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MY
ROUSES
EVERYDAY
MAY | JUNE 2015
the
Culinary Influences
issue
I
f you’re on the hunt for European influence
in Franco-centric south Louisiana, you
shouldn’t have to look too far.
French folks vacationing from Brittany would
see plenty of familiar names while walking
the streets of the French Quarter (Chartres,
Dauphine, Toulouse) or plying the back
roads south of Interstate 10. (Pronouncing
them, however, is another thing altogether.)
Spaniards on holiday would catch little
glimpses of linguistic recognition (Galvez,
Bayona, the Cabildo). Multilayered colonial
history tends to have that effect.
And as New Orleans knows all too well, it’s
pretty easy to find ample evidence of the
region’s long-standing German community
in modern local food culture, including Dixie
beer, which was founded by the Merz family.
But aside from the obvious connections,
there’s another significant culinary
influence that’s partially German in nature
yet living under an assumed French alias.
I’m speaking, of course, of our beloved
andouille — a cornerstone sausage used in
everything from slow-cooked gumbos to
Monday night red beans to pork-spiked
cheddar grits at brunch.
Andouille is a meaty pork sausage that’s
used to flavor countless classic local dishes.
In its most traditional form, it’s a beast of a
wurst (usually 2-2 1/2 inches in diameter)
made with chunks of pork shoulder (often
called the “Boston butt” cut of the hog)
and simply spiced with garlic, curing salts
and various peppers (usually black and
cayenne). The resulting large-caliber links
are traditionally hot-smoked over pecan
wood embers.
A coarser-textured cousin of smoked
sausage, traditional andouille is a
transcendent example of the wurst-maker’s
art. Browned in a skillet, andouille fills the
kitchen with the aroma of well-smoked
bacon and closely resembles a cylindrical
core sample from a magic Easter ham.
One particular style of sausage-making is
native to the parishes upriver from New
Orleans in a region known as the “German
Coast” upriver from New Orleans. Early in
the 18th century, a group of emigrants from
the Rhineland settled in the area that would
become modern-day St. James, St. Charles,
and St. John the Baptist parishes. Over
time, the early German pioneers gradually
morphed into German-Acadians, so that
names like Shexneyder and Himel became,
in the words of an old saying, “As Cajun as
the grass outside.”
The andouille that we use to season a wide
variety of dishes has a bold, smoky profile
and is commonly found wherever sausage
is called for (though usually in smaller
amounts due to its intense flavor). Compare
that with continental French sausage of
the same name, which is made from spiced
tripe stuffed into a sausage casing. Tasty
in its own right, but completely different
despite having the same name.
And it’s yet another debt (like cold beer and
crispy poboy bread) that we owe in some
part to early German immigrants.
Plenty of Choices
When it comes to locally made sausage
options, there’s a pronounced range in
andouille recipes and styles depending
on the location of origin. While some
producers go for a more traditional “chunk
style” texture, it’s equally common for
Rouses Andouille
Andouille
by
Pableaux Johnson +
photos by
Romney Caruso