Healdsburg's Troubadour

The soft, squishy triumph of unfuckingbelievable bread

During the high middle ages in France and Spain, there was a type of entertainer who skipped merrily from town to town performing rhetorical, poetical, and musical fictions about chivalry (a noble code of conduct) and courtly love (also a favorite topic of Chaucer). They were called troubadours.

Sometimes they were funny. Other times they were metaphysical or philosophical. The bulk of this activity happened during the 43 years between 1170 and 1213. But the practice continued in one form or another until the pandemic hit in 1346 – the Bubonic Plague (AKA The Black Death) which killed around 200 million people (Covid has only killed about 5.3 million - yay medicine).

I suppose you could say that chefs and bakers are modern troubadours of the culinary world. Nomadic by nature, they going from establishment to establishment entertaining the pallattes of local eaters. So that is the word that culinary performers Sean McGaughey and Melissa Yanc latched onto when they launched their new sandwich shop in downtown Healdsburg, CA. They called it Troubadour. While at first blush it seems their career has been hovering around the Healdsburg Plaza for some time, they are also quite (locally) famous for their frequent “pop-ups” featuring friends who are local chefs.

Yanc and McGaughey where the former chefs at the world-renowned SingleThread Farm Restaurant (3 Michalin Stars) in downtown Healdsburg. In 2019, Yanc won $25,000 on the Food Network Holiday Baking Champonship for her pistachio and matcha cake garnished with candy-filled chocolate silver bells. What the what!!? It’s unclear whether she used that money for her wedding or to open her next venture with McGaughey – a bakery in Healdsburg known as Quail & Condor. People raved. The bread was famous. Line out the door. Etc.

Then, three weeks ago, the two started Troubadour, which they describe as serving “naturally fermented bread” and “chef-inspired and locally sourced wizardry.” whatever that means. Because it’s so new, they’re only open on the weekends right now while they work out the kinks - which strikes me as a really smart move. Test, learn, tweak, then test again until it’s ready for primetime.

The selection is pretty small right now and it’s unclear whether that’s just because they’re getting started. I ordered the Roasted Chicken Sandwich ($17 - rich people prices) which featured “pan drippings,” fresh truffle and yecora - which I learned are wheat berries.

My chicken sandwich featured two thick slices of the softest, slikiest, chewiest, most elegant fucking sourdough I’ve ever tasted. It’s fuckingunbelievable. It’s literally impossible for me to talk about this bread without using explatives. Honestly, I tried. You know that feeling when something is so delicious it almost makes you want to scream. Yeah, it’s was that fucking good.

The chicken was roasted to juicy perfection. It turns out the “pan drippings” were essentially a sort of bread-based dressing. Accompanied by arugula, it was all topped off by a generous slathering of mayo which may or may not have been “aoili’ed” with something else. You know that post-Thankgiving turkey sandwich you look forward to every year? Yeah, this was the perfected version of it - with chicken.

(Side note: According to Plato, his Theory of Forms states that perfection only lives in the realm of thought. This one creation is called a form, the most flawless representation of an idea. Well, this sandwich jumped out of the realm of thought and was brought forth in the material world - then I ate it.)

The vibe of the place would have felt community-oriented and entrepreneurial except for the fact that they were blaring this screachy punk rock music wherein the band either did want to die or didn’t want to die - it was hard for the wife and I to tell because they kept screaming the lyrics so loudly that it became distorted and nearly unintelligible. I’m not sure this is it, but it roughly approximates what the song sounded like to us. Go ahead and take a listen and imagine eating a meal to it. G’head.

Kerri, my wife, had a pre-made ham and swiss on the same unfuckingbelievable bread - which she ate a couple of hours later because she has incredible self-control. The ham was piled high in this sando and was absolutely exquisite swine. Now, Sean told me that he makes his own pastrami, but gets the rest of the meat from Journeyman Meat Company just up the street on Center Ave in Healdsburg. Journeyman, which, incidentally, is another midieval term that means “traveling craftsman,” was started by winemaker Pete Seghesio and built on the strengths of his own family’s recipes which have been passed down through the generations. I’m imagining that’s where the ham came from, but I could be wrong.

Troubadour is a must-visit spot for anyone spending time in historic downtown Healdsburg. Grab a sando and an extra loaf of their unfuckingbelievable bread to nosh on later.

Now, in the spirit of the holidays, I give you this video of a travelling street musician that we listened to in Healdsburg Square as I ate my Troubadour sandwich.