How to make Pan Bagnat, the iconic sandwich of Nice
A picnic-perfect recipe from Rosa Jackson’s new cookbook, "Niçoise"
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Before I get to the deliciousness of today’s newsletter, I want to take a minute to thank all of you who upgraded your subscriptions last week. I don’t really know how to express how deeply moved I am by your response. And your messages. I haven’t been able to answer all of them, but I’ve read them all and I think I read most of them out loud to Michael because they were so completely lovely. Thank you. Thank you. Your support and encouragement and kind words mean everything to me.
Thinking about the Pan Bagnat, the sandwich that my friend Rosa Jackson chose for the cover of her new cookbook, Niçoise — scroll down for the recipe — made me think about French sandwiches in general, a topic I don’t usually ponder. If I say “French food,” do you think “sandwiches”? Probably not. Me neither. But in a quick game of word association, if I say French sandwich, I’m guessing that most of us would come up with the jambon-beurre, a few slices of ham tucked between a length of buttered baguette. If you’re my husband Michael, you think of the sandwich mixte — jambon-beurre with cheese (Michael always has cornichons with it). You can find the sandwich all over the country, some better than others, but all of them essentially the same.
Like so much in food, everything depends on the quality of the ingredients, their freshness and the care that goes into working with them — it’s what can turn everyday stuff into the foods we crave. Find a café that uses good bread and makes sandwiches to order and you’re in for a treat. (Read what David Lebovitz has to say about the sandwiches at Le Petit Vendôme in Paris.) Find one made by François Perret at Ritz Paris le Comptoir and you’ll get a whole different idea about what jambon-beurre sandwiches can be: They’re in a class of elegance all their own – croissant dough shaped and baked into chic hotdog-like rolls filled with cheese and curls of ham.
After the classic, I think of the croque monsieur — it’s a French version of a grilled cheese sandwich (albeit one with béchamel sauce), but it’s always eaten daintily with a knife and fork; the tea sandwich (about which I’ll soon have a lot to say); and the tartine, one of my favorite types of sandwiches. The tartine is one slice of bread — usually cut from a very large bread, a miche or a boule or, if you’re lucky, from pain Poilâne — with a topping, like an open-faced sandwich. My standing order at the Bar de la Croix Rouge in Paris is the tartine Saint Germain: a slice of Poilâne bread, a swipe of mayo, some cornichons and one almost see-through thin slice of roast beef cooked rare. Michael’s favorite is the Nordique: pain Poilâne and smoked salmon. The sandwiches are served cut into long strips — some people pick up the slender strips with their fingers, many use a knife and fork.
And the knife and fork’s the thing — in general, the French are tidy eaters, choosing utensils over fingers for most foods. I love that asparagus are a finger food in France, but I don’t think I’ll ever be skilled enough to peel tiny shrimp with a knife and fork in polite company the way my French friends do; ditto langoustines (which I have rarely — they’re such a luxury) — their hard shells are a menace to anyone as clumsy as I am.
Then along comes the Pan Bagnat, the iconic sandwich of Nice, the beautiful city on the coast of the Mediterranean, and out goes any pretense of neatness or even restraint — it’s a sandwich to be grabbed with two hands and eaten with lusty abandon, maybe even a bib, and preferably outdoors. My most romantic version of a Pan Bagnat party would involve a picnic, where we’d pull out our blankets, sandwiches and wine from our Citroën 2CV (often just called a deux chevaux, or two horses, for the amount of horsepower it had) and then take out the car’s seats, put them on a grassy knoll or sandy beach and settle in for the afternoon. I know it’s not going to happen, but a girl can dream.
A girl — or anyone else — can also make Rosa Jackson’s Pan Bagnat.
Rosa describes the sandwich as a salade Niçoise in a bun, but the name, pan bagnat, translates to “bathed bread,” and Rosa explains that it was originally a salad of stale bread, tomatoes and lots of olive oil. To me, that sounds like what we know as the Italian bread salad, panzanella. And while I was surprised to learn about the early Pan Bagnat, once I thought about it, it made sense: Nice is just a half-hour drive from Italy — fire up the deux chevaux. (By the way, “pan” is not a typo — it’s not “pane,” as it is in Italian, or “pain,” as it is in French — it’s Provençal.)
However similar it may be to anything Italian, the sandwich is so proudly Niçoise that there’s a society that certifies its authenticity. (Rosa explains all of this in her book.) According to keepers of the Pan Bagnat flame, the sandwich must have: ripe tomatoes, radishes, spring onions, long green peppers, tuna and/or anchovies in oil, hard-boiled eggs, basil and black olives. The Commune Libre du Pan Bagnat, the guardians, say that you may remove ingredients, but not add any. Rosa makes the eggs optional and adds celery and so far the sandwich police haven’t run her or her excellent cooking school, Les Petits Farcis, out of town. I take this as permission for us to play around and make the sandwiches we like most. For me, that means sneaking in a few capers. Shhhh.
