I’ve become somewhat addicted in the past while to croque madames. They’re incredibly easy to make, and taste delicious.
Take two slices of bread (I use my own pain de campagne), spread some Dijon on each slice, top off with ham and Gruyère, and fry them up in a non-stick or cast-iron pan with butter. Stick in a hot oven to melt the cheese.
Meanwhile, prepare a Mornay sauce, which is just your run-of-the-mill béchamel with more Gruyère added to it. Oh, and fry up a mirrored egg. I simply crack an egg into a pan, and after 30 seconds place a cover on top. Take the pan out of the oven, place one slice on the other, top off with the egg, and spread the sauce over everything except the yolk. Pepper like crazy.
The only difference with this and a croque monsieur is the egg and sauce, and I’m sure there’s some sort of freudian meaning about these two additions and how the white sauce drips down and around the yolk, but my mind blanks out at such concepts.
Received a phone call from the milliner yesterday, with words to this effect: “Hey, Michel, remind me tonight to measure your finger for a ring.” Thankfully, I was in the bath (yes, I take baths and, yes, I answer the phone while in the bath), or I would have taken off running as fast as my tiny little feet and hyperextended tummy would have allowed. Well, okay, not really. I mean, I do have an hyperextended belly. As to tiny feet? Wellll….
As it turns out, the milliner is taking a jewellry class, and the final project is to make a ring. Or, at least, that’s what she tells me. And I choo choo choose to believe her.
I always look forward to la grande boucle, but I just can’t get into it this year. What were there, over 50 racers kicked off this year’s tour? So who’s left? Not Jan Ulrich. Not Basso. Okay, there’s Boonan (or however you spell his name), but then what?
Now, were I a conspiracy theorist, I would really be scratching my head as to why they finally decided to crack down this year, now that Armstrong is gone. But I’ll just chalk it up to coincidence.