
The English seaside came back into vogue this year with the collapse of the Pound against the Euro. Since Victorian times the English have enjoyed a stroll along the promenade and some seafood from a stall on the front.
Fewer and fewer seafood stalls exist, but you can still find a fair few in the West Country.
The King, Queen and Emperor all rolled into one of hedonistic delight has to be the Crab Sandwich.
A secret the English wish to keep to themselves, the best of the best, none of this Club rubbish. The fishy alternative to a packed salt beef or pastrami on rye and every bit as good if not 100% better.
Crusty light white bread that must be freshly baked. A smear, and it must be a smear, of salted butter followed by a second smear of home made mayonnaise that has been shown a pot of English mustard: Only the vaguest hint of mustard and no more.
The crab meat should come from a big Cock crab, roe just adulterates the taste, the crab must be freshly picked that day and should have been gently boiled in a proper Court Bouillon. The brown meat, just forked, is spread a quarter of an inch thick on one slice of bread, then heaped on top, no less than an inch thick, better if you can manage two, is just cooled white meat in big chunks from the claws, a squeeze from a large organic lemon and a pinch of cayenne to finish.
Greg Wallace would say food doesn't get better than this!













