Where To Go In Southeast Louisiana (That Isn’t New Orleans) Part Two: Louisiana’s Cajun Bayou
All photos by John Sizemore
There’s a solid chance that wherever you’ve been in the United States, and perhaps even outside of it, you’ve heard the word “Cajun” and possibly even tasted their famous cuisine. Lying scarcely 45 minutes south of New Orleans, an incredibly compelling world exists in Louisiana’s Cajun Bayou. Yet again, I discovered I had been selling myself short by overlooking this extremely culturally significant part of the state. Given that I’m a massive fan of Louisiana food and the cuisine is my favorite to cook personally, it really shouldn’t have taken me this long to get here.
Better late than never, I entered Cajun Country after leaving the Northshore, crossing briefly back into Greater New Orleans before turning south on I-310, disappearing into a grove of swampy trees before reaching LA-1 at the gates of Louisiana’s Cajun Bayou in Lafourche Parish (pronounced “la-foosh”). Entering Lafourche Parish is one of those surreal experiences where you know you’re technically in the United States, but it very much feels like you’ve entered a different country. For starters, seeing or hearing French around the parish isn’t uncommon, as it’s the second-most common language here. You’d have to go to counties bordering French-speaking Canada to find anywhere similar, and it turns out that’s no accident.
In the 1700s, the North American region of Acadia, nowadays centered on the Maritime Provinces of Canada, was home to a sizable population of Natives and peoples of French descent. When the British occupied the territory early in that century, the Acadians refused to pledge loyalty to the crown. Resistance to British rule was commonplace, and when the French and Indian War broke out a few decades later, Great Britain took the drastic step of forcibly deporting and exiling the Acadians. Many came southward to Spanish Louisiana, which was looking to build its population at the time and, along with a shared Catholic heritage, offered incentives to relocate. Over time, “Les Acadiens” was anglicized to “Cajun,” and the rest is history. Eventually, the Cajuns became a significant subset within the broader Creole population in Louisiana, itself a diverse melting pot of Native, African, and European influences. Relatively isolated from the rest of Louisiana via the Mississippi River, Lafourche Bayou, and the ubiquitous swamps and waterways, the Cajuns created a culture within an already vibrant state whose influence reverberates far beyond Louisiana’s borders.
Directions in the parish are usually given in relation to Lafourche Bayou, which runs north and south alongside LA-1 throughout the parish. I met my guide, Ian, at the welcome center, and we departed “down the bayou” toward Port Fourchon. I watched the waterway widen as we traveled south, occasionally passing its towering flood locks as the swampy greenery eventually transformed into expansive marshes with abundant flora and pockets of water that increased in size until nearly overtaking the land.
We arrived at the Coastal Wetlands Park and met Thad, the first of many friendly faces brimming with cordial personality that I would meet on the bayou. Port Fourchon, lying on the southern edge of Louisiana by the Gulf Of Mexico, is no stranger to climate change and rising sea levels, leading to ongoing projects in dredging, land repurposing, preservation, and hurricane preparedness. As Thad described some of the recent developments in the area, I was shocked to learn that the surrounding structures, the park, and the land I was standing on were all brand new, resulting in the Google map on my phone looking quite different from what I saw around me.
Ian and I grabbed a couple of kayaks from a rental station and started floating on the wetlands, our path spiraling out into a leveed reservoir connected to the Gulf of Mexico. As we casually paddled, taking in the tall grass and the occasional sight of a swooping bird, we saw ominous storm clouds gathering in the sky that brought light raindrops, cutting into the day’s budding heat.
After returning to the car with eager appetites, we drove up the bayou slightly before arriving at Me-Maw’s. As a native Southerner, there are some things you just know. When you find an unassuming building on the side of the road with a name like this and a little cartoon crawfish in the logo, you know it’s going to be good. With everything on the menu speaking to me and struggling with indecision, I eventually settled on the “Seafood Pot” and its promise of shrimp, fried cap bread, crab claws, and glorious fettuccine sauce to smother them all in. After finding my happy place, Ian and I headed to nearby Chine’s.
