Epic Sandwiches

Good morning world, and what a fantastic day it is too! Well, it’s Monday, it’s sunny, and my legs are sore after having cycled to work for the first time since October. Had people actually told me how hilly South East London is, I may well have been against the idea of moving there in the first place. Still, despite the hills, the ride in was a lot less hairy than the old Wanstead – London route which was, in the main, hell. Anyhow, it turns out that the new bicycle is just as fast as the old one, albeit a tad stiffer and the saddle appears to me made out of a razor blade. I’ve sidetracked myself a bit here, forgetting that this is supposed to be a food blog. So. Let’s talk food, shall we?

This weekend, despite a trip to Borough Market for inspiration on Friday, didn't entail much cooking at all. The market was too busy and there wasn't enough there to really light me on fire, and besides, I knew that I was out for ribs on Saturday night. And so on Friday I reduced myself to whipping up a Spaghetti Bolognese with Mrs Viking (sometimes, comfort food is all you need), and on Saturday I found myself fasting in preparation for ribs. Sunday, perhaps because of Saturday’s excess, was mainly spent on the sofa looking at the rowing machine and clutching the paunch of my belly. Hence why I was so desperate to cycle to work this morning, I suppose.

Still, as so little cooking was done by me, I needed to find something to write about. And so for this, my first recipe, I present to you something that I came across quite by accident at the beginning of January. During idle conversation at work we found that Ruth Reichl had bought a team of food critics to London back in 2005 to eat at and review some of the Capitals best restaurants. It was during this trip that Ruth herself found the “platonic ideal of a cheese sandwich” in Borough Market (costing £3, made by Bill Oglethorpe at the Neal’s Yard Dairy – you can read more about that here). Well, Borough Market (as I've hinted at already) is close by, and I was determined to track down and eat this sandwich, so I began googling like a mad thing for it.

I am ashamed to say that I almost immediately forgot about Bill’s wonder sandwich when I came upon the trail of a true wonder, a veritable giant of sandwiches. Now, the whole point of this here blog is to talk about food fit for a Viking. Big, tasty, easy and above all impressive. This sandwich could probably sink Ark Royal if aimed with any appreciable accuracy – which I think we’ll all agree would be impressive, if not tasty and easy. As soon as I saw this, this giant, I knew that I had to have her. It. I mean it. It was hunger at first sight. I’m talking about a wonder invention that goes by the name of the Shooter’s Sandwich.

“What,” I hear you cry, frustrated at not knowing what this mighty sandwich is “is a Shooter’s Sandwich?” Well, it’s one of those delightfully British inventions. As if you needed telling, this was a sandwich that was created in Edwardian times for gentlemen who went shooting – perhaps best described as a Wellington-inna-bun, it was something cook could make the night before a big hunting trip for the Lord of the Manor to eat just after he’d shot his servant, or whatever his target was that day. Nowadays, very few of us have either a) a cook or b) time to go hunting – so this sandwich exists entirely for pleasure. Let’s have a look at the finished product, shall we?

Now then, tell me you don’t want to just dive in to that straight away? If you don’t, I hate to tell you, but you’ve probably got no soul. Get thee behind me, Satan! Should you not be one of hell’s minions, here’s how to make the best sandwich you will ever, ever have eaten. You will need some stuff. Stuff that looks like this:

"Put us in a great big sandwich, it's what we would have wanted."

That is – a couple of nice, juicy steaks. I went for rib-eye, for two reasons – 1) it’s the best and 2) the recipe called for it in the first place. You’ll also need 500g of Mushrooms, 200g of Shallots, Worcester Sauce, a shot of Brandy and salt and pepper. You’ll also want a good, crusty loaf, a little larger in size than your steaks:

As you can see, I’ve cut the top off and hollowed it out like a bowl. The hole should be just a little smaller than your biggest steak. At least, that way works best for me.

Let’s get started. Over a moderate heat, gently cook the shallots and mushrooms in 75g (or a good knob) of butter. While that’s going on, add two cloves of garlic. I crushed mine, but I reckon grated or finely chopped would do just as well. Then, chuck in a good wodge of Worcester Sauce, salt and pepper and your brandy if you’re feeling fruity. I know that I was. I suspect that a glug of red wine would do the trick too. I think if I did this again I might pep this mix up with a touch of Cayenne pepper. Cook until most of the moisture that has been released by the mushrooms has gone, you’re looking for a moist but not wet Wellington type mix.

Currently wet, soon to be moist...

Now things are really starting to hot up. Turn off the heat under the mushrooms for the moment, and on another hob get a griddle or a pan shimmering hot. Chuck in your steaks, and cook them to taste. I went for a nice medium (perhaps a touch medium-well), but I do think that rare would be too bloody and well done would be too tough.

Steaks, sizzling away and generally being gorgeous.

Once the steaks are cooked, or about half way through, get heat back under the mushrooms and get the last bit of moisture out:

So, the moisture has mostly gone and we're hot to trot.

And now, put the steaks to bed!

