t have a great time, every time. I left BR for serious reasons but I can tell you for a fact that in all of the places I have lived no other place on earth has better food or was more fun or enjoyable than the cities and towns of South Louisiana.
Couple of other things. In a crawfish boil you don’t always get just crawfish, potatoes and corn. No sir, I’ve seen turtles, small snakes, local small fish and in one instance, a baby alligator get dumped out on the table. They eat the crawfish but they play with the rest of the stuff they find or give it to the kids to play with.
And, folks down there like to make their own cracklins for game day when the Tigers are in Death Valley. People haul out big kettles or boilers, fill them with water and then dump in slices and pieces of sow belly and boil the fat out of those slivers of pork. The water boils the fat out of the pork and eventually the water evaporates and all you have is rendered lard with chunks of cracklins frying in that grease. Some people call them pork rinds but they’re not like the stuff you buy in the stores. Scoop the cracklins out onto thick paper towels, salt and pepper them and toss them back with cold beer. They’re delicious.
Re in WAJanuary 22, 2022, 9:17 PM
In 1960 I married into a family of first and second generation Germans. Every February they all got together and butchered two or three hogs per family. The second day the big lard pot was set up over a fire and all the fat and trimmings thrown in as the day progressed. One uncle was usually admonished several times for “trimming to deep”, ot even “hey, you just threw a chubk of MY bacon in there”. And no matter the hour or howhard it was snowing as soon as the women started ladleing out/straining the lard he would show up with his salt shaker.
That first winter I borrowed his salt shaker. The second winter I brought my own!
downeasthillbillyJanuary 23, 2022, 10:00 AM
I had a girlfriend in WVA who took me to a hog killing. Had real cracklins for the first time. Also learned about livermush vs “pudding and paunhaus” (sp?) Good times. I miss that gal.
H (science denier)January 22, 2022, 8:07 PM
Jack has a good handle on how it is down in Acadiana. I would only add get yourself some boudin sausage to go along with the cracklins.
Probably my favorite place is C’est Bon in Mermentau. During the crawfish and crab seasons, they have about 12 kettles going until late at night and a good time is had by all, to the best of the recollections of those present. C’est Bon is not the only place runs like that, by any means. I sincerely pity those of you who haven’t experienced this. Is only a matter of applied geography; hie thee hence.
An administrative item: If they decide they like you down there, you are in like you cannot believe. But, should you piss them off somehow, just get the hell out. Now. You have been warned.
AggieJanuary 23, 2022, 8:28 AM
Dat’s a fack, Shack. CoonAss philosophy: “Don’t get mad, don’t get even – get ahead.“
John G CondonJanuary 22, 2022, 8:19 PM
Where the term “Hold My Beer” originated.
TwoDogsJanuary 22, 2022, 9:18 PM
Nothing like a good old crawfish boil. I think our chef here went a bit overboard. I like mine simple : bugs, corn, taters, spices. And please, the late chef’s name was spelled Bourdain. It’s spelled that way on all three books of his that I have.
When I worked on the North Slope, there were, of course, a lot of Coon Posteriors working on the oil patch. Subsequently the field operator, BP, would twice or thrice a year fly in fresh crayfish for a buffet. I never was able to suck the meat out hard enough the eyes would pop, think one had to be born in the bayou to be that accomplished a crawdad eater.
M.MurcekJanuary 23, 2022, 1:23 PM
Stalekracker is the man! I always watch his videos, even when he makes stuff I won’t eat.
IAmWhatIAm(X/Y)January 23, 2022, 5:25 PM
This has got to be some kind of bad of joke. A Villa Platte version of Bennie Grunch or Larry Ragusa’s King Cakes (YouTube is your friend).
I’m a South Louisiana boy. Except for some time in New England, and the Army, this has been my home for six decades. I know Baton Rouge well. I live here. I say that to say this:
NO SELF RESPECTING COONASS PUTS BROCCOLI IN THEIR CRAWFISH. NOT ONE.
Sausage? Yes. Corn and potatoes? Absolutely. Mushrooms and onions? Sometimes, OK.
But NOTHING green. Nope. Nothing.
This is as bad as that time Disney (I think) put out a gumbo recipe that had as ingredients – I am serious – kale and tofu.
We have words for people who buy into such twaddle. The most polite is, “Tourist.”
IAmWhatIAm(X/Y)January 23, 2022, 5:32 PM
Wait. It wasn’t broccoli. It was BRUSSELS SPROUTS. An even greater heresy.
Real World Address for Donations, Mash Notes and Hate Mail
Gerard Van der Leun
1692 MANGROVE AVE
APT 379
Chico, Ca 95926
Green Pants Interior by Klahn
Who Am I? by Carl Sandburg
My head knocks against the stars.
My feet are on the hilltops.
My finger-tips are in the valleys and shores of universal life.
Down in the sounding foam of primal things I reach my hands and play with pebbles of destiny.
I have been to hell and back many times.
I know all about heaven, for I have talked with God.
I dabble in the blood and guts of the terrible.
I know the passionate seizure of beauty
And the marvelous rebellion of man at all signs reading “Keep Off.”
My name is Truth and I am the most elusive captive in the universe.
