Smoked Trout Pate

Two weeks. I'm oscillating between excitement and terror, which is apparently the emotional profile of a man about to take his refugee mother back to the country she fled nearly fifty years ago. The excitement is obvious. The terror is: what if it breaks her? What if seeing the street, the market, the place where her life ended and started — what if it's too much? What if I'm wrong about this? What if she was right when she said she didn't want to go?

I called Linh and said all of this out loud. She listened without interrupting, which is Linh's greatest skill. When I was done she said, "Bobby. She's been carrying this for forty-seven years. You're not going to break her. You're going to let her set it down." I wrote that down. I carry it the way I carry the sobriety chip and Mr. Clarence's rub recipe: in the place where I keep the things that matter.

Tyler called from Midland. He knows about the trip — everyone does now — and he said, "Dad, bring me back some coffee." I said, "What kind?" He said, "The Vietnamese kind. The strong kind." I said, "I will bring you coffee that will make your current coffee feel personally insulted." He laughed. Tyler's laugh is rare and genuine and always earns its keep.

Smoked a brisket this weekend — maybe my last one before the trip. Twelve pounds, the usual fish sauce lemongrass rub, fourteen hours over oak. I stood next to the smoker in the February cold and thought about how this ritual — fire, meat, smoke, patience — has been my anchor for decades. The shrimp boats taught me to work. Mr. Clarence taught me to smoke. Sobriety taught me to be still. Vietnam is going to teach me something too. I don't know what yet. But I can feel it coming.

The brisket was excellent. I brought half to Mai. She said, "You're not bringing brisket to Vietnam." I said, "I thought about it." She said, "Bobby." I said, "I know, I know." But I did think about it. The customs regulations of Ho Chi Minh City are the only reason Vietnamese street vendors are not currently eating my brisket.

The brisket gets the glory, but fourteen hours next to a smoker leaves you with a lot of in-between time — and that’s where this smoked trout paté was born. Standing in the February cold, fire going, oak smoke doing its thing, I needed something I could actually eat while I waited and thought too many thoughts about Vietnam and my mother and whether I’d gotten all of this completely wrong. Smoked trout paté is fast, deeply savory, and it tastes like the smoker came inside with you — which, when the smoker is the thing keeping you sane, is exactly what you want.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 10 minutes | Servings: 8

Ingredients

8 oz smoked trout fillets, skin removed and flaked
4 oz cream cheese, softened
3 tablespoons sour cream
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon lemon zest
2 tablespoons fresh chives, finely chopped
1 tablespoon prepared horseradish
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
Salt to taste
Crackers, sliced baguette, or cucumber rounds, for serving

Instructions

Flake the trout. Remove any remaining bones or skin from the smoked trout fillets and break the fish into rough pieces in a medium bowl.
Blend the base. In a food processor, combine the cream cheese, sour cream, lemon juice, lemon zest, horseradish, and smoked paprika. Pulse until smooth and well combined, about 30 seconds.
Add the trout. Add the flaked trout to the processor and pulse 4–6 times, leaving some texture — you want a spread, not a pureée.
Fold in the chives. Transfer the mixture to a bowl and fold in the chopped chives by hand. Taste and adjust salt and black pepper as needed.
Chill briefly. Cover and refrigerate for at least 15 minutes to let the flavors come together. The paté will keep refrigerated for up to 3 days.
Serve. Bring to room temperature for 10 minutes before serving. Plate with crackers, toasted baguette slices, or cucumber rounds.

Nutrition (per serving)

Smoked Trout Pate — When the Smoker Is the Only Thing Keeping You Grounded