The Butty.

Ham, salami and pepperoni with geuze cheese and chilli...

Fri, 12 Apr 2013 14:12:00 +0100

Ham, salami and pepperoni with geuze cheese and chilli sauce

There’s a wee Italian deli round the corner from the office that knocks out some cracking sandwiches. Everyone behind the counter speaks Italian, and the boss scolds anybody that doesn’t get the pronunciation right in their order - it’s a proper joint. When you’ve got access to a place that does good lunchtime grub like this, it’s easy to sit back, hammer your wallet, and let someone else take care of things - even if you happen to have a blog that’s all about making your own damn sangers.

This sandwich is inspired by one of the hot, pressed meat and cheese focaccias from the deli - albeit with a few tweaks. First up, it’s cold, and not pressed… so, quite a big change, straight out of the gate! Why? Well, if you chuck focaccia in a panini press, it punches all the air out of it and makes it far too dense.

Next, the meat isn’t the Italian ham - it’s Belgian, and cut as thin as the deli slicer will allow. It’s also topped with some Milanese salami and a bit of fiery pepperoni for a salty, spicy kick. Finally, the cheese is slightly odd - it’s a geuze cheese, from Brussels, that uses a base of a lambic beer as part of the production process, rather than just using it as a wash. It’s a lot lighter than the provolone that’s in the deli sandwich, but it gives a creamy contrast to the salty meat and bread - you’ll hear more about this particular fromage in a later sandwich. On top, there’s a little salad and a blast of Sriracha to finish things off.

Ok, it’s pretty far from the deli original, but it takes the basic idea and builds on it with new ingredients and new flavours. Next time you’re in the shops, pick your favourite sandwich, and do it yourself. Just do it better.

The Butty was born with one simple goal: To bring back pride in...

Wed, 20 Mar 2013 14:57:00 +0000

The Butty was born with one simple goal: To bring back pride in the greatest lunchtime meal in the world – the sandwich.

The sandwich has lost its way. Once discussed in reverential tones amongst landed gentry, the butty has become a farce; a victim of its own popularity, crushed under the wheels of commerce as we dash from one meeting to another, grabbing lunch in a desperate, flailing attempt to satisfy our appetites with two slices of withered bread and a wet, unsatisfying filling. This is no way to live.

Amidst the massed ranks of ice-cold, expensive, tasteless junk that litters our supermarkets and chain stores, a deep-filled revolution is unfolding. We’re realising that we can do better ourselves – that with a little time and planning, fifteen minutes spent in the kitchen the evening before work can mean a joyous lunch hour the next day, laced with the envy of our colleagues and the dismay of the local sandwich shop, Thai takeaway and Italian caff. The packed lunch is back, and there’s not a soggy tuna sandwich or scotch egg in sight.

The Butty is here to lead and inspire – to encourage you to step away from the chill cabinet and the £3 meal deal, and to help you realise that you can craft something exceptional from a handful of fresh ingredients and a loaf of good bread.

It’s time to make a stand. But more than that – it’s time to make a sandwich.

The Butty

Like us on Facebook: The Butty
Follow us on Twitter: @TheButty

The Baller When you’re searching for the perfect combo of...

Tue, 19 Mar 2013 00:24:00 +0000

The Baller

When you’re searching for the perfect combo of comfort food and blatant innuendo, there really isn’t much out there that can compete with a meatball sub. Moist, succulent balls and sauce capable of driving an atheist to confession make this the sandwich equivalent of 50 Shades of Grey, albeit with a lot more guilt and a higher chance of inappropriately soiled trousers. Ooft.

Smut aside, this sandwich effort was for a special event. You don’t make meatballs in small numbers, and with about 1.3kg of casually seasoned pork and beef mince going into one batch, the 70 or so little hand-rolled nuggets were perfect party fuel for their destination on the nibbles table at a birthday in South-West London.

With the freshly-crafted balls sliding in to roast in the oven, the devil’s own marinara went on the hob. Triple-tomato at its heart, with a potent blend of passata, diced sun-blushed tomatoes and sun-dried tomato paste, the absurdly rich sauce then had a decent-sized block of parmesan grated in to thicken things up. With the coronary risk sitting squarely around a 9.0, a good slosh of red wine and all the meaty cooking juices from the oven-roasted balls helped to push it up towards a perfect, near-lethal ten.

After a good simmer in the marinara, the balls were moist, succulent and ready to plop straight into play. Foregoing the classic sub for a cheeky part-baked baguette roll (possibly the greatest guilty pleasure in the bread world), a trio of balls went in each, with nothing more than a generous smear of Lurpak beneath, and a little leftover parmesan on the top. Save the chives in the meat itself and some fresh basil in the sauce, greenery really has no place here.

