If, when you are abroad and stopping at one of the fine Parisian hotels, you have occasion to order to your room “a couple of ham sandwiches” you have a pleasant surprise in store. Your ham sandwich will probably bear little or no resemblance to the American preparation which bears the same name. It is more likely to look like the ham sandwich which a friend photographed recently in Paris for my benefit and his own amusement. Paper-thin slices of delicately pink ham were arranged meticulously on a magnificent silver platter which sparkled with chopped aspic. Fresh sprays or water cress decorated the ends of the platter, and the narrow edges of far which trimmed each rosy slice lent a while accent. On a second silver dish was a heap of crusty golden-brown rolls. A shell of butter curls and a Quimper pot of montarde de Dijon completed the sandwich—and the picture. “That,” my friend said mischievously. “is a ham sandwich, French style. And it was good—I can still remember how it tasted!”
Of course, sandwiches are hot French in origin. They are supposed to have originated in (England, and they beat the name of Lord Sandwich, that ardent eighteenth-century gambler who was reputedly reluctant to leave the gaming tables long enough to eat. But I believe that there must have been sandwiches, in one form or another, as soon as there was bread. What would be more natural for the workman who could not leave his fields or the woods at noontime than to take with him a juicy piece of meat protected by two pieces of bread? Even today in France this custom is common among the country people.
But it is the Scandinavians—their open—faced sandwiches are infinitely varied in Content and offered in a bewildering assortment-and the Americans who have taken the sandwich to their hearts and made it into an important culinary institution.
Even in France, however, the convenience and usefulness of the sandwich has nut been overlooked. When I was a young apprenti at the Maison Calondre at Moulins, we were frequently called upon to prepare for the grand parties at the châseaux in the neighborhood certain delicacies which might be considered sandwiches. We made these of tiny finger rolls, pains au tail, and with an oblong brioche which we split and filled With pâte de foie gras or caviar. There were tartines, thin slices of bread spread with butter, to serve with oysters or caviar instead of the rolls or bread which might be inconvenient to handle at a buffet. Or the tartines might be topped with thin slices of galantine of capon, or with cream cheese sprinkled with chopped chives, or with thin slices of tomato and water cress. The occasions at which these foods were de rigueur were, I suppose, the forerunners of today's cocktail parties, except that the “cocktails” were tea, coffee, Champagne, Port or or Madeira, and strong flavors or complicated combinations which would have overpowered the fine, subtle wines were not welcome.
Probably as part of their French heritage, hotels in this country which cater to the international set rarely dramatize sandwiches on their menus and customarily offer them only between meals or late in the evening, or as we did at the old Ritz-Carlton, as a convenience at the Men's Bar. But although I cannot imagine a guest at luncheon in, for instance, the beautiful Oval Room, ordering a “ham on rye.” I do understand and sympathize with the American liking for sandwiches. Like any other food worth eating, sandwiches deserve careful preparation.
Bread for Classes in Classic Cuisine sandwiches should be thinly cut. It is difficult to cut very fresh bread neatly, even with the sawing motion of a sharp knife. So sandwiches should be made from bread baked at least twelve hours before it is used. The butter should be creamed until it is soft enough to spread, but it must not be softened by heat. It may be seasoned with a little mustard and customarily is spread on both pieces of bread for the sandwich.
Anyone who has ever glanced at the menu of a typical luncheonette knows that almost anything may—and does—make a sandwich, but the sandwich of cold meat or poultry is probably the most universally popular, so I wish to share with you the secret of making this sort of sandwich taste its best. Use several thin slices of meat, rather than one thick slice, and prepare the sandwich at the last minute. Daintier sandwiches result if the crusts are trimmed off.
Except for picnics and similar occasions, I do not recommend the so-called salad fillings. Which require quantities of mayonnaise to bind them and make them edible. The meat or cheese or other filling should be so succulent in itself that it requites little moistening.
It is interesting to note that in French cuisine bread plays an additional and more important role than that of making sandwiches.
Bread, sliced, toasted, and buttered, is frequently used as a base for eggs and creamed mixtures One such croûte may be made in this way: Cut thick slices of bread into rounds. With a small sharp pointed knife, hollow nut the rounds to make saucer-like shells. Brush the croûtes with melted butter and brown them on a baking sheet in a hot oven.
Another type of croûte is served in onion and other soups. Thick slices are cur from a loaf of French bread and spread with butter, covered thickly with grated Parmesan, and browned under the broiler. Or the prepared croûtes may be floated on the soup and browned under the broiler right in the earthenware bowl.
To make croûtes to serve with soup rather than in it. split crusty French rolls, remove the crumb, and slice the crusts to make curved pieces about ¾ inch wide. Or slice the rolls thin, spread the rounds with butter, and toast them under the broiler, These croûte are frequently served with cream soups.
The croûtes which often garnish fish, meat, and poultry platters are made by cutting thin slices of bread into decorative ovals, diamonds, or crescents, and browning these shapes on both Sides in butter. These may be arranged around the edge of the platter alternately with other garnishes, such as mushrooms or artichokes, or whatever garnishes are prescribed, and one or two art included with each serving from the platter. When these croûtes are served with game, they are spread with rouennaise, a paste made of poultry livers.
