My mad sandwich project (Pt. 1)

Is box-ticking the right way to eat food?

Over the past nine months, I’ve been doing something a bit weird. A chap called Ed Fenwick wrote a brilliant guide last summer to the 50 Best Sandwiches in London, and I read it and a thought happened to me: I’m going to complete this.

Why? Why take such a miserable, inorganic, box-ticking approach to food? Why become such a parody of myself, pinballing around London to eat 50 things between 50 slices of bread?

Firstly, and most boringly, I have an obsessive and completist attitude towards culture. I will — and I think this is a very male thing — decide over a day or two to listen to an artist’s entire discography, or to try and read a journalist’s entire works. Without that discipline, without the aspiration for completeness, I drift.

Secondly, I decided it would be a good way, and a financially good way, to try foods and cuisines I hadn’t tried before, and to try parts of town I hadn’t tried before. I love travelling and I love reading on the tube, so 45 minutes out from my hovel in Finsbury Park is totally fine. ‘The sandwich isn’t, like, the point of it, yeah’, I have said to people with raised eyebrows, many, many times.

Fenwick’s map has a frustratingly irregular 53 sandwiches in it, but I added a few more of London’s most celebrated — The Eagle’s steak sandwich, Quo Vadis’s smoked eel sandwich, some others — for pathological reasons to take it up to 60.

I’m about halfway through now, and what I’ve learned over the past few months is quite how much bullshit there is surrounding sandwiches. I’ve read online that there are ‘rules’ for sandwiches, that they need to obey certain laws of assembly, that every sandwich needs to contain something that’s ‘hot, cold, sweet, sour, crunchy, soft’. All of it is a total chimera, an attempt to foolishly quantify what cannot be quantified: the totally subjective, yet totally correct, quality of how delicious something is. I have had perfectly constructed sandwiches that taste like air, and wonky liabilities worthy of an award. I have realised that sandwiches are not ‘elevated’, and that they are no stand-in for restaurant plates of food. I have found out that the best sandwich I’ve had since starting this London project was in Paris.

This is also an invitation. Some friends have come along with me on some of these — so company is always appreciated if you like tube trains! I’ve got a list, so just drop me a message.

Here they are, at half-time, ranked worst to best:

Liver baguette at Mediterranean Café (Blackstock Road)

I’ve come to love this café — five minutes from my house and it does an excellent merguez frites. But this sandwich was a struggle. I’ve always found it peculiar that one of the most commonly eaten offals is liver. Lamb’s liver, in particular, can be genuinely brutal, like this one was.

Mediterranean Café is one of the Algerian sandwich shops on Blackstock Road: I bought it on a Saturday afternoon and carried it into Finsbury Park to eat in the sun. The liver tasted OK at first, but then came the wave of the barnyard, slightly metallic and slightly faecal. The chips, the harissa and the bread weren’t bad. I told myself I’d finish this sandwich and I did. But it wasn’t the easiest. 4.3/10

Cevapcici flatbread at Caffé Bonego, Goldhawk Road

Caffé Bonego is a Balkan café on Goldhawk Road, just before it gets indecently nice and into Chiswick.

When I asked for a cevapcici, the very lovely lady seemed genuinely surprised and confused that I knew they served these. It’s a weird sandwich. It’s incredibly Balkan, in both its strange marriage of austerity and unhealthiness. Its spiritual cousin is the breakfast of three black coffees and ten super-strong cigarettes.

Don’t get this sandwich to take away, because you have to assemble it yourself. I was given, in a bag, a grilled, buttery flatbread, and no fewer than ten beef cevapi rolls, which are like little minced beef sausages. My job was to assemble this all unsteadily on a bench in Ravenscourt Park, and then to dress it with a supremely plain white onion and cabbage salad. It’s meant to have red pepper ajvar with it too, but they didn’t give me any of that. So I ate greasy beef in a greasy flatbread with white onion and cabbage. Yes, it’s tasty. But I made a right mess of myself — at least a quarter of the salad slid down my knees and onto the floor — and I walked away feeling pretty ashamed. 5.9

Mushroom and taleggio baguette at Wilton Way Deli & Wines, Hackney

Right at the centre of Socks House Meeting territory, stands Wilton Way Deli & Wines, just across the road from The Spurstowe pub. It does a mushroom and taleggio baguette. I don’t think the little button mushrooms stood up as the main ingredient too well. The taleggio cheese could have been stronger, but the baguette itself was good. 6.1

Bacon roll at Bar Italia

It’s not a bad bacon sandwich. If you prefer streaky bacon to back bacon (which I don’t), then you’ll particularly like it. The bread has been very lightly toasted.