Sure, shirts were destroyed and arteries took a bit of a kicking, but with thunder, lightning and driving rain hammering down on the capital, it’s exactly the type of food you need to take a good house party on into the wee hours. Next time we get tricked by the apparent end of winter, slap a big pot on the hob and abandon any concept of healthy eating - it’s messy, hearty shit like this that’ll get you through.

The Day of the Butty The proof of the pudding is in the eating,...

Tue, 12 Mar 2013 15:13:00 +0000

The Day of the Butty

The proof of the pudding is in the eating, and so far, few people have ever had the chance to pass judgement on the sandwiches you’ve seen on this site (save a few friends, and a lucky girl who’s had a good few of them for her lunch). This all changed on February 28th in Brewdog Camden - for one day only, The Butty took over a kitchen that had, until that point, only ever served the creations of Masterchef supremo Tim Anderson. Gulp.

Over lunch, pubgoers were given the chance to chow down on a trio of hearty sangers - including a Manchego, bacon and red pesto toastie that’s featured on this site in the past (see below) - before the main event packed out the bar in the evening.

Matched with a range of great beers selected by Brewdog’s very own Henry Hall (including a guest appearance from London’s very own Kernel Brewery), five courses of sandwiches were served up to a basement full of hungry Butty fans. Starting with a spicy jerk number, the menu wandered across the sandwich spectrum, following up with a mackerel baguette; a manchego and chorizo wedge; a classic Reuben and the nearly-famous Brewdog Brisket butty. It was a night filled with fantastic beers, and sandwiches that would make Scooby Doo smile.

The verdict? 200 sandwiches wiped out in 2 hours, and dozens of smiling, full and mildly pished guests suggest that The Butty’s not just about taking photos of food any more. When we say we’re bringing back the butty - we mean it.

The Butty would like to thank…

Henry Hall for pulling the event together, and his devilish skills in beer pairing and banter.
The unrelentingly awesome staff of Brewdog Camden (especially Charyl and Joe in the kitchen) for being so helpful and welcoming to a mad sandwich chef invading their bar.
Everyone who popped in to eat some sandwiches on the day. It was great to hear your feedback, see you smiling, and get the chance to bang on about why The Butty exists.
Charyl again, for the photo at the top of this post.

You all rock.

Pan-seared sesame tuna and fiery sweetcorn relish There are a...

Mon, 18 Feb 2013 22:59:00 +0000

Pan-seared sesame tuna and fiery sweetcorn relish

There are a few notable butties that really drag the good name of the sandwich through the mud. Generally, they’re the rank, cheap ones that cost about a quid in the supermarket, or pop up from time to time on a tray when someone’s getting married, older or being laid to rest. Nobody in their right mind would point to them as their favourite, and frankly, It’s a shame - a damn shame, in fact.

The Butty has a seldom-discussed policy - No sandwich left behind - and it’s time to give it another airing. Previously, it’s been used to give the depressingly ubiquitous salmon and cucumber sarnie a new lease of life (Take a look), and today, it’s time to drag tuna and sweetcorn into the modern age.

First off - the tuna and sweetcorn combo is rank. The lack of texture from the soft tuna sludge contrasts horribly with the firm kernels of corn, giving little back than a slightly sweet tang, and the sensation of having just bitten through a ripe zit.

To counter this, the tuna itself has to come in a different form, with more bite, and more flavour. In this case, it’s rolled in sesame seeds and pan fried to seal the outside, leaving the centre pink and rare. Sliced thinly, the fish is served up with a little homemade sweetcorn relish - made with finely diced Habanero chilli, the flecks of pepper give the traditionally sweet relish a throaty kick. The whole thing’s finished with some wasabi leaves, and served up on thin, toasted sourdough.

About as far from the original as you can get, and certainly not within the £1 budget of its cold, clammy namesake. That said - If you want to do tuna differently, then you need to spend a little cash, make a little relish, and think outside the tin.

The Day of The Butty I’ve taunted you, I’ve teased...

Fri, 08 Feb 2013 13:52:00 +0000

The Day of The Butty

I’ve taunted you, I’ve teased you, I’ve dragged it out for longer than is humane. And now, after all that, I’m just going to come out and tell you.

Brewdog and The Butty have decided to have some folk over for dinner, and we’d love you to come along.

From 7pm on February 28th, Brewdog Camden will be hosting the first ever Butty event - a five-course sandwich and beer extravaganza, giving you the chance to taste some of the fine sandwiches you’ve seen on this very blog, paired with some of the greatest craft beers ever to grace these fair isles. I’ll be on hand to talk you through the food, whilst Brewdog’s very own Henry Hall will be your guide through the beers he’s carefully selected for the evening. Take a look at the menu below if you’d like a sneaky peak…

Tickets are £25 (including sandwiches and beer tastings), and are available via henry@brewdog.com - we have a very small capacity for the event, so if you’re keen, be sure to get in touch quickly!

