These first sandwiches have nothing whatsoever to do with Turkey but rather reflect the Edwardian fondness for supposed exotica. From the eccentric and whimsical Edwardian Glamour Cooking Without Tears (London 1960).
You will not quite follow these minimalist instructions: Use a food processor instead of a mortar and pestle, unless you adore intensive and unnecessary kitchen labor.
“Pound hard-boiled eggs, anchovies, peeled shrimps, with butter in the mortar. Season with salt and pepper and made mustard. Bind with mayonnaise.” (Glamour 56)
- The citation typifies Blakeston’s sandwich ‘recipes’ in its absence of guidance. The Editor suggests a single anchovy, egg and Tablespoon of unsalted butter for each half cup of shrimp. The amount of ‘made,’ or prepared mustard will vary depending on how robust a selection you make. We like a generous teaspoon of Colman’s for the heat. You will need very little mayonnaise.
- The Turkish sandwich also typifies traditional English practice, which made lavish use of hard boiled eggs for all kinds of sandwich combinations and also seasoned many of them with anchovy.
- Like Florence A. Cowles and Hilda Leyel, whose sandwiches have provoked discussion elsewhere in both the practical and the critical, Blakeston likes his sardine butter, in his case taking a classic savory, the sefton, and converting it to a sandwich. He blitzes “sardines with butter and an equal amount of cheese,” seasons the paste with salt (go easy) and pepper (be rash) and then evens it out with a little mayonnaise. For the cheese the Editor suggests something sharp.
- In another combination redolent of a classic savory, Mrs. Cowles does the same thing with anchovy instead of sardine and specifies Parmesan.
- What could be more glamourous than a princess? It provides the fitting name for a good simple sandwich spread. To make Blakeston’s princess sandwiches, the Editor combines equal amounts of cooked chicken and ham with about half the volume of grated sharp Cheddar, a quarter the volume of hard boiled egg yolk and as much mustard as you like. Pulverize the mixture, check the seasoning and then thin it to a spreadable consistency with a little cream. You may want to give the processor another whirl. The Editor prefers crème fraiche, not, along with any proportions here either, mentioned by Blakeston. A little Worcestershire, not part of the original campaign for glamour, will do no harm.