A world of taste between bread slices

August 16, 2023August 17, 2023 admin

Rahul Verma

Biting into wafer-thin pieces of cucumber enveloped in soft white bread some days ago, I thought there was something to be said about sandwiches. Cynics may scoff and say that it is just two slices with something in between. To that I say, pah! That’s like describing the Taj Mahal as a building, and saying that Mallikarjun Mansur sang songs.

I have always been greatly fond of sandwiches. One of my happiest moments was when I discovered a tiny tea shop in Raghuganj at Chawri Bazaar, old Delhi, some decades ago. Jain Sa’ab, the silent man behind the counter, makes the most amazing sandwiches you can think of — and that’s because his filling is not your usual tomatoes and cucumber. He makes fruit sandwiches. Thin slices of fruit — apples, guavas, mangoes (during the season), and so on — are placed in between two slices of bread, and a fruity powder is sprinkled over them. Sometimes, a bit of fresh malai is added to the slices, occasionally the fruits are topped with pomegranate seeds. And, hey presto, you have the most delicious sandwich you’ve ever eaten.

What makes a sandwich so interesting is the fact that you can be as creative as you want to be with it. Remember the sandwiches that Bumstead put together in the Blondie comics? You’d find him in the kitchen, piling a long loaf of bread with all kinds of delightful toppings. His creations have made it to the English dictionary, too. A Bumstead Sandwich is a “thick sandwich filled with a variety of meats, cheeses, dressings, and condiments”.

The sandwich — in the form of meat and bread — has been around for aeons, but it got its name sometime in the 18th century. There is a story — possibly apocryphal — on how that happened. John Montagu, the fourth Earl of Sandwich, was extremely fond of card games. He loved them so much that he didn’t want to break up a game for dinner. To be able to play a hand and have his dinner at the same time, he’d call for bread with beef. Soon, it became quite a trend, as people started asking for a ‘Sandwich’.

Sandwiches are on the menu of almost every café, and they come with all kinds of fillings: from cheese, paneer, fresh veggies and mashed potatoes to chicken, ham, bacon and other kinds of meat. The Bombay Sandwich — prepared with green chutney, butter, tomatoes, potatoes and chaat masala — has delicious local flavours. In little nooks and corners, you get delightful sandwiches, prepared with sourdough bread, brown bread, French bread, garlic bread and so on.

I have noticed that serious sandwich-makers cut no corners when it comes to the dish. I fondly remember a gentleman called Shanti Sarup, whose shop in Jangpura, Delhi, had — still has, in fact — the softest sandwiches you can imagine. For this, the bread had to be just right. Four slices of fresh white bread, the corners neatly cut off, held a spread of ham, chicken or tuna, lightly smeared with mayo prepared in their kitchen. Mr Sarup, now no more, always made sure that the chutney he served with the sandwiches was prepared with fresh coriander leaves, and wouldn’t compromise with the quality even when coriander prices skyrocketed.

Among my all-time favourites is the club sandwich, which I first had at a five-star hotel’s coffee shop in the early 1980s. It came for Rs 20 — and had everything that you could wish for: chicken, ham, egg, cheese, lettuce and tomato. One sandwich — with four big triangles — was dinner for two persons, or when we were broke, for three.

Another kind of sandwich that gave me joy in my salad days was served at the Shri Ram Centre in Mandi House. This was a sandwich, usually with a filling of mashed potatoes, which had been grilled in a sandwich toaster. It came out brown and hot, and was out of this world.We call it roasty-toasty, and we still have variations of it at home. Earlier, these sandwiches were grilled in an interesting metal contraption. We used to put the slices of bread with the filling in a square space in the gadget, and then secure it with the help of two long handles, on two sides of the square, pressing them together with the help of a clamp. This would be placed on an open fire, and then turned now and then. The sandwich that came out was often burnt at the sides, but tasted heavenly nevertheless. Life is easier now that we have electric sandwich-makers. We stuff the bread with mashed potatoes, sometimes leftover sabzi of cauliflower and peas, often paneer with black pepper, and, occasionally, minced meat.

One variety that is hard to find in our part of the world is the ‘Po-Boy sandwich’ — something that often figured in the books of American author James Lee Burke. It consists of a loaf of French bread stuffed with fried seafood, roast beef, chicken breast or ham. There is an interesting story (as always, brushed aside as fiction by some naysayers) on how the po-boy got its name. Some believe the name was coined in 1929. American tram workers were on a strike, and were facing financial difficulties. “Here comes a poor boy,” people would say when they saw a hungry striker. Two men decided that the striking workers had to be fed so that they could continue with their protests. That was how the ‘Po-Boy’ came up.

There are various kinds of sandwiches — from Reuben and Hero to Cubano. I used to love the submarine sandwich that was served in a restaurant in Delhi that we used to frequent. This was a long loaf of bread that was stuffed with chicken, cheese, greens, sliced tomatoes and so on. In many little corners of every city you will find an aloo tikki sandwich — a chutney-splashed potato patty smashed between two slices of bread — and samosa sandwiches. Is the bread pakora a sandwich as well? I think the jury is still out on that.