There is no sandwich #3 on the Zingerman’s sandwich menu. In fact, if you have a look at the menu the numbers don’t go in order and many of them are missing. Instead of a linear numbering, the sandwiches are listed in categories: corned beef, chicken, turkey, pork, fish, beef, pastrami, vegetarian, salads, etc. Most of the sandwiches have numbers, but some of them do not. I remember the days when the sandwiches were in a numbered list, each number in order representing a sandwich, but obviously things change.

We went there again yesterday for lunch. We timed it wrong, so we had to wait in line. This did not turn out to be such a bad thing, because a nice young woman had a huge tray of samples she was handing out. I especially liked the potato salad with gouda and sausage and the pasta with pesto, sun dried tomatoes and chicken. When we got to the front of the line, I decided to ask about their odd menu organization. We were told that some of the sandwiches had been retired and some new ones had been introduced. The order taker also told us that we could order any of the retired sandwiches, they could still make them. I asked what was in the #3. She didn’t know. Is there a list? I asked. No, she said, there isn’t any real official list. She went in the back and asked someone else and came back to tell me that if I gave them my e-mail address, they’d send me a list. Okay, I said.

So what to do about lunch? Order a sandwich blindly without knowing what would be in it? We would do that in the interest of enlightening our readers, but instead we went with the #00: D-$’s Cuban Conundrum. Mostly because you can’t go lower than #00 on the menu and because I wanted to know how to pronounce it. Also, we’d been dreaming about the pork and we haven’t been cooking a lot of it lately.

You pronounce the D-$’s like this: Dee Money’s. Here’s what’s on it: Niman Ranch roast pork, Arkansas peppered ham, Switzerland Swiss cheese, old-fashioned dill pickles, mayo & hot mustard on a grilled paesano roll. This is a first-rate version of a traditional Cuban sandwich. The roast pork had the tang of a citrus marinade with a little smoky spice, the ham was very thinly sliced, not smoky and not sweet, just really good ham, I didn’t taste any pepper. The pickles were also very thinly sliced and the mayonnaise and mustard were mixed together before being slathered on. The sandwich was grilled, but not dripping with butter. It was so good, we almost ordered another one. It was an excellent way to continue our celebration of the year of the pig.

The order taker also told us that D-$ still works there and in fact he was in the back making sandwiches. We didn’t get a chance to meet him. If I had, I would have asked why does the sandwich named after him have Double 0 status?

An obsession with ni?oise salad started in my family after my mother had come to visit me in France a couple of times and then she had the opportunity to go when I wasn’t there. She was looking forward to the shopping, the museums, the caf?s, seeing friends and, of course, the food. Then it hit her. She speaks no French. How was she going to order food in restaurants? She knows a few basic words like poulet or poisson and anyone can recognize such essentials as caf?, croissant, baguette, omelette. I’m sure she could have muddled through, but she was also worried about gaining weight. She worried that even in ordering chicken or fish, she’d get a cream sauce or something drenched in butter. Also, she really tries to fit in; she says bonjour, merci, and au revoir at the appropriate moments, she wears good shoes, tones down her voice and drinks wine with lunch. So this is what I told her: repeat after me - salade ni?oise. She did her best imitation of French: sal ahd knee swaaz. There you go, I said. That’s the only thing you need to know. I told her that she could order some moules (mussels) or steak frites (steak and fries) if it struck her fancy, but when she felt like she’d been eating too much or she couldn’t understand anything on the menu she could just ask for ni?oise salad and they’d bring her a tasty light meal. She wanted to know what was in it. I told her the basic recipe includes tuna, anchovies, lettuce, tomato, hard-boiled egg, potatoes, green beans, ni?oise olives and vinaigrette, but that in any given place you could also get capers, rice, green or red pepper and even corn. Corn? Yes, corn. You’ll often find corn in salads in France, but it doesn’t show up anywhere else in French cuisine. Is this because the French colonies in the corn growing areas of the Americas didn’t flourish or were lost early on? Did the Americans bring canned corn to France in 1944 along with the cigarettes, chocolates and panty hose? Clearly, there is some research to be done on the topic. In any case, I knew that anything the French could dream up to throw in a ni?oise salad would be acceptable fare for my mother and her waistline. She followed my advice. She’s repeated it to friends and family and used it on subsequent trips to France. She even started making ni?oise salad at home.

