Review: The Christmas Sproutwich
Words by Ben Smoke
Illustration by Kay Ogundimu
Our digital editor gets his mouth around evil in sandwich form, and is surprised by what he finds.
I spent my formative years bouncing around Church of England and Catholic educational facilities (though that’s a story for another sandwich). We were taught about the unequivocal existence of good and evil. Of right and wrong. The light and the dark. For me, that spiritual determinism, if you will, has a very definitive ecclesiastical shade to it. The light of the lord is infinite, my teachers would tell me, blocked only by the horned shadow of Lucifer. It is here, in Asmodeun darkness, that the devil's playthings are dreamt up.
It is within the context of this unnecessarily complicated theological tapestry that we must arrive at the notion of Deliveroo’s Christmas Sproutwich.
The Brussels Sprout is widely, and correctly, derided. According to a survey by Onepoll 51% of people think sprouts are the worst part of the traditional festive meal - the other 49% clearly did not understand the question. 35% of those surveyed say they actively hate sprouts (with 31% of respondents - clearly perverts - allegedly ‘loving’ them). Approximately 1.5 million Brits claim to have a phobia of them.
The existence then, of a sprout themed - nay, a sprout led sandwich - must surely be the work of Beelzebub. Of course, this confection, manufactured by a collection of people who have not allowed the gospel of the lord and saviour Jesus Christ into their hearts, is a molten form of evil. A product of darkness. An inherent wrong.
And yet…
“My tastebuds were overwhelmed by the cold, gelatinous chicken gravy that coated them – like a frozen hen had sneezed in my mouth.”
On a cold November lunchtime last week I found myself striding up and down the streets outside Sandwich HQ, phone in hand, and quickly firing off texts to person set to deliver this abomination. “Just coming down now”, “Can’t see you?”, “Oh you mean on the corner?” Eventually completing the world’s worst pick up, I took the steps back up to the office two at a time, clutching three boxes of the goods.
The Christmas Sproutwich, consists of six different sprout-infused ingredients. A green sprout infused focaccia, garlic sprout mayo, sprout stuffing, roasted sprout halves, sprout shavings and sprout leaves. Throw in some maple bacon, Emmental cheese and a side of Chicken Gravy and there you have it. The devil’s spawn.
I haphazardly unwrapped the sandwich with one hand as I tried to film an unboxing video at the same time (which is much harder than it looks). Before long, it sat before me in all its salacious, sinful glory. I threw the gravy over the Sandwich – in these situations one must go all in – brought it up to my mouth and took a bite.
There is an argument to be made that I should have potentially read the packaging – particularly the section on needing to heat up the gravy prior to administering it. My first run at the Sandwich was marred by this error. My tastebuds were overwhelmed by the cold, gelatinous chicken gravy that coated them – like a frozen hen had sneezed in my mouth.
As I masticated through the pain (whomst amongst us!) I realised my error and took the abomination to the microwave.
I said at the beginning of this vital piece of service journalism that I spent much of my childhood being instilled with the virtue of definitive good and bad. Some things are right, some things are wrong – there’s little to no in between. As I’ve grown up, I’m sure like many of us, I’ve come to know the infinite shades of the in between. The grey area where we live most of our lives. I came to this sandwich forgetting that reality. In many ways, the guttural revulsion I feel towards sprouts transported me back to that simpler time, when right was right, and wrong was wrong, and the only thing to worry about was my mum not letting me get down from the table until I’d finished these green spheres of festive malevolence..
As my mouth opened around a second bite of the Sproutwich, now steaming with newly applied microwave heat, I was jerked back to the present. The sprout focaccia bounced against my teeth as I bit down. With every chew, a new delicious flavour presented itself. The smokiness of the bacon balancing out the bittered roast sprouts, the nutty butteriness of the emmental wrapping it all up in a warm, nostalgic parcel.
The Sproutwich is a perverse triumph. Each bite a festive present from the past - if every Christmas you’d ever had was a hallmark one. The rich balance of seasonal flavours transformed the sprout from feral, bushy eyebrowed outlier to the belle of the Christmas ball. The takeaway this winter season it transpires, is that nothing is as it seems, evil does not exist and sprouts are good now.
So with that in mind, if you’re looking for something to get you through this first week of festive fervour, as you dream of morning baileys and afternoon naps in front of the TV, there’s little better to get you in the mood, and satiate your hunger than the Sproutwich.
Merry Christmas!
The Christmas Sproutwich is available to order from Deliveroo Editions in London, Manchester, Glasgow and Bristol from 6th to 8th December for 99p.
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