Jean Maupertuis in Auvergne et Boudin Noir

A great Boudin Noir, to me, as strange as it sounds, is like a young punk singer in a black Chanel dress: f***-you-attitude inside barely contained by a proper outside casing.

Boudin Noir, of course, is a peasant French food. Boudin Noir is made with humblest of ingredients – essentially remains of pork and blood.  If necessity is mother of invention, then Boudin Noir fits the bill. I can only imagine a farmer, who first created Boudin Noir. Looking at the remains of a sacrificed pig for winter, the farmer thinks: “Well, there are some fat, blood and intestines left. Eh voila!”

There are only two types of Boudin Noir: Great and Shitty. There is no middle ground. The shitty one should be thrown out immediately. The great ones have a balanced flavour and silken texture with crispy outer layer from pan-frying in butter.  In France, some fried apples and generous portions of green salad are served often with Boudin Noir to cut its richness.  When I visited Jean Maupertuis in Auvergne, that is exactly what he and his wife made generously for me.

In Paris, whenever I see Boudin Noir on a menu, I order the dish – provided that I trust the restaurant. L’Avant Comtoir in Paris has a bite-size Boudin Noir between a macaron with a sweet-pepper jelly.  It goes down like a praise with a chilled glass of Beaujolais or Loire. Le Verre Volé in Paris often has Boudin Noir on the chalkboard menu. The last time I was at the restaurant, a fellow Canadian from Quebec ordered the humble dish. We struck instant friendship over the dish.  It is like we struck some kind of a secret code of great French bistro foods.