That's not paté. That's potted meat.
I just filed a report for Friday's GO section. It's part of a cover story on thrifty things. My assignment was to build a cocktail party for $20.
Vodka ($10.60 at the state liquor store) consumed more than half of my budget.
I think I made some OK choices (read Friday's report), but I know I made a mistake in one way I approached my assignment.
Being "thrifty" doesn't imply cheap, or worse, ironic. I felt conspicuously ironic -- or was it ironically conspicuous? -- shopping at a discount grocery store I don't normally patronize.
I grabbed three cans of potted meat for 33 cents a can. I had some snarky vision that I'd find cheap capers and make paté.
Then I squeezed down an aisle, past a family of four and boxes upon boxes of the kind of food people buy when they're stretching dollars -- food that's eaten without irony.
As I walked to my car, a lady with a cart full of groceries used a pay phone to call a taxi.
I threw my potted meat on the passenger's seat. The taste in my mouth was flavored with shame.