- [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)
Thanks for the idea /u/c_b1rt!
Gah.
I said this in the other thread, but that one will probably get deleted in favor of this one.
/u/OliverBabish when you brought out that fried egg I started smiling and nodding along like I was at a concert and you started playing the hits.
Coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool nodoubtnodoubtnodoubtnodoubt
It would be so awesome if Andy did a video about "Francesinha", the famous Portuguese dish inspired by the croque monsieur.
My cravings for a croque madame are through the roof right now
Now you just need to add a paella, two mutton pills and a stein of mead
Did he just tear the butter into pieces with his bare hands? Why does that weird me out so much that he did that?
NINE NINE!