- [Cook] It's a croque monsieur.
Kevin and I shared one on a rainy afternoon in Paris
on our first anniversary.
It's one of our most treasured memories.
I'm sure it's not up to your standards,
but Kevin seemed to enjoy it.
So, thank you for your guidance.
(paper rustling)
- Hey, what's up guys.
Welcome back to Binging with Babish
with this week after a strenuous two-parter
I was in need of a slightly simpler episode.
And it doesn't get much simpler than croque monsieur
It is, after all, little more than a toasted
ham and cheese sandwich.
But one that can take so many forms.
First, we have to start with what is arguably
the french original.
The sandwich built on a simple pullman style loaf
called pain de mie.
To make pain de mie we are combining
150 milliliters of milk,
225 milliliters of lukewarm water,
85 grams of unsalted room temperature butter,
2 1/4 teaspoons kosher salt,
35 grams of granulated sugar,
30 grams of nonfat dry milk,
35 grams of potato flour,
575 grams of all purpose flour,
and 2 teaspoons of instant yeast
in the bowl of a stand mixer
in this recipe courtesy of King Arthur Flour.
Once we've assembled our cute little mountain of ingredients
it's time to place them in the base of our stand mixer,
affix dough hooks and mix on low speed for two minutes,
just enough time for all the ingredients
to get to know each other
and become one in a shaggy mass of dough
that just starts to clear the sides of the bowl.
Once this has been achieved,
we're cranking the speed all the way up to medium low,
walking away and allowing the machine to knead for
five to six minutes until the dough is smooth and elastic,
stretchy, supple and bouncy.
In other words, a properly kneaded batch
of enriched bread dough.
Which we're going to plop back into the bowl,
wrap in plastic wrap and let rest at room temperature
for anywhere from 45 min to 1 1/2 hours
until the dough has puffed
but not quite doubled in size.
We're the turning this guy out
onto an unfloured work surface,
punching him down and preparing him for a little nap
in a pullman loaf shaped bed.
One who's every crevice we're going to thoroughly
lubricate with butter.
Then, it's the seemingly simple matter
of shaping our dough into a loaf.
First, we have to press and stretch it out into a rectangle
slightly wider than our intended recipient pan.
Then, you can either roll it up width wise
like a sleeping bag rolled up incorrectly
or you can fold it in from the center,
press it down and then fold it in from the edges.
Then, folding the whole thing over on top of itself,
and I know this doesn't make any sense.
The point is that we're forming it into a loaf
the width of our bread pan which is about 13 inches.
Plopping our loaf into the bread pan,
lightly pressing down into the corners,
covering with plastic wrap and letting rest again
at room temperature anywhere from 45 minutes to
1 1/2 hours until risen just below the lip of the pan.
Now, here's the goofy thing about pullman loaves
their ment to be baked in a closed system.
Normally a loaf pan like this would have a slide on cover,
but I can't seem to find mine,
so we're going to improvise with a little bit of
nonstick spray and aluminum foil.
First, spraying down the loaf
to ensure that it does not stick
and then wrapping tightly with two layers of
aluminum foil to ensure that the loaf has no place to grow.
Then we're going to bake at 350 degrees Fahrenheit
or 175 degrees Celsius for 25 minutes
before removing from the oven and unwrapping,
revealing the strange but intended outcome
of a perfectly square loaf.
We're then placing this guy back in the oven for another
20 minutes until lightly browned
and a thermometer inserted into the thickest part
of the loaf aka any part of the loaf
registers between 190 and 200 degrees Fahrenheit
or 87 to 93 degrees Celsius.
I'm already getting tired
of googling temperature conversions.
We're then letting our loaf cool completely
on a wire rack for about an hour and a half
before slicing and inspecting our crumb.
And we saw that it was a good crumb,
for it was light and airy.
Go ahead and slice into big ol' thick sandwich slices
which we're going to lightly toast
in our toaster oven, ouch,
before assembling into it's intended sandwich outcome.
First, we have to shred three to four ounces
of Gruyère cheese.
And we could just make this a ham and cheese
but it's way better with a béchamel.
