SHENANIGAN No. 1: THE BOUCHERIE!

Destination: MOREAUVILLE, LA
Population: 922
Land Area: 3.03 sq. mi.
Location: 31.035 Latitude, -91.976 Longitude
Elevation: 52 ft.

Adventure in Life: Moreauville is really a place to rest your nerves. With a population under 1,000, you have no choice but to.

 ... Now the Sane: There are people who care and are genuinely concerned about the welfare of the residents. When in need, people help, without hesitation.

 ... And the Insane: These are the same people who will drive you crazy from knowing your every move.

As of 4:16 p.m. CST, Sunday, the population of the United States was 309,047,922. According to the 2000 U.S. Census count, 922 of that populace lives in Moreauville, La.  Incorporated as a village, Moreauville boasts a high school that survived what locals call the Great Mississippi River Flood of 1927, home to Bayou de Glaisses and home to some of the best eating in the world.

When I first moved Moreauville, I hated it. I hated the people. I hated the schools. I hated Louisiana. As a transplant from Detroit, I felt that I had lost a sense of culture, the right to adequate education and also lost a reason to correctly enunciate. After traveling the globe, I proceeded to find more reasons not to appreciate such a place I would often describe as “Podunk,” “hick” or just plain “country.”

I now recess from such opinions of this community located on La. Hwy. 1, pretty much near the state’s geographical center and in the middle of what many call the Gin Belt (meaning cotton) and “Sugar Bowl” (meaning cane).


Reasons for this are the close friends and family. I would imagine that with a population of 922, one has no choice but to appreciate the Kumbaya atmosphere. Those here in position to help others often do. If your credit card is declined during a purchase don’t worry, you can bring the money when you get a chance. People can still “charge” purchases at the corner store.  The adage “it takes a village to raise a child” rings true in the heart of Avoyelles Parish. From its colonization to present, whether white, black or American Indian (there are no Asians or Pacific Islanders), practically everyone in Moreauville has participated in the upbringing of someone else’s child. Be it a neighbor’s child, grandchild, niece, nephew, sister, brother or classmate, etc., this village has definitely raised its children.

It also feeds its children. Though hunting is prevalent and Angus beef is abundant, the pig is often the animal of sacrifice here in central Louisiana. Hence, the ever-popular boucherie.

Now let’s not get the boucherie misconstrued with another popular hog-raising good time: the cochon de lait. Both events include a pig that is sacrificed for occasions such as family gatherings, funerals, birthdays, graduations, child births, jail breaks, jail releases and pretty much anything else that would warrant killing a pig, including killing a pig. But that’s where it ends.

According to the Mansura (La.) Chamber of Commerce’s Web site, a cochon de lait is a suckling (sucking) pig “that has only fed on its mother’s milk. The piglet is killed between the ages of two to six weeks, and traditionally it is roasted. The dish is usually reserved for special occasions …” The town even hosts an annual festival to honor such a feast, called the Cochon de Lait Festival. It’s held every Mother’s Day Weekend (mom doesn’t have to cook). It’s a big “to-do” in these parts, so for more information check out http://www.cochondelaitfestival.com.

Now, the boucherie is just what it sounds like: a butchering. It doesn’t have to be formal. In all actuality, the formula is quite simple: find a pig, kill the pig, eat the pig – and from the “roota to the toota,” meaning waste nothing.

Throughout Central Louisiana, also known as CenLa and Acadiana (southwestern Louisiana), friends and families in the many small communities had little outside entertainment. So they created their own and food was an intricate part of such fun. One such event was the boucherie, where family and friends would congregate, drink beer, wine or whatever libation was available. Folks known for their culinary acumen wake up before dawn to kill a pig and cut it up to prepare and share delicious dishes for the taking at the end of the day.

The boucherie at Tut’s Place is arguably one of the biggest boucheries in Avoyelles-or CenLa, for that matter. Located on “around the lane” on Dufour St., in the heart of Moreauville’s three square miles, Tut’s is the go-to spot on Sunday evenings. Known as “hole-in-the-wall,” or “juke joint,” Tut’s is reminiscent of Harpo’s, the social place of choice in the film adaptation of “The Color Purple,” sans the folks sitting in the rafters of the roof, patrons paddling across the creek to enjoy Shug Avery’s tactics and Sophia punching the heck out of Squeaky. The doors usually open around 6 p.m. and the patrons fill the joint, then “jook” until approximately 2 a.m. the following morning.

The club is named for the nickname of Eunice Austin, who is also my cousin. It is her son John Austin Jr., the bar manager and whom intimate friends and family call “Bookie,” who held a birthday boucherie on April 3, which was a Saturday-a departure from normal operating hours. Friends and family from far and wide talked about this event for previous months, so I was ready to witness the process, from butchering to broiler. I even mentioned it on Facebook.
 