The city’s best bacon sandwich, however, is the lesser-spotted St John bacon sandwich, which is fully deserving of its £12 price tag. The belly meat is high quality, the bread thick, the butter still bubbling, and the homemade ketchup heavy on the vinegar and spices.

Here’s my thoughts on Bar Italia: it’s awful. Yes, I want the identity-based satisfaction of hanging out at places like Bar Italia. But really, the coffee is genuinely unpleasant, and costs an absolute load (£4 for an espresso). This bacon roll and a double espresso cost me £10.50. 6.2

Coronation chicken sandwich at Paul Rothe & Son (Marylebone)

Paul Rothe & Son is more beautiful in the imagination than in reality. Of course, I love being in there. I love that you can get just a cheese sandwich if you want to. I love the white coats the staff wear. I love the leaning towers of pâté.

What I don’t love is the sandwiches. I’ve had a strangely lemon-heavy egg mayo before. This coronation chicken on granary bread was slightly dry, and the curry sauce lacked flavour. The granary bread gave it all quite a cold, dispassionate hug. 6.3

Three Little Pigs at Rogue Sarnies (Hackney)

This is up there with the most ‘hype’ London sandwich spots. And turn that hype right down, I say! Look at the pretty ‘cross-section’ of the sandwich. Ogle on Instagram: wooow, that’s a pretty sandwich in Hackney, I must spend half my week trying to ‘pre-order’ one.

Luckily, they now have a pop-up (near the London Eye?) so I didn’t have to go through all the pre-ordering nonsense. This sandwich should have been delicious — porchetta, mortadella, salami, smoked mozzarella all in a pizza-dough like bread. But they got way too excited with the sauces, to the extent that all you get is a red pepper sandwich. It was also twelve and a half British pounds. 6.4

Roast pork sandwich at H Hirst and Sons (Ladywell)

Things are getting better now. H Hirst and Sons, at Ladywell in south east London, is a charmingly antiquated bakery, that actually sells cornflake cakes. Of course, I didn’t buy any, because they are for five year olds to make with their mums. But they will make you a pretty good — if slightly dry — roast pork sandwich with apple sauce, and then they put some crackling in the bag for you to put in the sandwich at your own discretion. 6.6

The Fat Greek at Savva’s Cypriot Sandwiches (Southgate)

The thing worth mentioning about this spot is that the lady serving me was the nicest, most happy, most generous lady I maybe have ever met? The details of the sandwich (melted halloumi and three smoked meats) are inconsequential in comparison. Nice spot. 6.7

Salt beef at B&K Salt Beef Bar (Edgware)

I knew I loved this salt beef bar when the owner tried to surreptitiously — yet unsuccessfully — feed my offal-phobe friend Finn some ox tongue. The room was great and the menu looked great: I’m planning to come back for kneidlach and chopped liver. Unfortunately, something seemed to go wrong in communication here. They asked if we wanted mustard and pickle with the salt beef, and our ‘yes’ clearly sounded like ‘no’. Without the tang, it felt slightly naked. 6.7

Banh mi at Banh (Dalston)

A lot of chefs have been getting very excited about this banh mi spot in Dalston. The fundamentals are there: a ballooning special bread made by a Cordon Bleu-trained owner, accommodating four types of pork, chicken liver pâté, pickles, chilli and chicken floss. A slightly inconclusive overall flavour to me, of too much going on. Particularly the unnecessary chicken floss, which seemed like it was trying to guard a pork sandwich from me. My favourite bánh mis are basically coriander sandwiches, with everything else in there for texture. 6.7

Bacon, scallop and black pudding roll at Oyster Shack (Epping Forest)

Well this is the best day out for one of these by a mile. Try and go on a Friday off work, because it’s become a bit of a TikTok spot at the weekends. The walk through Epping Forest from Loughton station is beautiful. When I put the picture of this sandwich on my Instagram story, a friend who now lives in New York said ‘this is what I miss most — this could not exist anywhere else’.

