A smoked sausage named after a city in Germany, the country where my father’s family originated. Pork liver, pork scraps, pork fat ground with various spices: garlic, allspice, coriander, marjoram, mustard seed, nutmeg, thyme, sage. You could buy it at the deli counter in thick slices to eat between bread as any other cold cut. Our family liked the softer variety—a pâté—that Oscar Mayer wrapped in a plastic tube labeled Authentic. I can still picture how Dad rotated a Ritz cracker to slather a perfectly even layer that came to a peak in the center like a miniature sand dune. He did the same when buttering muffins or icing on cupcakes. We all have our peculiarities. I thought it a blend of eccentric and magical.