Chiles Rellenos Croque-Madame

The summer solstice arrived this week and the longest day of the year passed Friday with the sun setting at eight-thirty and the last light not leaving the sky until nearly ten. I sat on the back porch Friday evening with the dog and a glass of beer and watched the sky go through its slow late blue-into-violet transformation, the way I have watched it from this porch for sixty-five years, and I thought about my father, who used to sit on this porch on the longest night of the year and say nothing for an hour and then go to bed, and how I am now older than he was when he died and have been watching the long-day twilight from the same porch he sat on, the continuity being both sentimental and useful, the way most family rituals are.

The first squash blossoms appeared this week on the zucchini plants — large yellow trumpets that I have been picking for twenty years and frying in a light tempura batter with a small piece of mozzarella tucked inside. The blossoms have to be picked in the morning before they close, dipped in the batter, fried in hot oil for ninety seconds. The result is a bite-sized appetizer of impossible delicacy, the squash blossom both the texture and the flavor of the early summer, the small soft cheese inside melting into the batter as you bite. I ate them Saturday at the kitchen counter standing up, hot from the pan, with a glass of cold white wine. There are dishes you eat at the table and there are dishes you eat at the counter and the squash blossom is the dish you eat at the counter every June.

The blog post on the blossoms got the mixed reaction I expected, which is to say half the commenters had never heard of eating squash blossoms and were intrigued, and the other half had grown up eating them and wrote in to share their family's preferred preparation. An Italian woman in Boston explained her grandmother's ricotta filling. A Mexican gardener in Texas described the quesadillas his mother made with the blossoms and queso fresco. A French cook in Quebec wrote about her version with goat cheese. The comment thread became a small international tour of squash-blossom traditions, and I learned three new techniques to try this season. The blog as a learning instrument for the writer is one of the things I did not anticipate when I started, and that has continued to surprise me, the readers teaching me as much as I teach them, sometimes more.

James and Sam came up Saturday for the day with Otis the dog. The introduction of Otis to Frost was conducted with the appropriate caution — leashes, neutral ground, slow approach — and the two dogs decided after about ten minutes that they were going to be cordial without being friends, which is the best possible outcome for two dogs of different temperaments meeting for the first time at the elder dog's house. Otis is a sweet dog with the kind of anxiety that translates into excessive eye contact and a slightly clingy affection, and Sam managed him through the day with the easy competence of a person who has done a lot of dog work. James and Sam stayed for lunch — the squash blossoms, a green salad, leftover strawberry shortcake — and we sat on the porch and watched the dogs negotiate the territory and talked about their wedding, which is now eighteen months out and beginning to take on the early shape of an event. I am still expected to attend. I have agreed to attend. The wheelbarrow is, I assume, still on the table as a transportation option.

The comment thread about squash blossoms surprised me the way the best ones do — it became a kind of impromptu atlas of stuffed-and-fried traditions, and the Mexican gardener in Texas who described his mother’s queso fresco preparations stayed with me longest, maybe because that spirit of cheese tucked inside something savory and cooked fast in a hot pan is exactly what I’d been tasting all weekend. This Chiles Rellenos Croque-Madame is a dish that honors that same instinct: a roasted poblano, melted cheese, a fried egg on top, all the continental wires crossed in the best possible way. It’s the kind of recipe a comment thread like ours produces when you let the readers teach you.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 45 minutes | Servings: 2

Ingredients

2 large poblano peppers
4 slices thick-cut white or sourdough bread
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 cup whole milk
1/4 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
Salt and black pepper to taste
4 ounces thinly sliced ham or prosciutto
4 ounces Oaxacan cheese or Gruyère, shredded (about 1 cup)
2 large eggs
1 tablespoon neutral oil (such as canola)
Fresh cilantro or flat-leaf parsley, for garnish (optional)

Instructions

Char the poblanos. Place poblanos directly over a gas burner or under a broiler, turning occasionally, until the skin is blackened on all sides, about 8–10 minutes. Transfer to a bowl, cover tightly with plastic wrap, and let steam for 10 minutes. Peel off the charred skin, make a lengthwise slit in each pepper, and remove the seeds. Set aside.
Make the béchamel. In a small saucepan over medium heat, melt 2 tablespoons of the butter. Whisk in the flour and cook for 1 minute until pale and nutty-smelling. Gradually whisk in the milk and cook, stirring constantly, until the sauce thickens, about 3–4 minutes. Season with cumin, smoked paprika, salt, and pepper. Remove from heat.
Assemble the sandwiches. Lay two slices of bread on a work surface. Spread each with a generous spoonful of béchamel. Layer with ham, then tuck one whole roasted poblano pepper flat across each slice. Top with half the shredded cheese. Place the remaining bread slices on top and spread more béchamel over the outer tops.
Griddle the sandwiches. In a large skillet over medium heat, melt the remaining 1 tablespoon of butter. Add the sandwiches béchamel-side down and cook until deep golden, about 3 minutes. Carefully flip and cook the other side until golden and the cheese inside is fully melted, another 2–3 minutes. Transfer to plates.
Fry the eggs. In a small nonstick pan, heat the oil over medium heat. Crack in the eggs and fry sunny-side up until the whites are just set but the yolks remain runny, about 2–3 minutes. Season lightly with salt and pepper.
Finish and serve. Place a fried egg on top of each sandwich. Drizzle with any remaining béchamel, scatter fresh herbs over if using, and serve immediately — ideally at the counter, while it’s still hot.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chiles Rellenos Croque-Madame — The Comment Thread That Taught Me Something New