In search of perfection

The 4th Earl of Sandwich (1718-1792) gave his name to the snack of meat encased between two slabs of bread. The story goes that it was designed so that it could be eaten at the gaming table without hands getting greasy. Like all myths that stick around, this one convinces because it captures its subject. A sandwich should be of high quality, fit for an aristocrat if not for a king. And it should be simple.

Excellent ingredients are vital, and the pursuit of them has sent me running away from motorway service stations and high-street chains. As for snack trolleys on trains, let’s not even go there. Dispel from your mind limp lettuce, dry meat or bland cheese. A sandwich should be as delicious as any other meal.

But delicious should not mean complicated. If I am ordering a sandwich, I do not want to be waiting around while someone drizzles the filling with hundreds of ingredients. This is one area of culinary excellence where the celebrity chef has nothing to add.

After many office lunch-break experiments, I have found the best mix of quality and simplicity to be found in Italian delis. One of my favourites in London is Terroni on Clerkenwell Road. There are many others. Look for hams hanging from the ceiling and fresh mozzarella floating in a bowl.

But finding the best raw ingredients, whether in a deli or at home, is only the beginning. Choosing which ingredients, how to use them and how they complement each other is where the fun starts. Because a bite of sandwich involves all the ingredients simultaneously, texture is key: neither too tough nor falling apart; neither dry and sticking to the roof of the mouth, nor dripping messily on to the hands.