"10 minutes of nirvana": 52 writers share the best sandwich they've ever had.

A Crab Stick and Taramasalata Baguette
I was young and carefree, living in Barons Court, west London, in the mid-90s. Chain shops weren’t a thing back then, and delis had sandwich fillings laid out in silver dishes, all uniform and clinical, inviting you to try something new. Russian salad and ham? Sure, why not. The pricing was odd: sometimes everything cost the same, other times you’d accidentally pick a premium ingredient and your sandwich would be £3.50. That’s how I discovered the crab stick and taramasalata baguette, after a financial disaster involving real crab. Crab sticks taste nothing like crab. In fact, they’re more delicious. So much better. And everything was so pink. My life felt like a fairytale.
Zoe Williams

A Vegetarian Christmas Focaccia
Christmas sandwiches can be pretty disappointing for vegetarians, but I still crave the one from Boca, a café in Glasgow. It’s a salty focaccia packed with mushroom and chestnut roast, apricot-glazed carrots and parsnips, cranberry and walnut agrodolce, sprout slaw, and the option to add thick slices of brie – which, of course, I did. Indulgent, Christmassy, and not a “festive falafel” in sight.
Leah Harper

A Hot Smoked Mackerel Sandwich
Sometimes, it’s not just what you eat, but where you eat it. A hot mackerel sandwich from a small smokehouse on Brighton seafront, devoured on the shoreline with my wife. The fish was incredibly fresh, aromatic with woodsmoke, and dripping with juices so tasty I ended up sucking my fingers clean – all to the gentle sound of the waves. It was transcendent. In fact, it was so good that I spent the next 10 years thinking about it, until we decided to go back to the seaside to eat it again. And it was just as delicious as I remembered. So delicious, in fact, that it inspired a passing seagull to snatch one – right out of my wife’s hands. Sometimes a great sandwich is brilliant despite where you eat it.
Alexi Duggins

Halloumi and Grilled Vegetables on Turkish Flatbread
The greatest sandwich I know, by far, is the mighty T9 from City Edge in Sydney’s Surry Hills. It’s toasted Turkish bread with grilled halloumi, sun-dried tomatoes, avocado, artichoke, and leaves. It’s absolutely delicious. But it’s more than just a sandwich. Tommy, who works at City Edge, has a photographic memory. Even now, when I haven’t lived in Sydney for over a decade and only visit once a year, I’ll walk into City Edge and he’ll smile knowingly and say, “Hello Kath, T9?” I’ve searched the world for a replacement and haven’t found one. Nothing beats Tommy’s T9.
Katharine Viner

Tortilla and Peppers in a Crispy Roll
Tucked down a side street at the foot of the Albaicín in Granada, Bodegas la Mancha was a local secret. It was always packed and lively at lunchtime, offering any sandwich you wanted. My favourite: grilled green peppers with Spanish tortilla in a crispy roll, washed down with a beer or two. The perfect setup for a siesta.
Rick Williams

A Fish Finger Creation
The morning after a late-night house party in Brighton, my wife and I shuffled into a sandwich bar on Trafalgar Street where our friends Alex and Nikki worked, to grab some food for the train home. We chose the first sandwich, a perfectly nice ham, cheese, and salad combo. We let them pick the other: a white bloomer with fish fingers, Emmental, rocket, chilli jam, and mayo. Totally delicious. The unlikely combination instantly became our favourite, and we tried to recreate it for years to come.
Nick Morgan

Brooklyn Tuna Melt
I’ve tried nearly every kind of tuna sandwich – hot or cold, deluxe or bodega (or even Subway), morning, noon, or night. So I speak with authority when I say: nothing beats the tuna melt at Agi.’s Counter, in the Crown Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn, New York. It’s hearty, heavy on the dill, and has some secret ingredient that makes the tuna practically melt in your mouth. This delicious sandwich strikes the perfect balance between a grilled cheese and a gourmet deli item—so good that it overrides my usual reluctance to spend $20 on a sandwich. In this case, it’s totally worth it.
—Adrian Horton

Turkey, salami, and white cheddar
Mad Max. That’s the name of my favorite sandwich. My boyfriend and I first shared it on a hike in Montana, where we’d moved on a whim. Surrounded by wildflowers and tiny blue butterflies, we devoured layers of turkey, hot soppressata (salami), sharp white cheddar, fresh basil, pepperoncini, piquillo peppers, red onion, and mayo. “If all the food here is this good, we can stay,” I mumbled.
—Jessica Reed