The seafood industry is a big deal in this part of Louisiana, and all of it comes down to one essential tool: the almighty net. While many trawlers use nets created by automation and machinery these days, there is something irreplaceable about the craftsmanship and labor of love that can only come from doing things the old way by hand. Having been in operation for nearly 60 years, Chine’s makes some of the best—and strongest—nets in the business while continuing an import tradition that has long fueled livelihoods in this slice of Cajun country. Tools, materials, and nets of various shapes, colors, and sizes were piled everywhere on the floor and within large shelves in the walls. We met Gerald, who was busy at work with a pair of needles when we arrived, and through his thick Cajun accent, he gave us a rundown of the production process. He explained the different purposes of the nets—some for fishing, others for cleaning waterways—with the biggest, formidable enough to support the weight of a car, taking upwards of a couple of months to complete. After exploring and taking photos, Gerald gave me a small, sturdy net as a keepsake before Ian and I hit the road.
The seafood theme of the day continued with a stop at Baudoin’s, a charming seafood market up the bayou housed within an inviting blue building in the town of Cut Off. Beth and Blake Baudoin, the two owners, showed us around, starting with the boat outside and then into a spacious processing center where I found some massive crawfish boil pots. According to the couple, these were capable of—just barely—keeping up with all the hungry mouths present during carnival season. Finally, there was the market itself, serving almost every delicious sea creature one could imagine. As I browsed the selections of shrimp, crab, gator, catfish, and even fun extras like ice chests and shiny white boots, Blake walked us through a day in the life of a Cajun country fisherman through the lens of his camera’s photo album—lots of gorgeous early sunrises over the bayou, piles of marine critters from a good catch next to a bright smile, and good times on the water with friends and family.
Seafood Day concluded that evening at Spahr’s in downtown Thibodaux (pronounced “tib-o-dough”). The rain clouds from earlier had progressed to a mighty rainstorm, making for some pleasing ambiance to feast upon the mesmerizing crab fingers and crab platter that soon materialized before me in the warm, cozily-lit establishment. Spahr’s was my first stop on the Cajun Bayou Food Trail, and given the barrage of incredible meals by this point, it should have been no surprise that such a thing exists. Similar to park passports found in other states, filling your belly with Cajun delights at the trail’s eighteen stops—found all along the bayou—is incentive enough, but intrepid eaters will be rewarded with a free t-shirt for visiting just five. I walked back to my car, admiring the attractive scene of the old buildings of downtown Thibodaux glimmering in the rain and moonlight, before making my way to the Hampton Inn, my accommodations for the trip.
I barely arose from my food coma the next day to meet Ian at The Willow Cafe, greeting the morning with a chicory coffee (a unique delicacy typical in Louisiana, albeit a bit of an acquired taste for the uninitiated) and some tasty blueberry muffins before setting out for the next adventure. Before long, the beautiful white exterior of the E.D. White House, named for a prominent Louisiana political family that once called it home, popped out against the surrounding greens of centuries-old live oaks and sugarcane that stretched far in the distance. Ian and I met Rudy, Pam, Martha, and Carl at the front, each exuding that unique blend of “everybody knows everybody” Southern warmth, hospitality, and personality that comes effortlessly to the people of Lafourche Parish. Carl, who had arrived in a golf cart, cracked a smile and invited me aboard for the “scenic route,” going over a bit of the history and ongoing maintenance projects as we snaked around some shady trails providing a brief respite from the sun. Back at the entrance, Rudy emerged with a handful of fishing rods and a big grin, barely concealing his contagious excitement for our next activity.
Fishing on the bayou in the heart of Cajun country is one of those activities that is as awesome as it sounds, and after setting us up with a couple of hooks with worms, Rudy turned us loose on Bayou Lafourche as he broke down his take on fishing. The most critical piece was setting the rod down and having good times in the sun with a beer in your hand. If you were unlucky, you’d get a bite, leaving you with a fish to deal with, but if fortune were on your side, you’d walk away empty-handed but satisfyingly full of beer and free of any extra chores. I quite enjoyed hearing this philosophy, and while Ian and I almost ruined our lucky streak by respectively nearly catching a crab and catfish, I ended up saving the day by hooking an errant pole and breaking the line.