If you can’t make it in the evening, then don’t worry - come along during the day, when The Butty will be taking over the kitchen, and filling the menu with epic sandwich options.

Sandwiches and beer, all day long. We can’t wait to see you there. :D

Manchego, parmesan, bacon and red pesto toastie It’s cold...

Sun, 13 Jan 2013 16:35:31 +0000

Manchego, parmesan, bacon and red pesto toastie

It’s cold out. Actually, scratch that - it’s bloody freezing. It’s snowing up North and it’s not far from it in old London Town. It’s a day for staying in, not venturing out - for cozying up and plunging into a good book or a new season of your favourite TV show. Of course, you’ve got to eat, and what’s on your plate needs to marry up with your attempt at mild hibernation. Best bet? Lots and lots of bubbly, molten cheese.

Ok, so cheese on toast isn’t really a sandwich - no top slice, and your filling sits open to the skies above. Still, it’s in the ballpark, and it’s perfect for a brisk day like today, so shift your mind from fillings to toppings, and go with it. This cheesy beast features molten Manchego and parmesan, layered over smoked back bacon, all finished off with a rich red pesto and Tabasco on top.

Quick, hot, and as comforting as a duvet infront of a warm fire. Break out that boxed set, and fire up the grill - it’s time for a cheese dream or two.

Five-spice aromatic duck with pickled cucumber Duck must be one...

Fri, 14 Dec 2012 00:32:58 +0000

Five-spice aromatic duck with pickled cucumber

Duck must be one of the worst-used sandwich fillings out there. 99% of the time, when you pick up a duck sandwich, it’s going to be the painfully ubiquitous ‘duck and hoi-sin wrap’, or some derivation distinguished by slightly different marketing waffle. The sauce is overly sweet and cloying, the wrap like something you’d apply to a wound, and the salad completely devoid of purpose, other than being complicit in masking the pitiful amount of bird that’s actually in the thing.

This supermarket sandwich stalwart is a finger-paint forgery of an old master. Everyone in the known world loves crispy aromatic duck, served with pancakes, spring onion and plum sauce (well, vegetarians excepted). The meat is rich, the skin deliciously crisp, and the pancakes just thick enough to hold it all together, without getting in the way of the flavour. It’s perfect. You don’t meddle with things this good.

Cold duck in a clammy tortilla is no way to pay homage to this epic piece of Anglo-Chinese cuisine, so today’s butty treads a slightly different path in an effort to treat our feathered friend with a little more respect.

The duck itself is a bargain deal from the local supermarket - with the gluey sauce and pancakes given the heave ho, a little extra five-spice seasoning on the surface gives even more flavour to the crispy skin. A big handful of shredded meat goes in a freshly-baked ciabatta roll to kick things off, followed by some thinly sliced spring onions - one part of the aromatic experience that really does work in a sarnie. Under the top slice, a thin spread of mustard and some thinly sliced cucumber (pickled with coriander seeds and dill) give some sweetness and a fiery kick to the whole thing, and keep the meat moist.

What you end up with is a big, tasty roll, honouring the duck’s gamey, hearty meat and spiced, crispy skin. It works because it doesn’t try to create a knock-off of the aromatic classic, but rather takes the best bits, and does something different. Forget the wrap, and leave the sauce alone. Basically - don’t fuck with the duck.

Manchego with Iberico De Bellota chorizo and Belazu...

Wed, 28 Nov 2012 23:05:00 +0000

Manchego with Iberico De Bellota chorizo and Belazu chilli jelly

Moaning about sandwiches is never a good thing to do (well, unless you write a blog. Then it’s fine). It’s an even worse idea when the proprietor of what’s a very pro-sandwich site happens to be hovering nearby, waiting for his chicken and houmous wrap to be flicked out of the toasting press in his local. The issue? “The posh sandwiches”. Errr…

After listening to the curmudgeon in question attempt to remedy the situation by prising a cheese salad sandwich out of the proprietor, today’s experiment was born. Cheese salad is usually dull as mud, but this effort - a strong, two-fingered salute to the status quo of dairy-based butties - addresses the problem by doing two things differently. One, it uses good cheese, and two, it adds a sprinkling of meat.

The cheese in question is Manchego, a Spanish sheep’s milk cheese, with a texture that’s halfway between parmesan and cheddar, and a surprisingly creamy, nutty flavour. On top, a scattering of leftover Iberico Bellota chorizo, pan-fried with a little extra smoked paprika and ground pepper to add a bit of spice, as well as some thinly sliced spring onions. There’s no thick sauce or relish on this, just a smear of Belazu smoked chilli jelly on top of the cheese. Light as you like, with a little added heat.

