Ceci-Cela

Went to Ceci-Cela today for a light lunch before a job interview. I went to the charming little back room and ordered the croque monsieur. What I got were two slices of soft brioche that somebody had waved over the radiator for a few seconds; hiding between those was a skimpy pink paper slice of country ham. The sandwich had a rubbery ivory helmet, the top melted layer just barely clothing a rather huge lump of ice-cold shredded gruyere. This pathetic excuse for a croque monsieur sat shivering on its little plate, being mocked by the lacy paper doily it was sitting on as I wasted away, $5 later, still hungry.