In Oklahoma—a state that still has “freedom” fries on many a menu—typically the best you can do for a Franco-inspired meal is a makeshift charcuterie board with Wal-Mart croissants, squirts of spray cheese, misshaped brown grapes, sliced frankfurters from the back of the fridge and a staticky VHS copy of Emmanuelle. It’s just not right.
But there has always been one French eatery in town and that’s La Baguette. Recently, after the sidewalk press show in Deep Deuce, as my friend and I were walking back to her car, we noticed a new-ish variation of the restaurant at 100 NE 4th St. and decided to stop by for a late lunch, if only out of curiosité simple.
While I have never been to the one on N. May Ave. or the place in Norman, this Deep Deuce concept is probably far hipper than most, I guess, with song-lyrics from Devo and such all over the walls, somehow tying into French cuisine. While I would have preferred tunes instead from legendary pervert Serge Gainsbourg, that’s probably not the business they’re in.
Despite a woefully confused staff of young people far cooler than I’ll ever be behind the counter, we eventually ordered our continental food, starting off with a plain Croissant ($3.25), still warm out of the oven.
As I pulled apart the riveted layers of this flaky treasure, like a makeshift television commercial, soft wafts of heat rose and I breathed them in deeply before I tasted the rich goodness that I have been missing most of my life; I had never had a French pastry like this and, with each and every pillowy bite, I wanted to lustfully call out “Va au Diable, Wal-Mart bakery!” with an angry fist rattling in the air.
Fully blessed by the consecrated bread, I moved on to their unique salad, the Burratta ($9.25), with erotic farm-fresh flavors of roasted butternut squash, toasted pumpkin seed and plenty of arugula filling my bowl. While I was truthfully only ordering it for the name, as soon as I devoured the orange chunks of that romantic squash, I fell completely for it, wanting to slow dance until the morning light, maybe under the Eiffel Tower or an equally famous landmark.
My friend, in far more of a brunch mood—that was invented by the French, right?—ordered the Avocado Bennie ($12.00), a name that I really wasn’t really fond of. As I tried the dish though, the tender English muffins and hollandaise-smothered eggs were gently blessed by the God-like finger-taps of candied bacon and sliced avocado that nakedly stretched itself across the plate, filling me with a warm parental love that I had been needing inside for quite a while. Mon dieu!
But, as Oklahoman as this may sound, I figured the best way to sample La Baguette’s French sandwiches is by having the one sandwich with "French" in the actual name, a French Dip ($9.95) with a side of Honey Sage Sweet Potato Fries ($3.75). I’m sure you know, possibly from years of Arby’s commercials, it’s basically a roast beef and swiss special.
Still, served on a thick cut of their stellar French bread with a cup of au jus on the side, it miraculously came together perfectly, the thin sauce repeatedly complimenting the tender roast beef and creamy swiss, fornicating in my mouth with absolute permission and a twenty on the dresser, not even bothering to clean up their provocative mess afterwards. Achetez-le maintenant!
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