Pan bagnat literally means wet or soaked bread and, as the infamous former mayor of Nice Jacques Médecin explains in his book on the city’s cuisine, started life as “simply a salad Niçoise” with stale bread, rather like the Italian panzanella (which is perhaps no surprise, given that the city was once part of the Kingdom of Piedmont-Sardinia). “The bread soaked up the olive oil and the juice of the tomatoes, making a delicious accompaniment to the salad” – so delicious, he claims, that “our grandmothers” devised a more practical way to serve the two together by putting the salad inside the bread instead, rather than vice versa.
Chapeau to those clever mamis, because the rich, squidgy pan bagnat must be up there with the muffuletta, the bánh mì and the cheese savoury as one of the world’s finest sandwiches. It’s also the ideal choice for summer picnics, given that it’s at its best prepared ahead of time and firmly squashed, which is not something that can be said for the croque monsieur.
The bread
Pan bagnat loaves specifically designed for the purpose, which are round and about 20cm in diameter, are apparently available in the sandwich’s homeland, but similar things aren’t that hard to get hold of here in the UK. Alternatively, you could, as Alex Jackson suggests in his book Sardine, use a baguette or, like David Lebovitz, a ciabatta. But, impressive as large sharing versions look, this is much easier to eat when made in individual portions, so I’d recommend going for a good old crusty roll instead, and preferably one that’s a little stale, so it soaks up the juices better without falling apart. (Avoid brioche-type breads, however – they’re too soft and delicate for the purpose.)
Many recipes, including Médecin’s and that from Alex Benvenuto’s book Carnets de Cuisine du Comté de Nice, scoop out some of the crumb from inside the bread to make more space for the filling. I’m loth to get rid of too much – Médecin’s version is indeed more like a salad barely held together by a crust. In order to fit as much in the roll as possible, however, I’d remove a bit from the top (you can use it to make Glamorgan sausages or, perhaps more realistically, eat it while you’re preparing the remaining ingredients).
The seasoning
Jackson, Médecin, Benvenuto and Lebovitz all rub the insides of the bread with garlic before beginning to fill it, while Jackson, Benvenuto and Médecin also drizzle over some oil and vinegar. Lebovitz sticks to oil alone, dressing his salad with vinegar instead, while Benvenuto squeezes the juice of a ripe tomato on to the bread as well. Even with relatively stale bread, however, I don’t feel as if I’m getting enough bang for my buck from the garlic, because the crumb is just too soft to give much purchase.
Gui Gedda and Marie-Pierre Moine may not use garlic in their book Provence Cookery School (a mistake, in my view), but the anchovy vinaigrette they drizzle over their bread gives me an idea – making something similar with garlic will certainly ensure it doesn’t get lost in action. This approach also means that each bite is spiked with the deliciously savoury flavour of anchovies, rather than some bites being intensely salty, and others not at all (if you’d prefer to keep this vegetarian or vegan, use green olive or sun-dried tomato tapenade in their place).
This means that I don’t think the salad itself needs dressing, because the vinaigrette from the bread should be enough, though a little salt and pepper, plus a few basil leaves, wouldn’t go amiss as you’re layering up. (Gedda and Moine replace this the basil with celery leaves, but I miss its sweetness.)
The salad
Médecin is enraged by the way that the Niçoise salad is “constantly traduced” with cooked vegetables, writing that, “at its most basic – and genuine – it is made predominately of tomatoes, consists exclusively of raw ingredients (apart from hard-boiled eggs) and has no vinaigrette dressing”. His version also includes spring onions, cucumber, green pepper and small broad beans or globe artichokes, “depending on the time of year, either one or the other, or neither, but not both”. (Clearly he took some rules more seriously than others.)
Jackson calls for artichokes in oil, which prove considerably easier than dealing with fresh ones (and whose delicate flavour is a bit overwhelmed by the welter of other ingredients, anyway). He also uses celery, which adds a nice, crisp texture – though, as a raw celery-hater, the colour and peppery heat of Lebovitz and Benvenuto’s radishes appeals to me more. That said, if you’re going to include just one crunchy item to provide a contrast to the soft, juicy tomato and the sodden bread – Médecin and Lebovitz’s cucumber is my top pick (who doesn’t love a cucumber sandwich?). But I’d suggest following the latter’s advice and removing the watery seeds first: bread soaked with oil is an awful lot nicer than bread that’s soggy with water, after all. I prefer the sweetness of Gedda and Moines’ red pepper to Médecin’s more bitter green ones, while if you feel the need for further sweetness, replace the spring onion with Lebovitz’s thinly sliced red one.