As ever, use good ingredients, and the most boring butty will kick the doors off when it comes to opening your lunchbox. When it comes to a good sandwich, there’s nothing wrong with doing something that’s a little bit 1%, now and again. Just take a look around before you tell anyone what you’ve made… some people might not approve.

Lazy jerk chicken and sweet red peppers Spicy food’s as...

Tue, 13 Nov 2012 20:12:45 +0000

Lazy jerk chicken and sweet red peppers

Spicy food’s as much about the challenge as it is the taste. That might seem a little sado-masochistic, but it’s true. There’s nothing more disappointing than laying into something you’ve grabbed at the shop, marked up with a terrifying number of chillies and warnings of its potentially face-melting properties, only to discover it barely tickles the tongue, rather than delivering a perfect, fiery dropkick to the face. Jerk chicken can easily suffer this fate.

Truth be told, this sandwich isn’t jerk chicken in the truest sense, but it’s a bastardisation of the finest quality. Firstly, there’s no charcoal cooking involved. Why? It’s November. It’s cold, it’s dark, and it’s usually raining, so outdoor grilling is off the agenda.

Secondly, Jerk chicken traditionally uses Scotch Bonnet chillies, which sit between 100k and 350k on the Scoville scale - a regular green chilli will top out about 8k. It’s a spicy sauce. Due to an irritating lack of Boab’s Bonnets, as they’re also known, this sanger actually uses Bird’s Eye chillies, which have a slightly less explosive rating of between 100-150k. Don’t be fooled, they’re still entirely capable of causing some serious damage - hence the gloves.

Everything else is on the money. Along with the chillies (there were at least a couple more in the sauce by the end, due to continual tasting and fettling), the jerk blend is basically a mix of a few key spices, ground together - allspice; cinnamon; nutmeg and corriander seeds, along with thyme; garlic; some lime; ginger and some decent salt/pepper action. It’s worth trying out your own measures of each, but just make sure you put in a bit more allspice and cinnamon than the other spices. Your blend can either be rubbed into the skin dry, or wet - in this case, dark honey, Worcestershire sauce and a good glug of oil went in the mix, before the thighs were smothered and bunged in the oven.

The end result - once the chicken’s shredded off the bone, and mopped around in the jerk sauce - is absurdly moist and fragrant, with a spicy fire that really meddles with your sinuses and singes your lips. You’ll need a strong bread, like a dense bagel or a good, crusty baguette to handle the saucy meat, and a handful of sliced Peppadews to give a sweet twinge to the whole butty.

It’s not summer, and the weather sure as hell isn’t anything like the Caribbean, as you’re all too aware. Thing is, that just makes the roaring heat of a good, spicy lunch, and the slightly sweaty brow that accompanies it all the more satisfying. Just remember the chilli gloves - your girlfriend will thank you for it later.

Ham and mustard “How can you be bothered doing all that...

Tue, 23 Oct 2012 01:26:00 +0100

Ham and mustard

“How can you be bothered doing all that after work?”

It’s a question that’s been leveled at this blog repeatedly since its inception. At times, it’s a legitimate point - some sandwiches on this blog require a bit of commitment; a bit of enthusiasm towards the idea of showing up your colleagues’ lunches the next day.

That said, there’s always room for a lazy evening, and it doesn’t need to mean you’ll be heading to the local Greggs for a pasty on your lunch hour.

Ham and mustard is a combo you’ll be used to seeing in the supermarket chiller, but don’t roll your eyes, as it’s a classic, and moreover, it’s regarded as such for good reason. Good ingredients are fundamental here - cheap ham and boring mustard will do you no favours in a simple sandwich like this.

The meat in today’s butty is Wiltshire Ham, cut fresh from a joint, and done so thinly as to throughly worry the lass on the deli counter (“It’s not coming out in single pieces!”, she cried). The mustard is Maille, dijon, and with a little honey through it for sweetness - whether it’s a wholegrain, English or dark French, take your pick, but make sure it’s from good stock. A little grind of black pepper and a tiny, tiny pinch of salt are all the seasoning that’s needed.

With a handful of leaves for a bit of colour and freshness, it’s about 5 minutes from slicing the bread to wrapping it up. Whatever the hell you’re doing tonight, be it gym, cinema or even a naughty Tuesday session down the pub - this is doable. No excuses.

The breakfast belter Unlike the boozy events that lead to them,...

Sat, 20 Oct 2012 15:36:00 +0100

The breakfast belter

Unlike the boozy events that lead to them, hangovers are not renowned for their abilities to inspire their owners. Courtesy of the good people at Brewdog, and their craft beer-fueled hospitality at the epic new Shoreditch bar last night, this morning’s dose of the boozy haze can be roughly compared to a foggy day on a Dundee beach. Miserable, grey, and reeking of drink.

