Roast Chicken and Stuffing
Chicken with sage and onion stuffing.
Chicken with sage and onion stuffing.
Cold roast chicken bound in mayonnaise, the British default. Born from the Sunday-roast leftover, now the filling the sandwich trade buys most chicken for.
Cold chicken loses its salt and fat as it cools, and a flat rasher of crisp bacon puts both back. That single move is why chicken and bacon is the engine of Britain's default meal-deal lunch.
Cold roast beef on bread with horseradish sauce; classic British roast dinner element.
Cold roast beef on flimsy sliced white and the meat wins; in a bloomer the two come into proportion. The thick floured freestanding loaf is why this sandwich takes the bread's name, not the beef's.
Cold roast beef and a folded-in Yorkshire pudding in a buttered bloomer: the Sunday dinner rebuilt to carry in one hand, the pudding doing the work of a second bread that drinks.
Cold roast beef with watercress and horseradish cream; peppery greens and heat.
Roast beef and watercress, sauceless: cold rare beef and a thick handful of peppery leaf on bloomer, where the cress alone does the cutting a condiment usually would.
Cold rare roast beef and crumbled Stilton blue on a bloomer, watercress on top. The pub-board build that runs the Sunday joint into Monday's chalkboard.
Cold rare roast beef with onion on buttered bloomer: the allium answers the meat with a sweet-sharp crunch, raw and thin or fried soft, where the horseradish version answers with heat.
Cold rare roast beef under a measured film of Colman's English mustard on a buttered bloomer. The British pub-board call, the slow yellow burn that builds against the cold joint.
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.
Red Leicester is the mild member of the British cheese shelf, its deep annatto orange promising a sharpness the gentle, crumbly, nutty cheese never delivers, so the build runs quiet around it.
The radish sandwich folds the French radis-au-beurre plate flat: thin peppery discs on salted butter, white bread, a flaky-salt scatter on top, gone in two bites before the snap goes soft.
Slow-cooked pulled pork in BBQ sauce on a bun; American influence.
Primula brand cheese spread on soft white bread. A schoolbag staple from the squeezable foil tube; Norwegian Kavli company, on British shelves since 1924.
Small cold prawns loose on soft buttered brown bread, little else: the plain reading of the prawn sandwich, where the butter carries the load and the shellfish is left to taste of itself.
Cold-water prawns sharing the bread with lettuce, cucumber and tomato, a sandwich carrying more wet things at once than anything else on the seafood shelf. The whole craft is drainage, leak by leak.
Prawn mayonnaise sandwich: small cold-water prawns folded into mayonnaise on malted brown bread, the chilled triangle Marks and Spencer launched at Marble Arch in October 1980.
Prawns with Marie Rose sauce (mayo, ketchup, Worcestershire, lemon); retro classic.
A British crisp sandwich built on Walkers Prawn Cocktail, the pink packet from a 1968 Leicester factory, with no actual shellfish anywhere in the bite.
Small cold-water prawns folded through coral-pink Marie Rose sauce (mayonnaise, ketchup, Worcestershire, lemon) on buttered malted brown. The sauce-defined sibling of the prawn cocktail sandwich.
Cold-water prawns with sliced or roughly mashed avocado on malted brown bread, a chilled meal-deal wedge with a 1980s Marks and Spencer pedigree.