The Ploughman's Toastie

No, it's not a new bestselling novel (soon to be a major motion picture starring Keira Knightley)

On the heels of the cucumber sarnie post it might seem like I’m mining my half-English heritage for content these days, but it’s coincidental, I swear. At least this is another Thing on Bread, so there’s that. In fact, it’s the same loaf of bread as the cucumber sandwich. That’s how current and up-to-the-minute this slog operates: just-in-time supply chain logistics for a seamlessly synergistic consumer experience. That’s what you’re all here for, obviously, and it is my pleasure to serve you.

I’ve long been a fan of the ploughman’s lunch, and its many variations, ever since my father ordered one during a long-ago visit to his homeland. My brother and I were particularly taken with the Branston pickle, such that he even named one of his stuffed animals after the condiment. If you’re not familiar, Branston pickle is an anglicized version of an Indian achaar¹ (or pickle), made from vegetables like carrot, rutabaga, cauliflower, and onion cooked in a sweet-sour-spicy sauce of tomatoes, dates, and spices. Flavor-wise, it’s not far from something like HP Sauce, which is also a westernized version of South and East Asian sauces (hell, so is ketchup, for that matter).

It was first marketed about a century ago and is widely adored throughout the UK, where it is a required component of the ploughman’s lunch, which also includes bread, cheese, and pickled onions. These days I find it too sweet for my taste, but nonetheless it offers some important qualities that play beautifully with sharp cheddar. And it’s a taste memory that I associate with my childhood, and with that trip in particular (which involved several visits to castles in the Midlands, thanks to my wonderful aunt).

I mention it here because this toastie came about as the result of a shallot chutney/pickle thing I semi-accidentally invented recently. Its flavor was close enough that it sent me scurrying to the store to buy the sharpest cheddar I could find. And because it essentially combines the flavors of Branston pickle and pickled onions into one condiment (which is more easily spread than the original, due to having been puréed), this cheese toast actually did deliver all the flavors one seeks in a ploughman’s—but streamlined and broiled.

You can read about the genesis of my shallot chutney here, and learn why it’s got massive amounts of alliumaceous umami on tap, combined with a pickly acidity and subtle sweetness. Happy discoveries like this represent a huge part of the reason I love fermenting and improvising so much: it’s just the most rewarding (and infinite) of rabbit holes. And there’s huge satisfaction to be found in making condiments that evoke, rival, or even surpass the flavor touchstones of our youth. Those discoveries can then lead us to things (on bread) like this, which distills a classic down into one melty, cheesy delight.

This open-faced marvel was just bread (my standard sourdough), salted butter (obvi), the new shallot chutney, and good sharp local cheddar broiled in the toaster oven until suitably golden and bubbly. Now I know that most of you are not likely to go forth and make your own complicated three-stage shallot ferment so that you can replicate this delightful repast. You could, however, whip up something like the following and get pretty damned close.