Spring is a good time for a picnic, but it’s also a great time for cookbooks. I’ve got a jam-packed cookbook round-up coming next week. There's so much exciting stuff happening and what excites me most is that you're here — thank you!
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PAN BAGNAT
Adapted from Niçoise by Rosa Jackson
GOOD TO KNOW BEFORE YOU START
The rolls: Rosa includes a recipe for olive oil rolls in Niçoise, but tells us that crusty store-bought rolls are a fine stand-in and, in fact, that’s what we used. As Rosa points out, some bakeries make Pan Bagnat on soft brioche rolls and others on baguettes, which Rosa says is a good bread for this sandwich.
The hard-boiled eggs: I like eggs in the mix, but Rosa likes them less. While she’s happy to have eggs in a salade Niçoise, she thinks that eggs in the sandwich can make it a bit pasty. If you add eggs, she suggests you cut them into wedges, a local tradition. Rosa gives us directions for boiling the eggs — if you’ve got a favorite method, boil away in your own style.
The oil and vinegar: Unlike American-style tuna sandwiches, this one has no mayonnaise on the bread or in the filling; no butter either. For its moistness — and it’s meant to be moist (bordering on messy) — the sandwich relies on the oil and vinegar that you splash on the buns and the juice from the tomatoes that seeps into the bread. You might want to sprinkle both sides of the bun with oil and vinegar.
The tuna: Tuna in jars is not inexpensive, but it is beautiful: It looks like whole filets of tuna, like tuna confit. If you choose it for the sandwiches, flake it, don’t mash it — you want that lovely texture front and center. If you use canned tuna, it’s not a compromise — in fact, most of the sandwiches that you find in bakeries use canned tuna. Just make sure to choose a tuna that’s packed in oil.
The spring onions: If you can’t find spring onions — sometimes called Texas onions here — use scallions. It’s what Mary Dodd used when she made the sandwiches in the pictures.
Makes 4 to 6 sandwiches, depending on the size of the buns
INGREDIENTS
6 crusty buns measuring about 5 inches (15 cm) across or 4 buns measuring about 6 inches (15 cm)
For the filling:
3 large hard-boiled eggs, at room temperature and cut into thin wedges (optional; see above)
1 garlic clove, cut in half (optional)
6 tablespoons (90 ml) extra-virgin olive oil (see above)
Red wine vinegar for sprinkling (see above)
Three 4.5-ounce (120 g) cans tuna in olive oil, drained (or tuna in jars, weighing about 14 ounces/360 g total; see above)
2 beefsteak tomatoes (about 1 pound (450 g) total), sliced 1/4 inch (0.5 cm) thick
6 to 8 radishes, thinly sliced
2 spring onions, white and pale green parts only, thinly sliced (see above)
1 celery stalk, thinly sliced
2 mild-tasting long green peppers, such as Anaheim, thinly sliced
One 2-ounce (50 g) can anchovies in oil
1/4 cup (45 g) pitted Niçoise olives
12 large basil leaves
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
DIRECTIONS
For the eggs, if using: Bring a small pot of water to a boil. Add the eggs to the boiling water and cook for 8 minutes if you like the yolks slightly creamy, or 10 minutes for hard-boiled eggs. Transfer the eggs to a bowl of ice water to cool, then drain, peel and cut each one into 6 wedges.
To assemble the sandwiches: Split the rolls in half and remove some of the crumb from the top halves, if you like. Gently rub the bottom halves with the cut garlic clove, if using. Drizzle with the olive oil and sprinkle with red wine vinegar to taste. (DG: Think about “seasoning” both halves of the rolls; see above.)
Place 2 slices of tomato on the bottom half of each bun. Flake the tuna onto the tomatoes and top with the sliced vegetables. Finish with the eggs, if using, anchovy fillets, olives, and basil and season with salt and pepper. Top with the top halves of the buns and press down so that the bread absorbs some of the juices. Let stand for at least 10 minutes, and up to 2 hours, before serving. Rosa says that longer is better.
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I made this for dinner last night when friends unexpectedly stopped by. It was 70 degrees outside and we were enjoying a glass of rose and I remembered your post. I had everything except the basil and I had a red bell pepper not a green one. I used brioche rolls I had in the freezer and jarred tuna. I put eggs on half of them and instead of basil I spread pesto over the tomatoes and also used some chervil from the garden. I cut the sandwiches in half and served them on a platter. Everyone enjoyed them and preferred the ones with eggs. I made a simple green salad and that’s all we needed.Thanks for the recipe.
Years ago on a warm summer night, I had a bunch of chefs and food mavens for dinner and made Pan Bagnat, wrapped them in butcher paper, tied them with bakery string, and served them. I thought I’d be laughed out of Boston but I didn’t know what else to make for people who know how to make everything better than I do. They were a huge hit. I still hear, years later, about those wonderful sandwiches. Loved reading this. xoS.J