I had forgotten that my sister, Kate, was on one of those trips with my mother (they went to a wedding in Paris when I was defending my dissertation, I’m still sad about that one). Kate sent me an e-mail last week asking that I put a recipe up here for her so she could make it. I asked her a series of questions about the availability of the various ingredients where she lives, but duh, she’s in Portland, Oregon. It’s easy for her to find the right olives and anchovies, little green beans, good tomatoes, Boston lettuce, fresh tarragon and good quality tuna. Use the best ingredients you can find. I was really excited yesterday to go to the Ann Arbor Farmers’ Market, just a couple of blocks from our apartment. I got the best lettuce ever and beans, tarragon, tomatoes and fresh eggs. Then we went inside and bought the rest of our ingredients at the market and the fishmonger. I had asked my sister if she wanted a truly French style ni?oise salad with canned tuna, but we decided that a recipe using seared fresh ahi tuna, like most Americans prefer, would be better and I could write the recipe for either version, which is what I’ve done.

The only tricky part about this recipe is the hard-boiled egg, which can have several problems when not done right. First, they can be difficult to peel. I read somewhere that fresher eggs are more difficult to peel, so I hard-boiled some eggs that I bought yesterday at the farmer’s market and some I bought there two weeks ago. I cooked up two of each and well, yes, the older ones were easier to peel. So there you have it. I’m not going to keep two-week-old eggs around just to hard boil them, though, and I’m sure you’re not either. The newer eggs peeled just fine for me and if you follow the rest of the instructions, I’m sure they’ll peel fine for you, too. The other problem with hard cooked eggs is when they are over-boiled, the yolk can get that funny green ring around it. Most people find this makes the eggs look unappetizing and I think it’s one of the reasons my husband refuses to eat them (more for us). Apparently, this happens when the yolk is cooked above 160 degrees. The solution? Turn the heat down already. Also, overcooked hard-boiled eggs will be rubbery. So, really, turn the heat down. My mother has a crush on Jacques P?pin and follows all of his advice. If you don’t want your eggs to crack while they’re cooking, pierce them at the smaller end with a pin. On Jacques’ advice, my mother bought a little device called an egg piercer (I told you she likes the gadgets). At least she has good taste in men, because Jacques’ advice is good. However, this is not a necessary kitchen accoutrement, and those of us who are trying to cut down on the single-use contraptions will not want one. To the rest of you: click away, because it does work.

For the vinaigrette, I make it in the blender for easy emulsification and double the recipe. For the rest of the week, all I have to do when I make a salad is throw stuff in a bowl, shake up the vinaigrette, throw some on top and toss. Presto, instant fabulously dressed salad.

My mother and I made this together last weekend. The pictures didn’t turn out so well, so I made it again last night to get some better ones. I’m so glad I did; I could eat this more than once a week and now I have leftovers. I put capers, garlic and tarragon in mine, but my mother doesn’t. She also has an issue with tomatoes (don’t ask, but please don’t ever feed her any raw tomatoes), so she skips them and uses sliced red pepper for color instead. Other than that, we make it about the same way. We had fun last weekend and not just because of the Manhattans. I taught my mother one other word before her first solo trip to France: Ros?.

Salade ni?oise

• 1/2 lb. sushi grade ahi tuna (or 1 can tuna packed in water, drained)
• 1 T olive oil
• 1 head Boston lettuce, washed, dried and torn into bite size pieces
• 8 small new potatoes, steamed and cooled (these are best if you do them the day before)
• 1 lb. green beans, stem end trimmed, steamed and shocked in an ice water bath
• 4 hard-boiled eggs (recipe below), quartered
• 1 can anchovies packed in oil, drained and rinsed
• 2 small tomatoes, quartered
• 1/4 cup ni?oise olives or any other kind of small black olives with pits
• 2 T capers, drained and rinsed
• 1/2 cup plus 2 T tarragon vinaigrette (recipe below)
• Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
• Optional: fresh tarragon for garnish

