Roast Beef and Horseradish
Roast beef and horseradish sandwich: cold rare beef and creamed horseradish on a bloomer, the Sunday joint carried into Monday. One fierce condiment doing the work the heat of the roast no longer can.
Roast beef and horseradish sandwich: cold rare beef and creamed horseradish on a bloomer, the Sunday joint carried into Monday. One fierce condiment doing the work the heat of the roast no longer can.
Roast beef and fresh horseradish, grated from the raw root at the last moment: a volatile sinus heat that flares and fades within the hour, set against cold rare beef.
Hog roast roll: pulled shoulder from a whole pig still on the spit, a shard of crackling, apple sauce and sage stuffing, pressed into a floured bap by the carver.
The gammon sandwich is built on a cured pork hind-leg steak, cooked fresh and dense rather than carved thin, with the salt of the cure as the thing every other choice answers to.
Grilled gammon steak with pineapple in soft white bread: the fruit's sugar and acid cutting a wall of cure, the cafe leftover of the 1970s gammon-steak-and-pineapple plate.
Duck with orange sauce; classic French-influenced pairing.
Beef dripping (rendered fat) on toast with salt; old-fashioned comfort food.
Cold roast turkey, sage-and-onion stuffing and a stripe of cranberry sauce, folded into a buttered bloomer the morning after Christmas, or sold in a chiller cabinet from early November.
Bread and dripping is the roast with no roast left: beef fat set firm, spread where butter would go, the dark jelly underneath the prize. A cook's pot of it sparked the 1865 Leeds Dripping Riots.
Most sandwiches treat fat as what carries the filling; this one makes the fat the filling. Set beef dripping scraped from the basin, the dark jelly underneath, a hard hit of salt.