The humble sandwich has certainly come a long way since it was discovered and named by nobleman John Montagu – aka the 4th Earl of Sandwich – in 1762. You’ve probably all heard the story by now, that one evening the Earl was allegedly gambling but didn’t want to pause for dinner, so he asked a waiter to bring him slices of roast beef (what else?) between two slices of bread. That way he could conveniently continue to gamble and eat at the same time, while not getting his fingers greasy.
Necessity truly is the mother of invention.
And what an invention it was! Over the centuries the humble sandwich grown into a multi-billion-pound industry, has revolutionised British eating habits and is now even creeping into the French habits as well with gourmet sandwich shops sprouting up around Paris. The British Sandwich Association estimates that each year over 11.5 billion sandwiches are consumed in Britain and even celebrates this convenient meal with Sandwich Week, held annually in the month of May. It’s fair to say that there is a certain degree of national pride in the British sandwich, in all its numerous incarnations.
In London, sandwich shops seem ubiquitous with independent shops and rapidly expanding chains such as Pret a Manger (yes, they’ve dispensed with the French accents) and EAT on virtually every high street. Grocery stores and corner shops are also filled with endless varieties of sandwiches, rows upon rows lining the shelves in their tidy triangular plastic or cardboard packages with a little rectangular cellophane window on the front so you can at least view the contents before you buy.
I’ve got to say that there’s little appetising about viewing your next meal through a patch of cellophane, snugly wedged into a small triangular box and initially I vowed never to try the pre-packed sandwich. Yet over time my initial disgust turned into fascination as I watched countless Londoners queue at lunchtime to get their standard sandwich and bag of crisps, and stole furtive, sceptical glances at them while they devoured these things with obvious delight. It was then that I began to question my initial prejudice and think perhaps I was missing out on something good. And besides, how could I criticise it unless I had actually tried it? So I decided it was time to sample the triangular pre-packed sandwich and see what all the fuss was about.
My initial experiences were no less than grim. After having watched a woman on a train polish off her prawn mayo sandwich with unbridled enthusiasm, I decided that would be my first choice. The verdict? Sloppy and tasteless and swimming in mayo. I think I made it to the third bite before I could go no further and had to discard it for something else.
Months later when the putrid taste of prawn mayo had almost fully receded from my memory I decided to try a second one, although I cannot recall what motivated me to select Pret’s Famous All Day Breakfast. I think I reasoned that I liked each of the ingredients individually so why wouldn’t I enjoy them if they were all mixed together? My logic, however, was faulty. It didn’t taste like egg, bacon, ketchup and mayo but rather some hideous, synthetic attempt to replicate the taste. After two bites, I once again had to trash this sorry mess and find a more appealing lunch elsewhere.
Why were they so awful? I mean, a sandwich is a simple thing to prepare and it seems easy to get it right. Right?
The first problem was the bread itself, which I found thin, excessively soft and lacking in substance. I firmly believe that the success of a sandwich begins with the quality of the bread. Even the tastiest, most gourmet filling won’t survive between two slices of flaccid white bread, bread without any backbone or character whatsoever. But on proper bread, even the simplest filling can taste divine. For example, on a recent trip to Paris I sampled a few sandwiches on lovely fresh, crusty baguettes and was in heaven. The bread was so good I could have eaten it on its own but with only a few simple slices of salami it was transformed into something to truly savour.
Then there’s the problem of the filling. This is an area where the British are remarkably creative, with a plethora of varieties available. But while I find some dull and uninspired - Cheese & Onion, Tuna & Sweetcorn, Egg Salad, Ham and Egg, to name a few – I find others frankly bizarre. There is a worrying trend afoot in Britain of creating sandwich fillings that are condensed versions of main-course meals, reduced into something spreadable that can be eaten casually and conveniently on bread rather than with a knife and fork. As if All Day Breakfast wasn’t enough, there is now Chicken Caesar; the Ploughman's; Pret’s Chicken, Stuffing & Fruity Chutney; and something called Coronation Chicken.
Invented for Queen Elizabeth II and served as a main dish at her coronation lunch in 1953, the sandwich version of Coronation Chicken involves mixing the main ingredients into a room-temperature concoction and layering a scoop of it between two slices of bread. (Yes, in traditional sandwich shops here they scoop up a ball of your choice of pre-mixed filling with what looks like an ice cream scoop and spread it out over the bread.) Although recipes vary, the basic ingredients include diced chicken, mayonnaise, mango chutney, curry powder and – to top it all off – raisins. Just the idea makes me wince, let alone the sight of that lumpy yellow mixture with the raisins peeking out.
If that doesn’t push the goalposts of creativity quite enough, consider Tesco’s latest creation, the Lasagne sandwich. Released just last month, Tesco included the following description of its unique invention in a recent press release:
"The sandwich is made up of two thick slices of bread, a filling of diced beef in a tangy tomato and herb sauce layered with cooked pasta sheets and finished with a creamy cheddar, ricotta and mayonnaise dressing."
Don’t worry. If you think this is bizarre you’re not alone. Even Britain’s News of the World newspaper, not usually known for being discriminating, called it “the strangest sandwich ever”.
Fortunately, for all the sandwich disasters there is some hope out there. After years of avoiding the pre-packed sandwich I decided it was time to experiment again and recently found one that I actually like. My choice is Pret’s Wild Crayfish & Rocket sandwich, which (as long as the bread isn’t soggy as it was on one recent visit) is remarkably tasty. If that isn’t available, their Lemon Chicken is a good runner-up. I remain ambivalent about Pret’s Mature Cheddar & Pickle, although it was highly recommended to me by a British friend of mine. While I found the first several bites oddly interesting and was able to get through half of it with reasonable ease, I found the second half, quite literally, hard to swallow. Not bad but definitely an acquired taste.
If you still prefer a nice crusty baguette to the flaccid bread route, I’d recommend EAT’s Chorizo and Peppers or, if you choose to emulate the Earl of Sandwich, EAT’s Roast Beef and Rocket.
Bon appetit!
For further information:
http://www.tescoplc.com/plc/media/pr/pr2010/2010-07-12/
http://www.newsoftheworld.co.uk/news/872888/Tesco-releases-Lasagne-sandwich.html
And when in Paris…
Photo from: www.sandwichesonline.co.uk
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