By Ryan Lee
Picture a croque monsieur. Toasted bread, simple slices of ham and melted cheese play off each other, all on a presentable plate. Popularised as a bistro snack for busy Parisians, the sandwich is light and easy – perhaps almost classy in some eyes.
Now, shatter that mental image. Subtract the simplicity; delete the bistro; forget Paris. Actually, get up, leave the country and move 760 miles southwest, to Porto. It’s time to paint a new picture: meet the francesinha.
If the croque monsieur is the urban, well-dressed, presentable sibling in the sandwich family, the francesinha is the opposite. She’s the messy sibling – wearing an oversized hoodie and sweats, her hair in a bun, wearing thick glasses – who’s still so oddly attractive you can’t take your eyes off her. She’s your date’s roommate you fall in love with while the date is getting ready, someone just full of personality that makes you realize you’re taking out the wrong girl. And I, for one, will be feeling that way every time I eat another sandwich.
The francesinha is slathered in melted cheese and beer sauce on the outside. And once the cutlery digs in, it reveals the prize: steak, linguiça (Portuguese sausage), bacon, ham and a fried egg all on the inside. It’s not the healthiest or easiest to eat of sandwiches. But it has the heartiness, the soul, the warmth of a Christmas dinner at a childhood home, all in one bite.
Originating in the 20th century, the francesinha is factually a relative of the croque monsieur. Daniel David de Silva invented the sandwich in Porto, intending to adapt the croque monsieur to Portuguese tastes. And the francesinha’s name, of course, pays an ode to the sandwich’s French origins.
The complex beauty of this sandwich also exists in its recipe, or specifically, lack thereof. Every cafe and restaurant in the city has different recipes, with the few commonalities being the abundance of meat and cheese, and the presence of beer in the orange sauce outside.
So where to? I visited Café Restaurante O Afonso, a small cafe in a part of Porto that seemed so local: old buildings with fragile tilework and corner cafes were sprinkled on the streets. O Afonso used to blend into the scenery, a small neighbourhood cafe, until its appearance on Anthony Bourdain’s CNN documentary Parts Unknown. Now, as if to reflect the ‘Bourdain effect’, queues and tourists are common at the cafe, in this otherwise local neighbourhood.
The entire experience was a performance on its own. As I walked in, the interior was full of Bourdain’s photos, media coverage and portraits of the owner, Miguel Afonso. In previous interviews, Afonso had discussed his philosophy toward the sandwich: consistency. He maintains a strict rule behind the kitchen: he is the only one allowed to cook francesinhas. I saw the philosophy in action; Afonso delicately danced himself between the sandwich presses, hot plates and plating area, even his wife barred from touching any part of the process.
Once the sandwich finally reached the fork and knife, another play began. The meatiness of the sandwich hit first, the savouriness of each cut fighting to stand out and break through. The bread and molten cheese supported the scene, adding touches of richness while sharing the spotlight. Beer and spices performed the concluding act, the orange sauce leaving a tanginess in the mouth that left the audience wanting more. Alas, that tanginess might have pushed me to write this love letter.
The experience drew a drastic contrast with reality. Outside, a rainy day drew clouds over Porto, the often vibrant blues and yellows of the city turning to dull, grey hues. Tourists and locals alike trudged along in raincoats and windbreakers, uncharacteristic of typical Portuguese weather. But I found refuge in the francesinha, its warm soul embracing every bite, every moment. After all, what is art if not elevating and surreal?
