Sandwiches of the Gods, Part I

They're a wonder of the modern world, an ode to all that is great about British cuisine and a vital component in the nation's arsenal of sustenance. I speak, of course, of the humble sandwich, a foodstuff long considered the ultimate resting place for the even more humble slice of bread.

But surely, I hear you cry, not all sandwiches are created equal? Do not some, you might reasonably ask, pass beyond the reach of normal lunchtime fodder to stretch out their flavours towards the distant stars and entice with tastes and combinations more subtle than and devious than even the most subtle deviant can imagine? Might it not be said, you may ask in a breathless voice, that only a few of the many thousands of possible sandwich fillings could ever hope to mingle unremarked with the stylistic greats of British industry and fashion?

Yes, yes and again yes, I say, and I shall show you how.

Some sandwiches are big, bold, boisterous monstrosities, overwhelming the eater with their exuberant fillings and flamboyant structure. The American Hamburger, for example, is often stuffed full of superfluous, unpleasant or downright weird ingredients, designed for no other purpose than to convince the consumer that he's getting a serious grown-up meal instead of an overblown snack. A sandwich in the strictest sense of the word (being a pile of filling between two pieces of bread) the Hamburger is an outlier, an edge-case, an abnormal member of the category that no true fan would seriously entertain. I mean, what sort of person puts pickled gherkin in a sandwich? Who even regards pickled gherkin as a foodstuff?

So let's have a look at three of the other sandwiches, the ones that could reasonably be called Foods of the Gods.

First on this illustrious list is the somewhat agricultural Cheese and Pickle. Whether it's home-made chutney or mass-produced pickle (which, of course, means Branston's) the art of this beast of a sandwich is to partner thick chunky slabs of strong Cheddar with a fairly healthy dollop of pickle (which should not be regarded as mere "garnish:). Works best with thick-cut white bloomer.

Next up with have we have the noble Cheese and Tomato. A simple concept; thin slices of mature Cheddar cheese with a similarly svelte layer of that greatest of red fruits, the tomato. Prepared with care, the sweetness of the tomato will balance the strong taste of the cheese.

Stepping up a gear, we find the most exquisite of the meat-filled sandwiches; Roast Beef and Brie. It is tempting to use big, chunky lumps of meat but this will simply make your sandwich difficult to eat and there is little to be gained from exercising the jaw muscles. Instead, use several pieces of thinly sliced beef layered with a rich Somerset Brie.

Is that all, you ask? Absolutely not, but I'm out of words; tune in again next time for more advice on the art of the sandwich.