Today’s inspiration came more from necessity than anything else, with a quick, meaty shop and a raid of the cupboards teeing up a staggeringly satisfying (and unspeakably unhealthy) breakfast butty. The rich, fruity hangover had met its match.

First up, fire up the oven, and put your snaggers in - make sure they’re decent, with 80% or more pork. Cheap sausages are one of the most offensive food products on the planet, and will ruin any meal they’re involved in. While they’re cooking, get to work on your hash browns.

Carbs are a hangover’s natural nemesis (well, that and a cold floor. Seriously, next time you’re hanging out your arse after a big night, lie on a cold, laminate floor and see how good it feels. You’re welcome.). This is where the hash brown comes in - just grate some onion and potato together and use paper towel to get as much moisture out as possible, before seasoning to taste. Pan fry these, alongside the sliced black pudding, and pop in the bottom of the oven to keep warm for a few minutes.

Last of all - ham and eggs. Fry the bacon in the dirty pan, and then last of all, do the eggs. They’ll look grubby because of everything that’s been cooked in there, but they’ll taste much better. Leave ‘em runny for maximum satisfaction.

Putting the butty together is simply a case of building the meaty monument from a solid foundation upwards. Get your egg in at the base, with the sausage resting on top (butterfly them, or you’ll constantly be picking up stray snaggers that have rolled out onto your lap). Next, pop in the hash browns, and add the bacon and black pud. Sauce is a bit of a contentious one, but being raised on the virtues of brown, it’s the obvious choice - rock out the Wilkin and Sons if you’re feeling flash.

That’s it. Nothing complex, no complicated seasoning or cooking - let’s face it, hangover food is about feel-good fodder, not pushing the culinary envelope. Next time you’re planning a big one, plan a big shop. With a full fridge and a fry up, you’ll get through it. Just remember that cold floor.

Etruscan pepperoni and Ardennes pâté There are any number of...

Thu, 04 Oct 2012 09:50:11 +0100

Etruscan pepperoni and Ardennes pâté

There are any number of regular, by-the-book sandwiches on this blog. Classics, whose names you’ll recognise amongst those that stare out at you from the assembled ranks in a supermarket cabinet. Then, there are sandwiches like this one.

This has no heritage, no raison d’être other than a late-night trip round the supermarket and an enthusiasm for a good, meaty sandwich. The pepperoni is cut fresh at the deli counter, coming off a cracking big sausage - as ever, you’re best off avoiding deli meat in flat-packs, it just doesn’t cut the mustard, flavour-wise. Don’t use that strange, orange-coloured stuff either, it’s meant for pizzas, and doesn’t have the texture or the size needed for a good sandwich meat.

In this sanger, the sausage is paired with a coarse Ardennes pâté, giving a nice contrast to the bite of the pepperoni. It’s spread as a healthy layer on the bottom of the sandwich, while a good drizzle of French’s mustard and some lamb’s leaf lettuce completes things on top.

A bit of an odd combo, but it works a treat, both in terms of flavour and texture. Don’t be afraid to try seemingly odd mixtures - while you’ll have some misfires, there’ll be times where you stumble on something fantastic.

Gravad lax with Philadelphia, dill mustard and mustard...

Sun, 30 Sep 2012 14:56:00 +0100

Gravad lax with Philadelphia, dill mustard and mustard leaves

Without wanting to sound like too much of a communist, smoked salmon is a sandwich filling surrounded in the decadence of the last century. Luckily, it’s now not just the reserve of an ostentatious amuse bouche, and is a ubiquitous part of sandwich culture, thanks to the classic Philly collaboration known to every bagel shop in the world.

Although there’s a lot of meddling in this blog, some things just need to be done well to make them taste superb. Here, it’s simply a case of good fish, good bread and a little, carefully chosen garnish. The bottom slice of bread is spread with good ol’ Philly cheese, before the gravad lax (made with salmon from Skye) is layered up on top. Don’t slap it on flat, as the texture will be rubbish - fold it over itself to give the sandwich a bit of body. Finally, there’s a drizzle of dill mustard, a few sprigs of fresh dill, and some mustard leaves to give it a bit of a peppery quality.

A slight change from the straight up salmon and cream cheese that you get everywhere, but the little additions make all the difference to the flavour, especially that dill and the mustard.

Turkey with bacon, stuffing and Jarlsberg There are some...

Thu, 20 Sep 2012 14:08:45 +0100

Turkey with bacon, stuffing and Jarlsberg

There are some fillings which are way too much hassle to prep during the week. Whilst there’s been a few roasts on here in the past, they’ve usually followed weekends. Why? Well, nobody wants to spend their night tending to a beautiful cut of meat that they’re not going to get to eat hot. Unless you’re going to have leftovers, then midweek roastery is best left to someone else.

