Tuesday, March 17, 2015

Don't Croak Before You Croque

If you know me in real life, you know I'm kind of a sandwich fiend. Mostly because pretty much anything can be a sandwich.

Case in point -- this is what qualifies ingredients to become a sandwich:
1. Two pieces of bread
2. Bunch of stuff in stacked in between

I would say the third qualification is that you have to be able to hold this stack of ingredients between two pieces of bread in your hands while eating, but then I'd be lying.

Because of "The Croque."


Nope, that's not a breakfast. The croque madam at
Manuel's Bread Cafe in North Augusta,
South Carolina, served with side salad
You see, because in addition to giving us the French baguette, the French croissant, the French macaroon, the Eiffel Tower, French poodles and (quite arguably) the French fry, the lovely people of Pah-ree also gave us this thing called the croque-monsieur. This, magnificent friends, is a sandwich eaten not with hands, but with a fork.

Granted, you could probably eat it with your hands, but I recommend you not. You'll see why in about two paragraphs.

According to the super-reliable Internet source Wikipedia, the croque-monsieur originated in Parisian cafes, appearing on menus circa 1910. It's a ham and cheese sandwich, for all intents and purposes, but just as the French make fashion and food upscale, Paris couldn't have "a ham and cheese sandwich." They upped the ante and topped it with bechamel sauce.

Bechamel is flour, milk and a fat (butter and/or bacon fat, for example) turned into a thick gravy-like roux. This is why you might should be fancy and use a fork when eating a croque-monsieur.

In Evans, Georgia, which is where I found myself this past weekend (it's the good ol' stompin' grounds), there is only one place to find this delicacy: Manuel's Bread Cafe in Hammond's Ferry, a quaint little neighborhood in North Augusta, South Carolina. Not to be confused with North, South Carolina, or Augusta, Georgia, because both of those exist too, but that's for another time.

Here's the thing about Manuel's. Manuel Verney-Carron is French. (And cute, if you ask my mother/aunt/grandmother/etc.) So you KNOW you are getting authentic French and French-inspired food in his kitchen. Add to the fact that more times than not Chef Manuel is the one behind the counter cooking a portion of your food and you are in for a treat.

The magic moment of piercing a fried egg; its yolk
blending into the herbed bechamel sauce
The Croque, my cousin Rachel's name for this sandwich, is one of many incredible dishes at Manuel's. I've been to Manuel's a number of times, but only recently beheld a croque of my very own. This weekend I decided to try one of Manuel's specialty croques (check the board when you walk in for these!) -- the croque madam. The madam is a croque-monsieur topped with a perfectly fried egg, meaning that the magic moment your fork touches the sandwich, the bright yellow yolk bursts and the herbed bechamel mixes with its savory goodness to make a silky roux.

Everything about the madam was magnificent. It started innocuously enough, as I watched one of the line chefs stack thin slices of sweet Black Forest ham and Swiss cheese between two oblong slices of sourdough. She swiped both sides of the sandwich in butter and tossed it on a grill. Meanwhile another cook mixed up my side salad. This wasn't your run-of-the-mill iceberg lettuce with dressing side salad. This was a spring mix, diced red onions and tomatoes, coated in housemade vinaigrette. I don't like salads, but this salad was bright, colorful and really, really good. You can't go wrong choosing either the side salad or the fries at this place, honestly.

The croque madam made its way to the plate and was topped with a generous ladleful of bechamel. Be still, mine heart. We sat at the bar (this place gets packed Saturdays for lunch, and Sundays for brunch, so be forewarned) so I could see right across to the warming plate where our food was getting ready to be served. And then, the crowning glory, right before this plate of pure Parisian heaven was brought out in front of me.

Trust me when I say I cut that sucker into the tiniest bites possible because I wanted to savor every mouthful.

There's not much food that can't be added to by laying a fried egg on top (pimento cheese sandwiches, Steak 'n Shake burgers, hot dogs from Blind Pig Tavern, for starters). Rachel, who does not eat eggs (or shrimp, or a random host of other foods) was tempted to eat a bite of the bechamel-egg-croque concoction and gave it a positive review.

I think that speaks for itself. Clearly, this is one sandwich you should add to your bucket list, even if you do have to eat it with a fork.

** Bonus foodie tip: Manuel's also has fab desserts and breads. If you get there early enough, you can find them at Augusta's Saturday Market on the River. They're the booth on the corner closest to the Cotton Exchange building! I recommend chocolate croissants (they heat up nicely too for a coffee-time snack), the Mediterranean loaf and the pizza loaf. Hamburgers and fries at the restaurant get a thumbs up too.

Sunday, March 8, 2015

A Mat-So Good Soup & Sandwich


Outside The General Muir at Atlanta's Emory Point

Tonight, I crossed "ate matzoh ball soup" off my bucket list.

Outside of New York City, I'm not sure there are many places in America -- much less in the South -- where one can find authentic, homemade matzoh ball soup in a restaurant, especially matzoh ball soup that gets the approval of my Jewish heritage boyfriend. But the matzoh ball soup at The General Muir at Atlanta's Emory Point not only was a mouth-watering first experience with this food, it also got a thumb's up from Justin.

