I have always adored sandwiches. Even with growing up in England without P&J.
Perhaps why.
Part of what I adore is the conversation between John Monatagu, 4th Earl of Sandwich and John Wilkes (1725-1797), an English radical, journalist and politician who supported the American rebels during the War of Independence.
The legend is that Sandwich, unwilling to leave the gambling tables had his servants bring him meat between two pieces of bread. Others began ordering “the same as Sandwich.”
But there was time for insults. Perhaps the Earl had lost a game to Wilkes:
Lord Sandwich:
"Sir, I do not know whether you will die on the gallows or of the pox."
John Wilkes:
"That depends, my lord, on whether I embrace your lordship's principles or your mistress."
Regardless of embraces, it is really all about the bread.
On the untimely death of Lionel Poilane (of Paris famous bakery and bread), his wife, and their dog, in the crash of the plane he was piloting off the coast of Normandy. I was surprised at the time that I didn’t see any mention in the American press.
Odd, given that he was perhaps single-handedly responsible for the creation of the new bread industry in the United States. Without Poilane, would we have the kind of wonderful country bread once nonexistent and now almost ubiquitous?
It started with Americans returning from Europe misty-eyed with stories about the apple tarts that used to come out of the ovens chez Poilane on rue du Cherche-Midi every forty-five minutes - or whenever they felt like it. That was before the tourists discovered the bread.
Then, before you knew it, an ex-busboy from Chez Panisse named Steve Sullivan started Acme Bread Company.
A Berkeley, California-based bakery that is one of the pioneers of the San Francisco Bay Area's "Bread Revolution," which in turn created the modern "artisan bread" movement in America. And remains a "benchmark" for commercial handmade bread. True, and quoted from Wikipedia.
Steve’s website says that he started baking bread as a serious hobby after being inspired by Elizabeth David’s cookbook English Bread and Yeast Cookery.
And then I suggested he visit Poilane in Paris.
The conditions that lead up to eating a sandwich are, in no particular order, lack of time, a pressing need, and a lack of money – or the three together.
A hunger hitting one quickly.
Then the thoughts of what a lobster tail, or a breast of chicken, cold roast mutton, or even some smoked eel, must have tasted like stuck between two trenchers of bread, particularly when moistened with slabs of fresh cream, lashings of country butter, or a pot or two of freshly-milled mustard.
At the suggestion of my friend Mary Gostelow, Lionel celebrated the bicentennial of John, Earl of Sandwich, in 1992 with a starred-chef contributed sandwich cookbook and a party that went with it. I know that Lord Sandwich would have approved of Lionel’s party.
The sandwiches:
Juan Maria Arzak shoving a middle cut of the breast of tuna poached in olive oil, splashed with Basque cider, between two morceaux of baguette.
Georges Blanc, also between baguette, stuffing a few Bresse chicken filets also cooked in olive oil.
The other Blanc, this time Raymond of Le Manoir de Quat’ Saisons in Oxford, used a salad of pig’s head.
Bocuse hard-boiled eggs and lobster tails.
Alain Ducasse asked for fougasse topped with tomatoes, artichokes, basil, red bell pepper, black olives, anchovies, garlic and olive oil. A veritable Rivierawich.
At the Savoy, Anton Edelman wanted only Brie, bacon, and turkey breast.
Ken Hom met East meet West by stuffing individual rolls with salmon marinated in a love affair between ginger, Sichuan pepper, sake, and basil made limp in extra virgin olive oil.
Some chef in Berne wanted a sandwich with spaghetti, which may or may not have made our earl happy (England’s spaghetti on toast was probably too working class for him and a century or two later).
A chef in Milan used tapenade.
Marc Meneau found pleasure in sardines, green part of the leeks confit, and caviar.
The great Alain Passard of Paris’ L’Arpege wanted white tuna, Serano ham, and “sirop d’erable,” instead of on pancakes.
Joel Robluchon's recipe for a shrimp sandwich went on for days, his list of accompanying “aromates” longer than a permit application hearing in San Francisco.
