Emile Boucher chef proprietor, Les Gourmets, Toulouse.
That I should die of cancer of the stomach is entirely appropriate. I eat with my stomach. My stomach eats me. My wife brings me my tray, Boudin sausage, a glass of burgundy, some bread.. I enjoy my final meal alone with pen and paper
The recipe for Le Boudin goes thus.
The pigs blood must be fresh. Underline fresh. Fresh blood will keep Les Gourmets open for another two years. Strain for clots. It is spring, the season of sudden change. My wife will contemplate the black linen dress or the woollen skirt. She wants certainties.
Cover and set aside. Chop garlic and onion, sauté in pig fat. After two years, Jean Luc will steal the recipe, as I did and grow rich. Add double cream, cooked rice, wild thyme, rosemary. My wife will be tired by then and will not care. Simmer. The restaurant will close for the funeral, the menu is planned.
Add the blood, stir well, force into hogs casings, poach gently. I ease the tablets deep into the sausage and add by way of a reminder. ‘Monique, darling, remember, fresh blood.’
Remove from the heat. Allow to cool.
End of Guest Post
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My great thanks to Kit for sharing this story with us. I look forward to reading much more of her work, especially her novel in process, The Scarlet Emperor.
"Kit, thanks for this, so much more interesting than Mel's posts,
I hope to meet you one day" - Carmilla
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