Of all the foods that could be considered cure-alls, I’m not sure you can do much better than home-cooked gumbo in the heart of Cajun country. Already in high spirits and good health, I figured a little preemptive medicine couldn’t hurt, so Rudy, Carl, Pam, Martha, Ian, and I followed a glorious scent into a little house on the edge of the property, where I found a table set up with all the particulars. Pam broke down the procedure of making a proper roux—oil, garlic powder, green peppers, rice, celery, onions, and the all-important Tony Chachere’s. I giddily grabbed a plate and went down the line, pouring a generous serving onto my plate and adorning it with potato salad and cornbread sweetened with Steen’s cane syrup, another Louisiana staple. With all the great food and stimulating conversation, I almost forgot to explore the E.D. White House itself—a museum filled with antiquated relics from Louisiana’s past—and after a brief walk around, Ian and I made our way to the Jean Lafitte Cultural Center back in Thibodaux.
Because Louisiana history is never dull, I wasn’t shocked to learn that the center’s namesake was a badass pirate who helped defend Louisiana against the British during the War of 1812. Inside, a walkable tour broke down the tale of the Cajuns and its fascinating chapter within the greater Louisiana story. To my delight, the center also featured a store with several Cajun cookbooks. I knew I couldn’t leave this part of the country without snagging at least one or 10, and after blowing some well-spent cash, our hungry stomachs led us to Grady V’s. Tucked within a country club on the outskirts of town and another stop on the Cajun Bayou Fool Trail, the menu overwhelmed me with alluring options before I settled on a classic favorite, shrimp and grits, with each bite packed with spice and creamy flavor.
Martha, who I had met at the E.D. White House earlier, then met us at the St. Joseph Co-Cathedral back in Thibodaux, a tall, ornate Renaissance-Revival structure that recently celebrated its centennial year. As we walked inside, the general commotion of the outside vanished at once into a remarkable silence as the door closed behind us, our voices automatically converting to whispers. Martha pointed out the meticulously crafted stained glass windows, detailed columns accented by golden leaves, and painted roofs that were striking in their beauty. A massive pipe organ dominated the second floor, adjoined next to a balcony that allowed for sweeping views of the sanctuary and a closer perspective of the colorful glass. After the tour concluded and spending a few more moments stuck in admiration, Martha broke the silence in comically blunt Louisiana fashion by suddenly inquiring, “So, where can we do some day drinking now?”
Next up was a Cajun French class back at the Lafitte Center. I know a decent amount of French, and I’ve always loved the language, so I was very excited when Ian and I took our seats. I was also intimidated about possibly butchering the language—several visitors from different regions of France were also seated around the table with us. First up was a round of introductions—with a mixture of French and English depending on skill level—and after doing better than I thought I would through the je m’appelles and mercis, we turned to our main activity, a crossword puzzle for learning the parts of the human body (le corps humain) in French. I was surprised at some of the words I still knew, like la main and les yeux (the hand and the eyes), and I picked up a few new words along the way, like le dos and la hanche (the back and the hip).
After the lesson, the sound of a harmonica reverberated throughout the center, leading us to the Music on the Bayou event. Two talented musicians regaled us with some blues, with one half of the duo pulling out new harmonicas for each song from a seemingly endless supply while his cohort strummed a steady guitar rhythm and added some vocals. Ian and I went to Big Mike’s BBQ that evening, and in true small-town fashion, we ran into Martha again and pulled up a chair while enjoying some brisket.
The following day, Ian and I met at the Bourgeois Meat Market, our next stop on the Cajun Bayou Food Trail. We met Shane and Beau Bourgeois, the fourth generation of butchers now at the helm of a shop open since 1891. Wanting to start my morning on the right foot, Shane handed me a basket full of jerky bites for breakfast and took us around the giant pots filled with boudin, some meats hung up in the back that would make up the day’s work, and then a large, intricate smoker housing a string of succulent sausages.
Next up was a walking tour of Thibodaux back at the Lafitte Center. It’s always interesting how things such as buildings, that we pass by daily and barely pay any mind, have elaborate details that are easily missed and stories to discover if we stop and take our time with a closer look. Ian and I were joining a school field trip that day, where the guide would propose questions designed to dig into this deduced history through visible details. It was hard not to admire the children’s tenacity in solving these mysteries, including one memorable example of a local store, with its sturdy door and visible vault through the windows, that once was a secure bank serving the town.