Now for the buzzkill. The bread was tiger bread, which has its own unusually intense, slightly burnt-sweet flavour that meant the delicacy of the scallops was harder to detect. Come here for the oysters and the sardines anyway. 6.8

‘Bife Ana’ steak sandwich at The Eagle (Farringdon)

The Eagle is one of my favourite restaurants. I love how the hobs behind the bar singe your eyebrows as you order. This steak sandwich has been on their menu since it opened in 1991. I find it to be just a little bit punishing (I’m sure I deserve it but tell me what for). It’s pretty hard to eat and quite brutal, very heavy on the pepper. However, I have taken some of my more red-blooded friends here for dinner and they loved it. I’d stick to whatever pork or fish dish they have on. 6.9

Mincemeat sandwich at Cafe Salaam (Finsbury Park)

We are now into the territory of ‘sandwiches I would have again’. Cafe Salaam is the most sparse spot on this list: it’s just a small red building, with just four sandwich options, and just four tables, where men fold their arms on their bellies and watch beIN Sports. Sandwiches here are £5, and unparalleled for a hangover lunch. Mincemeat is my favourite one: the man fries and chops a large meatball on the grill, before cracking an egg into it and adding chips. Mayonnaise is Hellman’s and some harissa goes in there too. Sometimes the baguettes have erred towards the stale side, but I’m usually in such a state of desperation I don’t care. 7.0

Tantuni sandwich at Durak Tantuni (Haringey)

Tantuni, a dish from Mersin in Turkey, has become quite a trendy thing to like, and it is pretty good, if slightly overrated. It’s thinly cut beef, fried on a sac in cotton oil, with chopped onions, tomatoes, pepper, and put into small thin wraps. I got the sandwich, which comes with lemon and pickled chillis, and it was enjoyable, with a pleasingly insane level of parsley. The walk down Green Lanes after — through wafts of iskender and gözleme smells — was hard to resist. 7.0

Egg mayo sandwich at St John Bakery (Neal’s Yard)

Just supremely classy, like everything St John does. Perfect bread, egg chopped not too fine, tarragon-studded mayonnaise. I am constantly amazed by how wide the St John commitment to excellence stretches: to bone marrow to whole pigs to ashtrays to doughnuts to chore jackets to egg mayo sandwiches. Still just an egg mayo sandwich of course, but deserving of a salute regardless. 7.2

Johnny Schnitzel Special at Myddeltons Deli (Clerkenwell)

The hardest sandwich to finish of all so far. This one has real window-breaking potential. It’s a freshly fried chicken schnitzel with melted cheese, and coleslaw and mooli slaw, all in an olive focaccia. You won’t need dinner later, potentially not even breakfast the day after, and then definitely soup for lunch. 7.3

Paneer toastie at Royal Sandwich Bar (Edgware)

An amazing menu at Royal Sandwich Bar, which is a fun mix of western Indian food and British hangover grub: spicy masala beans and toast, masala chips, Bombay potato sandwich. This paneer toastie was adorned with some delicious chutneys and sticky onions, was pleasingly squashed, and completely delicious. 7.4

Mortadella and artichoke heart sandwich at Italia Uno (Fitzrovia)

My favourite place in London to sit and have a coffee. A Serie A game is always playing on the TV, drivers are always charging their phones, and classy Italian men are always sat here having an espresso. I’ve always thought the lovely owner looks like a tinker in an animated children’s film. The bondola sandwich is not beautiful, but he always half-burns the bread, which I like, and the artichoke hearts are irresistibly oily. 7.4

Nonna ciabatta at Delizie d’Italia (Pimlico)

Another one that several of my high-T friends have loved. The giant homemade meatballs are wham with flavour, the ciabatta bread is crunchy, and the melted provolone gives your cholesterol the little boost it needs to hit those numbers we’re all aiming for! Things could be even better if the meatballs were hot.

