File under: Food & Drink, Rants

In search of a simple sandwich

09.01.08 | 27 Comments

I may be incredibly complicated when it comes to everything else (life, random allergies, how I drink my tea, curious neuroses, superpowers, musical preferences etc), but when it comes to sandwiches, I just want things to be simple.

I want my sandwich to consist of:

  • some bread (not too stodgy and not too stale)
  • a little lubricating spread
  • a single filling (not too soggy and not too fatty, and probably fairly boring)

And optionally:

  • a portion of accompanying vegetable (or fruit, if you’re one of those weirdos that insists a tomato is a fruit but wouldn’t DREAM of putting it in a fruit salad)
  • and/or a dollop of some form of condiment (to add flavour)

and preferably, I’d like the whole thing wrapped up in not too much packaging (recycled or recyclable if poss), costing a reasonable sum (£2ish?) and freshly made.

Containing or conveying matter could be bread, a baguette, a roll or bap (Which do you say? Is there a difference?) a wrap, a fork or chopsticks. Principal filling could be cheese, ham, chicken, tuna, salmon…something else involving simple, strong flavours. The rest is entirely optional: lubricant (Spread? Butter? Olive oil?), additional filling (something else from the first list, or lettuce, cucumber, tomato, etc) and condiment (Mustard? Mayo?) I can take or leave depending on taste, season or availability. Just keep it simple, dammit.

Is that too much to ask?

Well, apparently, yes.

For the last few years, I’ve noticed a creeping obsession among the sandwich-vendors of our nation’s capital and high street to add all sorts of random stuff to their lunchtime staples, turning what might otherwise be a simple, beautiful, tasty thing into something utterly fussy and overcomplicated.

Some sandwiches I spotted today and jotted down in my trusty go-everywhere notepad:

  • Oak-roasted Wiltshire ham and mature English Cheddar cheese on multigrain white bread with tenderleaf lettuce and English mustard mayo dressing
  • Chicken, mango, fruit chutney, roasted almonds, mayo and rocket leaves on wholemeal bread
  • Sustainably-sourced Scottish salmon and fresh watercress with lime dressing on soft wheat tortilla
  • Brie, grape and cranberry sauce with mixed salad leaves on white bloomer
  • Marinated chicken breast mixed with Caesar dressing, Italian matured cheese, tomatoes and salad leaves on wholegrain bread

Forget about preservatives and flavourings - I just want a sandwich with no added verbs and nouns.

Perhaps it’s a hangover of a childhood packed-lunches in brown bags, clutched in small hands and taken to school to eat at room temperature, but I just want my sangers to be simple, tasty and fresh.

This recent photo of a Mantega butty by Blackbeltjones Moleitau sums up what gets my mouth watering:

Bacon, egg and spinach, and nae fucking aboot. What’s not to like? Pure gush. In fact, in that combo, I could even forego the egg, especially if there was a dab of pickle or relish involved.

The problem is, though, that if you want to choose and get precisely what you fancy, you need to go to a specialist deli. (This obviously doesn’t apply to the Armenian Deli-From-Helli near my old office, where although you could absolutely ask for exactly what you wanted, you would invariably come away with something entirely different and not necessarily in a good way.)

If you want something reasonable and tasty from most usual lunchtime outlets, including your works canteen, you’re a bit buggered, frankly. Row after row of packaged carbs await you, each serving sprinkled heavily with stuff you don’t really want or need, including ingredients, condiments, nouns and sheer tonnage of bread, all served way too cold to be able to taste properly (bread doesn’t belong in a fridge unless you live in Gabon) and not that satisfying, frankly.

However, there is an alternative, especially if, like me, there is a work canteen around. I’ve recently struck on the concept of sandwich unbundling. This is a bit like the telecommunication process of LLU, but without wires or regulatory bodies, and using the medium of bread instead of telephone exchanges.

Basically, I’ve discovered that I can saunter past the pre-made, pre-packaged butties in the refrigerated cabinet and instead head for:

  • the soup tureens, where bread rolls can be sourced, along with butter/margarine
  • the baked potato filling station, where petite tubs of tuna, tuna mayo or grated cheese can be picked up
  • the salad bar, where a handful of lettuce, tomato and/or cucumber can be found, along with occasional roasted vegetables and
  • the cultery trays, where you can usually get a squirt of hot mustard or balsamic vinegar, as well as a knife, paper bag, and napkins.

This lot can be purchased for under £2, and then assembled at my desk.

photo.jpg

Et voila. A home-made (nearly), healthy (sort-of), fresh(-ish) but definitely simple sandwich.

Because sometimes, when you’re eating at your desk (again) in the middle of a flurry of deadlines and whiteboard markers and speaker notes, you just want something solid and simple and satisfying, don’t you?

27 Comments