Sandwich Saumon-Avocat
Salmon with avocado; modern combination.
Salmon with avocado; modern combination.
The Sandwich Saucisson-Cornichons builds the small brined gherkin into the architecture, the vinegar pulse threaded through the cured sausage so the pickle resets the palate at every bite.
The Lyonnais cooked sausage poached and baked inside a brioche shell, sliced thick onto baguette with a stripe of Dijon, sold warm off the Sunday Saint-Antoine quay at the Bobosse and Sibilia stalls.
A demi-baguette spread thick with beurre Charentes-Poitou AOP and shingled with coins of saucisson sec, ordered at a Paris zinc counter as one hyphenated word.
A length of coarse-chopped Toulouse pork, sold raw and grilled to order, laid hot into a split baguette with mustard. The loose grain is the point, and the bread has to catch the juice.
Toulouse sausage on bread.
Strasbourg's smoked Alsatian sausage on bread: a thin natural casing under tension, the audible snap at the bite, the same family the American hot dog descends from.
Morteau smoked sausage on bread; Jura specialty.
Montbéliard sausage sandwich; smaller than Morteau.
Le Mans rillettes worked into a baguette: the Sarthe larder turned into a hand-held lunch on the Paris-Brest line in 1900.
The Sandwich Sardines Grillées is built around fresh sardines cooked over fire, not lifted from a tin. Meatier and smokier than the canned kind, it tilts toward lemon, pepper, and bright char.
Crottin de Chavignol coins on a buttered baguette, eaten with a glass of white Sancerre off the same flint hillside as the goat pasture.
Salers sandwich: an Auvergne pressed raw-milk cheese made only on summer-pasture milk in a wooden gerle vat, grassier and more rustic than its Cantal cousin.
The Lyonnais bouchon salad, hot lardons and a four-minute poached egg over bitter frisée, folded into a split pain de campagne so the yolk binds the leaves at the canut weaver's noon.
Sandwich Sainte-Maure-de-Touraine: a baguette built around the Loire goat log, an ash-rolled cylinder with a rye straw at its centre, sliced into even discs with a thread of honey or a walnut.
A ripe Saint-Marcellin pours rather than slices: an 80g Dauphiné cow's-milk disc spooned from its crock onto crusted bread, no butter needed, the cheese doing all the talking.
Sandwich with rosette de Lyon (large dry-cured sausage).
The Sandwich Rosette de Lyon is governed by one fact: the sausage is matured in the pig's widest casing, so a single disc nearly covers the bread and the build is overlapped shallow around it.
The Sandwich Roquefort is built on the one major French blue made from sheep's milk, ripened inside a collapsed mountain: a richer, rounder cheese than any cow's-milk blue it gets shelved beside.
Roquefort with walnut halves on a baguette: the classical French cheese-board duo built into a sandwich, the walnut doing as much structural work as the blue.
Unpin the skewer and a rollmops springs loose: a herring fillet soured in vinegar, wound around onion and gherkin. The bread's only job is to give all that acid somewhere soft to land.
One thread of honey turns a plain goat round into its own sandwich. Run it light over a young Rocamadour, dark over a firmer one, and the sweet and the lactic tang hold each other up.
Rillons (crispy pork belly cubes) on bread.