Maybe I can walk away from Louisiana on my own power, but my belly will certainly be ready for a long winters nap. As I left Alabama I felt pretty proud that I could use the last hole on my belt to keep my trousers up. With the fried chicken, fish, A-2-fay, boudin balls, gumbo, jumbalia, King cakes, pistolettes and a few other delicious cajun standards I can't pronounce or spell I have had to loosen that belt back a notch. I am only half of the way through cajun country with four more days until Mardi gras, walking slower everyday. And loving it!
Someone told me yesterday that the parish I just passed has the lowest life expectancy for men in the country. I' sure it notin' bout' da' good eaten'.