Rub 2 T tarragon vinaigrette onto the tuna set on a plate, sprinkle with salt and pepper and let marinate for 10 minutes. Heat skillet over high heat with 1 T olive oil and sear the tuna on both sides for about 3 minutes each for rare (alternately you can drizzle canned tuna with 2 T tarragon vinaigrette). Let tuna rest for about 10 minutes before slicing. Toss lettuce with a couple of tablespoons of vinaigrette and arrange on a platter or individual plates. Toss potatoes with vinaigrette (you can use the same bowl as for the lettuce) and arrange potatoes on the platter or plates and then do the same thing with the green beans. Arrange the tomato and egg quarters on the plate and put the anchovies near the egg (and when you eat it, eat the egg and anchovy together, yum). Place tuna on top of salad. Arrange olives and capers decoratively around the edges of the platter or plates. Drizzle a little more vinaigrette over everything and garnish with fresh tarragon if desired. Serve with baguette to sop up the juices.

Serves four as a main course, six to eight as a starter

Hard-boiled eggs

• 4 eggs

Pierce eggs with an egg piercer or a pin if desired. Place eggs in a sauce pan and add water to cover 1 inch above the eggs. Put pan on stove over high heat until water just comes to a boil. Turn off the heat and put on the lid. After 20 minutes have passed, put the eggs in an ice water bath for about 15 minutes and transfer them to the refrigerator if not using immediately.

Tarragon vinaigrette

• 1 T Dijon mustard, preferably Trader Joe’s brand
• 2 T red wine vinegar
• Juice of one lemon
• 1 shallot, minced
• 1 clove garlic
• 2 T tarragon, chopped
• Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 6 T extra virgin olive oil

Place all ingredients except for oil in a blender and blend on high. Leave the blender on and quickly add oil in a stream. Don’t over blend because the blender motor will overheat and change the flavor of the oil. Alternately, you can combine everything together with a hand whisk and add oil little by little or you can use an immersion blender.

Surprisingly, ceres & bacchus has become most well-known for the fat-free microwave potato chip recipe I wrote about in March. Surprising to me, anyway. This recipe has since gained some popularity and Fer Food even won an award for photos of a salt and vinegar version. Thanks to all of you who have sent messages about it, especially Jennie of Straight from the Farm. She actually bought a mandolin just to make these chips?

For those of you who jumped on this wagon because of the chips, I’ve got another one for you: baked tortilla chips. These are also really low in fat, they’re even easier to make than the potato chips and are a great vehicle for salsa and guacamole. The only issue with these chips, besides the fact that even with virtually no fat they still have calories, is that they are not as sturdy as the deep fried kind. Just make sure you stabilize the underside of the chip with your fingertip as you dip it into the salsa (the chip, not your finger) and you’ll be fine. I’m going to try making nachos with them soon - the not so fattening chips will cancel out all the melted cheese, right?

Also in the picture up there and in the recipes below is salsa made by my older brother, Ken. I know everyone has a salsa recipe already, or you make it so much you don’t even need a recipe, but really people, try this one. I ate about half of it, dipping in my chips when I thought nobody was paying attention so I could scoop as much as possible onto each chip. I told my sister-in-law that I was going to eat it all. I asked Ken for the recipe after I stopped singing, “mi salsa, mi salsa.” He said he tried for a long time to make a salsa his kids would eat by eliminating all of the things that make salsa delicious. They still wouldn’t eat it, so he went full speed ahead in the other direction and makes a salsa with spices and heat that will make your mouth burn in an oddly addictive happy way. The day I made the chips and he brought the salsa, I also made guacamole, something I’m sure you also already have a recipe for, but since it’s in the picture, I thought I’d share mine with you, even though it wasn’t very photogenic.

Baked tortilla chips

• 1 package flour tortillas*
• Cooking spray
• Table salt (I use iodide free)
• Optional: garlic powder, onion powder, paprika (smoked or not), black pepper, etc.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Cut tortillas into wedges using a knife or scissors. Lightly spray baking sheet with cooking spray and arrange tortilla wedges on sheet. Lightly spray tops of tortilla wedges with cooking spray and sprinkle on seasonings (if you’re using anything other than plain salt, mix them together in a small bowl ahead of time and sprinkle them on together). Bake until they are slightly browned, being careful they don’t get too dark.

