From Sandwiches to Aunt Mary’s Pudding
via The Earl of Sandwich, Cocklebread, A Clever Baker & Fever Remedies
Hello dearest gentle reader,
How lovely to be back with you and I’m sorry I’m late again. We may have to change days for this letter. Welcome to all my fabulous new subscribers, it’s a joy to meet you all. I feel today is the day that we need to talk about sandwiches. I’m sure that you probably think that you are as familiar with sandwiches as you need to be, but I would like to suggest that you have even more wonderful things to find out that will add a hint of seasoning to all of yours going forward. This has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I received a book of sandwiches from the best sandwich shop in New Orleans, but only because I haven’t had a chance to read it yet. I have that treat planned for the weekend, probably followed by an expensive online visit to Sous Chef to buy all the necessary condiments.
I am just going to talk about sandwiches in general terms with a smattering of history thrown in, mostly because I think they are possibly the food I would have to choose if you made me choose only one. I don’t know why anyone with any love for food would force me to make such a terrible choice but if pushed, sandwiches it would be. There are so many varieties, hot ones, cold ones, doorstep, elegant, finger, pinwheel, double decker ones. They are suitable for pretty much any occasion, and location. I doubt there are many of you that would argue with Bee Wilson’s definition of a sandwich: “two or more slices of bread, or the equivalent in rolls, flatbread or other baked goods, used as a structure to contain a filling of some other food, whether hot or cold, to make a meal, such that no utensils are necessary”. The ‘no utensils necessary’ is key so even if you are the sort of person who eats your sandwich with a knife and fork it remains a sandwich. This definition definitely includes burgers but as I’m not sure I wish to court controversy so maybe we’ll leave those for another letter.
You do have to choose the right sandwich for the right occasion though. You wouldn’t want a crustless cucumber tiny triangle number when you were half way up a mountain, but trying to hold a big doorstep of chunky cheddar and crisp slices of onion in one hand whilst you are trying your best to provide wit and sparkling conversation at next door’s Christmas soiree would be equally amiss. Do you think the way someone fills a sandwich tells you something about them? I come from a family never known to underfill a sandwich. If things aren’t trying to drop off it when you are eating it then it isn’t properly filled. This does occasionally result in clothes splodges but sometimes that’s the sacrifice you make for a really good sandwich.
Obviously you probably shouldn’t use the way someone fills a sandwich as a way of divining someone’s character but secretly I can’t help but associate a generous sandwich filling with generosity of spirit. I’d prefer to think that rather than just knowing that the coleslaw needs using up. Sandwiches are also a wonderful gateway to double carb dinners as no-one thinks it's odd to have chips with a sandwich or a lovely dollop of potato salad on the side.
Now to that exciting sandwich knowledge that you thought I had forgotten about: Sandwiches were not named for the Earl of Sandwich who needed a gambling snack and couldn’t tear himself away from the cards in order to to nourish himself. But they have the same name, I hear you cry, and they do and all of this is trickery, as they were actually named for him but not for that reason. They were much more likely to have been his food of choice when he was based at the Admiralty and was extremely busy. He didn’t actually have lots of money to gamble away as he was pretty broke by aristocratic standards and actually did very little gambling as a result.
It is also unlikely that he invented the sandwich as inspired by his travels and the mysteries of snacks in pitta bread as has also been suggested. Open sandwiches and bread plus ingredient of choice on the side were very popular and had been since at least biblical times and were known by their colloquial names of ‘bread and cheese' or ‘bread and meat’. It is almost certain that the Earl just gave his name to the more practical version of this treat with bread top and bottom during the 1760s and we then spread this name out across the world.
The first sandwich (just without the name) probably dates from the 1st Century BCE which was essentially a lamb and herb flatbread, though some people say the medieval trencher was the first British sandwich. It wasn’t really a sandwich though, just hard bread that had soaked up meat juices that was given to the servants to eat. I mean it's not the worst thing, but it's no fish finger on white sliced.
Since the sandwich got its own name for itself courtesy of our busy Earl the fortunes of the sandwich have risen and fallen. They have been stuffed full of extravagant fillings at balls, served in their original style in the men only coffee houses of London and, made the lives of people who have to make cricket teas miserable and become the ultimate comfort food at every British occasion from Christening to Funeral even if the comfort was derived from their avoidance or in the making. As Victoria Wood once said in a phrase which may sum up British society: ‘If a man dies in this country, the widow just drags herself into the kitchen and says "Seventy-two baps Connie. You slice, I'll spread." They have also been our office desk snack of choice since M&S launched the pre-packaged sandwich in 1980.
There is so much more to say but you probably all feel a little like a snooze now so I’ll provide you with a bit of joyous bread folklore and a fabulous Scottish folktale about a clever woman and excellent baker which is frankly the closest I can get to a sandwich theme.
This piece of folklore is Welsh and suggests that if you had an excellent bread rising day despite cold or damp weather, it meant that you were loved and that love can make the coldest dough rise with joy. Bread folklore is fascinating and is often centered around protecting houses from fire as well as matchmaking but there is also some particular bawdy folklore around cockle-bread. Probably best if you don’t look it up at work but suffice it to say that the Channel 4 programme where the woman mixes bread with her feet won’t be the strangest thing you’ve ever seen about bread kneading afterwards.
