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Nasturtium Sandwiches
Spread thin slices of white bread with mayonnaise; use the petals of nasturtium flowers for filling, allowing some of the petals to come beyond the edge of the bread.
A three-line party sandwich that depends entirely on the quality of the two things in it. Nothing here needs modernising except the sourcing of the flowers.
- The flowers must be food-gradeTropaeolum majus is edible, but garden-centre and florist plants are routinely treated with systemic insecticides that cannot be washed off. Use flowers from your own untreated plants or from a grocer selling them as edible.
- Petals, not whole bloomsPull the petals free and discard the green calyx and the nectar spur, which is fibrous. The petals themselves are peppery, closer to watercress than to any floral flavour.
- Wash and dry carefullyNasturtiums shelter aphids in the throat of the flower. Rinse in cold water, shake, and lay on a towel until completely dry — wet petals turn mayonnaise-soaked bread to paste.
- The bread"Thin slices of white bread" points to a close-crumbed sandwich loaf cut thin; the recipe says nothing about a specific thickness or about trimming crusts. A modern airy sourdough will tear when spread and will not hold a clean edge.
- Mayonnaise as glueThe mayonnaise is both seasoning and adhesive. Spread it to the very edges so the overhanging petals stay anchored; a bare border lets them slide off when the sandwich is lifted.
- Assemble latePetals wilt and bleed colour within an hour or two. Cut the bread and make the mayonnaise ahead, but fill no more than about thirty minutes before serving and keep the plate covered with a damp cloth.
- YieldThe original gives none. A sandwich loaf will make some dozens of finger sandwiches depending on how they are cut, each taking the petals of a few flowers.
Flower sandwiches belong to the era of the afternoon tea table, when a hostess was judged on how many small, pretty, essentially weightless things she could set out. Nasturtium is a salad plant, sharp with mustard oils, and the sandwich is a way of eating a garnish. The plant reached European gardens from South America in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries and was valued for the kitchen long before it was valued for the border — the leaves went into salads, the green seed pods were pickled as a substitute for capers, and the flowers were scattered over dishes for colour. The name is a borrowed one: nasturtium is properly the botanical genus of watercress, and it is generally said to have attached itself to this unrelated plant because the two taste alike. By this date the appeal may have been as much visual as peppery, which would explain why the recipe's only real instruction is to let the petals hang over the edge.