You Say Sandwich, We Say Yeah!

Having stayed clear of the infamous chip butty while living in Scotland, I felt somewhat nostalgic, or just hungry after too many pints at The Fat Badger , this somewhat British inspired pub in downtown Vancouver. So, I ordered their chip butty. I also tried their Scotch egg, which didn't feel unhealthy at all in this Vancouver reincarnation, but this, this was definitely something I must have made when I was either very young or very drunk. Thick cut chips, not too fresh, not too soggy, stacked between to slices of miniature plain white bread. I have only ever see it in a soft bun, as covered here by one of our correspondents, which with its overflow of chips, seemed more like the honest representation of why people order it: to soak up the excess alcohol. This wee thing was filling, how could it not be, but seemed a bit too prim and proper for my cravings.

The Chip Butty is an institution I am not sure I want to admit membership of, but in support of true scientific research, I shall admit - though, only once - to consuming this monochromatic staple of British diet. You would think Britain, with its history of Sandwiches (think "The Earl of...") would be more inventive with their bread-based food products, but therein lies the genius of the Chip Butty - it is so classically simple, understated and unexpected: who would have thought that you could get so much starch and empty carbohydrates into such a small, compact space? That its nutritional content hovers somewhere between zero and minus 20 makes the perfect base (or cap) of a night's heavy drinking, and this is part of its success, particularly in Scotland and working class cities across the UK. Its single colour and single taste could only be described as "unexpected" - in that when you eat something, you would expect it to taste of something...