This story that follows is suitable for most audiences however, so I will spare the rest of your blushes:
There was once a woman who made the best bread and the best cake in three counties. She could have charged a fortune for her baked goods but she was kind and only charged what people could afford. Word got around and even the fae folk had heard about her wonderful baking but because it was so good there was never anything left to steal. Now on one fine Saturday the bakerwoman was asked to leave her husband and baby to come and bake cakes for the princess as it was her wedding and she wanted her marriage to start blessed with the lightest of cakes.
The day had gone very well and the bakerwoman set off on her way home but she was so tired she forgot put on her cloak inside out to protect herself as she walked through Faery Glen on her way home and anyone watching from could have seen her walk in to Faery Glen but they would never have seen her leave, no matter how hard they looked.
As the hours wore on her husband began to worry and the baby began to get hungry but still no sign of his wife but as time went on strange things began to happen ….
We must now return to the clever baker herself who woke from a short sleep to find herself in the land under the hill surrounded by the Fae folk and their King.
“You make cake for earthly royalty” he said, “now make cake for me forever!”
Now the baker was as clever with her wits as she was with her hands so she knew how to respond: “Of course, your kingship” she said. “I’ll get started straight away, would an apple & caraway cake suit your royalness?
His face was lit up with happiness so it appeared in would and the King strolled off to have a short sleep to really work up an appetite for his favourite cake.
“Right,” said the woman to the small crowd of fae left around her who she assumed were her kitchen assistants. “I didn’t like to mention it to his kingship but I don’t have any supplies with me, so I may need to send you for some things”
It seemed as though the talented baker had developed a terrible memory in the last few hours. As soon as the assistants got back from bringing eggs, she remembered flour and then she remembered sugar, and then apples and then butter, and then finally, spices.
She looked around her and asked for bowls which it turned out the fae folk did not own so the baker sent them off to her cottage to collect them. When they returned she asked where they kept the measures and spoons and it turned out, surprisingly, that they didn’t have those so off they went again. When they returned the baker started to prepare her mix but suddenly stopped explaining that she just couldn’t make a proper cake without the sound of the cat purring so off the fae folk went again to collect the cat. It turned out that she needed the sound of the dog snoring too or the cake just wouldn’t work. So off they went to fetch the dog.
Now the small fae folk were getting increasingly dispirited and it seemed to pass to the trapped baker too because she announced that it was just no good, she couldn’t measure when she was so worried about her baby boy. The fae folk returned to the cottage and took her swaddled son. At this point the bakers husband had reached the end of his patience. He had seen things disappearing almost in front of him for what seemed like hours, his wife was missing and now he could see his son disappearing into the distance so he grabbed his cap and chased after him, grabbing his blankets at the last minute and found himself pulled under the hill to a kitchen where it seemed that his whole household was assembled.
“Ah, there you are, dear husband, I can get started now” but the fae folk didn’t see her step back gently catching the cat’s long tail. ‘Miiiiiooooooooooow’ howled the unhurt but loud outsized kitten at the top of his loudest voice and smacked the sleeping dog on his snout with his claws out, who jumped up, barking at his loudest volume. The baby, already hungry started to scream out his unhappiness with the cat howling along for luck. The fae folk crawled away with their hands over their ears as the baker’s husband began to shout for assistance, setting the dog off again. The Fae King came running just as the baker shouted above the ever increasing din for an oven to bake the now mixed cake in.
He stood there shaking his head, they didn’t have an oven, no-one had thought of it. The baker suggested that she could go home, bake the cake and then bring it back. The King just stood there, he couldn’t hear himself think and his people were exhausted. He got a whiff of baby who was expressing his unhappiness in all the ways possible to him and he decided right then and there that no cakes were worth this chaos and noise.
He told the baker to take her belongings and household home and stood there in a thoroughly dejected manner. The baker couldn't help herself and she was so relieved that her plan had worked so well that she offered to bake the cake and leave it out for the King’s people to collect and promised to do the same every week.
The bakers household returned home with pets trailing after them and the cake was duly baked in their warm, peaceful home with purring cat, snoring dog and sleeping baby.
She kept her promise and as long anyone could remember, the baker and her family were blessed with good luck and a weekly gold piece in thanks from the King of the Fae folk who didn’t like to be indebted to anyone. However the baker never forgot to wear at least one item of her clothing inside out, just in case.
Now before I leave you for another week, we must look at our remedy & recipe. Our remedy or actually remedies for fever are from The English Housewife by Gervase Markham from 1631. I can’t imagine they are specially effective but almond milk is nice at least. The warm treacly ale on the other hand isn’t super appealing and rubbing herbs on your wrists is not proven to do anything except make your wrists green. As always don’t use remedies from 1631 without actual qualified medical advice.
I fancy Aunty Mary’s Pudding from The Practice of Cookery from Mrs Dalgairns printed in 1830, it sounds delicious yet frugal. I actually had an Aunty Mary, well a Great Aunty Mary in fact. She was a wonderful woman, she didn’t actually make pudding but she could always put her hands on a Mint Vienetta. She also made excellent tinned salmon triangle sandwiches, served with sliced cucumbers in vinegar.
With that, Gentle Reader, I must bring this letter to a close. Please don’t hesitate to get in touch via the comments or via any of my social media profiles/my website . If you have enjoyed this and would like to read further such nonsense and have not yet subscribed, please don’t hesitate to subscribe for free at the button below. You’d be very welcome and it would be a joy to write to you.