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Taste Matthew Amster-Burton

Toast, With Panache

At once rustic and refined, the tartine takes center stage

BUTTERED TOAST. Tartine au beurre.

Which would you prefer? They're both toast, but only one is a grilled slice of rustic French bread with rich cultured butter.

"Tartine" has to be one of the French language's most appealing words, but it's not exactly self-explanatory — it sounds more like a little tart (in whatever sense you like) than what it is, a piece of toast or an open-faced sandwich served on toast. The word is mellifluous enough that the San Francisco bakery called Tartine has published a cookbook with no actual tartine recipes in it.

The tartine is the international open-faced sandwich of the moment.

The previously hip crostini are stepping aside. (Spanish pintxos and llesques are next in line.) You're a tartine kind of person if you frequently find yourself eating dinner and saying, "This is good, but it would be even better on toast."

Judging by their menus, a lot of Seattle chefs feel that way. At Licorous, chef de cuisine Gordon Wishard creates combinations like sautéed porcini mushrooms with a quail egg and herb butter on a toasted baguette slice.

Melissa Nyffeler, chef of the cozy Dinette on Capitol Hill, serves a variety of tartines (which she calls toasts): chicken liver mousse with Mama Lil's peppers; frittata with herbs, fontina and white truffle oil; and my favorite, rabbit rillettes with celeriac slaw.

"The toast section is my homage to the sandwich," says Nyffeler. "When I traveled in France I was inspired by the tartine shops for their minimal offerings of wine and a few things on top of bread."

"A few things" is right. One of the hallmarks of the tartine is that it is not hearty. The bread should be white and thinly sliced (Nyffeler uses Columbia City Bakery's Filone and Crusty White) and the toppings administered with a light hand. Nobody has ever said, "Man, I'm stuffed. I shouldn't have eaten that whole tartine." I don't mean that tartines are diet food, but it would be fair to say that Dagwood and Homer Simpson hate tartines, but Cathy loves them.

I'd heard there were tartines at Sitka and Spruce, Matt Dillon's restaurant on Eastlake, so I stopped in for lunch one day. There were no tartines on the chalkboard, so I ordered the green salad with cannellini beans, bacon, mussels and a fried egg. But . . . aha! The salad came with two slices of toasted rustic bread. I had my own tartines assembled in no time.

Le Pichet offers tartines all day long, your choice of ham, liver terrine, chevre or pate for $6. You won't go broke eating tartines, either.

Now we come to Seattle's tartine king, Jean-Michel Omnès, chef-owner of Saint Germain on Madison. Not to traffic in stereotypes, but I hope for Omnès' sake that he never finds himself in the position of having to deny that he is a Frenchman, seeing as how (a) he has a ponytail, (b) he plays the accordion, and (c) you don't have to observe his tableside manner for long to conclude that he loves the ladies.

"We can do a hundred different types of tartine. The sky's the limit," says Omnès. "It's the French bruschetta, pretty much." He's been eating tartines for as long as he can remember. "I remember my mom was wrapping me tartines for recess time at school. Everybody has their little snacks, and most of the time if it's not cookies it's going to be tartines."

With Saint Germain, Omnès has created just the kind of tartine shop that inspired Nyffeler. None of his tartines has more than three ingredients. The Parisienne features creamed mushrooms, shallots and parsley. The Monsieur Séguin consists of smoked duck breast, garlic and goat cheese. (The sandwich is named for a French short story by Alphonse Daudet called "M. Séguin's Goat.")

If there is any mystery surrounding tartines, it's how to eat them. I put the question to Omnès, expecting a vigorous Gallic defense of silverware. "Fingers," he replies. "I see most people eating with knives and forks, but food tastes better with your fingers."

How about tartines at home? Easy. The best friends of the harried tartine maker are the panini grill and Grand Central's sliced Como loaf, widely available in supermarkets and sliced just right for tartines. A panini grill is the best way to toast bread for tartines, but a broiler or toaster is fine, too. One day I grilled the Como and topped it with a slice of ham and a handful of frisee salad, dressed with just a touch of olive oil and white wine vinegar.

It was so good that I ate 2 ½ tartines. Hmm. Maybe Homer Simpson likes tartines after all.

Matthew Amster-Burton is a Seattle freelance writer. Contact him at matthew.reviews@gmail.com.

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