>I believe that the Monte Christo was invented at a small bistro
>called Chez Edmund Dantes in the tiny village or Monte. Named after a
>secretive relative (recently found to be the brother-in-law of the
>owner, one Cristo, who was an accountant and spelled badly) who had a
>passion for eggs and bread, it was invented my Mere Dantes one
>Wednesday afternoon to just get her brother off her aching back.
> The place was busy, what with the revolution going on and people
>calling each other "Citizen" and all, and she didn't need her whiny
>brother distracting her. She made him sit in one of the unused banquet
>rooms so he wouldn't disturb the women at their knitting. "Restez la,"
>she commanded and he, wisely, did, sword or no sword.
> She had a cancellation, some former aristocrat who wanted breakfast
>at noon and lost his head over the order, and had these two slices of
>Pain Merveille sitting in milk and egg. "Sacre bleu," she said,
>because all French people say that.
> She dropped them onto the griddle, browned one side, flipped them
>over and topped them with slices of the new rage, dindon, plus fromage
>Suisse, jambon and some miscellany. Pressed it down with a spatula,
>cut it into quarters and had it served it to her brother with a
>plebian white wine, young and brash but with small signs of a future
>greatness, not to mention overtones of strawberries, guavas (which
>they had never seen), lumber, Xanax, February and Alpha Centauri.
> She called to the serving wench, "Bring this to the Accountant of
>Monte, Cristo." Over the years, there have been small changes to the
>name and formulation, and even Cristo's name, but the spirit remains.
>
>The rest, as we all know, is history.
>
>Pastorio
>
>
>
>
>
>
>

>I believe that the Monte Christo was invented at a small bistro
>called Chez Edmund Dantes in the tiny village or Monte. Named after a
>secretive relative (recently found to be the brother-in-law of the
>owner, one Cristo, who was an accountant and spelled badly) who had a
>passion for eggs and bread, it was invented my Mere Dantes one
>Wednesday afternoon to just get her brother off her aching back.
> The place was busy, what with the revolution going on and people
>calling each other "Citizen" and all, and she didn't need her whiny
>brother distracting her. She made him sit in one of the unused banquet
>rooms so he wouldn't disturb the women at their knitting. "Restez la,"
>she commanded and he, wisely, did, sword or no sword.
> She had a cancellation, some former aristocrat who wanted breakfast
>at noon and lost his head over the order, and had these two slices of
>Pain Merveille sitting in milk and egg. "Sacre bleu," she said,
>because all French people say that.
> She dropped them onto the griddle, browned one side, flipped them
>over and topped them with slices of the new rage, dindon, plus fromage
>Suisse, jambon and some miscellany. Pressed it down with a spatula,
>cut it into quarters and had it served it to her brother with a
>plebian white wine, young and brash but with small signs of a future
>greatness, not to mention overtones of strawberries, guavas (which
>they had never seen), lumber, Xanax, February and Alpha Centauri.
> She called to the serving wench, "Bring this to the Accountant of
>Monte, Cristo." Over the years, there have been small changes to the
>name and formulation, and even Cristo's name, but the spirit remains.
>
>The rest, as we all know, is history.
>
>Pastorio

<giggling wildly. Good stuff>

Baranduyn
*************


"When Tony gets hungry, things die." Anthony Bourdain, "A Cook's Tour"