* You can use corn tortillas, but you have to use a lot more cooking spray and some of them come out chewy.

Salsa fresca

• 2 firm medium tomatoes chopped fine
• 1/2 orange (or red or yellow) bell pepper chopped fine
• 1/4 red onion chopped fine
• 2 green onions chopped fine
• 2 jalape?o peppers chopped very fine (adjust to taste)
• 1 t toasted and then ground cumin
• 1 T chopped fresh cilantro
• 1 1/2 T white wine vinegar
• Juice of 1 whole lime
• 2 pinches of kosher salt
• 2 grinds of pepper

Place ingredients in a bowl and stir to combine.

(adapted from Pam Anderson’s How to Cook Without A Book)

Guacamole

• 3 avocados, halved, seeded and peeled
• Juice of 1 lime
• 1/4 medium sweet onion, chopped fine
• 1 plum tomato, seeded and chopped fine
• 2 T chopped cilantro
• Pinch of salt
• 1/2 jalape?o, seeded and chopped fine (optional)

Place avocado in a bowl just large enough for all the ingredients to fit in. Smash the avocado, but leave some large chunks (I use a brass pestle, but you can use a fork or a spoon). Add all remaining ingredients and stir to combine.

A reader told us there’s not enough of Bacchus around here. Do you remember the scene in Auntie Mame when young Patrick makes a martini for the social worker by first pouring vermouth into the glass and then swirling it around so vigorously the vermouth flies out? It’s a good thing no social worker never showed up at my house at 5 o’clock when I was a ‘tween, because I would have offered a Manhattan. This was my mother and father’s drink of choice in the 70s. They would often have one (sometimes two) at restaurants before a meal and also served them at their numerous parties.

My parents still drink Manhattans on a regular basis and Erik has perfected his own recipe based on the one that they taught me. So, it seemed natural to start with the Manhattan to include more about what to sip when eating hors d’oeuvres or tapas. We had them this weekend with my dad for Father’s day along with some outstanding Chex mix made by my sister-in-law and some very good English cheddar.

The Manhattan is one of those old cocktails invented in the early 1870s back when the word cocktail meant a drink made with bitters. Other mixed drinks were called a sling, which is now mostly associated with Singapore. These days, the Manhattan is just about the only drink made with bitters, unless you count the true martini, made with two parts gin, one part dry vermouth and a dash of orange bitters. For both of these drinks, the original recipes called for a great deal more vermouth than is now commonly used. The vermouth should be the sweet, dark red kind, not the dry, white kind. A so-called perfect Manhattan has an equal mix of both. I’ve tried it and am not a fan, though you can do whatever you please. The whiskey in the original Manhattan was rye. I like mine made with bourbon. If I have nothing fancy in the house, Jim Beam is a good choice. One more point, a Manhattan is best served on the rocks. It stays cold, so you have time to savor it and as the ice melts its flavor mellows. If you leave the cherries in there for the whole time it takes to drink your Manhattan, they take on the flavor of the drink and get icy cold. Now go and make one for yourself. Share your cherries with a 10-year old and tell them what Auntie Mame said, “Life’s a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death. Live, live, live!”

Manhattan on the rocks

• 2 ounces whiskey
• 1 ounce vermouth
• 1 dash bitters
• 1 dash maraschino cherry juice
• Ice
• Garnish: 2 maraschino cherries

Place two maraschino cherries on a toothpick and put them in the bottom of a rocks glass and fill with ice. Fill a drink shaker with ice and add whiskey, vermouth, bitter and cherry juice. Shake drink well. Pour over ice.

First, a confession. I blackmailed a student last semester. She was going to Paris for spring break; she came to see me for suggestions of places to go and things to see. I helped her out with some ideas; I was so excited for her to be able to put her French in action. Then the other shoe dropped. She told me she wouldn’t be returning until the Wednesday after spring break was over (on the third day after school was to begin again). She was going to miss a quiz. She told me she was prepared to do anything to make up for it and besides, she suggested, wasn’t being in Paris better than being in class? Of course I agreed that being in Paris was better than being in class; duh. I also told her that I’d excuse the absence and let her make up the quiz if she’d bring me a jar of Amora mustard, which she did (and some cornichons).