As I said in a previous Substack, a walk following this is essential. Me and my friend Sam had to wheeze our way around Pimlico afterwards, propping each other up like injured Tommies at the Somme. Rehydrate quickly. 7.7

Salame rosa and mortadella panino at Quality Wines (Farringdon)

I have no idea how chef Nick Bramham manages to make this sandwich structurally cohere. You take out the pin and it… stays in shape. The folds of salame rosa, mortadella’s slightly more ambitious cousin, are delicious and smoky. The butter has started to melt so might find its way onto your chin. The homemade milk bun though, is the real star, and probably the best bread I’ve had on any of these sandwiches. 7.8

Fish sandwich at Sam Sandwiches (Shepherds Bush Market)

A West London favourite for me and many friends. It’s in Shepherds Bush Market, but I won’t tell you where: that’s half the fun. The first time I tried to find it, I think it took me nearly ten minutes.

All of Sam’s Algerian sandwiches are delicious — I’ve had merguez, and a particularly brilliant chicken breast — but the fish fillet option is probably the most refined. Cash only, by the way: I’ve been caught out before. My favourite memory in here was when I was sat at the counter eating alone, and the owner asked me to keep an eye on the shop for a few minutes as he popped to his car to get something. I felt trusted. 8.0

Chicken escalope ciabatta at Scotti’s Snack Bar (Farringdon)

The chicken escalope sandwich is the finest sandwich there is and Scotti’s is the best I’ve had in London. Fried to order instead of sitting under a heat lamp, thigh meat instead of breast meat, ciabatta instead of bread roll: all things that are totally unnecessary, but that convey a genuine love for the customer and a commitment to excellence. When you’re asked for your toppings, say ‘mustard and mayo’, so the owner can try out his famous joke on you. 8.1

Ham, egg and chips sandwich at Max’s Sandwich Shop (Crouch Hill)

Maybe London’s most famous sandwich, but thoroughly deserving of the accolades. I have only had this after a night of drinking: I think you could have ten pints and be immediately returned to sobriety by this. The homemade focaccia bread, the braised ham hock, the malt vinegar mayo, the fried egg, the piccalilli, and the shoestring fries: it all works so ridiculously well. The shop also has the best playlist in London. 8.3

Tongue sandwich at the Salt Beef Bar (Temple Fortune)

These top three are on a different level. This ox tongue on rye is a riposte to the idea you could ever need crunch in a sandwich. I can’t tell you how much I adore tongue: how soft, how slippery, how flavoursome it is, infinitely preferable to salt beef. In fact, it was so soft that the pickles provided the main structural integrity. The latkes on the side too make this worth a trip. 8.6

Butter chicken bun at Bake Street (Clapton)

I’ve never got something on Bake Street, on Rectory Road, that hasn’t been delicious. It’s a great mix of technically impressive cooking in the service of our base pleasures. They do a creme brulee cookie: think about what you’d like a creme brulee cookie to look and taste like, and yes, they’ve somehow managed it. This butter chicken bun had moist chicken meat, was fried to a glass-like crispness without any grease, and covered in American cheese, a butter chicken sauce, and some coriander too. Clever clogs in the kitchen. 8.7

BLT at Russell Square Cabmen’s Shelter (Bloomsbury)

The best sandwich by an absolute mile. The BLT, as most people in this country have it, is a miserable thing. It’s part of a meal deal, washed down with a Coke Zero: soggy lettuce, miserable factory brown bread, tasteless tomatoes, and bacon so bad it makes you cry that something died.

At the cabmen’s shelter at Russell Square, they grab some cheap bloomer bread, and make, essentially, a mayonnaise sandwich with pork scratchings in it — there’s that much Hellman’s. The lettuce is crisp, and not-at-all watery. The tomatoes have excellent, sunny flavour. While I usually prefer back bacon, the streaky works so well here, with the greasy, crispy fatty bits lurking in the mayonnaise and tickling your amygdala — reminiscent of crackling, and the guanciale in a carbonara.

I’ve been back, and a note of caution: the sandwich doesn’t work in brown bread, or in a baguette. So if they’ve run out of white bread, don’t quite expect heaven. 9.0