Pate and a Plan

These days, all roads seem to lead to Elizabeth David. I was looking for a recipe for a pork pate , part of which I could later use to construct some Bahn Mi. This came about because I read an article in the August Food and Wine, while sitting in my dentist's office, waiting for a root canal. In it I found recipes by Chef Charles Phan, of the Slanted Door in San Fransisco, for vietnamese dishes made from ingredients which could be purchased at his local Safeway. On the way home from the dentist, I bought myself a copy.

These included a recipe for Bahn Mi, which I adore. Previous investigations about these vietnamese sandwiches had led me to believe that many special ingredients would be required. I don't mind taking some trouble finding things, and I know that yesterday's special ingredients can become tomorrow's old standbys. But somehow, for sandwiches, I balked at buying an assortment of products which might well end up growing crusty in the fridge. This recipe was straightforward and required no exotica. It did, however. call for both a pork pate and some garlic brined roast pork. Though Mr Phan used a purchased pate, he based his recipe on Bahn Mi he had in a sandwich shop in Vietnam, where the proprietor made the pate.

I thought it would be nice to have a good pate recipe under my (ahem) belt. I figured it would be a reasonable plan to have some pate on its own for a starter, and save some for the sandwiches. The same could be done with the brined roast pork, which I could have for dinner first. I found just the pate recipe I wanted in South Wind Through the Kitchen , the posthumously published collection of favorite articles chosen by Ms. David's friends, relatives and colleagues.

I also found there her relevant observation on the very local nature of a country's cuisine. She remarked something to the effect that food prepared by a chinese chef in france, would generally taste more french than food prepared by a french chef, in China. Although I'm not sure why this is so, I believe it is true. I think that this sort of sandwich -already, like much vietnamese food a melding of the french, the chinese and the indigenous- will probably taste pretty thoroughly of Pittsburgh when I make it.

Tram's, a nice little family owned vietnamese restaurant in Pittsburgh's Bloomfield is located in a converted row house with a screen door and a stoop. It has tablecloths with cowboys on them, and somehow seems a very Pittsburgh sort of place. Perhaps it is only natural to try to incorporate the tastes we encounter and enjoy from other culinary traditions, even when we can't really duplicate them.

In any case, I liked the sound of this pate recipe, which is a bit lighter than the usual one. The spices and use of greens are a little different and appealing, and it turned out quite well. Ms David adapted it from a traditional, but heavier recipe from Orange, in Northern Provence.

It is made of a pound of ground pork and a pound of spinach or chard. You cook the greens until they wilt, then squeeze all the water out of them, and chop them up. Mix them with the pork, salt, pepper, nutmeg or mace, a dash of ground cloves, and a dash of ground allspice, or lavender. You must fit them in a one pint terrine or pan. I found a mini loaf pan was just right.

Cover this with a piece of buttered parchment, and place it in a baking dish which you have filled with hot water which comes halfway up the side of the pate pan. Bake in a preheated 325 F oven, for about an hour. Chill thoroughly while weighing it down on top. Do this inside the baking dish, after you have dumped the bain marie water. (Clear fat will overflow the loaf pan, and the outer pan will catch it.)
I weighted mine with a cast iron grill press, such as you might use for panini, or a cuban sandwich. You can also use a twin of the mini loaf pan, filled with something heavy-like say, stones.

Once it is thoroughly cool, remove the weight and greased paper, and invert it, as you would a cake, onto a clean plate or cutting board. It can be sliced very thinly. This is a very good starter served cold, with toast or a crusty bread, and some tiny gherkins and olives.

Why is this then a pate, rather than a meatloaf? As I understand it, partly it is a pate because of the way it is made, covered in the bain marie, rather than in an open tin or on a baking sheet, with a sauce on top. Partly it is because of how it is served, thinly sliced and cold, on toast or crusty bread, with little pickles, as a starter or light meal. A meatloaf is generally served hot, for dinner, often with gravy. But there is certainly overlap. This pate is leaner than most, and does not have cream, or liver-y ingredients as most do. And I am sure I am not the only one who likes a cold meatloaf sandwich even better than the preceding hot dinner. Ms. David noted that her terrine could also be served hot, though she preferred it as a starter, served in the traditional french manner.

I will be making this easy treat again, whether or not for Bahn Mi.

Comments

[anapestic]

I would argue that trying to define the difference between a paté and a meatloaf is pointless because on the one hand, they are the same thing, while on the other, they are completely different, and it is always immediately apparent which of the two you are dealing with. (This somehow reminds me of the essential sameness of Unitarians, who believe that salvation is irrelevant, and Universalists, who believe that everyone has it without having to do anything, but any similarity between paté/meatloaf and Unitarian Universalism is no doubt an artifact of my fevered brain, though I did once bring a large meatloaf to a UU potluck and have it mistaken for a paté.)

I am absolutely making this recipe the next time my partner is out of town. He would give me one of those are-you-off-your-meds looks if he saw me making it, but he would surely be pleased to taste it when presented with the fait accompli.

[Ana]

I like the idea. It is worth a try.