German Engineering

Chef John Besh, whose restaurants range from the European-inspired La Provence to the patriotically nostalgic American Sector, capped off his training at the Culinary Institute of America with an apprenticeship at an 18th-century restaurant in Germany’s Black Forest. He said that in Germany, he kept encountering food traditions that reminded him of New Orleans.

“Once a month they’d slaughter a pig, like the boucheries I remembered, and they’d make blutwurst, which is like boudin.  It gave me a better understanding of where I came from," Besh said.

However, the sausages picked up a little extra kick when they moved to Louisiana.

“The spices are much more pronounced here,” said Besh, “whereas in the mountain villages in Germany, you had herbs, not spices. You adapted. You used what you had.”  

Besh also stressed the importance of smoked pork in Germany and in southern Louisiana.

“When you travel through France, you’ll find smoked pork belly and such, but smoke isn’t that prevalent. In Germany, they use smoke the way we like it,” Besh said. 

The Baileys and the Jacobs in LaPlace, among others, he added, are smoking andouille in the German tradition.

Shacking Up

At Cochon Butcher, in the Warehouse District, you can sample Chef Donald Link’s smoky and substantial housemade andouille sausage, or take some home to add to your own pot of gumbo, red beans, or jambalaya. Chef Link’s German ancestors were part of a group of 41 families who, in the 1880s, settled in Roberts Cove, in southwestern Louisiana. The andouille he makes today, says Link, is basically the same recipe his family brought over from Germany.

“I’ve been through Germany and France, and you’ll find the same sausages there as here,” said Link. “Andouille is the same as it was a hundred years ago, with the absence of allspice and nutmeg”--two ingredients that are often used in German sausages.  

Link explained that while andouille was made by both the French and Germans, the French also make a sausage called andouillette, a smaller version of smoked, spiced pork sausage; andouille is bigger because it’s stuffed in larger casings. The main differences between andouille and other types of smoked pork sausage, Link said, is the size of it and the coarse grind of the pork, which leaves it in pieces as big as a quarter of an inch.

“There are still a few butchers making andouillette in small towns here, but it’s really rare to find,” Link added. 

A relative of Link’s, Bubba Frey, makes what Link refers to as his favorite andouille, which is smoked for hours in a cypress shack. Though it’s not feasable to build a smoke shack in New Orleans, Link employs Frey’s smoking method at his Cochon restaurant in Lafayette. Their family recipe uses pork, pork fat, salt, and black, white, and cayenne peppers.

Seeing Green

Some andouille makers, like Wayne Schexnayder of Schexnayder’s Acadian Foods in Kenner, include a little something green--usually parsley or green onion--in more of a Creole style.

Schexnayder is a descendant of French-speaking German immigrants from the Alsace-Lorraine region.  His family settled in Hahnville in the 1720s, and they’ve been making andouille the entire time.

“My great-grandmother always made it,” Schexnayder said. “The men did the killing--the boucherie--but most of the women did the work, making and stuffing the sausage, smoking it and such.”

The families of the River Parishes, or the Hahnville area, made food more in a Creole style, according to Schexnayder.  

“If you go to Lafayette, in the southwestern part of the state, they have a tendency to cook spicier food. They use cayenne pepper, whereas we use a lot of different peppers--black, cayenne, and white--but, when we say ‘seasoning,’ we mean vegetables like onion, garlic, and parsley.” 

Schexnayder produces a continuous-link style of andouille that he ships around the country. For retail at locations including the German Coast Farmer’s Market, Dorignac’s, and Langenstein’s, he makes an “andouille loaf,” which is casingless and resembles a block of coarse-textured pate. It’s smoked slowly over pecan wood and includes parsley, green onion, and black peppercorns in addition to the pork and other spices.

“It’s great for chopping into small pieces, and for sandwiches,” he added.

As a descendant of German immigrants to New Orleans, I was highly intrigued the first time I heard that the andouille I know and love was a German contribution to the culture.  It’s also a  prime example of the assimilation of many European and African cultures here, of our “pot-of-gumbo style of cooking,” in the words of Chef Besh, and is still mostly used in traditional dishes that are themselves amalgamations of the various cultures that settled in New Orleans and southern Louisiana: gumbo, jambalaya, or a big pot of beans.  These days, you’ll even find it adding smoky flavor to creamy pastas or adding a local touch to gourmet pizzas.

I find it entirely convincing as a substitute for bacon in a simple German-inspired method for making smothered cabbage: Chop enough andouille into small pieces to equal about half a cup.  In a large saucepan, saute the andouille with a chopped onion in a few tablespoons of butter and a pinch of sugar until they’re well-browned.  Add a clove of minced garlic, then sprinkle in two tablespoons flour, letting the flour cook for a couple of minutes.  Stir in one and a half cups of chicken stock and let cook until slightly thickened, then stir in a large head of green cabbage that’s been chopped into 2-inch squares.  Reduce the heat to a simmer, cover the pot, and braise the cabbage for 30 to 45 minutes, stirring frequently to prevent sticking. Season with salt and pepper, and serve alongside a pork cutlet or some grilled knackwurst or brats for a little Oktoberfest feast.