My wife and I have listened to some restaurant pros relate their perspective on reviewing the ideas bantered about hopefuls – folks who have no idea how to clean an oven or pass health inspection regulations.
It’s enough to make me quiver.
Quite simply, the seasoned pros say you don’t begin with a set of menus. You have to think about pricing, for one thing. Fair enough.
My new novel, What’s Left, includes a family-owned restaurant that’s facing big shifts in public tastes and consciousness.
One of the basics they look at closely is bread. And buns and rolls. Especially as these relate to hamburgers. The right answer, of course, could improve everything. But, as they realize:
Where would we find them at an affordable price?
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As I’ve already posted, I believe a great baguette alone would have assured France an honored place in the culinary hall of fame. But these aren’t especially cheap, and they demand bakers who are committed to long hours and hard work – something, so we hear, that’s shamefully harder and harder to find even in Paris.
A stop in Warren, Maine, where we found what might be the perfect Reuben, thickens the plot. It wasn’t just the delightful sauerkraut, which might have come from Morse’s a few towns over, but rather the way the bread was toasted without being overdone or soggy – such a fine line! And let’s not slight the Swiss, either.
Well, a sandwich is such a basic of American cuisine, from baloney to hamburgers to ham itself and on down the line to wieners.
As far as you’re concerned, what’s makes the world’s best sandwich? And just what kind would that be? Anybody want to argue for wraps or flatbreads?
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No wraps, no flatbreads, no muss, no fuss. Just got back from Italy. A simple “pannini” is the best food in the world: fresh bread, fresh basil, soft mozzarella and some locally cured meats. The perfect food.
One of the best presents we ever got anyone was a pannini press. He cooks about everything on it, but of course, you already knows his favorite.
He had his first one when we were traipsing through Vermont and stopped in Montpelier. He was hooked from the first bite.