One of my favourite sandwiches came from a restaurant I may never find again. We were far beyond the peripherique, where Paris’ elegant 19th-century Haussmann buildings, tree-lined boulevards, and chic cafes give way to post-war apartment blocks, potholes, and North African bakeries.
Our hunt for a new refrigerator had worked up an appetite. “Have you ever had un sandwich tunisien?” asked my companion. “Non? Then wait here.” We pulled into an industrial park, and he set out on foot. Glad to be parked in the shade, I got out my phone to catch up on emails.
Twenty-minutes later I was sitting on the curb, peeling back the tinfoil to bite into a Tunisian fricassee sandwich. “Sorry for the wait,” said my friend. “The line was out the door.” Made on a soft white bun slathered with spicy harissa and stuffed with grilled chicken, shredded carrot, caramelized onions, hard-boiled egg, roast potatoes and black olives, all topped with a generous serving of home-cut fries, it was the perfect combination of spicy, salty, and sweet.
It may have been eaten in a parking lot in the middle of who-know-where and washed down with a can of Diet Coke, but this humble sandwich tunisien was among my most memorable meals in Paris. I’m just sorry I can’t give you directions!