Sandwich Pâté Lorrain
Pâté Lorrain in a baguette: a Baccarat charcutier's day-after workaround that turns the pastry-wrapped pork-and-veal pie into a hand-held lunch.
Pâté Lorrain in a baguette: a Baccarat charcutier's day-after workaround that turns the pastry-wrapped pork-and-veal pie into a hand-held lunch.
A blue-and-yellow tin keyed open, the whole-pig pate spread the length of a baguette: the sandwich pate Henaff is how the Bigouden coast has carried lunch to the boat and the field since 1915.
The charcuterie sandwich that arrives with its own pastry attached: slices of pate en croute, a terrine baked inside a butter-dough case, the cut face a mosaic of meat, jelly and crust.
Country-style pâté sandwich with cornichons.
Duck gizzards, the tough grinding muscle, turned by confit into a firm sliceable charcuterie and laid in crusted bread, the salade landaise garnish given the lead.
Foie gras on pain d'épices, the dark honey-and-spice loaf that bakes the sweetness into the bread itself, so fat and warm spice land in one bite. A small Southwest holiday opener.
Foie gras barely cool against a dark streak of fig jam, the sweetness cutting the liver's fat so it reads as luxury and not a slab. A Southwest France occasion, with a name two thousand years old.
A Gare de Lyon kiosk sells a half-baguette with a centimetre slab of pâté de campagne and two cornichons in a paper twist on the side, for four euros, to commuters eating standing on the platform.
A Picardy pâté en croûte, brown disc with a dark duck oval at its centre, laid on baguette with a cornichon on the side, sliced off the round at the Amiens charcutier window.
Foie gras mi-cuit on salted toast, no jam, no fruit. The Southwest's plainest luxury leans on the half-cooked terrine and a glass of Sauternes instead of fixing the fat on the plate.
Duck leg salted, slow-cooked in its own fat, then shredded warm into a baguette with a spoon of fig confit and the skin crisped back through the meat.