As I sat and sipped on this simple, flavorful appetizer (which in my case was more of a side dish, because I got it with a sandwich ... I'll get to that later), my eyes wandered around the restaurant. I took in everything that read old-school New York: the industrialized green steel beams adorning the ceiling; minimalist black and white tile on the wall and floor; the deli counter overflowing with breads and cakes and pastries. And bagels, of course. The design of The General Muir is so simple that, instead of diners being distracted by pictures and centerpieces and watching the kitchen staff, you focus instead on the food. In fact, my glance about only took a few seconds, and then I was back to another spoonful of matzoh ball soup.

Now, granted, I don't have a basis to compare this soup to. To all my Southern readers with a similar previous experience in the realm of traditional Jewish delicacies, matzoh ball soup is like chicken 'n' dumplings, except without chicken and instead of thick, biscuit-y dumplings soaking up the broth, the carb is a ginormous fist-size ball of matzoh.

Matzoh, by the way, is a non-fermented bread made from water and either wheat, rye, oats, barley or spelt. Since I'm just starting The Meatetarian Eats, I did not get a chance to schedule an interview with the chef and find out exactly which of these grains is turned into matzoh at The General Muir, but maybe one day I'll get a chance to do that. I mean, he's been nominated for James Beard awards. Like, hell-O, I would have to be deaf, mute and blind to not want to talk to him!

Clockwise from top: The Last Word, an incredible pastrami
sandwich and a bowl of matzoh ball soup
So, anyway, matzoh ball soup at The General Muir is a massive ball of this matzoh bread that has soaked up a light, buttery, savory broth scattered with scallions and dill. There are a few diced veggies in there, enough to add flavor to the broth (carrots, onions, celery), but the focus is on the matzoh. I liked that. I absolutely hate it when you get a soup and expect it to be full of good stuff (read: pasta, meat, savory flavors) and instead there's an abundance of potatoes and vegetables. This was my kind of mix. And the dill added a nifty depth to the flavor profile, so it wasn't entirely savory flavors.

The soup was a great complement to my sandwich. If you go to The General Muir before 7:30 during its dinner hours, you have the option of ordering an Early Bird Special. Thus, like any good 25-year-old who's secretly a senior citizen, I opted for the special and got my bowl of soup with a half sandwich for 12 bucks.

And I kinda sorta maybe a LOT wish I'd gotten a whole sandwich.

At dinner, your sandwich choices are pastrami or corned beef. With pastrami, you can add liver for an extra dollar. The reuben was not an option for the special, so I went with pastrami on rye with liver. SUCH a good decision, guys. 

The architecture of this sandwich was pretty perfect. You know when you go to a restaurant and the whole sandwich is basically six inches of bread and then two pieces of meat and some lettuce in the middle? This was not that. The pastrami sandwich wasn't very big. It had nice, thinly sliced pieces of rye that were so tasty, but because they were skinny gave me a chance to taste what was inside the sandwich.

Unlike a lot of deli sandwiches, instead of getting one-sixteenth-inch shaved slices of pastrami, The General Muir is generous: You get two to three slices of quarter-inch thick slices of pastrami, the size you'd imagine a fancy restaurant slicing off of a prime rib served tableside, that absolutely fall apart in my mouth. I'm pretty sure that's the reason they sliced it so thick; any thinner, and the meat would disintegrate into savory beefy goodness. It had a nice peppery crust to it and what I suspect a housemade spicy dijon spread on one side of the bread. The good kind of dijon, with mustard seeds that get stuck in your teeth.

On the other side of the bread is a thick slab of liver pate. Another thing to cross off my bucket list.

Um, I would go back and just get the liver pate.

On a bagel.

On an everything bagel.

It was that good. 

Not overly salty, a tad sweet, but with this delicate texture and flavor balance that melded so perfectly with the smoky cured hue of the pastrami and the sour and spice of the bread and mustard. I mean, this sandwich with the liver could knock everything off the taste bud list: sweet, sour, salty, umami. Yes, I threw in umami, like a "true person who pretends to know everything about food." 

Bitter came a little from the pepper, but a lot from the drink I had. Originally I was going to be a "good food critic" and drink just water to cleanse my palate between bites, but then I remembered I am not a food critic, I'm just a chick who likes to eat and likes to write and doesn't get paid for it, so what the hell.

I will say that The General Muir is awesome and brings you a frosted glass bottle of water for you to pour at the table, which is a rustic element that I liked in this industrial setting. But water was not as good as the booze. In true New York fashion (or, at least, being a not at all native New Yorker with only a vague, Hollywood-inspired idea of what New York fashion is), I got the Prohibition-inspired drink on the menu. To me, this epitomized a New York Jewish deli experience: a deli sandwich, matzoh ball soup, and something that at one point was probably illegal.

"I'll have the last word," I told our waitress.

The Last Word, which was pretty fun to order, is not on the online menu, so sadly I don't remember at all what went in it. I do recall that it had gin, which I don't like, and sweet and sour flavors, which I do like, so I decided to be adventurous. Hashtag worth it.

This beverage came served in a quaint stem glass, which served only to bring up more 1920s New York images to my mind. It was a light mint color, had some carbonation and a dark cherry floating in the bottom. It wasn't sweet or sour or bitter: just a pleasant combination of all three. It wasn't a drink that I wanted to take down all in one swallow (too strong), so I was able to sip it in between bites of sandwich and slurps of soup. 

I can see why this place is on pretty much every top Atlanta eatery list. Highly recommended, and the prices are pretty reasonable. Now the key is going to be waking up early to go get that bagel I was talking about earlier before work this week ...