The slaughter was to take place at 7 a.m., but I was so tired from reveling the night before that I missed the killing. I really don’t think my stomach would have been able to handle the poor pig being killed just to satisfy my appetite. I may have gone vegan. I mean seriously, I don’t even eat eggs because the thought of them popping out of a hen’s reproductive canal is repulsive to me, in addition to the fact that I look at them as “abortioned chickens.” Cruel enough am I to wait until they mature so that I can order a two-piece at Popeye’s. Go figure.

I didn’t get to the boucherie until about 10 a.m. and there were already about 150 people there. Folks from Texas, Mississippi, New Orleans and even California were there. The day was simply gorgeous-no rain and the temperatures were in the mid-70s. 

People were behind Tut’s Place cooking cracklins, which are thin slabs of the pig’s skin and fat cooked in lard until really crispy.  The cracklins snapped and popped in big black cast-iron drum kettles as volunteers stirred and tossed the pieces of flesh until golden brown. 

“You’re late,” joked Bookie, who was enjoying the pinning of dollar bills in denominations of five to 100 on his shirt. “You alright? Wanna beer? Come take some pictures for me,” he exclaimed as he left to go behind the bar.

As I intermittently took snapshots of Bookie’s good time, I also noticed how the pig’s body was disseminated. Along the side of the club, many watched, including members of a motorcycle club from Alexandria and Baton Rouge, La., as three big cast-iron pots accommodated simmering chunks of pork stew meat, also known as grillades. Cut from the leanest parts of the pig, the marinated grillades were incorporated with onions, garlic and bell pepper, among other seasonings native to Louisiana cuisine and eventually served over rice in gravy. Saved for the patrons’ taking was the tripe, or stomach lining, which someone would probably prepare in a spicy, red picante. The hog's head cheese would be made by Iris Harmason, Tut’s daughter. Harmason, affectionately known as “Teddy,” prepared the congealed pork by meticulously picking the edible lean matter from the pig’s cranial cavity. She also incorporated meat from the pig’s feet and tail. After a brief chilling, the grayish, marbleized cheese was cut into saltine-size portions and distributed throughout the clubs ensuing capacity as an hors d'œuvre.

Stanley Pierre, a Moreauville native who now lives in Alexandria, made sure he did not miss the bi-annual event. Pierre’s son, Juan Pierre, is an outfielder for the Chicago White Sox. Stanley was not going to miss his son play in the home opener the following Monday, but he also wasn’t going to miss what has become a staple of Dufour St., Moreauville and beyond.

“I’ll fly out tomorrow and he (Juan) will meet us at the airport,” said Stanley, who had just joked with a few of the cooks outside the club. “I couldn’t miss this. Look at all of the people here. This is the best you can get. This is one of the coolest events you can attend.”

Perhaps the most interesting by-product of the boucherie was the boudin, a sausage made of pork dressing stuffed into the edible intestine of the pig. Made in the “white” or “red” variety, the boudin was the most popular fare of the day. Throughout the day, volunteers mashed, processed, strained and stuffed pork dressing into airtight casings which were then knotted and served in links. Evident in the white boudin, which consisted of casings stuffed with dressing, were garlic, onions and other Cajun seasonings that danced on my palette and in turn, made me dance as if I were a little child who danced as Schroeder played the piano in an upbeat Charlie Brown cartoon. But to tell the truth, I didn’t and just couldn’t try the red boudin, which was made with the pig’s blood. Mind you, I was told that all of the meat had been handled according to respective regulations, but there was detailed handling of the “blood sausage,” especially in preparation, cooking and sanitation. Nevertheless, I couldn’t bring myself to try it, though others devoured it without hesitation.

According to cooks and volunteers, an estimated 300 patrons – approximately one-third of Moreauville’s population – passed through Tut’s Place that day to eat, drink and/or be merry. The boucherie eventually died down-at around 11:30 that night. The place was cleaned, sanitized and prepared for next day activities and in true Moreauville fashion, the crowd returned the next day to enjoy the regularly scheduled Sunday festivities.

Vanessa Harris-Adams, of Wisner, La., was in Moreauville during the Easter Weekend. She is also Tut’s niece. Harris-Adams’ mother, Beverly Harris, lives right across the street from the club, so she had easy access to the good times.

“Moreauville is the type of place where you have to grow to appreciate it. If you’re not from here, it will be a slow process,” Harris-Adams said. “But it will happen, and that goes for practically any place in Louisiana. You got to love it. Here, time stops.”