Soup and a sandwich is a repast I find extraordinarily satisfying, seeming to tick all the boxes upon my appetites somewhat finickity listing. Was a time I claimed to be able to dine on any edibles available, how that particular fowl has flown. My supposed iron gut has become quite precocious, exploring menus like a very particular virgin in a Roman slave market, only admiring the prettiest chaps, that seem to offer unlimited satisfaction with their already semi visible well packed ingredients.
From choice I prefer meaty broth to vegetable, although conversely find that French onion soup manages to deliver a gravy like substance without the need for added animal fat, a decided win win for we of the enforced healthy heart club. The sandwich, following the Earls well documented example is substantially simple, just slabs of good bread wrapped around a product that is capable of being singularly delicious, but also enjoys additional benefits when allowed to dip and absorb.
Today I chose bully beef, corned beef to my American friends, a wonderous substance that is both extremely tasty, nutritious, and quite easily pressed between two slices of bread and butter, needing only the slightest touch of mustard to be beyond heavenly.
The infamous Earl himself was inclined to eat whilst gaming segments of lamb, fresh from the spit, dripping with goodness, nay decadence, causing his laundry maid no end of difficulties with the goo that descended with great abandon to the pristine white linens of his flamboyantly ruffled shirts. John Montague, fourth Earl of Sandwich, warms my heart for three outstanding reasons, the eponymous to go meal quite naturally, his lifelong devotion to the playing and support of the gentlemanly game of Cricket, and his quite open membership of the Hellfire club, a social connection that suggests a depth of character, joie de vivre, and general wildness quite beyond the norm for his time period.
Why is it that sandwich and soup always makes me yearn for custard? Answers on a picture postcard, please.