Spare Me the Pâté

It Makes My Neck Red

By Steve Carr

I’m not a complete Idaho redneck. At least, I don’t think I am. Just because I buy my clothes at a big box discount department store doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate a stroll around the Spud Days Fair with a dapperly dressed colleague.

Just because I don’t go to a fancy hair stylist doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the accompaniment of a well-coiffed friend at the tractor pull.

But when I’m the only one at the quaint French restaurant turning up my nose at the pâté, I begin to wonder about my sheltered life. Pâté, for my fellow Idahoans, is (according to my desk dictionary) a “rich, savory paste made from mashed ingredients, typically seasoned meat or fish.”

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