jean nicot

I have searched high and low in this backwater food town for a brasserie that creates a gastronomically superior, fabulously gooey, croque monsieur. Sadly the best croque I have ever eaten was in Seattle. For shame, Paris. This is like saying the best grilled cheese you ever ate was in Tibet. But then I visited a particularly photogenic tabac called Jean Nicot. Finally—a hot, melty triad of meat, bread and cheese that measured up to my fantasies of what a real croque monsieur should be! No need to gild the lily here, except for maybe a little mustard on the side.