Sandwiches

I went to the French Laundry restaurant located in the Napa region (specifically, Yountville, California) in 1996 and haven’t been able to get a reservation since – at least until a week ago.  Of course, that’s what happens when a chef later becomes tops in the U.S. and his restaurant is voted tops in the world.  But with one day’s notice, I was told my group of four were in. Pack your dinner jacket we were told.  They should’ve added cash out your 401k and clean out your savings account with a scrub brush.  The price to party was now $240 per person for a nine course tasting menu (two options: Chef’s and Vegetarian) not including wine – a decent bottle (not a case) of which will cost you $200 more.  

The preeminent sandwich of my lifetime, could be found just three blocks from my parents' house. Several years ago the sub-shop inexplicably shutdown. I was devastated.

I roamed the San Fernando Valley in search of something that could take it's place. I'd find the right pickles (chopped dill), but the seasoning would be off. I'd find the right seasoning, but the bread would be off (thick sesame roll.)

I found good sandwiches, but never my sandwich. In high school I introduced a friend, to the sandwich. He shared the same yearning for Turkey Breast, Pickles, Onions, Provolone, Oil, Salt & Pepper (hold the Tomatoes.) Using "Web 2.0 skills" he asked if anyone knew where to find a spot-on replica of this sandwich.

Within an hour, he got a response. A user claimed that the sandwich existed somewhere in the depths of the West Valley.

Skepticism arose from deep inside my belly.

A Monte Cristo consists of ham, turkey or chicken, and Swiss cheese sandwiched between two slices of white or challah bread that is dipped in an egg batter, then grilled or fried in butter until golden brown. It is often dusted with confectioners’ sugar and served with a side of red currant jelly.

The Monte Cristo is an American version of the Croque-Monsieur, the famed French grilled cheese and ham sandwich that is fried in clarified butter.

The sandwich first appeared on the menu at Gordon’s, a restaurant on Wilshire Boulevard in Los Angeles, but it didn't get its big break until Disneyworld got involved. When the Blue Bayou Restaurant in the Pirates of the Caribbean put the Monte Cristo on its menu, its popularity soared.

I hadn't eaten a Monte Cristo since I was a kid, and I didn't remember particularly loving it. My, how things have changed. This sandwich has it all: it's sweet, salty, and chewy. It's addictive.

“I’m hungry. Can someone please help me?  Please. This is serious.  I haven’t eaten since early this morning. Please.” The plea came from a diminutive man I had just rushed passed on 8th Avenue in New York City.  He was wearing a grey cap pulled down over his forehead and held a tattered white plastic shopping bag.  It was 12:30 a.m. A hard March wind was blowing through Chelsea and everyone who passed this pleading man, was hurrying to someplace warm, including me. 

I had just eaten at one of my favorite joints Casa Mono. I started with the  pulpo with fennel and grapefruit and followed with the dorada with artichokes and langostinos (the langoustine tail meat was a bit mushy but still flavorful.) My belly was full and I still had the glow of a quarto of solid Spanish red. 

For a reason I still do not know, after getting a few steps past this man, who was all but invisible to passers-by, I stopped and waited for him to catch up. When I offered  a dollar bill to him, he said, “No man, didn’t you hear,  I’m hungry. This is no joke.  I don’t want money. I’m just very  hungry.” “Really, no bullshit?”  I said.