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Pâté De Foie Gras Sandwich
On thin slices of toasted bread shorn of crusts, spread pâté de foie gras; add a dash of salt and cayenne; cover with another slice of toast and serve with a sweet pickle.
A two-line assembly recipe from a sandwich book of the 1900s, when tinned foie gras was a standard delicatessen item. Almost everything depends on the quality of the pâté and the restraint of the seasoning.
- What to buyPeriod "pâté de foie gras" sold in small tins or crocks ranged from whole-lobe goose liver to a soft mousse cut with pork fat. A mousse or parfait spreads best on toast; a firm bloc should be sliced thin or mashed with a fork before spreading.
- Foie gras todayForce-fed foie gras is banned or restricted in a number of places: production is prohibited in much of Europe, and California has banned its sale. Duck or goose liver mousse, or a good chicken liver parfait, works in the same way here.
- Toast temperatureSpread onto toast that has cooled for a minute. Warm toast melts the fat in the pâté and the filling soaks through before the sandwich reaches the table.
- CayenneA dash means a scant pinch. The point is a faint warmth behind the liver, not heat you can identify.
- SaltCommercial pâté is already well salted. Taste before adding any, and if the pâté is seasoned assertively, skip the salt and keep the cayenne.
- The sweet pickleNot a garnish for looks. Rich liver needs acid and sugar against it; a sweet gherkin or a spiced watermelon-rind pickle suits the period. Cornichons work if you want less sugar.
- Cutting and yieldCrusts off, then cut into fingers or triangles; one round of toast makes four small tea sandwiches. Assemble no more than half an hour ahead and keep covered, as the exposed liver surface darkens.
Foie gras reached American tables mostly in tins, and the imported French crock is often said to have been a fixture in city delicatessens and hotel larders by the end of the nineteenth century — expensive, but shelf-stable and requiring no cooking, which made it ideal for the sandwich craze this book documents. Sandwich books of the period proliferated alongside the growth of afternoon teas, card parties, club luncheons and railway buffets, all of which wanted small, elegant food that a household cook could turn out without a range. The formula here — trimmed toast, a costly spread, a whisper of cayenne, a pickle on the plate — is the standard template of the genre, repeated across many entries with only the filling changed. Cayenne with potted meats and livers was near-universal in Anglo-American cookery of the era, a habit generally traced to the eighteenth-century potting tradition, where pepper and spice seasoned the meat that was kept under a seal of clarified butter.