The nine best sandwiches in London, tried, tested and digested

John Montagu, the 4th Earl of Sandwich, was a man of dedication. So loyal was he to his card table that sometime in the 1760s he supposedly asked for meat between bread so he could eat without abandoning the game. Nice to have the right priorities.

Whether true or not hardly matters: asking for ‘a Sandwich’ stuck, and by the late 18th century Britain had claimed it. Victorian high society elevated sandwiches to an art, deploying them as the new fad of the time, afternoon tea: cucumber, crustless, dainty. Post-war gave them grim times — limp triangles going quietly stale in cling film — but the last few years have seen a renaissance. Bakeries are in now; sarnie shops have queues. Service stations up and down the country must be wondering what they missed out on.

While Britain may have given it its English name, eating something between two bits of bread has been done for centuries across the globe. London's scene reflects this: an Italian sandwich can be eaten in almost any neighbourhood; Little Portugal, in the south west, serves bifana; the Edgware Road offers everything from Turkish to Cajun cooking.

What makes a good one? Max Halley's sandwich philosophy, honed at his Crouch Hill shop, is simple: hot, cold, sweet, sour, crunchy, soft in every bite. I'm not as zealous about every bite requiring both hot and cold, but on everything else, I think the man is right. Sandwiches are made or broken by their texture.

Here are nine favourites.

Where? Earl’s, Leytonstone

What? Aubergine parma-gannush

Is the water different in Leytonstone? E11 is becoming known for its sandwiches, and those this way for Earl’s should call in at the Coven of Wiches too. Vegan, but don’t let that put you off. Earl’s is disarming; no one expects sandwiches this distinctively good in a park café.

Found in Cann Hall park, someone here evidently takes a gleeful pride in inventiveness: sandwiches include the butter chicken salad, and an egg number stuffed with rice crispies. But it’s the madcap blend of aubergine parmigiana and tahini that stands out, crammed between two doorstops of focaccia, and smothered with sumac, paprika and tomato sauce.

Where? All’Antico Vinaio, Soho

What? Giglio

Though it is arguably the most famous sandwich shop in the world, you do not need to have visited the Florentine original to understand its appeal here (and indeed, if there, I Fratellini is arguably the wiser choice). Any order works, because all come in schiacciata, the slender Italian bread that is pillowy on its inside but with a shell that is shatteringly crisp.

The giglio is mighty, not a snack, but a meal, one that warms thanks to the cooked ham, and satisfies thanks to smoked provola and potato cream. Just ask them to go easy with the truffle; the flavour is heaven in small doses, but taxing after a time.

Where? Café Mondo, Camberwell

What? Patty melt

The proper time to get a sandwich here is in the day, when that’s all it serves (the fish finger riff is, unsurprisingly, a smash). But in the evenings, when it becomes an eccentric kind of bistro, Mondo lays on a patty melt. It is sliced and neatly served, a sandwich that’s also a burger, and messy with cheese. It is a cheerfully uninhibited invention: as though someone wanted a cheese toastie and a Big Mac all in one, and so did exactly that.

Where? Piggy’s, Mayfair

What? Tuscan

Piggy’s is found not far from Bentley’s and so sometimes one finds Richard Corrigan browsing here. Quite the endorsement. This is a sandwich bar of the old kind, where the staff stand with expectant eyes in front of different breads and fillings, waiting for customers to pick bits of this and that. But there are set offerings too, and the Tuscan (mozzarella, avocado, sun-dried tomatoes and black olive tapenade) is especially good; the tapenade is a good foil for the tomatoes, stopping them from overpowering things, and the avocado keeps things moist. Those not in Piccadilly, but in the City will find a similar experience at the excellent Café Verona by Moorgate, or famous Dilieto on Fleet Street.

Where? Panadera, Marylebone

What? Corned beef hash

This stylish Filipino bakery is known for using pandesal, a sweet, soft milk bread that’s normally found as a roll but here is sliced sando-style and toasted. The most famous of Panadera’s fillings is the corned beef hash, which uses rich, homemade corned beef (actually shredded brisket), potato for texture, a little béchamel sauce, some garlic aioli and a tangy, acidic ketchup made with calamansi. It is a joy; Filipinos have corned beef for breakfast, but this would be best for a big lunch, perhaps in a pub with a glass of red.

Where? Sunsnacks Cafe, Edgware Road

What? Bacon and black pudding

The breakfast sandwich is not to be underestimated. Sunsnacks is an unassuming greasy spoon, but a very good one. Its bacon sandwich is exactly as it should be — cheap white bread, a splodge of butter, fat on the meat as brown as autumn leaves — but can be improved with the addition of black pudding on request. Builders tea is a must, of course.

Where? Max’s Sandwich Shop, Finsbury Park

What? Ham, egg and chips

Can a sandwich be famous? This one is. Max’s Sandwich Shop helped promote sandwiches as a proper going concern, in many ways reviving them (would there be queues for the Chatsworth Bakehouse with Max’s? Unlikely). This started it all off, and adheres most strictly to owner Max Halley’s ‘secret of delicious’, mentioned above.

The ham is cooked in its own stock for flavour, while the shoestring fries are comically crunchy, a perfect bite, especially with the gooey egg yolk. But the best bit? The sharp, mustardy piccalilli, cooked for hours, combining onions, broccoli, apple, mango and countless spices. Max tends to have his with a pint of cloudy cider.

Where? Johnny Schnitzel, Islington

What? Johnny schnitzel special

This tiny place — with its blackboards and wine racks and handwritten everything — is a cracker. On the backstreets of Angel, it’s famous for its schnitzel sandwiches, where the breaded chicken can be partnered with most typical deli ingredients (various cheeses, salad items, hams and bacon).

The special is in fact simple: the schnitzel, homemade coleslaw, melted cheese, lettuce and mayonnaise, on olive-topped focaccia. It is the quality of that schnitzel that stands out; the crunch of the crumbs, the tender chicken artfully cooked and juicy. An alternative of sorts can be found with the chicken escalope sandwich at Peckham’s Crossroads Cafe, or the ‘Big Bang’ at E Pellicci, which takes the fried chicken and partners it with a spoonful of ragu. As one does.

Where? Lò Bánh Mì, Borough

What? Old Quarter Bánh Mì

Bánh mì of all kinds could fill an entirely new article of this sort. These Vietnamese sandwiches, served in baguettes, have rightly become hugely popular in London in the past couple of years. This one is an elegant template of how they are at their best.

The signature of this Borough sandwich counter, the ‘Old Quarter’ is built around marinated pork belly char sui and Vietnamese ham — they offer different, though not opposing, textures — with the sweetness of mayonnaise and shallots balanced by sharp pickle and chilli spice. But it is the chicken liver pâté, spread on the underside of the toasted baguette, heavy with garlic, that makes this one. It brings it together in a way that seems to provoke gluttony, the need to bolt it down in one.