Pâté making is one of those things I never thought I would do, like ever. Except maybe if I was enrolled in a cooking class or something with my girlfriends, but that would never happen because I’m not really a joiner. So before I moved to Le Petit Village, pâté was only something that I ate, not made. But since Papa and Brother-in-Law’s are hunters, and something has to happen to the boar (le sanglier) after all of the good cuts of it are gone (waste not want not), pâté is the answer. It’s the sanglier’s final frontier if you will.
The last time I helped with the pâté was three years ago. I’m not sure where I was in 2011 and 2012, but this year we got roped in again, along with Brother-in-Law and Child Bride. It was an ‘all hands on deck’ kind of day (or more accurately, an ‘all hands in the bucket of boar goo’ kind of day).
Pâté making day happens on a Sunday. And since The Husband’s Uncle and Aunt drive over from their home in Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, we do the whole Sunday lunch thing as well. But this year, instead of doing the gooey, gross work before lunch, we did it after, which I preferred because pâté making doesn’t leave me with the greatest of appetites, and since The Husband’s Aunt had brought a huge pot of her bourride with her (bourride is a mouth wateringly delicious Mediterranean seafood stew), I wanted my appetite in tact. But after lunch it was time to pay for that scrumptious stew and get down to business.
I found that the more photos I took, the less involved in the actual work I had to be. Plus, with a documentary about The Dream Team on, that happened to be in English, I had another legitimate distraction. (Can we talk about the fact that the whole Dream Team thing seems like yesterday? When did 1992 become history? I swear 1992 was not that long ago. Also, Child Bride has no recollection of the Dream Team. Want to know why… because she was born in 1992. BORN! File that under things that freak me right out.)