salmon fish cakes

I'm totally that mom these days.  I'm the one who sighs when you ask me how I am, and then I say, "busy!  crazy!  but good!"  Then I run, literally run, to my next thing.
Sadie asked me this morning if I have a meeting tonight.  "Nope, I'm with you."  I told her.  "Yay!"  she put her arms up and Rosie joined in too.
But it all comes in waves, and this one just might be breaking.  I got my draft into my editor the other night (yay, arms up!)  and now I'm taking a few weeks off from that while I wait for final comments.  Town business has been, well, let's just say challenging, and also inspiring me to swear more often, and probably making parts of my brain work that haven't quite been exercised before.  That part of my brain that figures out how to communicate with people I really don't agree with--it's getting buff.
And then?  There's the move.  Today, I move into my new kitchen.
I know, I know!  For lack of a better word, totally awesome.
I'll introduce you to the new kitchen soon, but I'll tell you now that it has orange walls.  And open shelves.  And two sinks.  And two ovens.  We're going to make some magic in that kitchen, you and I.  It's going to be (oh, dear, here I go again)...totally awesome.



The other night, I made salmon cakes.  I wanted to make something exciting for dinner as a break from all that soup, and I wanted to have something to tell you about, and I also wanted to get over my juvenile and without-grounds prejudice against Jamie Oliver.  My step father Chris brought a book of his home for me from the library, and so here, yes, I'm cooking out of Jamie Oliver.  I made this beautiful salad with greens topped with old and still-perfect beets from October, and I made salmon fish cakes.  Except mid-way through frying, I had to go to... you guessed it, a meeting, and so Joey had to take over, and I burned my hand and my mouth shoving a newly fried fish cake into my mouth as I scraped snow off my car and I left the rest of the family to eat the beautiful dinner while I sat in a tiny conference room perfumed with the essence of my fried salmon that pulsed off my clothes.  (Hence, also, no photo of finished fish cakes)
But when I got home hours later, the kids were asleep, and Joey was upstairs, and there was a plate sitting there for me on the table, and it was so lovely--it was art.  I dropped my coat on the floor, picked up the fork, and I dined alone, and in bliss.

Salmon Fish Cakes
from Jamie Oliver, Jamie's Food Revolution

Sea salt and pepper
1 1/4 pounds potatoes
1 pound salmon fillets, skin on, scales and bones removed
olive oil
a small bunch of flat leaf parsley
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour, plus extra for dusting
1 large egg
2 lemons

Bring a large pot of salted water to boil.  Peel the potatoes and cut them into 2-inch or so chunks.  Rub the salmon fillets all over with olive oil and a bit of salt and pepper.  Add the potatoes to the boiling water and bring the water back up to a boil.  Put the fish into a large colander that fits over the pot without going into the boiling water.  Cover the fish loosely with foil, and place it over the pot to steam it while the potatoes cook. Lower the heat, and cook for 10 to 12 minutes, until the potatoes are tender and the fish is cooked through.  Remove the fish from the colander and set it aside.  Drain the potatoes in the colander, then return them to the empty pot.  Pick the greens off the parsley, and roughly chop them.  Mash the potatoes in the pot-- you want them to cool quickly.  Remove any skin from the fish, and flake the fish into the pot with the mashed potato with 1 tablespoon of flour.  Add the egg, chopped parsley, salt and pepper, and the zest of the two lemons to the mix.  Mash up the whole thing and mix it well.
Lightly dust a plate with flour.  Pat the mixture into small patties, dusting them with flour as you go.  Depending on the size of the cakes, this recipe will make between 8 and 12 fish cakes.  Pop the plate in the fridge for up to an hour (but for me it was 5 minutes, and that was okay)
Put a large frying pan over medium heat and add several glugs of olive oil.  When the oil is hot, add the fish cakes and fry about 3 minutes on each side, or until they are golden.  Cook them in two batches.  Serve with wedges of the lemon that you zested.

olive oil and sherry pound cake

The children are rebelling.  They say, "no more soup, mom!"  and I say, "tough cookies."
Soup is what we've got, and after all that's what I went to all the trouble for, freezing buckets and buckets of soup so that right now, when the book was almost done and all I was making was pudding and oreos, we would have dinner.  They'll survive, I hope.

