Sandwich au Jambon Sec
Dry-cured ham sandwich; various regional hams.
Dry-cured ham sandwich; various regional hams.
Parsley-studded ham terrine from Burgundy on bread.
Parslied ham terrine on bread; Burgundian specialty.
Classic Paris ham (jambon blanc) sandwich; mild, pink ham.
Lacaune ham sandwich; Tarn mountain ham.
Bayonne cured ham on baguette; prestigious French ham.
Bayonne ham sandwich; AOC-protected cured ham.
Lobster sandwich; Breton lobster (homard bleu).
Lobster sandwich; luxury coastal item.
Herring sandwich; smoked or pickled.
Generic cheese sandwich; varies by region.
Sheep's milk cheese sandwich; various regional types.
Corsican cheese (various types) sandwich.
Foie gras mi-cuit on salted toast, no jam, no fruit. The Southwest's plainest luxury leans on the half-cooked terrine and a glass of Sauternes instead of fixing the fat on the plate.
The sandwich au figatellu is one grilled Corsican liver sausage, hot off the chestnut embers, in plain crusted bread: iron, smoke, and running fat, with the grill doing double duty as the safety step.
Crab sandwich; Brittany's Atlantic catch.
Duck leg salted, slow-cooked in its own fat, then shredded warm into a baguette with a spoon of fig confit and the skin crisped back through the meat.
Comté in a baguette, where the only real choice is the age of the wheel: a supple four-month make eats fruity and milky, a crystalline two-year make eats salty, dense, and long.
One goat cheese, three sandwiches: a soft young chèvre spreads cold, a firm bûche slices, a dry aged round goes under the broiler instead, which is the whole reason chèvre chaud exists at all.
Charolais is a breed before it is a cut: lean white cattle from Burgundy's hedge-bound bocage, needing almost no dressing beyond thin rare slices shingled on a baguette with salted butter or mustard.
Chaource's bloomy-rind paste smears under a knife, so the sandwich is built around that fragility: thick wedges laid, not pressed, on bread that needs no butter for a cheese already 50 percent fat.
Chabichou du Poitou runs on a clock: fudgy and mild at ten days, dry and sharp by two months, the wrinkled rind telling you which cheese you are about to cut before the knife goes in.