The word mustard in English comes from the Latin, mustum ardens, through French, mo?t ardent, which means burning must. This is because this condiment was made from the freshly pressed grape juice that would be made into wine, called must, and spicy crushed mustard seed. Mustard has been a part of Mediterranean culture for more than 3000 years and found in China up to 3000 years before Christ, but the spicy, smooth version from Burgundy is the most famous. Burgundy is known as the c?te d’or, the gold coast, because of its vineyards, but there are plenty of gorgeous fields of golden mustard to contribute to this name as well.

The mustard in France is part of what makes the food so good and the same brands here in the U.S. just don’t have the same taste. David Lebovitz is right in including Zip-Loc bags as one of his Five Favorite Travel Items. How else would I drag back all those jars of mustard and pickles (and tubes of G?nie laundry soap)? Amora is the brand of mustard I like best, but Maille is also good, and their cornichons are better. But in fact, these two companies merged quite some time ago and were purchased by the British conglomerate, Unilever, which also owns Colman’s mustard. Amora used to be available in the U.S., but it appears that the Maille brand seems more upscale to Americans, so they’ve discontinued selling Amora and are concentrating on marketing Maille. This doesn’t really make a difference, because neither one of the preparations in the U.S. tastes the same as in France. I checked the labels once and saw that they use something different here as a preservative, but I think that most Americans just don’t want their mustard that spicy.

The only problem with bringing mustard back from France is that it doesn’t have a very long shelf life. The mustard doesn’t go bad or anything, but the spiciness goes away after a couple of months. I’ve been reading recipes and trying to figure out how to make a spicy smooth mustard like Amora myself and not really having much success. Then, a couple of days ago, I went through some of the things in the refrigerator of the apartment we’re renting for the summer and found a jar of Dijon mustard. I’ve bought probably 20 different brands of Dijon mustard in the U.S. and have never had any luck finding that elusive taste, so I wasn’t very hopeful. Surprise, Trader Joe’s Dijon mustard is the one I’ve been looking for, hoping for, searching for (I like it so much I don’t care about the dangling prepositions). It’s made in France and has no preservatives. Thank you Jeremy for buying this and for leaving it in the door of your refrigerator. I’ll probably finish it before you come back from your archeological dig in Bolivia, but I’ll buy you another jar, I promise.

In France, mustard is on the table in the caf?s and bistros much like ketchup is in the United States. This condiment has even inspired several expressions and proverbs in French. La moutarde lui monte au nez (The mustard is going to his nose) is said of a person who is impatient. S’amuser ? la moutarde (to have fun with mustard) means to spend one’s time frivolously. De la moutarde apr?s d?ner has its equivalent in English: after meat, mustard, meaning something that arrives too late, when one doesn’t need it anymore. Une salade sans moutarde est une jolie femme sans esprit (A salad without mustard is like a pretty woman without wit) is one of my favorites, but the one I find the most true is, la moutarde est comme les affaires: on en brasse beaucoup, mais on en fait peu de bonnes (mustard is like business transactions, a lot of them are concocted, but few are good). So, now that I’ve finally found my good mustard, widely available in the U.S., I’ll be using it for quite a few French preparations.

