Quarantartine
TWO CENTS | JAN 14, 2021
Quarantartine
The refresh your work-from-home lunch needs.
All last year, I dutifully packed my lunch and brought it to work each day. It sat in the fridge for a couple long hours before I reheated my soggy leftovers in the microwave and consumed them in front of a monitor. No matter how much effort I put into my meal’s preparation, it always felt (and tasted) like a sad desk lunch. Crispiness turned soggy. Freshness wilted. Sadness seeped through the plastic lid and settled in my food.
This year, as my apartmentmates and I transitioned to working from home, our lunches were liberated from the confines of tupperware, and we were finally able to make and eat lunch on site. As the doors to the rest of the world slammed shut, in our apartment, they opened onto a brave new world. Of toast.
Before the pandemic, in the upscale food world, fancy toast was having a moment. In cafes across the country, freshly sharpened serrated knives sliced slabs of artisan bread to be griddled in a pat of butter and topped with a statement of funky cheese, pickled veg, or a layering of gourmet accoutrement. Sure, it tasted good, but it was fundamentally about presentation: always open-faced, sans the second slice that would classify it as a sandwich, if only so that the world could see the painstaking culinary finesse of yet another avocado rose. At least in 2019, the camera ate first.
But in this nouveau era of toast in 2021, we are not beholden to the upcharges piled on our slices of bread. In fact, the tartine shines in our own kitchens. Toast is the perfect work-from-home foundational food because it doesn’t travel well. It is best consumed in the first seconds after the toaster pops. When I hear the click of my favorite kitchen appliance, the artistry begins, and I assemble a smorgasbord of toppings: hummus and sauteed collard greens with a crispy egg one day, smashed herby chickpeas and quick-pickled red onions the next.
I fell in love with the tartine as a canvas. Plain bread pales in comparison to the rich caramelization of toast, a perfect contrast of textures: crunchy on the outside, dense and chewy within. The time spent inside the glowing-red toaster gives the bread structure so it can withstand a mess of toppings. A squishy piece of bread wouldn’t have a chance against a hearty layer of tahini sweet potato beneath a pile of beluga lentils beneath a showering of feta. But toast? It holds its own every time.
Each day at noon, I intentionally plated repurposed fridge leftovers onto a slice of toast. My roommate Emily eyed it, “Is that a tartine?” she’d say, “It’s beautiful.” Of course, I never dreamed my love for fancy toast would be nurtured by my roommate with Celiac who can’t eat it. When the gluten-gluttons of our apartment sip beer or simmer pasta in her presence, she shouts, “Poison!” in mock annoyance. But her admiration for a well-crafted piece of toast is greater than her tolerance for wheat, and she urged me to share it with the world.
And so, Quarantartine was born: daily food diary meets Instagram blog where we highlight every slice of heaven we craft on our worn countertops. We are structural purists: a tartine is always bready on bottom and always open-faced. We allow the occasional grilled corn tortilla to be piled with toppings so as to be inclusive of the gluten-free among us, but never tacos, never crepes. Those are their own classes of things. Quarantartine is home to open-faced sandwichery.
On the days when I feel the least creative, I press my fork tines into my slice of avocado toast and call it a freshly furrowed field. On the days when I am struck with inspiration, I saw off and toast a hunk of sourdough, melt slices of sharp white cheddar, add a blanket of black beans, a pile of blistered corn, roasted red peppers, wilted spinach, and top it all with a spoonful of peach salsa (*chef’s kiss*). My personal favorites, which are so warming during these bone-chilling months include:
The Rustic Consolation Prize | Toast a slice of a crusty country loaf and layer with ricotta, roasted butternut squash, and caramelized onions. I love it finished with mint or rosemary. It won’t beat the January Blues, but it might mute them for 15 minutes.
The Zesty Sophisticate | Slather a slice of sourdough with hummus, heap with rainbow chard sauteed in balsamic vinegar, and drizzle lightly with olive oil and freshly grated lemon zest. Garnish with toasted pepitas. Nibble daintily.
The Anytime Breakfast | Grill a slice of hearty whole wheat bread and smear with Dijon mustard. Add slow-roasted tomatoes, melted sharp cheese, and an egg (any way you like it—I won’t tell you how to cook your eggs). Tap into your Salt Bae and sprinkle liberally with red pepper flakes, cracked peppercorns, and your favorite flaky salt.
The Classic Comfort | Begin with a slice of toasted sunflower seed bread and swirl thickly with chunky peanut butter (or another nut butter of your choice) and a light dusting of cinnamon. I just discovered salted wildflower honey, which is a revelation of flavor, so much more complex than your run-of-the-hive clover honey. It is delicious here. (And everywhere, as I continue to find it in unexpected crevices of my kitchen.)
If you’re seeking a go-to source for high-quality bread platters and late-stage Millennial zeitgeist that’s a cut above a tired piece of avocado toast, feel free to follow along. I hope you’ll retire the sad desk lunch and let your toast dreams pile high.
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Kate Raphael is a writer living in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Previous essays have appeared in Bon Appetit and the Tracksmith Journal. In her free time, she and her roommates manage the Instagram food diary @quaran.tartine
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