Also, life's picking up all around me in swirling eddies-  all good, all good!  But there is no time to make dinner, and so, yes, it's soup again. The good news in that regard is that I've also started working at this lovely little place.  I think I've mentioned it, but the whole story is that I started working there in December a few days a week, to supplement this and that and to learn about olive oil and cheese and mostly to get me out of the kitchen and my head every so often.  It's been really nice to be there, despite the fact that it creates a few more days when there is no time to make dinner, but now?  Now I have bread to bring home to eat with dinner, and we pop it in the oven for a few minutes and then it's like I've been home all day recreating some French bakery in my kitchen.  Then I'm home for a few minutes (luckily I've defrosted the soup-sicle in the fridge the night before), and Joey and I and maybe Sadie have soup, and Rosie has her nightly meal of a banana ("I hate soup!").  Then I'm off to some meeting at town hall (better if I've remembered to wear the correct footwear) where I try, try, try to do my best at what ever happens to be on our plates that night, and come home all wound up, and Joey's trying to go to bed, but I'm just sitting there next to him jabbering about politics and emotion, and about the people's right to rage and how to help in a rational and responsible manner.

My dreams have been crazy lately.

The girls are doing well though-- they seem to thrive as long as I can get enough hugs to them through the day, and Joey does his fair share when he sees them in the hallway at school. The other night I was tucking Rosie into her bed, and she said to me, "Mom, do you know why I always wear socks to bed?" (Truth is, I've always wondered why she's so stubborn about this. Me- I hate wearing socks to bed) And I said, "why, Rosie?"  And she answered, "Well, when I read at night after you close the door, I can use one of my socks as a bookmark."

And there you have it.

So, again, again, (I feel like I'm always saying this)  the book is almost out of my hands, and then there will be all sorts of beautiful meals to write about, and me glowing with joy and peace as I braise and sautee and chop.  But I just can't go too long without talking about an actual recipe here--it leaves me feeling unsatisfied in some sort of core way, and so I thought I'd tell you about a cake that I made at work.

Now Bizalion's has an always lovely spread of many  things.  There are enough cured meats and olives and ripened cheeses and dates and figs to keep you throwing a party every day for a year.  On the sweet side, the options are classy but a bit limited, always almond anise seed biscotti (which I have been making with great joy), and exquisite little chocolate pastries made by Audrey Sussman.  Audrey did all the recipe testing for my book, and these chocolate horns are so good--they pretty much answer all your pastry and chocolate needs.  But last week I found myself with the itch that comes when I haven't made a cake in some time, and so I asked Jean-Francoise (that is, Bizalion) if he would object if I added a cake to the mix.  And I found this cake in Pure Dessert, which continues to hold it's place as my favorite dessert cookbook for maybe two years running, which I thought would do the trick.

Bizalion's is owned by the aforementioned Jean-Francois and his wife, Helen.  In addition to the store, they are building a business around the importing of olive oil, and together with their two girls (exactly the same ages as my two girls, coincidentally), they are beginning to travel to Italy and France and Spain to where the olives are pressed, so they can hand pick the olive oils for the store.  We sell the oil in big beautiful barrels, and anyone can choose the side of their bottle or bring one in from home and fill it from the barrel.  And so there there I am, surrounded by these great steel barrels of olive oil, and so it only seemed right to open a spigot and mix it right into a cake batter.

This cake is boozey, not quite so much that you wouldn't give it to your children if they asked for it, but boozey enough that it is quite grown up.  It improves with a day or two if you have it well wrapped, and the recipe will make two loaf pans or one big bundt.  Yesterday a customer told me that this cake was good enough to retire on--it was so good.  I'll make sure to tell Alice Medrich, if I ever meet her.  But that woman keeps making the most wonderful recipes...selfishly I hope she never retires.


