We have a specialty on this part of the Côte d’Azur called the pan bagnat. To its defenders it is a salad Niçoise in a bun. Okay, it is admittedly, at its core, a tuna sandwich. But this isn’t just two slices of bread molded around a dodgy mix of mayonnaise and canned fish. This is the Princess Grace of finger foods.
We were introduced to this wonder by our good friend Jean-Paul, but it is Nisette, the owner of a little snack shack on the beach who knows its full story. She is a woman of indeterminate age, estimates could range from eighty to more than one hundred based on her weathered face. I’m leaning toward the latter, but please don’t tell her I said so. She proudly admits to being a foreigner here in Villefranche (she is from Nice, four miles away). She tells us that the term pan bagnat means ‘bathed or soaked bread.’ Ever thrifty, the French and the Italians have always resurrected their days-old bread with a little dip in water and heat. Today, the sandwich in question is drizzled with the most virgin of olive oils. So virginal, in fact, that the can it comes in sometimes blushes when touched by a man.
Nisette explains the unexpected presence of baby fava beans, along with the standard tomatoes, black olives, sliced radishes, red onions, and sliced boiled eggs. “It is for spring,” she says. “But only for one month.” After this firm pronouncement she explains, “The old favas are good only for soup.” Her tone tells us that soup is not high on her hierarchy of foods. Everything she was saying was in animated French, so any translation by us is suspect. But she did seem to dumb it down a bit when she spoke in our direction. The twinkle in her eye kept me a bit on my guard. Is it possible to trust anyone from Nice?
It was a cool, windy day, so Nisette had plenty of time on her hands. The beachfront was almost deserted, and she spent a full twenty minutes at our table regaling us with stories of food and local families. We had stopped at her place a few times before, but she had never so much as made eye contact with us. The stories were all there waiting for us. We just didn’t have the key to her lock, until today.