Duty, Beauty, Liberty, Country, Honor, Family, Faith — Plus a few simple easy to follow rules for guys
Men saw the stars at the edge of the sea
They thought great thoughts about liberty
Poets wrote down words that did fit
Writers wrote books
Thinkers thought about it
Take it where you find it
Can’t leave it alone
You will find a purpose
To carry it on
Mainly when you find it
Your heart will be strong
About it
Many’s the road I have walked upon
Many’s the hour between dusk and dawn
Many’s the time
Many’s the mile
I see it all now
Through the eyes of a child
Take it where you find it
Can’t leave it alone
You will find a purpose
To carry it on
Mainly when you find it
Your heart will be strong
About it
[Chorus]
Lost dreams and found dreams
In America
In America
In America
Lost dreams and found dreams
In America
In America
In America
And close your eyes
Leave it all for a while
Leave the world
And your worries behind
You will build on whatever is real
And wake up each day
To a new waking dream
Take it where you find it
Can’t leave it alone
You will find a purpose
To carry it on
Mainly when you find it
Your heart will be strong
About it
[Chorus]
Change, change come over
Change come over
Talkin’ about a change
Change, change
Change come over, now
Change, change, change come over
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I’m gonna walk down the street
Until I see
My shining light
I see my light
See my light
See my shining light
I see my light
See my light
See my shining light
Gerard Van der Leun
Comments on this entry are closed.
Crawfish are ok, but I think I’m responsible for putting an all you can eat oyster place out of business in Houston. I’d start with “three dozen fried,” and keep ’em coming. While in college and couldn’t gain weight. And was always hungry.
Yum. Yum. Yum. I wanna be gettin’ me sum.
Sounds a little like Justin Wilson.
Forty some odd years ago, when I was young, strong and pretty, I lived in Baton Rouge and I had the good fortune to attend more South Louisiana crawfish boils than I can recall. And with a hundred or so others in their late 20s and early 30s, more pretty women than you could meet and flirt with in a week, ice cold beer and a swimming pool you would have to have been dead if you didn’t have a great time, every time. I left BR for serious reasons but I can tell you for a fact that in all of the places I have lived no other place on earth has better food or was more fun or enjoyable than the cities and towns of South Louisiana.
Couple of other things. In a crawfish boil you don’t always get just crawfish, potatoes and corn. No sir, I’ve seen turtles, small snakes, local small fish and in one instance, a baby alligator get dumped out on the table. They eat the crawfish but they play with the rest of the stuff they find or give it to the kids to play with.
And, folks down there like to make their own cracklins for game day when the Tigers are in Death Valley. People haul out big kettles or boilers, fill them with water and then dump in slices and pieces of sow belly and boil the fat out of those slivers of pork. The water boils the fat out of the pork and eventually the water evaporates and all you have is rendered lard with chunks of cracklins frying in that grease. Some people call them pork rinds but they’re not like the stuff you buy in the stores. Scoop the cracklins out onto thick paper towels, salt and pepper them and toss them back with cold beer. They’re delicious.
In 1960 I married into a family of first and second generation Germans. Every February they all got together and butchered two or three hogs per family. The second day the big lard pot was set up over a fire and all the fat and trimmings thrown in as the day progressed. One uncle was usually admonished several times for “trimming to deep”, ot even “hey, you just threw a chubk of MY bacon in there”. And no matter the hour or howhard it was snowing as soon as the women started ladleing out/straining the lard he would show up with his salt shaker.
That first winter I borrowed his salt shaker. The second winter I brought my own!
I had a girlfriend in WVA who took me to a hog killing. Had real cracklins for the first time. Also learned about livermush vs “pudding and paunhaus” (sp?) Good times. I miss that gal.
Jack has a good handle on how it is down in Acadiana. I would only add get yourself some boudin sausage to go along with the cracklins.
Probably my favorite place is C’est Bon in Mermentau. During the crawfish and crab seasons, they have about 12 kettles going until late at night and a good time is had by all, to the best of the recollections of those present. C’est Bon is not the only place runs like that, by any means. I sincerely pity those of you who haven’t experienced this. Is only a matter of applied geography; hie thee hence.
An administrative item: If they decide they like you down there, you are in like you cannot believe. But, should you piss them off somehow, just get the hell out. Now. You have been warned.
Dat’s a fack, Shack. CoonAss philosophy: “Don’t get mad, don’t get even – get ahead.“
Where the term “Hold My Beer” originated.
Nothing like a good old crawfish boil. I think our chef here went a bit overboard. I like mine simple : bugs, corn, taters, spices. And please, the late chef’s name was spelled Bourdain. It’s spelled that way on all three books of his that I have.
Oh all right!
When I worked on the North Slope, there were, of course, a lot of Coon Posteriors working on the oil patch. Subsequently the field operator, BP, would twice or thrice a year fly in fresh crayfish for a buffet. I never was able to suck the meat out hard enough the eyes would pop, think one had to be born in the bayou to be that accomplished a crawdad eater.
Stalekracker is the man! I always watch his videos, even when he makes stuff I won’t eat.
This has got to be some kind of bad of joke. A Villa Platte version of Bennie Grunch or Larry Ragusa’s King Cakes (YouTube is your friend).
I’m a South Louisiana boy. Except for some time in New England, and the Army, this has been my home for six decades. I know Baton Rouge well. I live here. I say that to say this:
NO SELF RESPECTING COONASS PUTS BROCCOLI IN THEIR CRAWFISH. NOT ONE.
Sausage? Yes. Corn and potatoes? Absolutely. Mushrooms and onions? Sometimes, OK.
But NOTHING green. Nope. Nothing.
This is as bad as that time Disney (I think) put out a gumbo recipe that had as ingredients – I am serious – kale and tofu.
We have words for people who buy into such twaddle. The most polite is, “Tourist.”
Wait. It wasn’t broccoli. It was BRUSSELS SPROUTS. An even greater heresy.