There was a bit of bread left. After the mussels. After the shrimp. Bread left for sausage with green pepper and onion.
I found it necessary to pull out the dijon. For this sausage begged for it. After all, this wasn't the spicy Italian sausage we usually ate. This was a beer boiled (equal parts Miller High Life pony and water) andouille sausage.
I find myself distracted by the memories of that Sunday. The swaths of steam undulating beneath the camera lens. Our full bellies and the sleep that followed.