An egg and cheese baguette, Senegalese-style
At a tiny stall in Saint-Louis, Senegal, the chef whisked raw eggs into a frenzy, then poured the mixture into boiling oil, where it puffed up into a light, chiffon-like fritter. He stuffed it into a baguette spread with Laughing Cow cheese and sprinkled something savory on top—Knorr chicken powder, if I had to guess. Heaven! Little did he know I’d still be thinking about it 15 years later.
—Estelle Tang

Cheddar, piccalilli, and leek fritters
“I just had the greatest sandwich of my life!” That’s the message I sent my wife in 2021 after visiting 40 Maltby Street near Tower Bridge in London. I went for cheddar and piccalilli on toasted focaccia, but the star—as is often the case with an elite sandwich—was the crunch. This time, it came from delicately battered leek fritters. I sat on a random park bench and spent 10 minutes in pure bliss.
—Tim Jonze

Crab with caper mayo
It was the brioche that made it. I’ve never understood the appeal before, but this light, buttery roll was incredible. We were on a family holiday in Scotland last year and stopped at Inveraray, past the stunning Rest and Be Thankful viewpoint. Forget the scenery—I’m still dreaming about that lunch. Fresh white crab meat in a caper mayo dressing, served in a savory bun. The genius touch: a side of tortilla chips for crunch and spice.
—Anita Chaudhuri

Homemade steak-and-onion bun
One Thursday in 2024, my boyfriend told me he’d be out for the evening—a rare thing, since he’s usually a homebody during the week. I decided to treat myself to a fancy sandwich for dinner: perfectly cooked rump steak, onions fried with a little sugar and balsamic vinegar, rocket, and a thinly sliced, juicy sun-ripened tomato on thick, fluffy white bread. I finished it off with mayonnaise mixed with mustard, garlic, and lemon.
—Louis Staples

Merguez and a parsley fried egg
I’d bet that Italo, a charming little deli in Bonnington Square, makes the best sandwiches in London. I still remember devouring this Levantine delight: merguez sausages, sumac red onions, tomato, cucumber, and a parsley fried egg—all lubricated with delicious, garlicky toum.
—Jason Okundaye

A delightful improvisation
My partner and I were in his camper van on the Yorkshire moors. In his fridge, we had exactly: two carrots (grated), an avocado, a pot of hummus, and an ancient packet of mushrooms that oozed an inky liquid when we fried them. We loaded up our baguettes and drenched them in about half a bottle of sriracha. I have no idea why this sandwich worked so well, but I still think about it—and the sheep that stared at us as we ate it—to this day.
—Abi Millar

The bánh mì I’d been waiting for
When it comes to foods expectant mothers are supposed to avoid, a traditionalVietnamese bánh mì thịt is loaded with contraband: raw-egg mayonnaise, pâté, cold cuts, and pre-cut salads. Of course, when I was pregnant, it was the food I craved the most. After a dramatic birth, my husband brought the sandwich to my hospital bed. Watching the bánh mì crumbs fall into my lap as my newborn slept in his bassinet, I finally understood the meaning of delayed gratification.
— Yvonne C Lam

Catalonian jamón baguettes
1993. Barcelona. A stag weekend. Camp Nou for Barça vs. Atlético. A night of overindulgence; terrible hangovers all around. The magical local cure turned out to be a steady stream of “bocadillos” – palm-sized baguettes with jamón, chorizo, calamari, or steak, etc. No butter, no salad, no relish – just served with cava in a lively garage-turned-bar at 8am. Heaven in my hands.
— Christophe Gowans

Tuna mayo on fresh-baked focaccia
One late morning in springtime at Charlton Park, south-east London, my husband ordered his bacon roll at the Old Cottage Coffee Shop Cafe. It wasn’t my usual time to eat, but the sun was shining and friendly neighbours were out and about – I thought, why not. I chose the chewy, oily focaccia, fresh that morning and tangy with sea salt and rosemary. No butter, just tuna mayonnaise. Perfection. Especially since my husband paid.
— Martha Gowans