Luckily, there are more and more places offering up huge roast joints for you to indulge in, whether at your local supermarket’s cold meat counter, or a local deli. Meat cut straight off the joint is a world away from the flat-pack crap you get pre-sliced in chill cabinets - it’s much more moist, has much better depth of flavour, and doesn’t have that worrying regularity of shape… rough-cut food tastes better. Best of all - you don’t have to touch your oven.

With that - it’s back to turkey. Today’s sandwich is a gobble-gobble special, loaded with generous amounts of thin-sliced roast, free range bird, carved from a bacon and stuffing-toped roast from the local deli counter. Adding to the sweet, succulent meat is a nutty treat in the form of some shaved Norwegian Jarlsberg and a peppery rocket salad, all topped off with a generous dod of tart cranberry sauce.

Next time you’ve got a hankering for a roast-based butty at the end of a long day at the office, don’t drop your shoulders and admit defeat. Pop down the deli, and let someone else do the hard work - save the big, ambitious bits of cooking (like the Brewdog Brisket Butty) for those long, lazy winter weekends, when you can knock the whole thing up and eat it piping hot, straight off the chopping board.

The Brewdog brisket butty Of all the sandwiches you’ll see...

Sat, 01 Sep 2012 17:06:00 +0100

The Brewdog brisket butty

Of all the sandwiches you’ll see on The Butty, this one’s been waiting in the wings for the longest. Despite being handed a selection of the finest beers from a our friends at Brewdog a while back, and having been challenged to create something truly spectacular, the plans have lain on the drawing board for months, constantly being tweaked and bettered. In the end, it came down to a patient weekend, some black magic, and a big, hearty lump of beef.

Brisket’s been on the Butty’s shopping list for an age, but it’s just not a cut of beef that we really care about in the UK - it’s rare that you’ll ever see it outside of a butcher’s, which is a damn shame. For this sarnie, 700g of good Scottish brisket was nabbed from a butcher’s counter in a decent local supermarket - if you’re doing this for a lot of people, then by all means, get a bigger cut from the local butcher.

Given brisket’s a tough bugger, it makes sense to take your time, marinading it to give it flavour, and cooking it low and slow to bring out the flavours. At the heart of this marinade is one of Brewdog’s best - Paradox Jura. This dark, 15% Imperial Stout is a beast of a beer, spending nine months gestating in the oaky darkness of a Jura whisky barrel, emerging on the other side with a smoky nose and a heady, boozy kick that cuts through the flavours of coffee, treacle and bitter chocolate.

Everything else in the marinade is aimed at building on the flavours of the Paradox, creating a smoky, earthy blend with a hot and spicy kick - the perfect match for the sturdy chunk of cow.

The Paradox potion

1 bottle of Brewdog Paradox Jura
1 large white onion (diced)
1 sweet, red pointed pepper (diced)
3 red chillies
1 thumb-sized piece of ginger (sliced roughly, un-peeled)
6 cloves of garlic (smashed, un-peeled)
2 tablespoons dark soy sauce
2 tablespoons dark honey
2 teaspoons Tabasco
Salt and pepper to season

Method: Mix everything together in a bowl, making sure the syrup and sugar aren’t stuck to the bottom. That’s it, really.

With the marinade prepped (it should have a spicy, slightly bitter aroma to it), stick the brisket in a deep dish - you need the beef to be totally submerged, so choose something that’s got high sides, and a small surface area, like in the picture. Once it’s in, cover it (cling film’s fine), and put it in the fridge - it’s going to be in there for 48 hours, so go and get on with your life in the interim.

After the beef’s spent a couple of days getting pished in the fridge, it’s time to fire up the oven. Whip out the meat, and plonk it in a roasting tray, pouring the marinade over the top. Make sure a good amount of the onions and peppers end up on top of the beef, as these will break down in the oven and give even more flavour to the brisket as it cooks. The liquid in the try needs to be about halfway up the brisket, so add a little water if you need to top it up.

Firstly, turn the oven to 200c (180c if it’s a fan oven), and cook the beef for half an hour. Once it’s browned a bit, cover the pan in foil, and drop the temperature down to about 140c (120c fan), and put it back in for three hours. While it’s slowly cooking to perfection, be sure to keep it well fed by spooning the marinade over the top of the meat - this will mean all the flavours of the meat and boozy broth are absorbed into the brisket.

After four hours, the brisket should be done. Leave it to rest on a chopping board for about ten minutes, before slicing it into thick slivers - the meat should be superbly tender, so don’t worry about it being too chewy. If you’ve marinaded it well, you should be able to see where the meat has changed colour at the edges, after slurping up all the beery wonderfulness in the pan.

