In addition to being excellent musicians, my husband and his band mates are hilarious! They made "thank you" videos for some of their most loyal fans who donated to the completion of their latest album, "Buttons and Bows." You can see them all here.
This is one of my favorites that was made for guitar and keyboard player Audie's wife, Cheryl.
After you watch the videos you should go here and buy a CD because it is awesome and you will LOVE it.
There was only way to properly judge the liverpostej, and that was through a blind taste test. Jess, my dad and I went into the kitchen and to prepare two equal plates to share. Theoretically, no one would know which one belonged to who. But as we began to prepare the plates it became clear right away that this would not be the case, as well as who had won the battle. It was Grandpa, without a doubt.
"You know, I don't even think we should serve this."
"No!" My dad said. And then he tried ours. "Yeah...Grandpa's is way better."
My uncle came in to find out what the holdup was and we told him that we were thinking of throwing in the towel; our liver was not up to snuff. He picked up our plate of leverpostej, its color and consistency clearly not right. He brought the plate up to his nose and took a sniff.
"It smells like Friskies!" he said. That was less than comforting.
I was ready to just dump all of it and anything resembling my Danish ancestry in the trash since we had so clearly failed. But Grandpa was really looking forward to trying it so instead "quitting" we surrendered.
With our white flags made out of chopsticks and napkins, we humbly accepted our loss.
Grandpa's is the one on the left and ours is on the right. Not that you know what leverpostej should look like, but ours is not right. The color is wrong and the consistency is wrong. I realize that both look equally unappetizing.
The most important judge.
My Grandpa is a fairly quiet guy in general. At 91 years old, he is in great shape but sometimes even the simplest tasks can be a bit tiresome for him. These days, our visits usually consist of him sitting quietly and taking it all in. He tells the occasional story that I just love and wish I could bottle up and keep in my pocket to listen to anytime I need a smile. But for the most part, he just sits back and enjoys his family enjoying themselves; he doesn't have to say much for us to know what he is really feeling.
"You know, Grandpa," I said, "Dad says your pickles won too."
"Well, yes," he said. "I suspected as much." And he smiled a big proud smile.
I've never been happier to lose something in my life.
Let me start by saying that I have no idea how I got roped into this, or why I agreed at all. I must have been intoxicated. Or maybe it's because when your 91-year-old grandfather asks you to do something, even if it is cooking Danish leverpostej (liver paste), you do it. Also, I think I was a little drunk.
No, really. Here is how it actually went down:
This all began years ago when my mom decided she wanted to get pet chickens. Finally, this spring, my Dad begrudgingly agreed. So my mom did her research, got the proper permits and placed her order for six baby chicks to be mailed to her. Yes, mailed. That is actually a thing.
The chickens were not going to be arriving for several weeks and even when they did arrive, they could not go in a coop right away because they would be babies that would need to be kept in a brooding box under warm lights. So, my Dad had plenty of time to draw up some plans and build a coop himself. Sure you can buy a perfectly good ready-made chicken coop, but where is the fun in that? Plus, this is only going to take "a few weekends."
A few weekends.
Those words made me shudder. Why? Because about 10 years ago when I was still living at home my Dad thought it would be fun to remodel both bathrooms at the same time. But not to worry. This was only going to take (everyone say it with me):
A few weekends.
While we always had a working toilet in the house, both showers had to be removed. My dad came up with the ingenious idea to jury rig a shower in our garage. My sister, mother and I were not thrilled. But remember this was only going to take:
A FEW WEEKENDS.
Nine months later, four of which were THE COLDEST MONTHS OF THE YEAR, my sister and I were willing to sell our souls for the use of anyone's indoor shower, and my mother was ready to leave my father. We stuck it out, though, until eventually the bathrooms were done and we stopped living our lives like barbarians.
When my dad busted out the plans for the chicken coop for all of us all to see, Grant took one look at them and said, "These chickens are going to be showering in the garage for the next nine months, aren't they?"
Truer words may never have been spoken by him. Needless to say, my mom got the chickens in April and the coop is still not done. Almost done, but not done. How could it have possibly taken so long, you ask? It's just a chicken coop, so four boards, some chicken wire, a door, some hay and boom! You got yourself a coop, right?
Behold.
This is "Cluckinghen Palace" for my mom's chickens (Edna, Marie, Eva B, Miss Pete, Millie and Diane Von Furstenberg) and it is nicer than my first dorm room in college. What can I say? The Andersens go big or go home.
You can imagine that all our extended family and friends are now invested in the coop and everyone wants to see it in all its glory. My grandparents, of course, were among the interested. Since Labor Day weekend also happens to be the weekend of my grandpa's birthday he wanted to come down for the day and check it out. Two of my uncles and their wives would be coming along as well.
As mentioned here, my grandpa is Danish. Since it was his birthday, my sister and I thought it would be fun to try to make him leverpostej and homemade pickled cucumbers as a surprise. Grandpa caught wind of our little plan and decided to make some of his own and up the stakes a bit. He wanted to turn it into a friendly competition. And thus began the Leverpostej-Off of 2011!
Armed with our Danish cookbook, Jessie and I got some aprons and the proper tools.
If I have to touch organ meat, there ain't just gonna be one of these consumed tonight.
I'm smiling but in my head I am thinking, "I'm holding a bag of liver. I'm holding a bag of liver."
"Don't worry Mommy! Me and my band of trained chihuahuas will save you from the liver!"
Oooo, anchovies. 
Onions.
Bacon. So much bacon. 
I decided to spare you any photos of the leverpostej in its precooked state and for that you are welcome. As you can see, we made six loaves of it. They were mini loaves but still: we made six of them. And yes, I see the irony here. (See aforementioned chicken coop palace.)
When it came out of the oven it smelled like the leverpostej I remembered so we figured we must have done something right. However, right away we knew there was a problem with consistency. For true leverpostej, you need a meat grinder in order to achieve that paste-like quality. We used a food processor, and while we let it run for a really long time, there were obvious chunks remaining in our mixture.
"I have a bad feeling about this." I said.
"No, I think this is what Grandpa's looked like," my dad said.
"You're just saying that. I don't think we did this right."
To which my sister replied, "Well, at least we made six of them."
This may turn out to be an epic failure but only time will tell.
