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 is the seasoning, the sweetness baked into the bread so fat and warm spice arrive in one bite. A 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 pared to two things, the liver and the bread, with salt the only correction and no sweet foil at all. The Southwest's plainest luxury, won or lost on the temperature of a slice of terrine.
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.