In celebration of sandwich week, we look at the humble snack, which originated in Britain and has travelled widely in a quest for improvement. What's the world's best?

The people at Word of Mouth, knowing how I really, really like stuff between bread, have asked me to share my thoughts and feelings on the fact that it is apparently sandwich week, so that we may all rejoice in celebrating the humble snack.

Like so many other things, the sandwich has its roots in Britain and like so many things, we have sent it out into the world for others to do better than us.

I have travelled the world in search of great food, for my book Eat My Globe, (available to buy here, since you're asking) and have been gladly treated to an array of portable snacks that lifted a palate jaded by hundreds of meals.



In Sicily, one of the last stops on the trip, I found myself by a small harbourside cafe eating a Pani Ca Meusa, an extraordinary sandwich of offal simmered in lard, served on a soft roll, sprinkled with salt and doused with lemon juice. The sandwich is served "single" with just calf spleen or "married" to a few slices of lung meat and is easily one of the best things I have ever eaten.

Likewise in Istanbul, as I strolled at sunset by the restaurants under the Galata Bridge, I was cajoled by fisherman into trying a Balik Ekmek, literally "fish in bread" which is this case was fresh mackerel grilled and served on a crunchy roll with raw onions to cut through the oiliness of the fish. Superb.

In India, at Bade Miyan, a famous street stall behind the blighted Taj Hotel, I stood for two hours working my way through the menu of roti and paratha stuffed with spicy vegetables, chicken, fish and mutton. In Mexico, I made sure that every breakfast consisted of soft flour tortilla filled with slivers of crispy goat meat or strips of deep fried tripe enlivened by fiery salsas and lots of lime juice.

All memorable, but if you are looking for the best "stuff between bread" you have to turn towards the good old US of A where the sandwich has been taken to a high artform. The pastrami sandwich at Katz's Deli, stuffed to bursting with brined and smoked beef, served with a sour pickle. The "make it yourself" brisket sandwich at Kreuz Market, Lockhart, Texas, the barbecue capital of the world, where slices of plain white bread are merely a vehicle to transport the smoky meat from plate to lips. And, perhaps, best of all, the Po'Boy sandwich of New Orleans, filled with deep fried oysters, catfish or shrimp, laced with a dressing and washed down with the rather disgusting root beer.

None of this is to say that we Brits can't keep our end up even though we still seem to be enthralled with supposedly "gourmet" outlets where the sandwiches cost a small fortune, contain lists of ingredients longer than the credits of Star Wars and yet all seemingly manage to taste the same. Last week, for the first time in years, I made a fish finger sandwich. I had forgotten how good they could be, thick white bread, good butter, ketchup on the top, mayo on the bottom and five, yes count 'em, five crispy little strips of 100% pure cod.

Finally, last night, I opened up a packet of bacon from Denhay Farm and made the finest sandwich of all, the bacon butty with strips of crisp, smoked back with crunchy fat, bubbling juices into the bread and brown sauce.

So, I am keen to hear about the best and worst sandwiches you may have encountered on your travels or at home and, indeed, about your own secret sandwich shame, the stuff you slam between bread when no one's looking.