Sandwiches

A quest for the best

Nigella Lawson

I HAVE a theory about Marks & Spencer's prepared food which, so far, has yet to be disproved. It works like this: if someone who can cook bungs an M&S precooked something-or-other in the oven, it tastes delicious; but when someone who can't cook does exactly the same, it doesn't taste nearly as good. I have discovered no excep- tions to this rule, though luckily for Marks and Spencer's no one else has got wise to it. After all, it rather defeats the object of the exercise. I don't really know where this gets us, however, especially since, although I was sent into Marks and Sparks this week, I was directed towards the sandwich counter rather than the chill cabinet. But where I suppose it leads is to the murky ground of that modern myth, namely that Marks and Spencer's food is so much better than one could ever make at home.

With proper food, the claim doesn't need to be made as loudly. After all, the amount of work you would need to do to make a chicken korma yourself is so much greater

'It could be worse — we could be in Canary Wharf.' than the effort required to take carton from sleeve and put in preheated oven that buy- ing it ready-made could seem not so much lazy as commendably efficient. (This is not an argument I would ever wish to try and swing myself but I can see its — meretri- cious — charm.) Sandwiches are harder. I should have thought that you would expend more energy standing in a queue at the sandwich counter than ever you could throwing together a couple of slices of bread in the morning.

But laziness apart, there is still a good case for the bought sandwich. Apart from anything else, there is something rather depressing about knowing at breakfast-time exactly what you're going to have for lunch. But the real — my real — problem is greed.

I think if I brought sandwiches along to work with me in the mornings I would end up eating lunch at 10.30 every day. Of course, even if you buy your sandwiches this is a good reason for not getting them on the way in to work. That, though, is exactly what most people do, but the habit of sitting and having a sandwich at your desk every day is not a good one and should be fought against. It's the modern way, I know, but it always makes me feel like a humpbacked clerk.

But back, reluctantly, to the sandwich counters. The Spectator's deputy editor, Mr

Heffer, is a Marks and Spencer man. His snobbery, he said, wouldn't allow him to consider getting his sandwiches anywhere else. But what if such snobbery were not justified? Like a fool I agreed to find out. In my seven-and-a-half-year career I have eaten some pretty disagreeable things. I have even caught salmonella. But never have I had such a horrible time as the one I spent, this past week, in the quest for the best sandwich.

But if people feel there is some snobbish justification in buying their sandwiches from Marks and Spencer's, they also seem to enjoy some emotional attachment to them. I was astonished that every time I mentioned this article, everyone would offer up, in fond tones, the name of their favourite M&S sandwich, in rather the same way that elderly people on buses tell you about their grandchildren. Waitrose elicits not quite the same tender response from its clientele, but it is the only other shop from which people are happy to boast about getting their sandwiches.

With reason, it appeared: for from my intensive sampling Marks and Spencer came out top, with Waitrose just behind. Next came Tesco, then Sainsbury's, with Boots at the bottom. The four best of all available sandwiches were the Marks and Spencer traditional cheddar cheese plough- man's made with thickly sliced granary bread, and their deep-filled smoked salmon

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without mayonnaise (unless specified, everything everywhere is drenched with pale yellow gunk). Both these were excel- lent. Outstanding, however, were Wait- rose's egg and bacon baguette and their salami ciabatta. Interestingly, the actual Waitrose egg and bacon sandwich was nowhere near as good as the M&S version, which was incontestably the champ. The Sainsbury's version had the best bacon, but a good sandwich is more about overall tex- ture than individual components. The ideal sandwich has to achieve a balance between firmness and gunginess. This was Boots' biggest failing: a damp sogginess pervaded. Only their bacon, lettuce and tomato man- aged to produce a sandwich with contrast- ing textures.

I don't know why we in this country are forever chortling at the Americans for their Californian cuisine, their smoked-salmon pizzas, and duck breasts with toasted camembert. I mean, has anyone ever taken a serious look at what we think make respectable sandwiches? Chicken tikka? Brie and grapes? Beef with green peppers and black bean sauce? What is wrong with everybody?

I was nearly sick eating the Tesco chicken korma with cashew nuts and coconut in malted bread. Marks and Spencer pull off the funny turns best. Both their chicken coronation and chicken tikka were better than their rivals', although the Sainsbury's version, which for some reason had flaked almonds in, worked. I know it sounds dis- gusting and that coronation chicken shouldn't have flaked almonds in, but take my word for it anyway. Anything made with pitta bread was a mistake: pitta needs to be warm; cold it is damp and floury. Bagels didn't work either. Even Marks and Sparks couldn't seem to produce one with the re- quisite density. I would generally advise avoiding anything that claims to be made with French bread, unless you have a taste for wet cardboard tubing. I would make an exception of Waitrose, whose baguettes were not perfect but better than I had grown to expect.

Tesco were generally fine and sometimes better. Tesco's prawn mayonnaise on wholemeal bread got top marks from my expert witness, my sister Thomasina, the sandwich queen of Wales. There was an argument for saying the Marks and Spencer version was better quality (prawns sweeter and fatter than in the Tesco sandwich), but the Tesco prawn mayonnaise was cool and creamy, and worked better as a whole. The Tesco prawn mayonnaise on white bread, however, was nowhere near as successful.

None of the brie sandwiches worked. I can't think why anyone would try and sell them in the first place. After all, the sand- wiches have to be kept very cold, and iced

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brie is not a good idea. I think the most dis- gusting sandwich came from our victors. The new summer special M&S Florida salad and ham sandwich (with cabbage, mandarins, apple, pineapple and mayon- naise) is every bit as vile as it sounds, but they have at least got another new one out that makes up for it, the soft cheese with !Mice tomatoes. You actually can tell that it's got proper tomatoes in, not those water- logged, artificially ripened things.

The reason why Marks and Spencer win, even though they had the most disgusting sandwich of all and Waitrose had the very best, is because they are just generally a bit better than the others. Their bread is bet- ter, and this makes more of a difference in the main than the fillings. Often, though, they were all disgusting but Marks and Spencer was the least disgusting. I would concede, however, that eating five shopfuls worth of sandwiches is not the best way to appreciate them. Boots and Waitrose sand- wich packets were the hardest to open. In fact they were almost impossible to open. Marks and Spencer sandwiches are indeed more expensive than the others, but since even the cheapest bought sandwich costs about ten times what it costs to make one it is pointless thinking there is a value for money argument to be had.

This is for those who will feel satisfied only with more scientific-sounding findings. Out of a possible 10, I accord Marks & Spencer 8, Waitrose 7, Tesco 5, Sainsbury 3 and Boots 0.5.

Never again.