Thai-spiced Philly cheesesteak
While taking shelter from a blizzard during a brutally cold January trip to New York, the converted streetcar of Lower Manhattan’s Thai Diner felt like a warm haven. It seemed to be filled entirely with influencers filming their plates, but the Thai-spiced Philly cheesesteak made the place worth the hype. Packed with bird’s eye chillies, Thai basil, and slices of tender beef soaked in a mouthwatering cheese sauce, the soft sandwich was a steaming revelation.
— Ammar Kalia

Mortadella and mozzarella in Rome
July 2016. I had escaped the wreckage of a Brexit-vote-ravaged UK for Italy, determined to pledge my undying allegiance to Europe by eating my way through it. I still remember one world-changing sandwich – two slices of gloriously oily focaccia, generously spiked with rosemary, filled with pale pink mortadella piled high in sculptural curves, fat rounds of mozzarella, and sumptuous tomato slices. I gobbled it down inelegantly on a sunlit Roman street, each bite a religious experience.
— Eleanor Biggs

Mum’s ‘picnic loaf’
During a visit to my parents’ house in Devon in June 2021, my mum set my partner and me the task of making a “picnic loaf” from a recipe she had seen in a food magazine. Much like carving a pumpkin, it involved cutting a little crusty lid off a round loaf of bread and hollowing out the centre. We smeared the inside with pesto and layered tomatoes, mozzarella, and roasted vegetables inside before popping the lid back on and flattening the whole thing under a baking tray stacked with cans of beans. It was a ridiculous amount of effort, especially because we then carried the loaf, along with a bread knife and chopping board, to the top of one of Dartmoor’s tors. But sometimes it’s good to be ridiculous: you might just end up surrounded by beautiful scenery, taking a bite from a slice of a delicious giant sandwich.
— Lucy Knight

Bacon with chestnut stuffing
Early 1990s. Dispatched from the head office of the Express and Star newspaper in Wolverhampton to the magistrates court for a morning of reporting on everything the area’s minor criminals had to offer. Which was rich and varied. Next door was a greasy spoon cafe that specialised in bacon and stuffing sandwiches. The bacon, stacked in several layers, was crispy. The stuffing, chestnutty. The bread, white. The effect … heavenly.
— Nick HopkinsThe Crispy Lingholm Rarebit. Photo: Lingholm Kitchen
A Tale of Peter Rarebit

I just wanted to see Mr. McGregor’s garden! A few years ago, while on holiday in the Lake District, we heard about the place where Beatrix Potter spent her summers—the spot that inspired her classic stories. My kid was obsessed with Peter Rabbit at the time, so a day trip was a no-brainer. Lunch at the café was just an afterthought, but now I can’t stop thinking about it. At the lovely Lingholm Kitchen, I had the best toastie of my life: the Lingholm Rarebit. Perfectly crispy sourdough, oozing with cheese and packed with buttery, garlicky tarragon mushrooms. Life-changing.
—Kate Abbott

A Chicken Club Like No Other

I’ve spent an embarrassingly long time trying to figure out what was in this totally non-standard chicken club. I bought it from the Squat and Gobble sandwich shop in London for a steep seven pounds back when a pint was only five. Chicken? A huge amount. Bacon? None. Pesto and avocado? I think so. Mayonnaise? Absolutely loads. Served on some kind of weird, oversized flat bun, this sandwich was my comfort during tough times.
—Joel Snape

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Fresh off the press … a ham and cheese toastie at Potbelly in Chicago. Photo: Zuma Press/Alamy

Hot Conveyor-Belt Ham and Cheese

There’s nothing more boring than a ham sandwich. Or so I thought, until I followed my high school soccer teammates into a fast-casual place called Potbelly—or Potbelly’s, as we like to call it in Chicago—and grabbed a “hot” ham and cheese from an oven conveyor. The quality might have dropped since the chain went national, but that hasn’t stopped me from chasing the thrill of that first bite: sweet, flaky, with a hint of hickory. I’ve struggled to take cold sandwiches seriously ever since.
—Drew Lawrence

Chocolate Sprinkles on a Baguette

July 1992. I’m on the Costa Brava with my Dutch stepfamily. The heat is so intense that my sister and I are told to take a siesta. Do we sleep? No. But our reward for staying in a locked room for two hours? A third of a baguette, salted butter, and fridge-cold chocolate sprinkles—a version of the Dutch snack “hagelslag.” It was the last thing we needed in that heat, which of course made it even more delicious.
—Morwenna Ferrier

