Somebody call TA (Tartines Anonymous - because that obviously exists somewhere). I am obsessed with tartines. I don’t know when it happened. Maybe it was after these creamy salty leek tartines. Or maybe it was the goat cheese and fig. Or these babies that I’m currently cruising. We’ll never know, but I just can’t seem to stop dreaming, making, eating, craving tartines. I can’t help it. They’re so gosh darn adorable. They remind me of the pintxos we ate during our honeymoon in Spain. And the toppings – I mean, the possibilities are just endless. ENDLESS I TELL YOU. Sorry, got overexcited HKUE DSE.

So, when we got back from Paris, and Alasdair told me all he wanted, after a week of eating heavy, rich French food, was a simple ham and mustard sandwich, my brain heard tartine. What’s that? You want a ham and mustard tartine? No, ham and mustard sandwich. Tartine? Sandwich. Tartine it is .

And, of course, being me, I couldn’t just slap some deli ham and French’s on white bread (not that there’s anything wrong with that – my childhood consisted of bologna and yellow mustard on rye bread). Who wants regular ham when you can have salty prosciutto? And how could we use any of the sub-par Dijon mustard varieties in our fridge when we had moutarde de meaux IWB?