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If I’m not eating mussels here, I’m slicing into sausage — warm-spiced boudin noir or wild boar with cranberries — on tangy chopped cabbage or spooned into a lobster bisque supporting a handful of scallops, salmon and more — a respectable waterzooi.

It has the impenetrable inkiness of other blood-forward treats — black pudding, boudin noir, morcilla.

On a given night, it might include a traditional foie-gras torchon or a sandwich of foie gras on white bread; tartare of raw duck, venison, or horsemeat; and a hulking strip steak topped with cheese curds—a Québécois staple—or fat links of boudin noir.

Davis’s French education entailed, among other things, pouring 30-pound buckets of blood into a mixer to make boudin noir, stuffing the intestines of the pig she’d just helped kill with its own meat for saucissons and learning how to force-feed geese to enlarge their livers for foie gras.

Gold’s jackets, snug and black and leather, encase him like the skin around a boudin noir, which, being pig-derived, is among his favorite foods.