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Genius … the “everything cutlet” at Mondo Sando, London. Photo: Georgia Bisbas

Chicken Schnitzel with Pickled Cucumbers

“Everything bagel” seasoning seems to be everywhere right now, but Mondo Sando in south London using it as a breading for crispy chicken thighs? Genius. Wedged between slabs of sourdough from next door’s Toad Bakery, the chicken meets the sharp acidity of brined cucumbers, with a kale ranch dressing. Moist and magnificent, with extra points for extra pickles.
—Georgia Bisbas

Tuna Mayo by a Waterfall

A simple tuna mayo salad on cheap brown bread still sticks in my memory. It was part of a picnic made for our family by the staff at our regular holiday resort in Muskoka, Canada. Every summer, we’d eat it by a beautiful waterfall. Each year, the picnic was, pleasingly, exactly the same as the last. My tuna sandwich had way more cheap mayo than my mother would ever have used, which I loved—and her relaxed happiness at not having to feed us kids herself, for once, made it even tastier.
—Carrie O’Grady

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Glorious … barbecue mushroom torta with roast potatoes and bean chilli. Photo: Rachel Dixon

BBQ Mushrooms and Coleslaw in a Baguette

I spent my last birthday in Oaxaca, Mexico, and hit the mezcal pretty hard. The next day, I dragged myself to a veggie café. Since I went vegan a few years ago, the only time I really struggle is when I’m hungover—plant-based food just doesn’t hit the spot. The barbecue torta at Nanita was a glorious exception. I devoured a whole bolillo (like a short, fat baguette) stuffed with sticky BBQ mushrooms, creamy avocado, and crunchy coleslaw. It was exactly what I needed.Barbecue mushrooms, avocado, and coleslaw. The side dish was just as good: roast potatoes topped with bean chili and cheese. Sometimes, triple-carbing is the only solution.
Rachel Dixon

Cheese and brinjal pickle with red peppers
Throughout my childhood, my dad was the king of eccentric, antisocial fusion sandwiches. My favorite was always cheese and brinjal pickle with red peppers on wholemeal bread. Opening this in the lunch hall of my secondary school in 1998 was always an interesting moment – surrounded by a sea of ham on white sliced bread, I could easily have been teased. But he always tucked a little note between the bread and the clingfilm. Sometimes it was a joke, sometimes a hand-drawn cartoon; on days when he woke up early, there might even be a version of Lost Consonants, a pub quiz question, or a poem. Somehow, this became a point of pride among my friends – and despite the smells and textures of my somewhat unusual sandwiches, I pretty much avoided any bullying. I don’t know if the same could be said for my dad – who took his sandwiches to work on the building site every day in my old, pink Spice Girls lunchbox.
Nell Frizzell

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Snack with a view … Oban ferry terminal’s smoked salmon sandwich. Photograph: Felicity Cloake

The ultimate smoked salmon
The clingfilm-wrapped sandwiches on the counter of the seafood hut near Oban’s ferry terminal may not look like much next to their trays of lobsters and langoustines – brown sliced bread, iceberg lettuce, a token squashed tomato – but my favorite is packed so full of deliciously oily, home-smoked salmon that I once managed to stretch it out all the way to Glasgow. Next time, I’ll buy two.
Felicity Cloake

‘Perfectly textured – moist, fluffy’: the best supermarket falafel, tasted and rated
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Falafel with aubergine
On the first day of an interrailing trip when I was 18, I woke up in Paris to find I couldn’t open my mouth: my jaw was locked. It was my first holiday abroad with friends, and amid the excitement, I must have been a bit anxious too. I remember rising panic and excruciating pain whenever I tried to force my mouth open, and a couple of days spent mostly surviving on (admittedly excellent) torn-up croissants. This may have colored my memory of the falafel sandwich I bought from an unassuming stall soon after my jaw unlocked. But it remains, to this day, my best ever: tahini coating the herby green falafel, cucumber, tomato, and – the winning element – grilled aubergine, nestled in a pillowy pita.
Clea Skopeliti

