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At least two weekends a month, Rebecca and I wake up, throw some clothes on, and head down the Hayes St. corridor, and walk in to Arlequin for lunch.  She orders the Sage and Portabello Mushroom sandwich, no onions, and I order the Pear, Bacon, and Cheddar sandwich, both of which are toasted lovingly on levain bread in the panini machine until crisp and tasty.  We stop by Blue Bottle on the way home, and when we arrive back in our living room, put something on the telly and unwrap our delicious booty, Rebecca will attempt to convince me that I want to trade half of my sandwich for hers.  And she will fail.

Paradise Lost

Or at least that's how things used to go, back in the idyllic days of yore, before Arlequin To Go and the adjacent wine store did some remodeling.  While generally an improvement to the space in the sense of giving everyone more room to maneuver, the remodel also brought some adjustments to the menu, one of which saw the pear and bacon sandwich transform into an unholy pear and prosciutto sandwich. 

Not that I have anything against prosciutto, mind you.  But the previous sandwich had a delicate balance; it had just enough of each ingredient that you could taste each one, and it was thin and aerodynamic, but packed with flavor.  The mass of prosciutto they stuffed into its replacement overwhelmed the other flavors.  Plus, you know, sometimes you just want bacon, and the thick-cut bacon they used in the original sandwich was excellent.  Anyway, the prosciutto sandwich apparently didn't prove too popular, and it eventually disappeared from the menu altogether.

These days, when we find ourselves at Arlequin, I feel like a jilted lover.  ("Why don't you make me bacon like you used to?" is a cry, I imagine, heard in many a faltering relationship.) I have to make do with the Croque Arlequin when I go, which is a fine sandwich, but eating it always makes me feel sad in some small way, like a realization that, however fine your current relationship might be, the sex will never be as hot as it was with your ex.  Because your ex tasted like bacon, and really, what could top that?

Deliverance

For Christmas this past year, some good friends of ours gave us one of the most fantastic presents in existence:  the Bacon Of The Month Club.  (Studies have shown its magnificence to only be exceeded by that of the Threesome Gift Certificate and the Bacon Three Times Per Month Club).  It immediately occurred to us to try to replicate the Pear and Bacon Sandwich.

What do you know -- the result was stunning; even better than the original.  For hours afterward I had a warm, fuzzy feeling inside and the sense that all was right with the world.  Arelquin, I love ya, but we've reached a crossroads in our relationship.  I think we should eat other sandwiches.

I am not the only individual that has been moved to these lengths after eating Arlequin's abandoned creation.  My approach was very similar to hers, with the following differences:

• I spread an extremely thin layer of dijon mustard on one side of one of the slices of bread.
• I cooked the bacon with a second pan nestled on top of it to make sure that it cooks flat; this is critical.  Of course, if you're the kind of freak that owns a bacon press, you can use that instead.
• I sauteed the pears in butter to soften them up before adding them to the sandwich.
• I used a single layer of thick-cut bacon, which I think works better than multiple layers of thin bacon in this sandwich.  The bacon should be chewy rather than crisp.

In addition, I'd admonish you to use a really good bacon.  In this country we are slowly becoming aware that not all bacon is created equal.  Branch out a bit and see what's available to you locally.

February 24, 2008 in lunch, san francisco | Permalink

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