The tuna melt has had a busy 2020. In May, Bloomberg reported that Reddit had recorded a 30% surge in mentions for the melt over lockdown, during which the Virginia senator Mark “Two Slice Man” Warner went viral with his Instagram tuna melt tutorial. As Bloomberg put it of the melt’s apparent Stateside work-from-home renaissance: “One of the world’s great sandwiches is making a comeback.”
Warner’s “soon-to-be-world-famous” method certainly made global headlines – but bizarre ones. His monstrous concoction of half-drained tuna hastily mashed into dollops of mayo on untoasted bread, then microwaved, was, observers finally concluded, a deliberate wind-up (“I can’t get my wife and kids to eat these any more!”) to publicise a public health message about regular hand-washing. But that did not stop Warner’s Democratic colleague Kamala Harris from replying with her own guidance. Yes, the woman aiming to be vice-president of the United States of America found time to school the world in the ways of the tuna melt. How to Eat is not making this up. This is not a fever dream. It happened.
In fairness, there is a lot to iron out. Not least what the tuna melt is. Many Americans labour under the misapprehension that it can be either an enclosed sandwich (grilled cheese with added tuna) or an open sandwich, whereas How to Eat (HTE) is confident Britain will join it in definitively declaring the tuna melt an open grilled sandwich. Not a pan-fried two slicer. Not a toastie.
Unless you achieve a tarpaulin-tight coverage of cheese, trying to contain tuna mix between two slices of toast is asking for spillage. Plus, using two slices creates thickness issues. Too thick and those slices will muffle the filling, whereas when sliced to optimal thinness they form an unstable, flimsy sandwich. Instead, use one sturdy platform.
For many years, HTE was ambivalent about, dismissive even, of the tuna melt. Like any simple meal, it is easily ruined. Every precisely executed element must justify its inclusion. But how, you ask? Read on.
The tinned tuna hierarchy
You would not waste pricey Ortiz ventresca fillets here (save that rich, velvety flesh for a five-star salad), but there is a mainstream tinned tuna hierarchy that, if respected, will elevate any sandwich. It is not a middle-class foodie myth. For 10p to 20p-a-can extra, tuna in olive oil is the tastiest option. Sunflower oil is OK. But once we get down to tuna in brine or spring water – no cheaper than sunflower oil – we’re talking tuna that frequently seems to have leached all flavour into the canning liquid, a preservation medium that turns tuna flesh into disintegrating pap. It’s like chewing paper.
Tuna mix
Essentially, there are two kinds of mayo-bound tuna sandwich filling. The first is the tuna crunch, wherein grated carrot, celery, cucumber and a sole spiky outlier, spring or red onion, combine to a produce a fresh, texturally varied mix. The second is what HTE calls tuna acieeeeeeed, where – instead of dancing in a disused mill in Blackburn – you get buck wild with finely chopped gherkins, capers, pickled hot guindillas, brined green olives and onion. Aim for a rough 60:40 split of tuna to acidic ingredients.
In a melt, acieeeeeeed is the way to go. You need that low pH action to offset, punctuate and cut through all that mayo and melted cheese oiliness. Some mavericks argue against using mayo. They are wrong. Greasiness is central to the smeary, slippery-fingered, beard-lubricating pleasure of a tuna melt. Without mayo, the mix will feel dry, mealy and unnatural beneath hot cheese. Think of the mayo as the oily interface through which the cheese and tuna communicate, interlock and discover their umami synergy.
Season well, too. A discernible saline twang tightens and brightens the whole gig.
Unacceptable extras
Ordinarily, HTE defers to singer-turned-pro-cook Kelis in all things. If you want to learn how to leverage quality milkshake to drive footfall at a venue or cathartically vent your anger, she is a beacon of wisdom. But, sadly, her advice goes awry when she suggests adding dried apple, raisins or cranberries to a tuna melt, recklessly crossing the sweet-savoury streams. The less said about her pistachio tips, the better.
Likewise, step away from the sweetcorn or bell pepper. You should enjoy a tuna melt. It is not a penance for unnamed sins past. Lettuce and other leaves are verboten, too: a vegetal layer of drudgery, here.
Heat from any source – fresh chillies, mustard, hot sauce – is unnecessary (as are bass-boosters such as soy or Worcestershire sauce). These additions tend to dominate, as can lemon juice or vinegars, which tend to sit at one remove to the tuna mix if added directly, rather than smoothly amalgamating with it as they do if smuggled in on gherkins or such.
