The gift of some delicious Pate’

This year my holiday gift to you, dear readers, is an appetizer so good that it could, if our federal government knew anything about negotiation, be exchanged with China for a chunk of our national debt.  

You may wish to go directly to the end of the column for the formula.  But I need to fill space, so a bit of background.  

A few months ago I was running down recipes for a book on Southwest Iowa’s Greatest.  Some of them were well-guarded secrets.   

A steakhouse popular 40 years ago is still remembered for the special house dressing. They’d sell a jar, but never the recipe.

I found an 87-year-old former employee who, after water-boarding, told all.  

Effie Bean opened southwest Iowa’s first pizza place in 1955. Her special sauce was so special she planned to sell the recipe, sharing only with a few close relatives.  

More than half a century later her granddaughter, for the book, gave it up.   

Mother Podolak (Ed’s mom) became so famous for her chili that, in the late ‘80s, Hy-Vee bought the recipe.

A representative of their corporate office told me it was hidden so well they can no longer find it.

But Mother Podolak’s daughter (Ed’s sister) dug out instructions that were hand-written well before Hy-Vee got into the act.                     

Midway into this enjoyable project I met a lady with a request.

For reasons you’ll understand, we will call her Mrs. X.  She and her husband, back in the 1960s and 70s, were regulars at a place she called the Inn, which was noted for prime rib.  

An appetizer, served with the salad, was a small dipper of an exquisite pate’. Mr. and Mrs. X loved the pate’.  Time passed.  Mrs. X, who wanted to serve the pate’ at home, worked up the courage to ask how it was made.

The waitress smiled.  A few minutes later the manager approached.  He brought a small container of pate’.  He gave it to Mrs. X, along with his apologies.  

The chef, he said, was a zealot who would rather surrender his first-born than the secret.  The manager said even he did not know.  

Mrs. X, an accomplished cook, began experimenting.  Starting with a Julia Child recipe, she explored variations—goose liver, chicken liver, different methods of cooking, various types of added ingredients.  

This went on, sporadically and without success, for a decade.  The prime rib place went under.  Mrs. X faced the grim prospect of growing old without the delicious pate’. 

She asked if I could get the recipe, promising that if I did she’d buy a dozen books.  I made a few phone calls.  The place had been closed for years.  I gave up.          

Weeks later I was interviewing a restaurant owner regarding his award-winning chocolate peanut butter pie.  He reminisced about his youth.  As a boy he’d washed dishes at the Inn.  

I asked if he’d known the chef.  He laughed.  There were several cooks, but no ‘chef.’  I told him of Mrs. X.  He laughed again.  He himself, at the age of 14, was among those who made the pate’.  And here’s how he did it.      

Blend one part braunschweiger with one part cream cheese and mix well.  That’s it.  All those years Mrs. X labored, wondering if her goose wasn’t fat enough, substituting sweet onions for shallots, roasted rather than sautéed, decided Julia didn’t know pate’ and got another cookbook.   

When I broke the news she groaned. Braunschweiger?  

Did she have any idea what was actually in braunschweiger?  She said the book was no longer of interest, and that I should not use her name.         

Roy Marshall is a local historian and columnist for the Red Oak Express. He can be contacted at news@redoakexpress.com.