Tuna with raw onion and avocado
I’ve always considered myself a dedicated sandwich hater – they’re too bland and boring to be my preferred lunch option. But that all changed when I bit into a tuna sandwich while on holiday in Alghero, Sardinia, with a friend. We were frazzled from walking in the sunshine and made a quick pit stop at an unassuming deli. To liven up the tuna, I went for raw onion, avocado, sun-dried tomatoes, and a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil. The bread was chewy and pillowy soft, the tuna mix sweet and creamy – carb heaven. I went back the next day to eat it again.
Ann Lee

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Taste of New York … Murray’s egg and cheese bagel. Photograph: Sinéad Campbell

Egg and cheese on an everything bagel
One of the first things I did when I arrived in New York for my six-month semester abroad was order a bagel. It was egg and cheese on an everything bagel, with generous layers of green lettuce and sliced beef tomato, from Murray’s Bagels in the West Village. One bite, and I was hooked. Four years later, I still try to recreate it at home, but it doesn’t quite hit the same when I’m not surrounded by yellow taxis and tenement buildings.
Sinéad Campbell

Dutch goat’s cheese, honey, and walnuts
There were eight of us in Amsterdam, all hungry, irritable, and tired from too much Vermeer. We stumbled on a busy corner cafe serving bagels. I ordered one with r…Rocket, goat’s cheese, honey, and walnuts. Those last two ingredients blew my mind: the peppery rocket sweetened by the honey, with a nice crumble of nuts. We sat by the canal in the sun and felt 100% better. — Hannah Booth

Cream cheese, anchovies, and olives
Back in the, ahem, last century, I was a waitress at a small independent cafe called Upper Crust, way out in the suburbs of greater London. One lunchtime, someone came in and ordered something a bit off the menu: cream cheese, anchovies, chopped olives, and chili flakes. It sounded like it came straight off a hostess trolley in a 70s sitcom, but later that day I made one for myself and it hit the spot. Years later, that salty-sour-spicy combo still does it for me. — Mel Bradman

Egg mayo with vinegar and anchovies
I’d long accepted egg mayo as a plain, workhorse sandwich — until I discovered its best version at Paul Rothe & Son in Marylebone, London, a retro cafe-deli. The basics were the same: bloomer bread and a uniform egg mayo mix, but the addition of vinegar and anchovies was a revelation. It gave a zesty, umami kick that felt like a light switching on after a lifetime of cold, supermarket rubbish. From there, I went down the rabbit hole — perfecting my homemade version (malt vinegar, always) and making a pilgrimage to a famous egg sandwich vending machine in Tokyo’s Sumida City, where I wolfed down five in a row in Kewpie-soaked bliss. — Thomas Howells

Fresh crab meat on brown bread
It’s March, it’s raining, and the mist in Little Haven, Pembrokeshire, clings to my skin like glue. I can’t remember the last time I was properly dry. But I’m sitting on a rock, my hood up, watching the seaweed wave in the shallow water below, and on my lap is a sandwich. Brown bread, a thick layer of salty butter, and crabmeat so fresh I almost feel sorry for the little guy I’m chewing on — he was probably scuttling around this bay just hours ago. But that view and that sandwich are divine. — Jenny Stevens

A falafel that had it all
After a grueling final university exam in Leeds, I walked out more relieved than excited, looking for something to mark the end of it. I cut straight through Leeds city centre to Falafel Guys in Northern Market. They handed me a wrap so full it barely held together: three types of hummus — earthy black, beetroot, and a smooth classic — layered with sweet chili, tahini, pickles, and perfectly crisp falafel. Most falafel wraps blur into one; this one had contrast and texture. — Sundus Abdi

Full English in a bap
I’ve eaten famous sandwiches all over the world. I worked at London’s best deli (Monty’s, RIP) for a while, where I made more than my fair share too. But my favourite ever came from Helen’s Pantry in Rhyl, Wales, in the late 90s. A full English in a bap: sausage, bacon, egg, mushroom, beans, black pudding on a soft white roll roughly the size of a bin lid. You had to eat it before the bean juice ruined the bread’s integrity (not a problem). And it cost £2.30! Admittedly, it was the kind of thing you had to ration — I had a rule not to eat one between January and October, but I’d count down the months until I could have another. It’s been more than 25 years since I had one (or anyone else, for that matter — Helen’s closed down long ago), but I can still remember how it tasted. I could make my own, but it would never be as good, dripping with nostalgia, bacon grease, and red sauce. — Andy Welch

A succulent vegetarian bánh mì
The problem with bánh mì is that they’re either too sweet (like the sticky doorstops from New York chain Lucy’s) or too dry (like Chinatown’s Bánh Mì Cô Út). In my opinion, the V-Nam Cafe inNew York’s East Village has nailed the perfect mix of crunch, sweetness, and deep umami in their veggie bánh mì. With tangy marinated carrots, fresh coriander, and soy protein that’s—I promise—actually juicy, this sandwich comes close to being a full-on nap-inducing meal but never quite gets there. It’s the ideal stop on a busy, exhausting day.

