Austerity Pleasures

Mustard is for those with discipline enough to know when to stop.  

    A ham sandwich is an impossible ask.  Maple-smoked ham with havarti, chipotle mayonnaise, avocado, oven dried tomatoes, pickled jalapeños on an onion-parmesan bun?  No problem.  But ham on a roll?  Hen’s teeth.  And yet that simple union of good bread and gently cured meat is precisely the sort of inoffensive sustenance that twenty minutes between midday engagements requires.  More importantly, it won’t leave you in desperate search of antacids and breath mints.  

    Actually any single element on bread is a noble meal.  Cured meat of any kind works.  A sharp old cheddar jammed into a roll is another personal favorite.  The prospect of putting a leftover slice of pork or beef between bread is almost reason alone to invite people over for a roast.  And after much experimentation, there is no better use for cold lamb.  

    In my opinion, and I’m certain to cause offense here, meat and cheese is a step in the wrong direction.  I don’t have moral objections to joining the two—doing so just seems conspicuous and unnecessary.  Butter is a far better addition anyway.  It will provide a modest but flavorful counterpoint without the heaviness of mayonnaise.

    The bread is important.  The ideal vehicle is perhaps a small French roll that has been permitted to sit in a waxed bag overnight.  It will be fresh, but not so crusty as to abrade the roof of your mouth.  Crucially, it will provide the correct ratio of bread to filling.  That ratio is more of a challenge when deciding how large a section of baguette or ciabatta to select.  The trick is to use less than you think.  An English muffin is good too, if a little too civilized for the spirit of this sandwich.  Pullman slices are fine in a pinch, but useless unless toasted.  

    Finally, mustard is a gateway condiment.  A dab can be fun on occasion, but for those of a weaker constitution its use can be habit forming and enough to encourage experimentation with harder substances.  Remember: no one starts out using Sriracha.  The safer route is to stay dry altogether.  Actually it’s that very fear of dryness that compels most to start using; the better choice is to learn to embrace the austerity.  

    Incidentally, I don’t eschew the leisurely lunch—in fact, a long, multi-course midday meal unencumbered by a serious reason for having one, or threatened by time constraints, is for me a greater pleasure than a similar dinner.  But we can’t lunch like Apicius everyday, and I wonder why, on those ordinary occasions, the unadorned sandwich is so rare.  Is it because, like those famously indulgent Romans, exotic ingredients and elaborate preparations were a sign of wealth?  Are multiple meats and spiced condiments a contemporary display of stature?  Or have we just forgotten how good an honest sandwich can be?

The pinnacle of lunchtime restraint.  

The Bowl of Plenty

A bowl of the good stuff.

    Buying baguettes, boules, ciabattas or anything else not pre-sliced and packaged will, at some point, raise the question of what to do with that which goes stale.  Pitching it, of course, is not an option—so how to handle the steady accumulation?  I keep a big metal bowl of the stuff,  half full at any given moment and often brimming.  Stale bread, alongside oil and salt, is one of my more relied-upon pantry items.  

    Croutons are the most obvious application, and should be reserved for the freshest of the stale bread.  This has less to do with flavor than it does with safety; cutting very hard, stale bread is risky, even for those with developed skills.  A heavy chef’s knife works best here.  Use the heel of your free hand to knock the back of the blade until it bites, then push through.  Don’t focus on uniformity; a little variety in your croutons will signal they are homemade.  Fry them in plenty of butter or good olive oil, seasoning with salt, pepper and, if you wish, dried herbs.  These are particularly delicious if served while still hot.  For salad, add half the croutons prior to tossing and the rest after plating.  This way some will remain perfectly crisp while others will soak up the vinaigrette.  

    Bread crumbs are far more fun.  To make them you will need a clean apron, a stout rolling pin and a hard surface.  Wrap whatever stale scraps you have in the apron and let them have it.  Frying pans, cricket bats and empty Champagne bottles are just as effective.  Toddlers are good to have on hand as well; they will appreciate the excitement far more than your neighbors.  The most obvious advantage to the homemade route is the control you have over the crumb—just cease bashing when you’ve reached the desired level of pulverization.  

    Uses are innumerable.  Deep-frying requires bread crumbs to form the crunchy exterior, but in the case of  fritters and such, can be used in binding the wet ingredients.  If you don’t mind being associated with the late 90’s, bread crumbs are also crucial in crusting things.  My favorite of these dated preparations goes like this: scale and de-bone a whole salmon laying it flat on a  greased sheet pan.  Prepare a paste of bread crumbs, chopped shallots, minced parsley, dijon mustard, softened butter, white wine, salt and white pepper.  Pack this mixture on the flesh side of the salmon and cook for twenty minutes in a hot oven.  

    Milk or stock-soaked bread has a fancy name—panade—and is classically used in everything from forcemeat to soup, efficiently thickening or providing moisture.  Irregular pieces of stale bread can be soaked in milk, stock or wine and incorporated into meatball and meatloaf preparations.  This technique all but guaranties a moist result as the bread mush bastes from the inside while cooking.  And really is the concept so unfamiliar?  Most Americans eat stuffing at least once each year, and what is stuffing but stock-enriched stale bread and vegetables?  

The 90s called, they want their crusted salmon back.  

   Sadly, some bread is beyond use.  While an open metal bowl and airy storage prevents mold, some higher-gluten bread seems to petrify instead of going stale.  Rather than risk a filling, I like to return that which cannot be used to the wild in the form of bird feed.  The massive city crows that swoop in for these scraps have formidable beaks and I've often watched as they reduce even the largest, toughest pieces to crumbs.   They seem to enjoy it, and it certainly fattens them up...   Maybe those stalest scraps serve a purpose after all.