For many people anything French is divine, and though I’m not one of those people there are a few things I can say undeniably that the French have/do that are head’s above the rest: Flowers, for one—they just don’t grow ’em like that anywhere else. The way women wrap a scarf—it’s like the roubik cube of wrapping; you can stare at a French woman’s scarf for hours and when you try the same twists and turns around your neck you look like a mummy, or a jerk.
And, the club sandwich. Now, I pride myself on knowing a good club because my standard room service meal wherever I’ve been in the world has been a club sandwich and French fries. I’ve eaten dozens and dozens, and until I had one at The Ritz in Paris I never had a real club sandwich. There I was, by myself, and when I bit into that sandwich I was in heaven (actually, who wouldn’t be in heaven there?). Between that room-service club and the pool in the basement, I saw no reason to ever leave that hotel.
That got me started, and I began ordering club sandwiches all over Paris. They were all good, and what made the difference was…slices of hard boiled egg. Why don’t Americans put hard boiled egg in their sandwiches? It’s a mystery to me because it puts them over the top in deliciousness–try it; please; no matter what kind of sandwich you’re making.
There is no third piece of bread in a French club sandwich to distract from the real roasted turkey breast and the real bacon (no turkey bacon in France, to be sure). There is just enough mayo to moisten, but not sog out, the bread, which is toasted lightly so it’s just crisp, but not brittle; the tomato slices are thin so as not to disengage the sandwich with every bite; and the lettuce was NOT iceberg.
Give it a try, and you’ll feel like you’re at The Ritz.