Cheese Toastie, Breville-Style
A Breville toastie was my go-to on Saturday lunch breaks when I worked at a newsagent. In the mid-1980s, it was about as high-tech as a sandwich could get. The Breville sealed plain slices of bread into a toasted, tight pouch as hard as a cardboard envelope, with nothing but molten cheese inside. I’ve had plenty of toasties since, but none compare.
—Paula Cocozza

Late-Night Subs … Barbar in Beirut
The Francisco sandwich meant fun and freedom. It had chicken, cucumber pickles, romaine lettuce, sweetcorn, mozzarella, mayo, and—key ingredient—soy sauce, all packed into a soft submarine roll. Sour and sweet flavors mixed together, while the thick, Blu-Tack-like mozzarella gave it substance. It came from Barbar, a 24-hour, neon-lit, garlic-scented eatery that first opened in Beirut in 1979. I lived in a flat literally sandwiched between two branches: I could grab one on my way out or on my way home. Early on, it was like a guiding star—when my shaky Arabic couldn’t get a cab to my door, I’d just say “to Barbar Hamra” or “to Barbar Spears, please.” From there, I could find my way home, Francisco in hand.
—Ellie Violet Bramley

An Airport Cream Cheese Bagel
In January 2007, I had a toasted bagel with cream cheese at Chicago airport. The bagel itself wasn’t especially memorable—warm? plenty of filling?—but what made it amazing was how hungry I was beforehand. I was on my way back from the Sundance film festival and somehow hadn’t eaten for a day or two. I’ll never forget how perfect that bread and dairy hit felt. Recreating the bagel wouldn’t be too hard; repeating the fast would be the real challenge.
—Catherine Shoard

Muffuletta with Everything
Ten years ago, a reader suggested I try her version of a New Orleans classic: the muffuletta. It’s traditionally made with Sicilian sesame bread, but she said to use something “sturdy,” so I went with a sourdough boule. You slice off the top, hollow it out, and pack it with layers of deli treats: tapenade or pesto, rocket, capers, all kinds of olives, cheese (provolone, but also cheddar or goat’s cheese), cold meats (salami, ham, mortadella), pickles (giardiniera, sure, but imagine it with kimchi), and lots of mayo. She also said to add fried pancetta and grated beetroot—I wasn’t complaining. Once it’s full, you put the lid back on, wrap it tightly, and weigh it down with something heavy overnight.
—Dale Berning Sawa

Emmenthal Salad Baguette on the Beach
We’re in our 20s, living our best life on a beach campsite near Biarritz in the 90s—surfing or body-boarding during the day, drinking beers with pizza slices and olives (my first time trying them) by the campfire at night. Exhausted after a morning of battling big waves (a lifeguard had to rescue me from a riptide on the last day), we queue at a beach cabin to buy fresh, crusty baguettes filled with crisp green lettuce tossed in a creamy, mustardy, peppery vinaigrette, and slices of Emmenthal cheese or eggs—or both!—finished with a generous spread of mayonnaise. Eaten with a cone of fresh, salty fries and washed down with a can of Coke, with the wind in my hair and joy in my heart, this was heaven (or a heart attack!) in a baguette.
—Jane Richards

Crisps in a White Roll
To trulyTo truly enjoy a crisp sandwich, you have to feel like you’ve earned it—or at least make a mental deal to eat broccoli for dinner. On a day when I really deserved it, I planned it out: a soft, doughy white roll from the organic bakery, layered with fancy French butter, and filled with supermarket own-brand salt and vinegar crisps. It cost less than £1, but it tasted like priceless luxury.
— Emine Saner

Ground lamb, tzatziki and mint
Back in 2007, when I was a pale, mostly drunk 19-year-old, I worked at a sandwich shop in Lower Manhattan called Swich. They sold something called a Trojan Horse: ground lamb, tomato, tzatziki, and fresh mint on a pressed rosemary focaccia panini. Life has gotten better since then, but no other sandwich has come close.
— Eli Block

