Story 2: Béchamel Brunch

 Croque Mmmmadame!

Photo Courtesy of: Me

Saturday Brunch at Le Parisien (33rd between 3rd/Lex)

Photo Courtesy of: Me

I ran 15 miles for this sandwich. I ran until my intuition called after me with the same voice estranged lovers call after each other. “Croque Monsieur?” it haggled for my negative calories.

“Make it a Croque Madame,” I thought. And, a deal was made.

Honestly, I can’t think of anything better than béchamel to spend my 15-mile moolah on. The thought of béchamel sauce alone takes me back to my mother’s kitchen in Egypt, where the heat chased me down with smells of butter and cumin and coriander. Béchamel sauce was probably the reason I fell in love with food in the first place. Most five-year-olds craved Marconi and cheese; I craved macaroni and béchamel. On days I knew béchamel sauce was giving a winning performance in my mother’s kitchen, I would hop on her prep table and ask her to tell me stories. I don’t remember the stories. I only remember waiting for the perfect moment when I could swirl my pinky finger into the béchamel sauce before she layered it with perfect al dente penne and onions and glistening ground beef. It was magnificent and glorious and other multi-syllable adjectives. The masterpiece always ended with one cracked egg before it went into the oven.

Ahh, the egg. The egg just makes perfect sense on top of anything smothered in béchamel sauce. The egg is like the performer giving a bow at the audience's applause. The egg is why you always make it a Croque Madame.

If you’ve never had a Croque Monsieur or a Croque Madame, you need to immediately re-evaluate your food choices. Scratch that. You need to immediately re-evaluate your life.

A Croque Monsieur sandwich is made by first dipping the bread in béchamel sauce. If I may digress, I need a moment to explain béchamel sauce. It’s a wonderful base sauce that’s made by taking lots and lots and lots of butter and flour to form a roux. Scalding whole milk or heavy cream is then whisked in to form either a light or heavy version of the sauce--obviously the consistency depends on the chef. So, where was I? Yes, first a slice béchamel-dipped bread lays comfortably. (This particular bread was brioche.) The ham and gruyere then squish their bellies against each other on top of the briochey goodness before they cover themselves up with another slice of bread. The sandwich is grilled and topped with more gruyere.

But--we’ve already talked about this--you should really add the cracked egg on top. I can't stress this enough: Always, always make it a Croque Madame. Enjoy as your taste buds sigh a breath of relief.

I think this particular C.M. looked rather good, esp. with the rosemary garnish

Photo Courtesy of: Someone serious about sandwiches