For bread, you need to source something pretty special for such a lovingly prepared bovine butty. In this case, De Gustibus bread in Borough rose to the task, with a delicious sourdough bloomer, more than capable of supporting such a moist, meaty filling. Sliced thickly and buttered sparingly, the meat is simply piled on, with a few generous spoonfuls of the soft onion and pepper mixture spread on top. No salad here - this is all about the beef.

One of the finest craft beers in the land combined with one of the best, most under-appreciated cuts of beef in these fair isles, this sanger is exactly what you need on a cold autumn weekend. Like coming up with the recipe itself - it might take a while, it might be a bit of hard work, and you might have to use up a cracking bottle of beer. But when you’ve got this butty sitting in front of you with a bite out of it, and a cold 5am Saint in your hand, all will be forgiven. Promise.

Venison sausagemeat, fried egg and Jarlsberg muffin A few weeks...

Mon, 27 Aug 2012 23:41:00 +0100

Venison sausagemeat, fried egg and Jarlsberg muffin

A few weeks back, on the way to a wedding, I had a sausage and egg McMuffin. Normally, this is the kind of shameful admission that you’d assume would be followed by a round of applause and a group hug, washing away the guilt of having hit up the Golden Arches for a brekkie fix. Not a bit of it. It was good. Damn good. That said - if something that tasty (albeit presented with all the aesthetic flair of a well-punched face) can be knocked out by an early-shift burger flipper in Robroyston, then The Butty’s clearly going to step up and do it better. What’s more, you’re getting a how-to on the whole thing.

First things first - good sausages are a necessity. Today’s antler-clad bastard features the meat from a pack of venison, pork and red wine snaggers, but any good bangers with a high meat content will see you right. Slice them down the middle (two per muffin), and squeeze out the meat into a bowl, before mashing them into a burger-style patty.

If you’re feeling healthy, grill them, but it’s a bank holiday, so get the frying pan out - you’ll be needing it anyway for the eggs. Fry the patties until they’re cooked through, and set them aside.

Next, pop a couple of sliced English muffins under the grill to toast a little. Then, if you’re feeling smart, use some cooking rings to do the wanky hockey-puck eggs as you fry them in the pan - realistically, it’s easier to do them sunny-side up, as you would normally, and then use an up-turned glass to slice a perfect circle out of them.

With the eggs fried, the patties rested, and the muffins toasted, grate a little Jarlsberg and assemble the muffins, garnishing the top of the egg with a good dod of the Norwegian cheese. A few minutes back under the grill to melt the cheese, and it’s all done, save a good squirt of ketchup, a grind of pepper, or a dash of Tabasco.

Better than the real deal? Hard to say. A dirty bit of fast food has its place in everyone’s life, now and again. It’s certainly a damn good way to kick off the last day of a bank holiday. Hell, at least you can legitimately claim you stayed away from the Drive Thru.

Mackerel with pickled sweet pepper Fish is a dangerous...

Thu, 09 Aug 2012 17:13:39 +0100

Mackerel with pickled sweet pepper

Fish is a dangerous proposition when it comes to sandwich making. Classics like tuna and salmon are virtually guaranteed to give you great sangers regardless of what you do to them (well, as long as you don’t drown the buggers in mayo), but outside of that, you’re taking a risk if you fancy pushing the boundaries.

White fish lacks the texture to give a satisfying filling, even if it does offer tantalising naming opportunities, such as the magnificent ‘codpiece’ - a sandwich crippled by the key ingredient offering one of the most unpleasant textures of any food product, when placed between two pieces of bread. Batter or breadcrumbs save the day - the fish finger sandwich stands testament to that - but even beautiful bits of white fish really don’t work in a sanger.

Mackerel, on the other hand, is fantastic. Its oily, hearty flesh has a great texture with real bite, and isn’t as dry as a big hunk of tuna. It’s been used before in this blog, done with chilli and lime - this time, it’s a little simpler, but no less satisfying.

First off, you need to take a little time to make the garnish for this sanger - it’s undoubtedly worth it. Grab a sweet pepper (one of the long, slender ones that looks like a giant chilli), and cut it into very slender strips, lengthwise. They should be about half a centimetre thick. Place these in a bowl, cover them with white wine vinegar, and break up a dried red chilli or two into the mix, before leaving them to pickle for about an hour.

Having set the poke of peppers pickling, the mackerel gets de-boned with a pair of needle-nose pliers, before being oven cooked with some salt, pepper, and a glug of extra-virgin olive oil. Once cooked, patted down with some kitchen roll, and left to cool, the fish goes onto some un-toasted, buttered ciabatta, along with a handful of the pepper shards and some round lettuce.

