Silly Brits, Fish Don’t Have Fingers

We haven’t always had the best of luck with British sandwiches here at the Tribunal. Some of them have turned out fine; some have been utterly delicious. But for every Queen Alexandra there’s a British Rail; for every Salt Beef Beigel a Cheese and Pickle; for every Bacon Butty a Chip Butty.

I had no reason to think that I’d have any better luck with fish finger sandwiches. They may be a classic comfort food in England–even chefs such as Jamie Oliver and Nigella Lawson list these sandwiches among their favorite guilty pleasures–but one man’s indulgence is another man’s indigestion. Still, I try to approach every sandwich with an open mind. In that spirit, I decided to follow this set of guidelines on The Guardian for making the ideal fish finger sandwich, despite some incredibly wrong opinions (the worst of which is his inexplicable anti-Stilton stance) the writer has about how to eat a steak sandwich.

First, though, some shopping would be required. In addition to the requisite squishy white bread, butter, and (optional) minimalist greenery such as arugula, we’ll need some perfectly rectangular fish fingers, a good malt vinegar, and some decent tartar sauce. I found all three at Winston’s Market, a nearby Irish market that also carries some local and UK products.

Fish fingers from Ireland, Tartar sauce from Philadelphia, and malt vinegar from the UK. Well, 1 out of 3 is… kind of OK. While I was at Winston’s I also noticed some packets of instant custard and the nerd in me, the schmuck who kept watching Doctor Who past its best-by date, just had to try fish fingers and custard. I cannot in good conscience recommend this.

Despite heading their article with an Alamy stock photo showing what appears to be an artisanal sourdough bread, the Guardian’s article on fish finger sandwiches suggests that the reader “save your thickly cut artisan sourdough spelt flour loaf for someone who cares.” It continues, calling the fish finger sandwich “a return (give or take the tartare sauce) to the simplicity of childhood, and you certainly do not want any of those new-fangled breads… coming between you and those luscious, golden (OK, orange) fingers of fish.”

I bought a loaf of bread that looked similar to the bread from the stock photo. It was very good bread, lots of flavor and texture, quite sturdy in fact. But a fancier bread, apparently, will detract from the sandwich. I could see that even this store-bought loaf would be too much bread for this sandwich. A good sandwich doesn’t always start with good bread–it starts with the right bread, and with a main ingredient as mildly flavored as a fish finger, something simpler would be called for. So I started with some plain buttered–and tartar sauced–squishy white bread.

The author of the Guardian article calls tartar sauce an “obvious enduring classic that you should be using here.” He also specifies making one’s own, but I’ll be honest–I’ve never liked tartar sauce. I anticipated trying the sandwich with a storebought tartar sauce and then switching to my homemade remoulade for any subsequent sandwiches.

I added the fish fingers–4 of them fit just about perfectly on a standard slice of white bread–on the butter side, and a small amount of arugula (“rocket” to the Brits, “a more obvious choice” than iceberg lettuce, of which the author cautions that a “little goes a long way”) to the tartar sauce side. Finally, per the Guardian spec, I sprinkled the fish fingers “judiciously… with a little vinegar.” The malt vinegar soaked quickly into the breading, and could not be seen by the time I photographed the sandwich.

Finally, the Guardian recommends putting the sandwich together and then allowing it to “rest” for a few minutes before consuming, “like a steak.” I wish they’d quit reminding me how much I hated their article about steak sandwiches.

I cut this sandwich in half to share with Mindy.

This sandwich was far better than I anticipated. Even having spent a few minutes steaming in a quickly melting pool of butter, malt vinegar soaking into the top layer of breading, the fish fingers–breaded rather than battered–retained enough crispness to give the sandwich plenty of texture. The butter added some rich fattiness, cut by the acidity of both the vinegar and the tartar sauce. There is also a very slight sweetness to the chopped pickles in the tartar sauce. While there’s not quite enough arugula for its peppery flavor to make a big contribution, it’s good to have some something other than fat and carbs in this sandwich. The fish fingers themselves are not a very powerful flavor, so too much arugula might overpower them.

I was so impressed with the sandwich that I immediately made another and served it with some thick-cut chips and chip shop curry sauce that I’d also picked up at Winston’s. These chips were supposedly pre-fried, and meant to be crisp when cooked in the oven. They did not quite live up to that billing, but were not bad, and just about anything will taste good doused in the chip shop curry sauce.

The first sandwich was not a fluke. This fish finger sandwich is legitimately good. I am not a fan of most of the fast food fish sandwiches I’ve tried–McDonalds’ Filet-O-Fish, Burger King’s Big Fish, the Classic from Long John Silver. I guess I can’t think of too many I’ve tried. But what sets this apart? Is it the additional crisp breading texture from using multiple fish fingers instead of a single large filet? Is it the malt vinegar, the arugula? Is it the lack of cheese? (The cheese is definitely the thing that wigs me out the most about the Filet-O-Fish, so this is possible.) Is it the particular brand of fish fingers I bought? I don’t know. But everything comes together in that elusive alchemy we look for here at the Tribunal, where the sandwich as a whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

I still didn’t trust all the seemingly arbitrary rules this author had come up with for the fish finger sandwich though. The man wrote that “it goes without saying that the privet hedge cuttings otherwise known as ‘rocket’ have no place in a steak sandwich.” In the same article, he linked to my post on the Portuguese Prego sandwich, in which I made a version heavy on the arugula. Then, in his fish finger article, he recommends the same arugula he’d previously called “privet hedge cuttings.” Clearly he has no interest in consistency.

So what if I make a sandwich breaking his rules? What if I use the thicker, more artisanal bread? What if I use a sauce other than tartar sauce? Not ketchup, no, I won’t take things that far, and sadly I’m out of HP sauce. But the last of the Cajun remoulade I made for last month’s Double Down article ought to be pretty good in a fish sandwich.

And what if I load up on the arugula he said should be used sparingly?

Better bread, tastier ingredients… what could go wrong?

As you can see, this fancier bread was larger than the sandwich slices I’d used previously, and the fish fingers were a bit lost in its crumby expanse. The spicier sauce and the thicker layer of arugula more than made up the difference, and the sandwich was not a kludgy, gummy, dry affair, but the ratio was off.

It was still a tasty sandwich. But it wasn’t a near perfect sandwich the way the previous two had been. It still made a fine lunch, accompanied of course by another round of curry chips. This time I fried them. They, at least, were perfect.

I suppose the Guardian author was correct–when it comes to the fish finger sandwich, simple is best.

He can keep his steak sandwich opinions to himself though.