How do you make your sarnies (sandwiches to non YamYams)
Do you put the two rounds of bread
top to top
bottom to top
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How do you make yours
Sex God
The two faces of a cut must be rejoined and in the same orientation and the spread has to cover right to the edge but it has to be really thinly spread......not that i'm fussy about such things
Sex God
Quote by meat2pleaseu
The two faces of a cut must be rejoined and in the same orientation and the spread has to cover right to the edge but it has to be really thinly spread......not that i'm fussy about such things
Snap. The lining up thing is especially important if you plan to toast your sarnie, or the filling oozes out of any edges that don't match.
:lol2:
methodQuote by Ian
How do you make your sarnies (sandwiches to non YamYams)
Do you put the two rounds of bread
top to top
bottom to top
:shock:
You mean they don't grow fully made ?
I just walk into the kitchen in the morning and there they are
I'd better ask the chef to see how I have themYou have them top to top Ian
Sex God
a trickle of mayo mmmmmm
mmmmmm Sex God
Quote by Warmer
a trickle of mayo
we're talking about sandwiches, miss smutty knickers
Sex God
Quote by varca
a trickle of mayo
we're talking about sandwiches, miss smutty knickers
You are just sulking cos Miss Warmer didn't say 'a meaty filling with a trickle of mayo' :lol2:
She didn't on here
Sex God
Quote by varca
a trickle of mayo
we're talking about sandwiches, miss smutty knickers
You are just sulking cos Miss Warmer didn't say 'a meaty filling with a trickle of mayo' :lol2:
She didn't on here
You're all sauce you ;) :lol2:
Would you like a dollop? :rascal:
Sex God
Occasional visitor over the road, and using yet another new name :P
Sex God
There is only one serious authority on sandwich-making:
"There is an art to the business of making sandwiches which it is given to few ever to find the time to explore in depth. It is a simple task, but the opportunities for satisfaction are many and profound: choosing the right bread for instance. The Sandwich Maker had spent many months in daily consultation and experiment with Grarp the baker and eventually they had between them created a loaf of exactly the consistency that was dense enough to slice thinly and neatly, while still being light, moist and having that fine nutty flavour which best enhanced the savour of roast Perfectly Normal Beast flesh.
There was also the geometry of the slice to be refined: the precise relationships between the width and height of the slice and also its thickness which would give the proper sense of bulk and weight to the finished sandwich: here again, lightness was a virtue, but so too were firmness, generosity and that promise of succulence and savour that is the hallmark of a truly intense sandwich experience.
The proper tools, of course, were crucial, and many were the days that the Sandwich Maker, when not engaged with the Baker at his oven, would spend with Strinder the Tool Maker, weighing and balancing knives, taking them to the forge and back again. Suppleness, strength, keenness of edge, length and balance were all enthusiastically debated, theories put forward, tested, refined, and many was the evening when the Sandwich Maker and the Tool Maker could be seen silhouetted against the light of the setting sun and the Tool Maker's forge making slow sweeping movements through the air trying one knife after another, comparing the weight of this one with the balance of another, the suppleness of a third and the handle binding of a fourth.
Three knives altogether were required. First there was the knife for the slicing of the bread: a firm, authoritative blade which imposed a clear and defining will on a loaf. Then there was the butter-spreading knife, which was a whippy little number but still with a firm backbone to it. Early versions had been a little too whippy, but now the combination of flexibility with a core of strength was exactly right to achieve the maximum smoothness and grace of spread.
The chief amongst the knives, of course, was the carving knife. This was the knife that would not merely impose its will on the medium through which it moved, as did the bread knife; it must work with it, be guided by the grain of the meat, to achieve slices of the most exquisite consistency and translucency, that would slide away in filmy folds from the main hunk of meat. The Sandwich Maker would then flip each sheet with a smooth flick of the wrist on to the beautifully proportioned lower bread slice, trim it with four deft strokes and then at last perform the magic that the children of the village so longed to gather round and watch with rapt attention and wonder. With just four more dexterous flips of the knife he would assemble the trimmings into a perfectly fitting jigsaw of pieces on top of the primary slice. For every sandwich the size and shape of the trimmings were different, but the Sandwich Maker would always effortlessly and without hesitation assemble them into a pattern which fitted perfectly. A second layer of meat and a second layer of trimmings, and the main act of creation would be accomplished."