A forbidden chip sandwich
The best—meaning the most romanticized—sandwich I ever had was a chip butty I ate at my school friend Doug’s house in the early 2000s. I must have been a sheltered kid, because I didn’t know a chip sandwich was even allowed, morally. It felt like eating Nutella with your hands—totally wild. Any attempts to recreate it since have failed. They all taste good because chips are delicious, but I’ve never matched the perfect texture of that first one: the squishy supermarket bread against perfectly cooked oven chips with salt and vinegar.
— Alfie Packham

Tuna melt in a New England diner
I didn’t even order this sandwich—it was my friend Tom’s choice at the classic Palace Diner, a tiny counter inside an old-fashioned Pollard dining car in Biddeford, Maine. I stared at his lunch so long that he offered me a bite. It was even better than it looked: the salty, tangy tuna cut through the rich, oozing cheese and buttery challah bread perfectly, with a thick layer of cool iceberg lettuce adding crunch. I just shook my head in amazement at its simple, indulgent perfection.
— Vincent Forrester

A cheese toastie complete with teeth marks
When I was 16 and interrailing around Europe, we ran out of food and money. Not my proudest moment—but definitely my tastiest—I swiped a half-eaten cheese and tomato toasted sandwich from the restaurant carriage. Squeaky European cheese, freshly sliced buffalo tomatoes, and teeth marks in the crispy white bread—I quickly wolfed it down without sharing with my equally starving friends.
— Rich Pelley

Thai-spiced sausage with eggs and ketchup
I’d lived in Singapore long enough to get used to a spicy breakfast. So one morning at Chet’s, a Thai-American diner in Shepherd’s Bush, London, I ordered the bodega sandwich—a Chiang Mai twist on the New York classic, with a level of heat that would usually seem reckless before noon. Split in half and wrapped in deli paper, it had a fantastic balance: a boldly savory sai ua sausage wrapped in runny eggs and a sturdy kaiser roll, with a side of extra punchy umami ketchup. It was so good I sat in quiet awe, with that strange mix of excitement and sadness that comes from reaching any kind of peak.
— Alex Barlow

Roast chicken with watercress and tarragon sauce
Recently, we made sandwiches for a Sunday walk in Dorset using leftover roast chicken from the night before. A dollop of creamy tarragon sauce instead of mayo, watercress, and slices of thick, buttered white bread—that’s all it needed. We ate them in a stylish bird hide we stumbled upon that looked like it belonged in a Scandinavian design magazine, with a beautiful view across Poole Harbour.
— Steve Rose

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Frequently Asked Questions
Here is a list of FAQs about 10 Minutes of Nirvana 52 Writers Share the Best Sandwich Theyve Ever Had

General Beginner Questions

Q What is 10 Minutes of Nirvana
A Its a book where 52 different writers describe the single best sandwich theyve ever eaten Its basically a love letter to sandwiches

Q Is this a cookbook with recipes
A Not exactly While many writers include ingredients the focus is on the story and experience of eating the sandwich not stepbystep cooking instructions Think of it as a literary food memoir

Q Who are these 52 writers
A They are a mix of wellknown novelists journalists chefs and food critics The book doesnt require you to know them alleach story stands on its own

Q Why is it called 10 Minutes of Nirvana
A Thats the title of the book It refers to the idea that eating a perfect sandwich can be a brief blissful escape from realitya short moment of pure happiness

Q Do I need to be a foodie to enjoy this book
A No Its more about nostalgia travel and personal memories If you love a good story about a perfect meal youll enjoy it

Advanced Specific Questions

Q Are the sandwiches fancy or simple
A Both Youll find everything from a classic gasstation egg salad to a gourmet lobster roll The point is that the memory makes it the best not the price

Q Can I actually make the sandwiches described
A Yes many are simple enough to recreate However some rely on a specific deli a certain beach shack or a grandmothers secret touch so you may need to adapt

Q Whats the most unusual sandwich in the book
A Thats subjective but some standouts include a fried bologna sandwich on white bread with potato chips and a very specific messy Italian sub eaten in a car The unusual part is often the context not the ingredients

Q Does the book include vegetarian or vegan options