As a young, twenty-something pastry chef, I made a lot of croques. I became intimately familiar with burning my forearms on Pullman loaf pans as I precariously pulled future croque bread from the oven. On more than one occasion, I undercooked the bechamel so that it oozed out of the sandwich as it baked instead of marrying the whole thing together. But for all of the bechamel I whisked and brioche loaves I sliced and ham I folded into little blankets, I never once ate a croque at either of the bakeries I worked at.
At this point, you might be rolling your eyes by how unsurprising this is. But the thing about me is that for all of my food fear and restriction, I usually found room for at least one bite, at some point, of most of the food I’ve made. I’d at least allow myself to take a bite, chew it a couple times, and then discreetly spit it out into the trash can so that I could get an idea of the flavor and appreciate what others stood in line to buy. But the croques? I knew if I ever tried a bite of croque, I would always want more of it. The cheese taunted me as it cracked under my fingers with delicate crispness. The savory aromas made me feel insatiable enough, I just knew I’d be ruined if I ever let myself indulge.
*cue “Survivor” by Destiny’s Child* Look at me now writing croque recipes of my own and eating three of them in one week. My recipe for the croque, like you’ll come to find with a lot of recipes, is loose. Don’t like rosemary? I don’t understand, but I respect that. You can leave it out, substitute sage or thyme, swap in some fennel. Or you can save some time and skip the whole steeping thing entirely. I’ve made this with plain ol’ milk, and the results are anything but plain.
You can even make this vegetarian by leaving out the ham and adding extra cheese, but I also think it might be delicious with some buttery sauteed mushrooms—is that crazy? Someone try that and let me know how it goes. You can also add an egg on top, but you don’t have to make them vegetarian for that to be a good idea.
For the bread, I always go for a crusty sourdough, but the more traditional route is a sturdy white sandwich bread. Would this be delicious with some seedy multigrain? I think so. Could you make a croque on an everything bagel? By god, I think that has Tik Tok trend potential.
CROQUE, THE CRUNCHY BITE SANDWICH
Makes 5 sandwiches, which I know, is an odd number but maybe you have 5 people in your house! Or exactly four friends! Or you have lunch alone one day of the week while your partner is at the office, so that fifth sandwich is clutch (that’s me)
2 cups whole milk
2 sprigs rosemary
1 garlic clove, loosely chopped
2 shavings of lemon peel
1 small onion (about 1 cup), roughly diced
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
4 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon kosher salt
Several cracks of black pepper
⅛ teaspoon nutmeg
2-3 cups grated cheese (Comte, Gruyere, Emmentaler, or Swiss or a mix of all of these work well)
½-¾ pound thinly sliced ham
10 slices of bread
5 eggs, optional, cooked to your liking at the very end
In a small saucepan, combine the milk, rosemary, garlic, lemon peel, and onion (or, as previously stated, you can skip this step entirely). Bring the mixture to a boil over medium heat, keeping a close eye because this will boil over if you don’t turn the heat off in time. Once it comes to a boil, turn off the heat and let the milk sit anywhere from a half hour to an hour.
While your milk steeps, this is a good time to slice your bread if it isn’t already, grate your cheese, get some potatoes or your side of choice going, or pour yourself a glass of something and chill.
Once the milk has steeped, strain the mixture into a pitcher or bowl and set aside. In a medium-sized saucepan, melt the butter on medium heat. Whisk in the flour and cook for about three minutes. You don’t want this to brown, but you don’t want any raw flour remaining. Now, pour about a half cup of milk into the pan and whisk until you get a pasty, thick but homogeneous mixture. Add another half cup and do the same thing. Another half cup. And now you can dump the rest of the milk and whisk while the mixture comes to a boil. You don’t have to whisk constantly, but you should whisk often, especially as it gets warmer. Keep the heat on medium.
Once boiling, let it cook for about three minutes—careful! She might splash you!—until it’s thickened. It should look slightly runnier than sour cream, but there should be some body to it. Turn off the heat. Now, if you’re making the bechamel a day ahead because you, like me, think ahead arguably too much, pour this in a bowl, cover the top with plastic and stick it in the fridge. If not, you can simply set up an ice bath*, stir every five minutes, and it should be ready to spread in about 15-20 minutes.
Preheat your oven to 425 degrees. Line two sheet trays with foil or parchment and spray with vegetable spray.
Lay out your bread, keeping similar sizes together as tops & bottoms & top each slice with bechamel. I don’t know how much, exactly—maybeeee two tablespoons? Three?—but it should be like you’re putting a generous smear of jam, all the way to the edges. For five sandwiches, it will use every last ounce. Top every other piece of bread (these will be the bottom pieces) with ham. Again, don’t stress about a specific amount—this is your sandwich. How much ham do you want? I used ¾ pound and had a couple of chef’s treat slices leftover, so just feel it out.
Top every slice, tops and bottoms, with grated cheese. Two cups of grated cheese worked perfectly for me, but if you’re making vegetarian, you might want three.
If there are any sandwiches you don’t want to bake right away, wrap the tray in plastic wrap, keep them in the fridge, and bake them when you’re ready (these will last refrigerated for three days)! If you don’t think you’ll be ready for a couple of weeks, stick them in the freezer (for a month max)! Just make sure you thaw them in the fridge for a day or two before baking.
When you’re ready, bake for five minutes exactly, just so the cheese starts to melt. Now, carefully, use a spatula to place the tops on the bottoms, making them finally look like real sandwiches. Stick them back in the oven for about ten minutes until they’re more melty and starting to crust on top. Depending on how crusty you like them, you might want to crank the broiler an additional few minutes at the end—I wish I’d done this.
Eat! Or top with a fried egg or over easy egg or scrambled egg, I don’t care! And if you like it or you tried your own way, let me know in the comments or send me a message, I’d love to hear from you.
*in case you aren’t familiar, an ice bath is simply a big bowl of ice water (heavy on the ice) in which you can place your small bowl of bechamel. This works best if you have a metal bowl for your bechamel. If my description still makes no sense, watch this!
Love to you <3
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