Sandwiches

Summer Sausage, Cheddar & Wholegrain Mustard Sandwich at The Lady Killigrew Cafe, MA, USA

I’ve just  bought a cookbook on eBay that I’ve been hunting down for years. Seven Hundred Sandwiches was compiled by kindred spirit Florence A. Cowles back in 1928. As hard as I try, I cannot conceive the idea of 700 sandwich recipes. This is why I must own the book. At some point Florence must have become insane with boredom. I’m hoping the recipes conceived on those down days will raise a smile. But I’m also hoping there’ll be a handful of sandwiches that will blow my mind. It was in this book that one of my favourite sangers of all time, the BLT, was first referenced.

There’s not much point in trying to improve the word of the sandwich god, but like any zealot, I’m always hoping to twist the original scripture.

Although the sandwich bible might not tell you, a great BLT requires bread that’s thick enough to toast without becoming brittle, and whole egg mayonnaise. In my heaven, heirloom tomatoes, thinly sliced Spanish onions and a fiery hot sauce complete the picture. It may not be authentic, but sandwiches provide an excellent canvas for combining flavours you really enjoy. There aren’t many ‘don’ts’ in the world of sandwich construction, and the creation stories behind the most famous sandwiches usually involve a combination of boredom and available items. Just like religion itself, in fact.

Great sandwiches can be found all over the globe. Felafel, souvlaki, Vietnamese bánh mì baguettes, Indian masala dosa, and tacos all qualify as sandwiches in my book. The epicentre of all that is holy wrapped in bread is, however, the United States. Philadelphia Cheesesteaks, Po’ Boys, Reubens, hoagies, hot dogs and hamburgers are all designs worthy of their own scripture.

Burger at Five Guys, Pennsylvania, USA

My most recent sandwich obsession came about from watching an episode of 30 Rock when hungry. The characters all get sandwiches from a secret place in Brooklyn frequented by teamsters. While the contents of the sandwiches aren’t revealed, Tina Fey’s snack-induced rapture got my imagination firing. And not about Tina Fey.

Here’s what I imagined the sandwich to be: a crusty French roll, the kind you get at Vietnamese bakeries, topped with five or six spiced meatballs in a thick tomato sauce and mozzarella cheese. It would be grilled until the cheese is bubbling and the edges of the bread are golden brown. A judicious sprinkling of finely diced onion and hot pickled green peppers would finish it off. Having conceived of them, I set about making them the very next day. They ended up being roughly the size of my calf, and after devouring them, we weren’t quite right for two days. It may have been a colon crime, but it was the best damn sandwich I’ve ever eaten.

The ultimate meatball sub

It pays to be inspired and experimental, but as flexible and forgiving as the sandwich formula is, there are times when being a purist is vital.

The Club Sandwich should always, always simply consist of turkey on the bottom layer and bacon, lettuce and tomato on the top, separated by three layers of toast.

It’s a staple of room service menus and nine times out of ten it’s a crashing disappointment.

It remains to this day my Holy Grail of divine carbs.