Sides
The tuna melt is a complete meal: one partially encased in carbs and, simultaneously, a tuna salad without lettuce. Side salad and/or chips would be overkill.
Cheese … or the case for mature cheddar
No soft cheeses, obviously; no blue – it is hideous warm; no smoked cheese; no plastic red Leicester or ultra-stringy mozzarella which, for all their meltability, taste of too little to contribute; no apricot or cranberry-studded cheeses (oh Wensleydale, what have they done to you?); no “American cheese” slices, which are like glue in certain situations, this being one of them; no slow-to-yield, semi-resistant melters such as manchego.
Often touted as an option, parmesan has a specific, highly savoury flavour when grilled that is overbearing on a tuna melt. It is also difficult to melt parmesan in anything but a thin veneer. On a tuna melt you want a blanket of cheese, a thick layer that is food’s equivalent of wrapping yourself up in a 13-tog duvet. Gruyère and gouda deliver in that regard, but HTE always comes back to mature cheddar as the definitive tuna melt cheese. It offers clarity and depth of differentiated but complementary flavour and it takes on radically different forms when melted: deliciously browned at its thinnest, then lusciously molten, and, at its thickest, clinging fudge-like to its hard cheese status.
Note: do not mix cheese through the tuna or put any underneath. It won’t soften, yer dozy melt.
Bread
Broadly, which bread matters less than how thick it is. The bread’s key function is to act as a delivery mechanism (particularly if eating with your fingers) and a texture. If it adds peripheral flavour, cool (rustic seeded/ brown variations, a serious sourdough boule), but none of that will matter if it is indigestibly thick, so thin it cannot support the topping or even after toasting – it must be toasted – absorbs too much juice and becomes soggy. Crispness is essential.
Ideally, your topping would have a depth of around 2cm to 3cm, with the bread adding another 1cm to 1.5cm; 4.5cm is the limit of what even the biggest gob can accommodate. If your bread cannot carry that load, adjust accordingly. The ratio should remain at least 2:1 topping to bread. You want three contrasting layers: drier toast, wetter but still chunky tuna mayo (overly sloppy, pourable tuna mix is disgusting), and then, on top, glistening, bronzed cheese. Think Ray Winstone in Sexy Beast.
Note: do not take HTE’s bread licence to ridiculous extremes. Plainly, it is impossible to bite cleanly through toasted baguette. Brioche is too sweet and anything on the English muffin/burger bun axis too woolly and porous.
When
The tuna melt sounds like the ultimate drunk food but it is a faff at 3am. Embark on this in your cups and you are likely to be woken by the fire alarm as your panicked head jerks up from an undignified pool of drool on a kitchen worktop. Have some cereal. The fire brigade are busy enough. Instead, opt for a tuna melt on evenings when, exhausted, you need to comfort yourself in carbs, moisturise your weary soul with grease and perk yourself up with pointed acidity, but without particularly exerting yourself in the kitchen.
Note: if you have two slices rather than one (why wouldn’t you?), the tuna melt can be surprisingly filling. You need time and sofa space to lean into that lethargy. Do not operate heavy machinery.
Where and equipment
On the sofa, preferably. Build your melt on thick enough bread and its structural integrity should be such that if you cut each slice in half, you will be able to happily eat it with your fingers. You might need to pick-up some debris but that is why God invented mouths, saliva and kitchen roll. Is it a “refined” way to eat? No. Do you care? Hopefully not.
The alternative is going full knife and fork. That may be dictated by the available bread. A thin slice requires cutlery. It will be too limp to lift. But please eat at the kitchen table or from a small, occasional one. It is physically impossible to comfortably eat anything using cutlery from a tray in your lap. Ignore the hypnotic advertising of Big Homeware and the lies of the Kitchen-Industrial Complex – a serving tray ruins any meal.
Drink
There is a brilliantly snooty aside in this Guardian obit about 1960s Americans seeming “content to live on tuna melt … washed down by Coke”, but that sounds spot-on to HTE. Carbonation is correct when this much grease is in play, although HTE would prefer the dry intervention of a good pilsner or a moderately hoppy pale ale over fizzy pop. Instead of still wine, go for a clean, zippy knockabout glass of brut cava, txakoli or effervescent vinho verde.
So, tuna melt, how do you eat yours?