It’s a key ingredient in vinaigrette for flavor and to help the oil and vinegar emulsify. It’s also used in other sauces, like mayonnaise and mustard cream sauce used for chicken or pork chops. You can use it as part of a paste for a prime rib or roast pork; it helps the salt, pepper, herbs and garlic stick to a large piece of meat and contributes to the formation of a brown flavorful crust. You can use it on chicken along with some rosemary and garlic before it goes on the grill. You can also do as the French and use it as a condiment for cold roasts or cold chicken or with a steak. This is a perplexing habit to most Americans, but if you have had mustard like this, the kind that goes up your nose like wasabi or horseradish, you’ll understand its appeal. If your mustard doesn’t have that kick, go to Trader Joe’s and buy some or get someone to send you some. It will make all the difference. The recipe here is for a simple first course dish that is a part of everyday French cooking, especially in the summer and it’s really easy to fit in more servings of vegetables if you start your meal with something like this. Like for the green bean salad I recently made, I prefer a little more mustard than you would normally find in a vinaigrette. If you don’t like carrots, you could drizzle it on steamed chilled asparagus or leeks, sliced tomatoes or cucumbers or a number of other vegetables, but I’d use the smaller amount of mustard. I don’t think my student minded me blackmailing her so much; she handed over the jar of Amora with a smile. She’s going back to Paris this summer and she’s decided to major in French. Could it be the mustard?

Shredded carrot salad with vinaigrette

• 4-5 medium carrots, peeled and shredded with a grater or using a food processor
• 1-2 T Trader Joe’s Dijon mustard, cold from the refrigerator
• 2 T red wine vinegar
• 1 shallot, minced
• 4 T vegetable oil, olive oil or nut oil such as walnut or hazelnut
• Salt and pepper to taste
• Garnish: black olives or parsley

In a small bowl, whisk together mustard, vinegar and shallot, add a pinch of salt and a little pepper. Whisk in oil little by little until the vinaigrette has emulsified. Place carrots in serving bowl, add vinaigrette and toss to coat. Garnish with black olives or a bit of chopped parsley.

What. The number 2 on the Zingerman’s sandwich menu is a Reuben sandwich. No self-respecting deli would be without one on their menu and this one is part of what makes Zingerman’s fame. Did you know that the Reuben sandwich recipe probably originated in Omaha, Nebraska? It shouldn’t be surprising that it comes from the Midwest; cheese with corned beef is certainly not kosher. Just like last week, we stood in line today for about 20 minutes, gave our order to a very friendly person, took our ticket to the cashier, paid our bill, went next store with our cups to fill them with soda and found a place to sit. This is the only place in Michigan where I haven’t heard it called pop. At Zingerman’s, when you ask for a coke or a root beer or whatever, they call it a fountain soda. That’s what they write on the order. My brothers call it pop and so does most everyone else in the Midwest. Call it soda and you risk sounding like a snob. Coming back home has been a bit of a shock. For the last ten years, we’ve been in New York feeling like we were living among movie extras and now here we are feeling like we’re in some sort of Cohn brothers movie, except no one is getting killed off and the accent isn’t quite so Minnesota ya’ know.

When the woman serving came out of the deli and called out my name, I waved her down, she gave me a wink and set the sandwiches down. “Do you need anything else?” she asked. “No thanks,” we answered. “Okay, let me know if you do. Enjoy your lunch.” A big helping of Midwestern nice comes with the Zingerman’s sandwich, and I kind of like it. It’s not smarmy, they don’t tell you their name. It comes off as sincere, especially at Zingerman’s. The second person imperative of the verb “to enjoy” is almost always followed by a direct object.

The Zingerman’s Reuben has the traditional ingredients. The corned beef, the swiss cheese, the sauerkraut, the Russian dressing and the grilled rye bread. Just like the Who’s Greenberg Anyway from last week, what makes this a superlative sandwich is the fact that they do it just right. The corned beef had absolutely no traces of fat or gristle. It was piled high, but none of it slipped out as I ate. There wasn’t too much cheese and it was melted without being greasy. The grilled bread wasn’t too greasy either. And once again, I would have liked a little more sauce, and maybe a little more sauerkraut, but that’s my own idiosyncrasy. The new pickle was the bomb. Very garlicky and crunchy, not too salty.

If you’d like to have one of these babies and you don’t live near here, you have two choices. You can mail order a Reuben kit directly from the Zingerman’s catalogue. This would make a nice Father’s Day gift, by the way. Or you can go here for the recipe and follow the instructions using ingredients you find yourself from your local deli. I guess a third choice would be to act like those crazy foodies described in this week’s New York times article and make your own corned beef, rye bread, sauerkraut and Russian dressing and then put the sandwich together yourself. Any way you do it, I hope you enjoy your sandwich.