Normally, a French Dip sandwich is not up my alley. For some reason, roast beef on a sandwich does not appeal to me enough to drag my eyes past the BLT and the club, past the Italian beef, past the Reuben and its tart kraut to the French Dip. That being said, it is a sandwich, and, thus, deserves a mention from The Sandwich Guy.
One of the things I do enjoy about the French Dip is the au jus. "Au jus" is French for "with juice," so true au jus is made from the beef's drippings as it slowly roasts in the oven. One French Dip I had, in Indiana at a restaurant whose name now escapes me, sent the au jus to the table with a sprig of fresh rosemary soaking in the succulent sauce. Swirling the rosemary just before dipping the sandwich created a little bite of heaven. A good au jus is also mostly left alone (the rosemary concoction above being an obvious exception). Too much salt or spice can replace the truly remarkable natural flavor with something entirely false and unbecoming. That said, too many places rely on the old beef bullion cube or the powdered mix to create their au jus. And all too often, these efforts will only leave your tongue stinging from the excessive salt. I am a salt fan. I douse my food with ancient sea salt that is filled with minerals and age-old flavors. But over-salted au jus is simply too much even for this salty dog.
Another important key to a strong showing from a French Dip is the bread. Ideally, it should be a tough bread with a thick shell and a chewy, absorbent interior. A good Italian loaf usually works at home, but restaurants and afficiandos should go for the thick French baguette. Remember, the bread is going to go through a lot of torture in those juices, and it needs to withstand all the torments.
A point of note: The French Dip is, not so surprisingly, not French. It originated in this country in Los Angeles. In fact, it would be difficult to find such a creation in France where the sandwich is widely ignored.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Pulled Pork, A Reading Tour, and A Dynamic Club
Driving through Northern Missouri can be about as exciting as peeling potatoes for no particular reason and almost as scenic. When you are on a mission to meet old friends, however, the scenery matters not and the destination dominates.
I set out on a reading / lecture tour last week, the last hurrah for my short-story collection, and, most certainly, I was interested in local sandwich flair. Before I left for the wilds of Missouri, I prepared a nice pulled pork concoction for my family to enjoy in my absence, and I was lucky enough that when I returned some remained.
With John Hiatt on the radio, I drove out of Illinois, smiling, and found myself staying in a haunted house in Fayette, MO. The experience was, to say the least, investigation-worthy, but that's for another blog. What I was most interested in, without doubt, was the local joint's attempt at a club sandwich. Emmet's Kitchen and Tap is new to Fayette. It wasn't around when I was haunting the college's grounds fifteen years ago, but the locals raved about it from the moment I stepped on campus.
I had to choose between my standard Reuben that I use so often to get a gauge on the sandwich quality, but for some reason, perhaps the ghosts in my temporary dwelling had possessed me, I went for the club. It was a noble and successful attempt at a sandwich that all too often winds up overdone. A club sandwich is simple. Bacon, lettuce, mayo, cheese, and whatever type of smoked meat the maker has in mind (typically smoked ham and turkey). In fact, the beauty of a club, as opposed to a Reuben, is in its simplicity. I have tasted many clubs that try way too hard with specially spiced mayo or some other sauce or, perhaps, a sandwich that is piled so incredibly high even Dagwood himself would hesitate. Emmet's club was none of these. The mayo was good old fashioned mayo. I had a choice of bread (I choose whole wheat), and I could have chosen toasted or not. The bacon had a hint of hickory smoke and was thick cut (always important). The lettuce was crisp and fresh, and the bread was hot, another important key to a good toasted club. The meats were the traditional turkey and ham layered in the triple-decker fashion so common for the club sandwich, but it was not overdone. The sandwich was manageable and easy to eat. The sweet potato fries were excellent. They were fried but not greasy and had just enough crunch. Overall, I would rate this club sandwich a 9 out of a possible 10. The only thing that halted me was skimping a bit on the excellent bacon. I would have liked an additional piece, but that's me (I'm a bacon freak).
All in all, Emmet's Kitchen and Tap is worth a stop if you're ever blowing through Fayette. I had a great time on my reading binge, and I hope to return in the future to sample more sandwiches at Emmet's.
I set out on a reading / lecture tour last week, the last hurrah for my short-story collection, and, most certainly, I was interested in local sandwich flair. Before I left for the wilds of Missouri, I prepared a nice pulled pork concoction for my family to enjoy in my absence, and I was lucky enough that when I returned some remained.
With John Hiatt on the radio, I drove out of Illinois, smiling, and found myself staying in a haunted house in Fayette, MO. The experience was, to say the least, investigation-worthy, but that's for another blog. What I was most interested in, without doubt, was the local joint's attempt at a club sandwich. Emmet's Kitchen and Tap is new to Fayette. It wasn't around when I was haunting the college's grounds fifteen years ago, but the locals raved about it from the moment I stepped on campus.
I had to choose between my standard Reuben that I use so often to get a gauge on the sandwich quality, but for some reason, perhaps the ghosts in my temporary dwelling had possessed me, I went for the club. It was a noble and successful attempt at a sandwich that all too often winds up overdone. A club sandwich is simple. Bacon, lettuce, mayo, cheese, and whatever type of smoked meat the maker has in mind (typically smoked ham and turkey). In fact, the beauty of a club, as opposed to a Reuben, is in its simplicity. I have tasted many clubs that try way too hard with specially spiced mayo or some other sauce or, perhaps, a sandwich that is piled so incredibly high even Dagwood himself would hesitate. Emmet's club was none of these. The mayo was good old fashioned mayo. I had a choice of bread (I choose whole wheat), and I could have chosen toasted or not. The bacon had a hint of hickory smoke and was thick cut (always important). The lettuce was crisp and fresh, and the bread was hot, another important key to a good toasted club. The meats were the traditional turkey and ham layered in the triple-decker fashion so common for the club sandwich, but it was not overdone. The sandwich was manageable and easy to eat. The sweet potato fries were excellent. They were fried but not greasy and had just enough crunch. Overall, I would rate this club sandwich a 9 out of a possible 10. The only thing that halted me was skimping a bit on the excellent bacon. I would have liked an additional piece, but that's me (I'm a bacon freak).
All in all, Emmet's Kitchen and Tap is worth a stop if you're ever blowing through Fayette. I had a great time on my reading binge, and I hope to return in the future to sample more sandwiches at Emmet's.
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