Which we've made a number of times,
so I'm just going to kind of breeze through it.
One tablespoon of butter, melted,
one tablespoon of all purpose flour,
whisk and cook until raw flour smell dissipates
before very slowly and in stages
adding one cup of tepid milk
adding little splashes of milk at a time until
a paste forms before adding any more.
Once the whole cup has been added and your sure
that there's no gunk in the corners of your pan
continue cooking five to seven minutes until nice
and thick and good.
Then we're going to quickly season with a little
grating of fresh nutmeg and a little sprinkle of
white pepper and a generous pinch of kosher salt.
Whisk to combine and continue cooking one more minute
until its thick enough to coat the back of a spoon.
Cover and allow to cool 10 to 15 minutes
before sandwich assembly.
Or you could even make it
ahead of time and refrigerate.
Either way you want it to have a nice thick
mayonnaise like consistency.
Spread a couple tablespoons worth on the bottom slice
of your bread, just enough to cover it,
and then top that with a restrained mountain
of grated Gruyère.
We're then topping that with six slice of ham
that I pre folded for your viewing convenience,
topping that with another pile of Gruyère,
hitting our top slice of bread with a smear of béchamel,
then topping the whole thing up.
But, wait, we're not done.
The top of the sandwich gets hit with another
layer of béchamel and another layer of Gruyère cheese.
And then the whole thing heads into the oven
at 375 F 190 C until thoroughly browned and bubbly
and melty and awesome.
And, there you have it, croque monsieur.
Which I'm positive, like most words,
I said incorrectly.
But enough about how it sounds,
what about how it looks?
Let's take a look at that cross section
where you can see it is predictably cheesy
and toasty and saucy and hammy.
It reminds me of the croque monsieur that
I ordered on a train from Dijon to Paris.
I promise never to attempt
to say that many French things in one sentence again.
But, as per usual on this show,
we gotta look for some subtle ways to improve,
ow, the end product.
We're going to start by using brioche as our bread base
which is lighter and flakier and butterier
which is especially nice in this toasted and melty context.
Next, we're going to hit our top slice of toast
with a thin spread of Dijon mustard,
bringing another dimension
of sharpness and tang to our sandwich.
And then we are starting this guy in the oven
but we are finishing him in the broiler
where he's going to get an even more profound
and french onion soup like gratiné on top.
Oh yeah, that is doing things to me.
But one more simple addition
will upgrade this sandwich from a fork and knife affair
to a fork, knife, and napkin,
brunch time, anytime, all-day, freak fest.
And that is a fried sunny-side up crispy runny egg
transforming this croque monsieur into a croque madam.
And transforming my heart into a cholesterol refinery.
But, your not going to hear me complaining.
We upgraded the bread, we added mustard
and we added a fried egg.
Surely there is no further level,
no higher echelon to which we dare venture,
oh yeah, except for the monte cristo,
where we Americanize the sandwich by dipping it in
batter and frying it.
I'm making a simple custard out of two eggs
and a half cup of milk.
I am preheating my ham in the microwave,
since it's not going to get as much attention in the pan
as it would in the oven.
And I'm assembling my sandwich business as usual,
béchamel, Gruyère, ham,
Gruyère, mustard, béchamel top it up.
And this time we're going to use a flat
surface like a plate to squish it down.
We want the whole thing kind of compacted
so it does not fall apart
as it goes for a brief swim in our custard for
15 to 20 seconds on each side
until the lightly toasted bread is fully saturated
with the egg mixture.
Then over on the stove top,
we've got a nonstick pan with a tablespoon of butter
foamed up and waiting,
into which we're going to drop our sandwich
frying for about five minutes per side.
Just as you would, you know,
french toast until it's nice and golden brown and crisp.
Plate it up when it's good and melty
and then top it with powdered sugar, for some reason.
Grab some raspberry preserves
and your ready to dig into your midmorning monster.
But something doesn't feel quite right.
Chef John's words are ringing in my ear.
I think this thing needs to be made into
a monte cristo madame,
a monte madame, a croquey cristo.
Whatever you call it it's a member of the clean plate
and then go take a nap in the middle of the day club.
(upbeat music)