Olive Oil and Sherry Pound Cake
from Alice Medrich, Pure Dessert

3 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 cups sugar
1 cup flavorful olive oil
2 teaspoons grated orange zest (from 1 medium orange)
5 large eggs
1 cup sherry
optional (this is my own addition): 1 tablespoon orange flower water

Position a rack in the lower third of the oven, and preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Grease and flour two standard loaf pans or one 10-12 cup tube or bundt pan. 
Mix the flour, baking powder, and salt together.  Set aside.
Combine the sugar, olive oil, and orange zest in the bowl of a stand mixer.  Fit the mixer with the whisk attachment and beat on high speed until well blended, about 1 minute.  Add the eggs one at a time, beating after each addition.  Continue to beat until the mixture is thick and pale yellow, 3 to 5 minutes.  Stop the mixer and add 1/3 of the flour mixture.  Beat on low speed just to combine.  Then add 1/2 the sherry, and beat again for just a moment.  Then another 1/3 of the flour, beat again.  Then the second 1/2 of the sherry and the orange flour water, if using.  Then finish with the rest of the flour. 
Scrape the batter into the pan(s).  Bake just until a cake tester comes out clean, 45 minutes to an hour.  Cool in the pan for about 15 minutes before unmolding, then cool on a wire rack. 

teaching peace

Yesterday, Joey woke up with a very clear mission.
In Denver every year there is a march on Martin Luther King Day.  Every year  of his childhood, and every year that he has been in Denver, Joey has been at that march.
Yesterday he wanted to honor the day with the girls.  He searched for some way to serve, or to listen, or to celebrate.  It came down to a few possibilities, and when the moment came to decide, the girls were not at their best.
There was an event right here in town at a local synagogue.  At noon, people would be reading from Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s speeches, and there would be an interfaith celebration of the day.  But Sadie wouldn't have it.  She wanted to stay in her nightgown, or to do something fun.  We told Sadie about the march in Denver that was so important to Daddy, and she said, "I'd do that!  That's more fun than going to a synagogue!"  Joey put his head in his hands, and we sat there feeling like bad parents.  At least I did.  I think Joey just felt bad.  And we talked about service, and how important it is--how many people in our own community need help.  "There's no one homeless here!"  Sadie shouted.  I could see the complicated things running around in her almost-eight-year-old brain.  "There are,"  I told her.  "You just don't see them."
The truth is that we live in a pretty affluent community, and skin doesn't come in too many shades around here.  Since I've been working at Town Hall and trying to make sure that we're looking out for everyone, I've noticed that it's easier to think that there's no one who's hungry or homeless in a little town like ours--it's just not as obvious as it might be in a city.  Sometimes the services suffer even though people really need them, maybe partially because the issues aren't in everyone's face all the time.  The issues are not where my children can usually see them.


Noon came and went.  And things shifted a little, and we all sat upstairs on the bed and watched the "I have a dream" speech on YouTube.  And then Joey's sister called-- she was on her way to the march in Denver with her two kids, and I think Joey expressed some of his sadness and frustration over the morning.  He came downstairs and his face was clear and open, and he said that his sister had brought up a good point.


Sometimes we support, we serve, we face adversity through creating art.  The girls filled the table with art supplies, and for the next few hours, they made art.


I'm not saying we found a solution.  But we moved forward, from stubbornness and crying to making art with Dr. King's words in our heads.  It's something.  But it continues to be a moment we work on--how do we teach gratefulness?  And service?  And peace? 

and I've been meaning to tell you

Okay, here are my boots.

Today, I was driving up to school to pick up the ladies for dance class.  I was on a particularly Ethan Frome-ish slice of road (right before I actually pass Edith Wharton's house) and the snow banks must have been 8 feet high on either side of the road.  It was desolate, and blowy, and cold as hell even though I was warm inside my little car.  A song came on the stereo that I first heard in college on Joey's record player.   I was teaching a dance class in the gym at school once a week at the time, an improvisation and choreography class.  I loved this song right away--it was sort of sulky and emotional and dramatic in all the right ways, and I bought the CD and brought it to class and we were doing some sort of specific improv exercise.  I don't remember what it was, but the class was divided into groups, trios or quartets, and this one group started the exercise--it was my friend Eilen, and this woman Maria who is an actress in San Francisco now, and one more person--maybe Anna who sells books in New York?  But they took whatever assignment I had given them, and they did something so beautiful--it might have been some of the best choreography I have ever seen.  We didn't even have a dance studio--we were in a squash court, and I remember watching this spontaneous amazing moment with tears, and the best part about it was that they had no idea.  It was all unplanned, and they had no idea what they were creating just then.
          I hadn't heard the song in a long time, but today as I was driving between those mountains of snow, the song came on and I could see the exact moment.  I've been all writing and no dancing lately, but they're really not so different from each other (except that I'm all hunched over and achy from writing and I'd be standing up straight and achy were I dancing), and I just thought about those moments!  How lucky and wonderful they are, no matter how we're part of them or how they come.

