The Ultimate Cheese Savoury Sandwich (And an Awkward Moment)

There are certain things in life that should never be compromised. The integrity of a well-poured pint. The sanctity of an ice-cold Diet Coke. And—perhaps most crucially—the absolute joy of a proper cheese savoury sandwich.

If you’re unfamiliar with the cheese savoury, let me enlighten you. This is not your average limp lunchbox offering. This is the sandwich of dreams: thick slices of white (or, if you must, brown) bread, liberally spread with proper butter, then packed with a hearty mixture of grated cheese and coleslaw. The stronger the cheddar, the better. The coleslaw should be homemade if you’ve got the time—none of that watery supermarket nonsense, thank you very much. Coleslaw should be creamy, crunchy and ideally with seasoned with oodles of black pepper.

But enough about my carb-laden daydreams. Here’s how you make the ultimate cheese savoury sandwich, as featured in my book Forever, Maybe (plug? What plug?):

Step One: Bread

This is not the time for thin, underwhelming slices. You want bread you could wedge under a car tyre and it would survive. Go thick. If you’re feeling adventurous, a nice bloomer or a crusty farmhouse will do. But soft white bread is utterly traditional—and deeply nostalgic.

Step Two: Butter

Room temperature, salted and applied with no concern for your cholesterol. If you can see daylight through your butter layer, you’re doing it wrong.

Step Three: Cheese

Strong cheddar. Cheddar that could strip wallpaper at fifty paces. Grate it coarsely. None of this ‘fine grater’ nonsense. Texture is key.

Step Four: Coleslaw

Make it yourself, please. Just once. Shred cabbage (red or white, live dangerously), grate a carrot add some thinly sliced onion, salt, pepper, and a proper huge dollop of mayo. Combine with the cheese. If you must, add a pinch of wholegrain mustard. Now taste it. If you aren’t tempted to eat it with a spoon, tweak until you are.

Step Five: Assembly

Spoon the cheese-coleslaw mixture generously onto your buttered bread. Top with the other slice. Press gently, then cut into triangles (we’re not monsters). Eat immediately, ideally with a cup of tea and a side order of nostalgia.

Optional Step Six: Public Humiliation

If you think the only thing cheesy about this post is the sandwich, allow me to present an actual extract from my book Forever, Maybe, in which Daniel—one of my long-suffering but lovely characters—offers up this delicacy… and things take a slightly awkward turn:

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Extract from Forever, Maybe:

He walked toward her, bracing himself for whatever came next.

“Hey,” Daniel prodded her gently and sat down beside her. “Sandwich on me.”

She twisted her head, frowning at him. “What’s in it?”

“Cheese savoury. Grated cheese. Mixed wi’ a bit of coleslaw. It’s our bestseller.”

As she extended one hand to take it, a gurgle, soft and squelchy, sounded, making her eyes widen in horror. She snatched her hand back, stuffing it in between her folded legs and her stomach. “Oh my God, that’s my tummy, not my, not my—”

“Arse?” he asked, suddenly much more at ease.

“Yes, I mean no! My tummy rumbled. I did not, one hundred per cent I promise, fart!”

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So there you have it. Proof (if ever you needed it) that life’s embarrassing moments are best faced with a good sandwich, a sense of humour and possibly a very strong cup of tea.

If you enjoyed that snippet, or if you’ve ever found yourself in a similar state of mortification, why not check out Forever, Maybe? It’s a book stuffed with awkward moments, romance, and—of course—plenty of sandwiches.

Now, off you pop and make yourself a cheese savoury. And maybe add Forever, Maybe to your TBR pile while you’re at it. Your stomach (and your heart) will thank you.