Sandwiches

Sandwichs classiques teach the discipline of moisture. Butter must cover every slice right to the edges before mustard or filling touches it; that thin seal keeps the crumb tender instead of damp, while a slight weight closes the layers without crushing them.

The source assumed a garde-manger, the cold station, stocked with cooked meats and staffed to trim endless identical rectangles for a ball buffet. Here, twenty pieces serve four, made with a bread knife, parchment, and a light cutting board, using small amounts of ham, tongue, chicken, egg, and watercress. The brigade's volume is scaffolding and can go; the edge-to-edge butter, mustard, neat proportions, and gentle pressing are the dish and must stay. One cook, one stove, one evening.

The one step that matters most is the butter seal. Let the butter soften until it spreads without dragging, then cover every corner. Miss an edge and moisture enters; coat it properly and the bread remains soft, even after the sandwiches travel.