Last night I made my last bag of Rancho Gordo beans that had sat on my shelf.  Every time I have cooked a new bag of Rancho Gordo beans, I have said, "I have to write about this!  It's time to write about Rancho  Gordo beans!"  Every time, I take a picture of the bag with its stylish label, and the picture usually looks something like this.

There was a time a year or two ago when these beans were coming up in conversation a lot.  This blogger and that blogger were writing about them--and then one or two people asked me if I had tried them... it was like when there is a wave of one kind of exciting thing that almost seems to be in the air, like olive oil cake or something other like that that just keeps coming up.  And I was tempted- I really was--all these beautifully named heirloom beans from this little farm in California--there was nothing not to love.  But beans are what I buy when I don't have the money to buy much else, and five or six bucks for a bag always made me say-- "well I can't quite decide--I'll come back to it later." 
Then I had dinner at my friend Fran's house, and she was cooking out of the Rancho Gordo Beans cookbook.  She was making their baked beans recipe, and when I asked her what she thought of the beans, she blushed a little, and opened her pantry, and I swear there must have been 20 different kinds of beans in there.
"I have a bit of a problem."
Now I have a bit of a problem too.  Because I know it's a strange thing to say about beans, but these are so so so good.  Sadie's favorite are the Good Mother Stallard beans, and I love the Scarlet Runners, but the cannellinis?  The borlottis?  One needs only to cook these up with a bit of salt and garlic, and eat them with a loaf of crusty bread.  The flavors in these beans are so wonderful and so complicated and so...well, full, that beans are no longer the fall back when we're broke and there's nothing in the house to eat.  They are special like a good cut of meat.  Only at 5 bucks for a pound, they're cheaper than a good cut of meat.
I've just been meaning to tell you about these. I'm so glad that I've gone and done it--now I can stop taking pictures of every bag of them.

Oh, and anyone going to the NOFA conference this weekend?  I'm teaching a condiments class--if you're attending the conference, come say hello!  I'll be the one walking around with my blender.

Happy Thursday, friends.  Hope you're all warm and well-fed and out of the wind.

saffron and cardamom panna cotta

Joey bought me a new pair of boots over the holiday.  They are red, and they have a bit of heel to them, and we are coming to call them the ass-kicking boots.   Not ass-kicking necessarily because they are lovely, which they are, but because ass-kicking is literally what I'm needing to do these days.  Because any thought I might have had of shrinking off into the corner and fading away for a little while (which is sometimes my habit) is totally not possible.  Because every time holds an education, and my education for now seems to be about standing taller and speaking louder and being very very clear about what I'm trying to get across.

I've been singing in the car a lot, just to practice my loudness.  I've been singing really, really loudly.

Last night I was walking out the door to a selectboard meeting.  It was before six, and pizza was just coming out of the oven, and the kitchen was feeling so warm and so full of Joey and the girls. I stuffed a bit of mozzarella cheese into my mouth, called it dinner, and put on my coat to make my way into the cold. "Your boots are over here."  Joey pointed to the my boots in the special corner of the kitchen.  But I was tired, and feeling quiet, and I left the ass-kicking boots at home.

In the 8 months since I started working for the town, there have been several issues that have come up.  Each time, there are people with concerns--always justified, and they rages or politely express their concerns depending on the person and the issue, and I listen and I research and I try to figure out the closest thing to the right answer on where to go with the issue.  Then I agree or disagree with those who are raging, and I work and work to compose my thoughts into some sort of answer as to why I came to the decision that I did.  In every case so far, it feels like these decisions will make or break everything--that if I make the wrong decision, the world will crumble around me.  And then the issue passes, decisions are made and the world moves on.  I am looking forward to having some perspective on this process, to having the time behind me that helps me to take a breath and understand that all of this is simply a process, that all I can do is make sure that I am educated on an issue and that I make a decision that I can stand behind.  And because I am elected, that I make a decision that others can stand behind as well.