Finally, feel free to use as many or as few of the ingredients listed as you like, including the broad beans and artichokes if you feel so moved – Médecin is long dead. The one precept I would take seriously, however, is his advice to go heavy on the tomatoes (Jackson mentions a big bull’s heart one, which should be juicier than a smaller variety, but opt for whatever has the best flavour.)
It’s impossible to predict exactly how much will fit in your particular rolls, but any leftovers can be saved and served as salad.
The protein
Hard-boiled eggs are a must, as are, according to Médecin, either tuna or anchovies, though never both: “Tunny used to be very expensive and was reserved for special occasions, so the cheaper anchovies filled the bill.” Along with celery, tinned tuna is one of the few foods I dislike, however, so I’ve gone for anchovies alone – they really do make the sandwich, in my opinion – but you could, I suppose, use tuna if you must.
As well as leaving out the fish, vegans might like to replace the egg with soft tofu or plant-based mozzarella – it’s more of a texture than a flavour, really.
To squash or not to squash
Some recipes suggest eating the pan bagnat immediately, while Lebovitz reckons it’s preferable to leave it in the fridge overnight, ideally weighted down. This is definitely a question of taste, however: the soggier you like your bread, the longer you should leave the sandwich. That said, even if you plan to eat it as soon as possible, do give the ingredients some time to mingle – preferably squashed together, which will also make the sandwich easier to eat. Not that this is ever a delicate operation: no pan bagnat worthy of the name can be eaten neatly. If nothing falls out, you’re doing it wrong.
Perfect pan bagnat
Prep 20 min
Cook 9 min
Serves 4
4 eggs
8 anchovies, rinsed if in salt
1 garlic clove, peeled and crushed
4 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
2 tbsp red-wine vinegar
5 ripe medium tomatoes
Salt
4 spring onions
1 small green or red pepper
4 radishes
¼ long cucumber
4 artichoke hearts in oil, or 60g small broad beans (defrosted, if necessary)
8 black olives, pitted if necessary
4 crusty rolls, or enough baguette or ciabatta to serve 4
100g tinned or jarred tuna, drained (optional)
1 small handful fresh basil leaves
Lower the eggs into a pan of simmering water, leave to cook for nine minutes, then drain, plunge into cold water and leave to cool.
Mash the anchovies and garlic to make a paste, then whisk in the olive oil and vinegar.
Slice four of the tomatoes – keep back the ripest one for later – then salt lightly. Trim and finely slice the spring onion, pepper and radishes.
Cut the quarter-cucumber in half horizontally, scoop out the seeds, then cut into thin half-moons. Slice the artichoke hearts, if using, or peel the broad beans.
Unless the olives are already very small, cut them in half. Peel the eggs (roll them along a hard surface to crack the shell first), then slice.
Cut each roll in half (or cut a baguette or large ciabatta into four pieces first, then halve each one) and pull out a little of the soft crumb from the top half of the roll to create a hollow.
Coarsely grate the remaining tomato and add this to the anchovy vinaigrette, then spoon two-thirds of this mix over the cut side of the bottom of the rolls and the remaining third over the tops.
Layer the tomatoes across the bottom of the rolls, followed by the radishes and spring onions. Top those, in turn, with the egg, cucumber, pepper, artichoke hearts (or beans), the tuna, if using, and the olives, seasoning between some of the layers and scattering over a few basil leaves, too. Don’t worry about overfilling the rolls: with pan bagnat, it’s the more, the merrier!
Sandwich the two halves of each roll together, then wrap tightly and push down firmly to flatten. Leave to sit for at least an hour, or up to overnight in the fridge, depending on how soggy you like your bread. Serve at room temperature.
Pan bagnat: are you team tuna or anchovy, baguette or bun? Do you like to sit on them all the way to the beach or devour them immediately – and which other great sandwiches are worthy of a closer look?
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