Between 2003 and 2007, annual 'useless gadget' surveys were undertaken to find out which white goods were the biggest white elephants. What did most of us own but never use? Sandwich toasters were always either top of the list or hovering close – in 2006 45% of adults polled admitted to owning and not using one. Coincidentally, around that time I was indulging in an almost daily fix of toasted sandwiches courtesy of an Aga's simmering plate – a cookery demonstrator had shown me how and I was hopelessly hooked.
This won't impress those who agreed with Oliver Thring's recent anti-Aga rant, but Aga toasted sandwiches trump Aga toast by a long way – no mean feat considering Aga toast is the one thing that the machines' detractors agree is its saving grace. The sandwiches are made in the same way as you would for a sandwich toaster with the outside of the bread buttered to prevent sticking, then simply placed on the simmering plate (no need for the toast cage). The lid goes down and a few minutes and one flip later, voila! You will have before you a gently oozing, golden brown piece of toasted sandwich perfection.
Pre-Aga, I hadn't had to give much thought to the business of making toasted sandwiches, but when it went, I had major toastie withdrawals. Buying a sandwich toaster wasn't an option as I didn't even have counter space for a regular toaster. (In actual fact, I still don't – who decided toasters should multitask and poach eggs?) However, I spent many fruitless hours searching for a good toastie outside the house.
I found a wonderful place selling ham and cheese toasted croissants filled with béchamel, but it closed down. Most of the panini I tasted had anaemic, claggy bread and nondescript, fussy fillings, and while I quite like croque monsieurs, they just don't hold enough cheese for addicts like me. I had failed miserably in finding anything as good as those made on the Aga. I did come across this DIY method involving heating two heavy griddle pans but it just seemed like too much of a pallaver. So the search for a machine began.
I'd never owned a sandwich toaster, although my parents did for a while. When I asked them what had happened to it, my father remembered my brother had requisitioned it – it gathered as much dust with him as at my parents, proving that it's one thing persuading your mother to make something for you, it's quite another being faffed to do it yourself. The model was a Russell Hobbs a bit like this with indentations for making triangular sandwiches the edges of which are sealed and pressed together in the same way as the almost ubiquitous Breville above.
I was never very keen on those hermetically sealed offerings, largely due to the fillingless, slightly bitter ridge around each sandwich. The sealed sandwich maker can also only handle very limited amounts of filling, the quantities of which are tricky to get right - too little makes for a disappointing toastie, and any excess causes molten ooze to leak down the sides of the machine and into the hinges, congealing unpleasantly as it goes. Compounding the problem, the machines are also almost impossible to clean properly - even the new 'easy clean' versions aren't.
The other disadvantage is that you need to use a standard sized bread, because anything else just doesn't fit. Pretty useless to anyone who makes their own bread unless you either trim it to fit or invest in a Pullman loaf tin with a lid to prevent the bread from rising too much so you end up with perfectly square hospital corner slices.
Eventually, I discovered the Breville panini press courtesy of Jay Rayner's review of The Canton Arms. It is simplicity itself - no dials or buttons to mess around with, just two non-stick flat plates which can cope with just about any thickness. This means no sealing so my freeform sourdough works very well. Of course, this makes the possibilities endless, but I find myself sticking to the classic cheese toastie, albeit with the addition of tomato ketchup or Marmite.
It is going to have to do more work to justify its presence. There will be brie and bacon for my partner, and perhaps some anchovy toasts. What else? My preference is for simple pairings - strong cheese or meaty flavours with onion, pickles, mustard, salad cream (oh yes!) or even pesto - just not mayonnaise, toasted mayo is just wrong. Sweet fillings don't really have the same appeal, but an unbidden thought of something banoffee-ish sprang to mind - banana, chocolate chips and condensed milk on brioche, anyone?
Jay's Canton Arms experience with haggis toastie has made me realise I need to branch out, so what do you think? What flavours work in a toastie and what doesn't?