People ask me how I like this job--and if I'm sorry that I ran for the board.  I always answer that it is the hardest thing that I do,  and that no, like is not the word that I would use.  When money and property are the topic of discussion, the most difficult part of a person seems to emerge, and it is this part of the person that I am talking to most days lately.  But I am also happy to be where I am, and if this is a way that I can contribute to my community, then here I am.

It's been a little rough lately though.  The boots help.  And of course, I've been making puddings and panna cottas a lot.  Because they are the antithesis of all of this.  Pudding is a warm and quiet corner and no need to say a word.  There's no responsibility there--only smooth and milky sweetness.



And then there's the saffron.  Oh the saffron!  Monica Bhide says that if you can taste the saffron, it's too much saffron, but I disagree.  The feel, the smell, this color--it all transports me in the most wonderful way.  Last year in Istanbul I stood in a little spice stand trying to decide how much real saffron to buy, and 18 dollars seemed like a lot to spend on such a little vial of spice.  There was cheaper saffron, but this squat man in a sweater vest made us tea from the good saffron, and I wanted to bathe in it--it was that good.  And now, in January, so so enmeshed and snowed in in this town, 18 dollars is nothing, and I'm glad I spent it.  Those 18 dollars bring me to another altogether, and that's a whole lot less than a plane ticket. 

Spice and pudding.  My favorite combination for today.

Saffron and Cardamom Panna Cotta
from Alice Medrich, Pure Dessert

3 1/2 cups heavy cream
1/2 cup sugar
pinch of salt
5 cardamom pods
slightly rounded 1/8 teaspoon crushed saffron threads
1 cup whole milk
2 1/2 teaspoons unflavored gelatin
1 cinnamon stick

In a small saucepan, heat the cream, sugar, and salt until simmering--stirring to dissolve the sugar.  Remove the pot from heat and add the cardamom pods and saffron.  Cover, and let it steep for 25 minutes.  Meanwhile, pour the milk into a small bowl and sprinkle the gelatin over it.  Don't stir--set aside and let it sit for 10 minutes.
Add the milk and gelatin to the cream mixture and reheat until simmering, stirring to dissolve the gelatin.  Strain the mixture into a bowl and discard the cardamom pods.  Set the bowl over a bowl of ice water and and stir until the mixture cools.  Keep adding more ice as it melts until the mixture registers right around 60 degrees on a thermometer, or is cooler than room temperature if you are testing it with your finger.
Divide the mixture between 6 small bowls or ramekins.  Cover with plastic wrap and chill for at least 4 hours.  Grate a bit of cinnamon over each dish before serving.

for today

I'm looking for something else today.
So I went traveling through my pictures and I found this.
Oranges.  On trees.  On an island in Turkey.
It makes the room I'm in smell good just to think about the fact that that is possible.  I remember that the oranges were sour, tiny fleshy balls of fruit within inches and inches of peel.  But still, perfect!
Can't you smell those blossoms?
Also, my mood was greatly improved by a straight thirty minutes of very loud car singing as I drove up to school to pick up the ladies.
So I thought it was probably time for a mix.
Yeah?
Yeah.
I mean, Yeah!
Download it here.

my daily pate

 Joey and the girls went back to school today.  Now I'm ready for my vacation.
Except that I found myself thinking of my ideal vacation as a period when I have lots of time to work.  When I can write all day long, only taking breaks to retest a bread or a candy recipe.  It's been that kind of time.

Oh yeah. I'm 8 1/2 months pregnant with this book, and now I'm starting to hold on to my back as I lug all my hard work around with me.  I can almost feel that book in my hands, or at least a finished manuscript.  This has been one wild pregnancy.

Just to spice things up a little, I started a new job a few weeks ago.  A couple of days of the week, you can find me here surrounded by the most beautiful olive oil, and cheese. And pate.  It's good...it balances all that time that I get stuck in my head and my kitchen, but between it all I'm ready for a vacation, a real one.



Who's with me?  Where should we go?  Let's make it somewhere really good. 



I don't mean to say that the last few weeks have been bad--they've just been crazy.  There have been some upsides to it all, like some lovely dinners with friends passing through from here or there.  There was that snowstorm that was better than tv to watch out the frosty window.  A walk on new year's day with my girls where I got to breathe in the woods while the girls inspected pine trees.  And of course, there was the pate. 

 
There was a week where I swear I ate pate every day.  I could feel it coming by 4 or so every afternoon--that mysterious and pressing feeling, and it would hit me--I haven't had pate today!