Don’t rest the steaks, unusual as it may seem – quickly get the first steak and press it in to the bread. You’ll have to use your fingers to help fold it in, so work quickly to avoid the steak getting cold and (more importantly) so you don’t burn your fingers. Once this is in place, spread the mushroom mixture over the top of the steak:

This is very nearly a sandwich of epic proportions...

Now, add the second steak – you may need to cut off a corner to get it in there (a chef’s treat!), but do try and press it in under the lips of the bread:

"So near... So near!"

And now, add the lid of the loaf. You could add some mustard and/or some horseradish – but as my wife hates mustard and I hate horseradish I left them out. However, you can add them later on to taste if you have people around who do like those things – like me with mustard.

The temptation you will most definitely have will be to tuck in to this bad boy right away, but I implore you not to. Instead, wrap in two layers of greaseproof (if you can tie it off with string then so much the better):

Like this...

And then two layers of tin foil:

Like that...

Now, find some weights. You might be big and tough and have dumbbells around the place, so get them. If you’re me, you have a drill and some Calvin and Hobbes books. Whatever you get, make sure it’s quite heavy, and then find a cool place out of sunlight but not the fridge. Then, do this:

Calvin & Hobbes books not essential.

And leave. Leave it! Leave for at least six hours or preferably overnight. Keep an eye on how much it presses down, this shouldn’t end up flat, you want a good couple of inches thickness, if not more. Once you’re ready to eat, unwrap the tin foil and cut straight through the greaseproof to the sandwich inside. Are you ready? I know we've seen it already, but it looks… Like this!

"OK, will you marry me?"

This comfortably fed 6 people, and goes absolutely brilliantly with a red that sits up and punches you in the face, perhaps a Malbec or a Merlot if you’re that way inclined. Otherwise, this is a fairly simple dish that yields impressive results, and really will put a smile on your diner’s faces. Since I've first made this, I've got a bit of a “Shooter’s Sandwich Club” going, where we’re sharing pictures and variations on the recipe. Why don’t you give it a go, and tell me how you got on? I must, at this point, give massive thanks to Tim Hayward at the Guardian for inspiring me to do this. Thanks, Tim.

So there we have it. The end of my first recipe blog. Please let me know what you think below, and if you have any requests or suggestions I’ll be happy to take them on board.

I am now, as I will ever be, The Viking. Let’s eat!

Let's Eat! Welcome to Viking Food.

So, then. You like food, eh? The Viking likes people who like food. Welcome!

You’ll probably want to know a little more about me before you decide to dedicate some time to this blog – and why wouldn’t you, you’re a busy internetter and there’s many other things you could be doing with your time. With that in mind, I’m not a chef. You might not even say I’m a cook. What I am, however, is a normal guy who likes normal things – chief among which is food. I like all kinds of food from posh nosh right the way down to dirty burgers. But what I love most – and I mean what I really love (and possibly even live for) – is simple food that packs in a whole ton of flavour. And if you can marry that with a lovely little number from the wine bucket… er, that is to say, bin, then that’s so much the better.

But I wasn’t always this way. Oh no. In years gone past, I had no real desire to cook, nor did I really care if what I was eating was actually any good. I always had good home cooking (but still, whose Mum or Gran isn’t the best cook they know?), but had never had any interest in learning how to cook a Yorkshire pudding. I blame a lot of this on the books that I was bought or were donated to me when I made the move to university – largely patronising, stagnant old things that praised nought but Spag Bol or a Jacket Potato.

And so it was that for most of my time at university I lived on crispy chicken sandwiches and take-aways.

But then I got a job on the bar in a fairly decent restaurant in West Yorkshire, where I met a group of people who were passionate about good food, and I was introduced to a world that I never knew existed. Of flavour and texture and smell and sight and oh god I’m dribbling.

I no longer work in the restaurant industry, and I have no qualifications in cooking at all, but I do know how to cook a little bit, which brings me to my next point:

Just what is the point of this blog?

Well. Just as I was once completely ignorant when it comes to food, I know there are a lot of people out there who want to cook, but are put off. Maybe you’ve been put off by a ‘sleb cook book using such helpful instructions as ‘cook’. Well, what if you don’t know how to cook, say, a chicken? How hot should my oven be? For how long should I cook it? How do I know when it’s cooked? What is the number of the local A&E should I cut my finger off with a knife? Or perhaps you’ve been put off by the fact that a lot of cooking can seem overcomplicated, and a faff. I’ll not lie, the amount of swearing that comes from my kitchen when I’m trying something new sends Mrs. Viking down to the local to get away from me – but you learn by doing, eh? That said, with a bit of careful planning, cooking something tasty, filling and cheap is easy. And, of course, if you’re cooking, you don’t have to wash up!

The point I’m trying to make is this – this is a blog for people who want to cook. It’s not a teaching guide, it’s not haute cuisine, it’s normal, hearty food for normal people. Some people might say it’s man food. But why should man food be just for me? I say it’s Viking food!

So, over the coming weeks and months and maybe even years, I’ll be sharing my favourite recipes with you. There might be the occasional restaurant review, and perhaps even hard-hitting interviews and guests. But let’s not run before we’re even walking.

Now then. Let’s eat!