Roger Verge in the South of France asked for salami with mayonnaise so I will pass that one by, as I will the endless smorgesbrodwich from the Operkallaren in Stockholm.
Pierre Wynants from Brussels’ legendary Comme chez Soi used smoked salmon and salmon trout eggs, and that made my mouth water as much as the crab and langoustine ‘wich from Taillevent in Paris.
So, what did they think of my sandwich, the Stars’ Provencal Club? It was salt cod “brandade,” tomatoes, rocket, crisp bacon, and Poilane country bread grilled and brushed with extra virgin olive oil. What I remember is Lionel wiping a bit of brandade of his lips after smacking them together (if I can use an American phrase for such an elegant French appreciation of le sandwich) and looking me in the eye.
“Not bad for a Californian,” he said.
I could not wait to tell everyone at Stars that I had received an ultimate blessing.
Stars’ Provencal Club
Is salt cod “brandade,” tomatoes, rocket, crisp bacon, and Poilane-style (Acme) country bread grilled and brushed with extra virgin olive oil.
No wonder Brandade of Salt Cod (de Morue) is so scarce these days in the U.S. I looked on the internet to see what kind of recipes are offered, and most of them produce a mess. At least if one has eaten the creamy and garlic-sublime real thing that belongs in my top list of best French food.
The secret is in the shredding of the soaked and cooked cod. Previously the work of mortar and pestle kitchen slaves, I found a way at Chez Panisse, braving the fury of Lindsey the pastry chef, to borrow her mixer. And leave no trace of garlic to perfume her crème anglaise.
I had a eureka moment and realized that a Hobart domestic mixer and a ‘balloon’ whisk attachment is all you need.
First make the cod puree.
You can use cooked potatoes to extend the volume and make the mixing easier, but I prefer not to diffuse the flavors of the cod. Think of mayonnaise and you will sail through this. It is a whipped emulsion like, for example, huumus.
1 pound Salt cod, boned
10 Whole cloves garlic, peeled
3 sprigs Fresh thyme
1 Bay leaf
1 1/4 cups Extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 cup Half-and-half
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
Wash the salt cod under cold running cold water.
Cut into 2-inch pieces and put in a bowl big enough to cover the cod with water. Add cold water and soak overnight (or change the water a few times) until most but not all of the salt is gone.
Drain the cod and put in a saucepan. Cover with water. Add 5 whole cloves of the garlic, the thyme, and bay leaf. Set over medium-high heat and bring to a simmer. Cook until tender and chewable, 15-30 minutes.
Drain salt cod, reserving garlic; discard thyme and bay leaf.
Transfer the warm cod to the bowl of a mixer fitted with the balloon whisk. Whisk at medium speed until the cod is entirely flaked.
Meanwhile, puree the remaining garlic with the olive oil. Heat the oil but not to the boil.
Heat the cream in a small saucepan but not to the boil.
With the mixer running at medium-high speed, add the garlic olive oil and cream in small but steady doses. As if making mayonnaise. You want the texture of creamy mashed potatoes. Add more oil or cream if necessary and it is important that the cod puree does not cool.
Today I looked on the internet to see what Michelin chefs are doing with sandwiches. Mazen Mustafa, in 2020 executive chef at the Fellow restaurant in Los Angeles, presented his BLT.
"Who doesn't love a good BLT?" he says. "I kick it up by making a simple vinaigrette using the bacon fat to give it a bit more depth of flavor. And, if you really want to get crazy, add a bit of toasted nori to the mayo. It makes the sandwich otherworldly." He uses the rendered bacon fat to make the vinaigrette for the lettuce and tomato, adding 60 grams of olive oil and 20 grams of sherry vinegar.
All interesting, but his bread is too thick.
Waiting for this year’s tomatoes here on Howell Mtn. Acme Sour Batard. Mayo with egg from our hens and olive oil from Molly Chappellet. Roquette from the garden. Doesn’t get any better
great issue.. I have always been in tempted to make this . You make it seem possible . Muchas thankm thank you"s. Gina Lopez