The thing is, I'm not even sure if I have ever had pate until now.  I had no idea.

It wasn't just me.  One day last week Joey went for a hike in the woods simply so that he could bring beer and pate with him.  Then he spent the next few days saying, "I went for a hike in the woods, and I had beer and pate."  

It's easy to feel like royalty when you have the right snacks.



 So why all this pate?  Well, why not?  And of course, now that I'm working at place that sells the finest pate around, I can continue to meet my pate needs.

And of course, I learned how to make it.  Because I can't think of a better thing to add to my repetoire. 

Months ago I was sitting with my friend Audrey Sussman on her porch.  We were drinking ice tea and enjoying the sun, probably having a meeting of some sort on recipes, as she's recipe testing the book.  But then she changed the subject, as if inspired, and she asked, "do you want to make pate?"

She used kind of a secret tone, like we were going to smoke behind the barn or steal lipsticks from the CVS.  "You know, at Christmas," she added.  It was August.

I've always been an easy to convince, although I never was a lipstick stealer. (the Jewish guilt and fear of being caught stopped me).  But I jumped on that one without a beat.  The fall stretched ahead of us, but I knew that come Christmas, I'd be inducted into the pate making society. 

Jean-Francois, who owns the little shop in which I've been working, says that pate peaks on the fifth day.  It needs to meld, to mature and come together so that every bite has married every other, so that one slice... is perfect.  Audrey and I made pate on December 23.  That night I had a migraine, and Joey took a little molded pate to Lissa's house.  That was the first day, and they said the pate was lovely.
The migraine turned into more work at the little shop which then turned into a cold, and then there was Christmas and Chinese food and more work and leftovers, and then?  Then it was December 28, our anniversary, and technically day six.  With seven hour lamb in the oven, there was nothing to do but unmold that last and final pate.  We had our friend Chris over, and we ate the whole thing.
It was indeed at it's peak.

I know that it's time to scale back, to detox and start fresh with the new year.  Maybe it's time to break my pate a day habit.  Maybe it's time for you to start yours.

 
Daily Pate
(adapted by Audrey from the original New York times cookbook)

This recipe makes an excessive amount of pate, which I think is exactly enough.  It will fill 2 standard loaf pans, or several smaller ones.  Make it with a friend, and then you can share.

3/4 pound pork fat (you can get this from a butcher--we also used some duck fat in here which I think worked really well)
3/4 pound fatty prosciutto rind or more pork fat or bacon
1 pound ground veal
1 pound ground pork shoulder
1 pound ham, cube
1/2 pound chicken livers
8 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 cup heavy cream
3 eggs
1/2 cup cognac
4 teaspoons salt
2 teaspoons white pepper
1/2 teaspoon allspice
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 cup flour
Optional: cornichons

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.  Line the pans with the prosciutto rind, pork fat, or bacon.
Combine the 1/2 of the remaining pork fat with the veal, pork shoulder in the bowl of the food processor.  Pulse to combine, and transfer to a mixing bowl.  Combine the rest of the pork fat with the ham in the food processor. Pulse to combine.  Add the chicken livers, garlic, cream, eggs, cognac, and 1/3 of the veal mixture to the bowl of the food processor.  Combine until you have a uniform and relatively smooth mixture.  Transfer to the mixing bowl with the rest of the veal mixture.  Add the seasonings and flour, and mix with your hands. 
Fill half of each pan with the mixture, then add sliced cornichons if you like.  Top with the rest of the mixture, and pack it in.  If you are using bacon to line the pans, fold it over the top of the pate.  If you are using pork fat or prosciutto rind, pack it around the pate.  The goal is to create a seal around the meat with the fat.  Cover each pan with a double layer of aluminum foil and set them  into a baking sheet with a high lip or a 9x13 baking pan.  Fill the pan halfway with water, and bake for until the pate reaches an internal temperature of 160 degrees.  This will vary depending on the size of your pans, but start checking after 1 1/2 hours.  Remove the pates from the oven, let them cool, and refrigerate.  For the first day in the refrigerator, set a weight, such as a rock or a water bottle on the aluminum foil. This presses the pate to draw any fat out of the center.  Pate that is still in its sealed fat layer is good for up to 10 days or so.