No-Hands Sandwich

In Portland, I decided I had to visit a French restaurant. This craving had started in Vancouver, but I had been putting it off because French restaurants are almost always expensive, and we had been spending far too much money on food.

My last weekend in Portland, I could resist no longer. After I listened to Ursula K. Le Guin read her long poem “The Conference” at Wordstock 2011, I crossed the Steel Bridge and walked from NW Portland to downtown. I went into one French restaurant, only to be told they were serving brunch and nothing but that day. I kept going.

I found Occupy Portland and watched their decisionmaking process for a while, but when the group split and went off in two different directions, I headed for Brasserie Montmartre.Occupy Portland, Beth Partin's photos

I wasn’t the only one to show less-than-perfect dedication. Occupy Portland

It was 2 pm on a Sunday, and Brasserie Montmartre was having happy hour. I had a Croque Madame and a green salad and left a generous tip, all for about $12. Although I was a woman dining alone (WDA), the service was excellent.

After I ordered the sandwich, the waiter warned me I wouldn’t be able to eat it with my hands. You can see why.Portland photos

The innards? Pork belly and Gruyère on brioche. Outside, a fried egg and Mornay sauce on top. All soft and warm and creamy, and the bread was toasted and, I think, brushed with butter. Because there’s not enough dairy in this sandwich.

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