From Mostly Harmless by Douglas Adams
"There is an art to the business of making sandwiches which it is given to few ever to find the time to explore in depth. It is a simple task, but the opportunities for satisfaction are many and profound: choosing the right bread for instance. The Sandwich Maker had spent many months in daily consultation and experiment with Grarp the baker and eventually they had between them created a loaf of exactly the consistency that was dense enough to slice thinly and neatly, while still being light, moist and having that fine nutty flavour which best enhanced the savour of roast Perfectly Normal Beast flesh.
There was also the geometry of the slice to be refined: the precise relationships between the width and height of the slice and also its thickness which would give the proper sense of bulk and weight to the finished sandwich: here again, lightness was a virtue, but so too were firmness, generosity and that promise of succulence and savour that is the hallmark of a truly intense sandwich experience.
The proper tools, of course, were crucial, and many were the days that the Sandwich Maker, when not engaged with the Baker at his oven, would spend with Strinder the Tool Maker, weighing and balancing knives, taking them to the forge and back again. Suppleness, strength, keenness of edge, length and balance were all enthusiastically debated, theories put forward, tested, refined, and many was the evening when the Sandwich Maker and the Tool Maker could be seen silhouetted against the light of the setting sun and the Tool Maker's forge making slow sweeping movements through the air trying one knife after another, comparing the weight of this one with the balance of another, the suppleness of a third and the handle binding of a fourth.
Three knives altogether were required. First there was the knife for the slicing of the bread: a firm, authoritative blade which imposed a clear and defining will on a loaf. Then there was the butter-spreading knife, which was a whippy little number but still with a firm backbone to it. Early versions had been a little too whippy, but now the combination of flexibility with a core of strength was exactly right to achieve the maximum smoothness and grace of spread.
The chief amongst the knives, of course, was the carving knife. This was the knife that would not merely impose its will on the medium through which it moved, as did the bread knife; it must work with it, be guided by the grain of the meat, to achieve slices of the most exquisite consistency and translucency, that would slide away in filmy folds from the main hunk of meat. The Sandwich Maker would then flip each sheet with a smooth flick of the wrist on to the beautifully proportioned lower bread slice, trim it with four deft strokes and then at last perform the magic that the children of the village so longed to gather round and watch with rapt attention and wonder. With just four more dexterous flips of the knife he would assemble the trimmings into a perfectly fitting jigsaw of pieces on top of the primary slice. For every sandwich the size and shape of the trimmings were different, but the Sandwich Maker would always effortlessly and without hesitation assemble them into a pattern which fitted perfectly. A second layer of meat and a second layer of trimmings, and the main act of creation would be accomplished."
From Mostly Harmless by Douglas Adams
Quote by Dawnie
How do you make your sarnies (sandwiches to non YamYams)
Do you put the two rounds of bread
top to top
bottom to top
:shock:
You mean they don't grow fully made ?
I just walk into the kitchen in the morning and there they are
I'd better ask the chef to see how I have themYou have them top to top Ian
the egg would drip out if he had them top to bottom
Sex God
Quote by Goose35
How do you make your sarnies (sandwiches to non YamYams)
Do you put the two rounds of bread
top to top
bottom to top
My bread isn't round!! :shock:
*wanders off muttering about these weirdos with round bread*
Quote by Dirtygirlie
How do you make your sarnies (sandwiches to non YamYams)
Do you put the two rounds of bread
top to top
bottom to top
My bread isn't round!! :shock:
*wanders off muttering about these weirdos with round bread*
Soo theres no top or bottom :lol:
Id be turning it 90 degrees for ages if it was square :lol:
Sex God
Bet you call 'em baps too don't you?! :giggle:
Sex God
Quote by Goose35
Bet you call 'em baps too don't you?! :giggle:
Baps or buns i like them both
They're rolls!!!
:lol: 