Something fishy, but not in a bad way - a sea-going butty that’s a damn sight tastier than anything involving tuna out of a can. The pickled pepper is ferocious on its own (try it before you pop it in the sanger), but when combined with the robust mackerel, and the cooling lettuce, it works an absolute treat.

Pan-fried tiger prawns with garlic and thyme As has been said...

Wed, 01 Aug 2012 15:39:17 +0100

Pan-fried tiger prawns with garlic and thyme

As has been said repeatedly on this blog - prawns are bloody awesome, but sadly, bloody expensive. For what’s essentially a big sea-bug, the biggest and juiciest are a bit of a wallet-draining indulgence, and a bit OTT for most workday lunchboxes. Luckily enough, like a DFS sofa, it’s usually quite difficult to avoid some sort of deal if you know where to look in your local supermarket, and that’s why prawns are on the menu today.

Although you can do some blindingly tasty, complex things with prawns, this sarnie’s about as simple as they come. A whole bag of massive tiger prawns is involved - normally, that’d be about a fiver’s worth of shellfish, but thanks to Sainsbury’s recurring 50% discount it’s a pretty reasonable suggestion for a filling, and the whole thing’s still going to cost you less than £3.50. Spin on that, Subway.

First up, a bit of decent olive oil is heated up in a pan, but don’t crank up the flame too much. A couple of finely diced cloves of garlic go into the oil - if they go brown straight away, you’ve buggered it up. Nobody likes burnt garlic, so start again before you ruin your prawns too. Once the garlic has been gently sizzling for a few minutes, the prawns are added in, tossed in the garlic and oil, and then mixed with a teaspoon of dried thyme. The hob’s then turned down, before a glass of white wine and half a lemon’s worth of juice go in, and are left to reduce down.

For the sandwich, some lightly toasted wholewheat serves as the canvas for this bready masterpiece, with only the top slice taking a scraping of mayo. The prawns, having cooled off completely and being mixed with the reduced cooking juices, a little mayo, lemon juice and black pepper, go in on the dry bottom slice, with just a handful of mixed salad on top.

In all honesty, this sandwich filling was almost a pasta - hot, over some tagliatelle, this would rock. As it is, it’s another riff on the classic prawn mayo, but with better prawns, better cooking, and better bread. A huge improvement? You better believe it.

Jamón ibérico with Ticklemore & rocket Most of the...

Tue, 24 Jul 2012 01:13:00 +0100

Jamón ibérico with Ticklemore & rocket

Most of the sandwiches in this blog are pulled together from stuff you can get from a selection of half-decent local shops on the High Street, or your local supermarket. Why? Well, it means you can knock up a lot of what goes up on here cheaply and simply, without having to scour the backstreets, internet stores and local markets after work every day. This is easy, satisfying food we’re talking about, after all - low effort with a big, tasty payoff.

That said, up the effort, and the payoff goes up too. This weekend was another Borough trip - probably the last for a while, given that that TfL have made it clear that London Bridge is about to become about as attractive to travelers as the pissed guy on the night bus, shouting slurred obscenities at his own reflection.

Two destinations were on the slate - Brindisa for something meaty, and Neal’s Yard for something cheesy.

Brindisa is a sandwich destination in its own right - their freshly cooked chorizo ciabatta rolls are outstanding - succulent, spicy, sweet, and unlike some others in the Capital, not a chewy nightmare. The queues every weekend back all that up, but the wait this week was for something else entirely. Inside, they’ve got a rank of guys studiously carving sliver after sliver of utterly beautiful Jamón ibérico (or Iberian ham, if you prefer), ready to talk you through the differences in the black-hoofed hams on offer, accompanied with a little taster or two to seal the deal. After all, at a minimum of £10 per 100g, you really want to be sure about what you’re buying.

With 100g of Yabugo up on the order sheet and 15 minutes to kill while it was carved (don’t be surprised if there’s a backlog when you turn up), Neal’s Yard was next on the hit list, hoping for a cheesy compadre to support the rich taste of the ham. After binning the idea of Manchego with the help of one of the Dairy’s finest cheesemongers, the suggestion of a light, nutty goat’s cheese seemed perfect, and a few quids’ worth of Devon Tickleworth was added to the day’s haul.

The joyous complexity of choosing and buying just two ingredients is totally at odds with the sandwich that’s come out the other side. A couple of lightly-buttered, thin slices of a nice rustic white loaf wrap up a filling of the razor-cut Ibérico and shaved Ticklemore, with nothing more than a small handful of rocket to add another, peppery flavour to the butty. Frankly, when you’re playing with ingredients that are this good, you don’t want to be dicking around with condiments, dressings or big salads.

More effort and more money went into this butty than normal, but there’s nothing more vindicating than a good job, done well. This sandwich isn’t a daily, and probably not even a weekly, but once in a blue moon, it’s going to be a labour of love that you’ll keep coming back to.