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Anchovy Sandwiches
Cut some bread and butter, very thin, and in fingers. Chop some water-cress, lay it on a finger, sprinkle a little Tarragon vinegar and water (equal quantities) over it, and then lay on a fillet of anchovy, cover with more cress and a finger of bread and butter. Put them in a pile under a plate to flatten and before serving trim the edges.
An assembly job rather than a cooked dish, and it lives or dies on how thin the bread is cut and how well the finished pile is pressed. Everything else is a matter of balancing salt.
- Fingers"Fingers" means narrow strips cut the length of the bread slice; the recipe gives no dimensions. Butter the loaf before slicing if you are working with fresh bread; a day-old close-grained white loaf cuts far thinner than a fresh airy one.
- Anchovy filletsIf you are using salt-packed anchovies, they need rinsing and, ideally, a soak in cold water or milk before use. Oil-packed fillets from a tin work directly, but blot them so the oil does not soak the bread.
- Tarragon vinegar and waterEqual quantities means a half-strength vinegar; a teaspoon or so of the mixture per sandwich is plenty, since the point is to dress the cress, not wet the bread.
- WatercressChop it fine and use it dry, patted in a towel or spun. Wet cress will turn the bread grey and pulpy under pressure. Rocket or young mustard greens stand in acceptably if watercress is unavailable, though the flavour is not the same.
- No added saltAnchovy fillets bring more than enough. Use unsalted butter if you have it.
- PressingThe plate itself supplies the weight; extra weight on top, and a spell in a cool place, will compact the layers further so the sandwich holds together when the crusts are cut away.
- Trimming and yieldTrim all four edges with a long sharp knife wiped between cuts. Reckon on one anchovy fillet and two bread fingers per sandwich, and buy anchovies accordingly.
The Belgian Cook Book was compiled by Mrs. Brian Luck in 1915 from recipes gathered among Belgian refugees who had fled to England after the German invasion, and sold in aid of relief funds. That origin explains the odd company the book keeps: alongside genuinely Belgian dishes sit thoroughly English drawing-room items like this one. Thin-cut savoury sandwiches were a fixture of the Edwardian tea table and of the "savoury" course that closed a formal dinner, where anchovy — cheap, intensely salty, and shelf-stable in tins or barrels — did most of the work. The pairing with watercress and tarragon vinegar follows the standard logic of the period's savouries: something salt and oily, something green and sharp, and as little bread as would hold them.