Small whole game birds and squab chickens, and the breasts of larger birds, are usually served on croûtes. To make these, a loaf of bread is cut into lengthwise slices about 1 inch thick. A inches wide and 5 inches long. The edge of the croûte is cut into scallops with a sharp knife and the bread is then buttered and toasted.
Sometimes a croûte serves as a kind of cushion to support and display lobster, for instance, and is not intended to be eaten. To make such a croûte trim the crusts from a sandwich loaf and cut the loaf in half diagonally to make two identical wedges. Fry both wedges in hot deep fat to an even golden brown and arrange them on the platter flat side down, face to face when both are used. A little aspic will keep the croûtes firmly in place on the platter.
Bread finds its way into many French desserts, the most famous of which is probably the apple Charlotte for which 0 buttered mold is lined with overlapping slices of bread and filled with apple-sauce. To make the croûte aux fruits, toasted brioche slices are stood on end in a dish of hot fruit compote, which is then flambéed with warmed rum.
Croûtons, small croûtes, are inevitably floated on servings of such creamed soups as potage Saint-Germain and cream of tomato. To make them, ½ inch thick slices of bread are cut into uniform dice, which are then sautéed in butter until they are brown on all sides. It is important that these croutons have a buttery flavor, so they are never fried in deep fat.
Then there are chapous, small pieces of French bread which are rubbed with a cut clove of garlic and tossed with green salads. These cbapons lend a very delicate flavor of garlic to the salad and they may or may not be eaten with it.
This seems like a logical place to tell you about another use for bread which has nothing whatever to do with sandwiches or even with croûtes —bread crumbs. To make them, always discard the bread crusts. When the recipe calls for fresh bread crumbs, the bread should nevertheless be at least a day or two old. because really fresh bread refuses to crumble and merely rolls up into doughy pieces. Day-old bread may be cut up or sliced and crumbled between the palms of the hands; if necessary, the slices may be allowed to dry a little First. To make fine fresh bread crumbs, rub the crumbs through a sieve. Dry bread crumbs are made from very stale bread; to make dry crumbs from fairly fresh bread, break up the bread and spread the pieces on a flat pan in a warm oven until they are very dry, but not browned. Then crush the bread to crumbs with a rolling pin and sift the crumbs to assure uniformity.
It seems fitting that this class in classic cuisine, which began with a discussion of sandwiches French style, should close-in the same way with a group of canapes, which are essentially open-faced sandwiches. Of course, it is possible to make canapés on crackers, rather than on bread, but toasted bread is frequently a more desirable base for these savory combinations.
To make canapés, cut slices ¼ inch thick the length of the loaf and cut them into small rounds, diamonds, crescents, or oblongs. The entire loaf may be spread with the basic canape spread before the shapes are cut out and garnished. Canapes served before dinner are likely to consist very simply of caviar. smoked salmon, or smoked sturgeon, but the canapés for a cocktail party arc usually more elaborate. In either case, the canapes should be attractively decorated with such colorful garnishes us pimento, slices of ripe or green olives, hard-conked eggs, or parsley. A most popular garnish is mimosa, which consists of hard-cooked egg finely chopped and mixed with finely chopped parsley. The edges of finished canapes are dipped into the gold, green, and white mixture to make an attractive border.
Here are some cocktail party canapes, all of them based on toast.
Canapés Seville
Spread the toast with anchovy paste and cover it with alternating strips of pimento and anchovy filets. Garnish with slices of green olive.
Canapés Olga
Cover half the toast with thinly-sliced smoked sturgeon, half with smoked salmon. Cover the sturgeon with caviar and the salmon with anchovy paste. Dip the edges of the canape in mimosa.
Canapes Moscovite
Cover the toast with a slice of smoked salmon, spread it with caviar, and cross two anchovies in the center. Dip the edges in mimosa.
Canapes Diplomat
Cover the toast with a slice of West-phalian ham. decorate it with a cross of anchovy filets, and put slices of stuffed green olive between the filets. Garnish the edges with mimosa.
Canapes Cardinal
Place a thin slice of tomato on the toast, spread it with mayon naise mixed with a little chili sauce and finely chopped chives, parsley, and tarragon, and decorate with a split cooked shrimp.
Canapés Amiral
Cover one-third of the toast with a slice of smoked sturgeon, one-third with a slice of smoked salmon, and the remaining third with caviar. Garnish the edges with mimosa.
Canapes Astrakan
Cover toast with a slice of smoked sturgeon and spread caviar over the sturgeon. Dip the edges in mimosa.
Canapes Cape Cod
Poach oysters in their own juices for 2 minutes. Drain them on absorbent paper and cool them. Cover the corners of the toast with caviar and place an oyster in the center. Put a few drops of chili sauce carefully on top of the oyster; it should not run into the caviar. Garnish the edges with mimosa.
Canapés Beatrice
Mix 1 cup chopped hard-cooked egg, ½ cup fine julienne of ham, ½ cup fine julienne of tongue, and 2 tablespoons julienne of truffle with ½ cup mayonnaise. Spread the mixture on toast and dip the edges of the canapes in mimosa.