Ian and I then drove down LA-1 to the house of Al Guarisco, the local expert in the popular French game of pétanque. He broke down the rules—two teams clutching a set of “boules” (large steel balls) take turns throwing them as close as possible to the “cochonnet” (literally translated as “piglet” in French). After all the boules are thrown, whichever team is closest gets points for every ball up to the opponent’s closest ball. Like any good game, pétanque has opportunities for treachery, whether from striking an opponent’s boule away with your own or knocking the cochonnet itself to a different spot and drastically changing up the round.
Ian and I would be teaming up against a single Al, providing some warm up to the tournament he’d be playing in soon. After Ian and I had a rough start to the first game, we found our groove and rallied from behind to victory. Noting this turn of events—a common occurrence in pétanque—Al gave us a run for our money in the second game, consistently putting Ian and I’s best throws into disarray with his accuracy and propensity, showcasing the subtle depth and strategy within pétanque in the process. Breaking up the afternoon sipping on the rejuvenating beverages that Arlette, Al’s wife and a native of France, would occasionally bring out to us, it dawned on me, listening to Al’s infectious enthusiasm for the game, that despite meeting so many people in the Cajun bayou for the first time, it never actually felt that way by the time we eventually parted ways.
The final event of the trip would be at the American Legion in Thibodaux, whose interior, with its inviting wooden aesthetic and walls adorned with mid-century art, also housed Gina’s, my last stop on the Cajun Bayou Food Trail. As I enjoyed another incredible bowl of gumbo doused in Crystal sauce, I noticed an empty circle of chairs for the upcoming Cajun Music Jam happening every other week. With each bite, I watched as the seats slowly occupied themselves with musicians clutching a wide variety of instruments. Some came with guitars, others had drums, one brought a washboard, another snazzily dressed man brought the spoons, and then there was an enterprising bearded fellow rocking out on a toy piano. The jam started abruptly when one of the musicians simply started playing, with others gradually joining in, and before long, the free-flowing music started building energy within the space.
For all the changes that are often talked about in America over the last few decades, whether from technological progress or events like COVID, it’s always refreshing to find those pockets of the country that have been able to hold onto their culture and color, and moreover thrive and revel in it to such an extent that it seems improbable that things could ever be any different. Looking back over the last few days in the Cajun Bayou, I was struck by the fact that I experienced all of these things in a town of less than 15,000 and within a parish whose population didn’t even break six figures. Yet, the density of culture, personality, and sheer character here was stunning, and it’s always been there, just barely an hour south of New Orleans, just waiting for the right person in the right place to be pleasantly blindsided by it. Everything was just on a random spring week in Lafourche Parish too—this isn’t even getting into all the fun twists on Mardi Gras, the carnival season, and the other celebrations commonly happening down on the bayou.
By now, the circle’s music had swelled to new heights as more people joined in, with a man adding vocals and some spirited couples dancing on the fringes. As I’ve mentioned before, there is something magical about live music in Louisiana to the extent that boundaries between artists and audience seem looser than in other places, and this was doubly true in a performance where anyone could freely join in. My memory suddenly recalled the guitar in the back of my car. While I don’t fancy myself a virtuoso by any means, an encouraging nod from Ian and the others nearby was all it took to gather the courage to join in. I felt a little out of place at first, but the laid-back demeanor of approval from the circle put me at ease, and I felt time accelerate as we played through various songs, memorably ending in an electric crescendo of “You Are My Sunshine,” which I discovered was also the Louisiana state song.
There aren’t many ways one could improve upon an ending to Cajun country, but more than anything, my time here reinforced the truth that Louisiana is truly a special place in this country. When we talk about one of the classic American ideals—the ability to take disparate parts and make them into an amazing, greater whole—look no further than the bayou.
John Sizemore is a travel writer, photographer, yoga teacher, and visual entertainment developer based out of Austin, Texas. Follow him on Instagram at @sizemoves. In his downtime, John likes to learn foreign languages and get immersed in other worlds, particularly those of music, film, games, and books in addition to exploring the world.