Toasting a culinary comeback

Annabel Langbein enjoys a pesto, feta, corn, mozarella and black pepper toasty. Photo / Janna Dixon

Wherein lies the charm of the toasted sandwich? Is it the buttery-toasty-cheesy smell of Sunday night childhood (The Wonderful World of Disney on TV and the cat by the fire)?

The way the toast momentarily resists the bite before caving in, releasing a treacherously molten tide of filling? (Kids, do try this at home.)

Memories evoked of the crusty, heady liberty of student flatdom? The modest coupling of convenience, economy and indulgence?

Or is it simply their unreconstructed, greasy goodness?

Newly gilded with recession chic and retro-Kiwiana cool, toasties are enjoying somewhat of a revival. Trendy bars in Wellington (Mighty Mighty) and Auckland (DOC) serve them until late. A music website has been named after the most prominent variety, cheeseontoast.co.nz.

The Prime Minister, John Key, tells us his favourite cheese and sweetcorn toastie is "a critical part of my life" because it's very often his lunch.

Indeed, he admits it can be toastie sandwiches that fuel his answers to any tricky questions in Parliament. "It gets me through Question Time," he says. "So I say - hats off to the toastie."

Now, to be a genuine phenomenon, the toastie needs an expert. And Auckland writer Astral Sligo (though lacking a PhD in her specialty subject) has stepped up.

I went to Sligo's Auckland flat to talk toasties, and she served me a three-course toastie feast. First was fusion Kiwiana: baked beans and blue cheese (not a first date toastie, she pointed out as the red juice dripped down our chins).

The second course came over all classy: havarti cheese, manuka honey, fresh basil and tomato.

The third course introduced me to the slightly disturbing world of dessert toasties: chocolate melts, cream cheese and banana. Wickedly sickly, but I ate every crumb.

Sligo always fancied the occasional toastie, but even she was surprised by the depths of reverence she tapped in her research.

It began with a blog thread she came across while scouring the web for ideas in her job as editor at publisher David Bateman.

The blogger was rhapsodising about rediscovering toasties for lunch. He got 80 responses.

Now, of course, to confirm the toastie's iconic status, there is a book. Kiwi Toastie, out this week, oozing with recipes, practical hints and etiquette tips.

Sligo, 34, the author, is no toastie snob. She includes the classics - cheese and onion, cheese and pineapple (her childhood favourites), gourmet toasties, vegan toasties, hangover toasties, brunch toasties, even gluten-free toasties.

The art of toastie filling seems to be one of the few areas in which New Zealanders are truly uninhibited. Among the more outre combos Sligo encountered were chocolate hazelnut spread, banana and tomato sauce; Snickers or Moro bars and peanut butter; leftover fish and chips (tomato sauce optional). Students apparently dig peanut butter and banana; fancier types go for chocolate and chilli.

Generations of Kiwis grew up having toasties when mum was too tired to do anything else; then subsisting on them through university.

Reminisces Auckland labourer Michael Onslow-Osborne, "We used to have 'quicksie irons' - long-handled toasted sandwich plates that we stuck in the open fire in our house on cold winter's nights.

"It meant sitting away from the TV, in the front living room, and it bonded the family together. I guess my mother, in particular, enjoyed the warmth and closeness of family at these events."

He also fondly recalls "cold, greasy and vaguely soggy" lunchbox toasties. "As for fillings, we only really had one rule: cheese or egg; having both was not allowed. This rule has stuck with me."

Chef and writer Peta Mathias hesitates only an instant before admitting her childhood favourite was luncheon and tomato sauce. She would make them with her brothers and sisters (five in all) on Sundays, when their mother refused to cook.

Later, she remembers being invited to dinner by a man who was courting her. "There was the most fantastic smell of onions frying and bread toasting and I thought, he's cooking up a gorgeous meal for me. And we sat down for dinner and he served me onion toasted sandwiches. He said: 'I fried the onions to trick you into thinking I was cooking something really fancy'."

Christchurch mother and self-described toastie addict Amy Kenel used her trusty hand-me-down toasted sandwich-maker so much while she was redecorating her house that it blew up, leaving a 10-cent piece-sized hole in the kitchen bench. "I then had to buy a cheap K-mart one (it was considered an emergency) on the Visa!"

Later, when she married, she put a brushed silver Breville model on the gift register.

Sligo's first toastie memory was the one her mother bought her from a roadside café in Wairarapa on the way to somewhere.

"A little, greasy, white bag of cheese and pineapple goodness and 5-year-old me was happy."

Her theory on their enduring appeal? "They have a comforting feeling. They're not fussy, you don't have to think too much about olive oil or even about burning them. They're the ultimate comfort food."

Chef's fond mouse trap memories

"When I was flatting as a student in Christchurch, we always made mouse traps - you toast a tray of Vogel's bread on one side then flip over and cover the uncooked side with grated or thinly-sliced tasty cheese, little pieces of bacon, a sprinkle of salt and pepper then grill until the bacon is crispy, the cheese has melted and the edges of the bread are golden and crunchy.

"My teenagers now make these after school. It's a great way to stave off those after-school hunger pangs and make a little bacon and cheese go a long way.

"My favourite toastie recipe probably has to be corn, cheese and pesto. It takes me back to my childhood when we only cooked toasties over the fire in those old-fashioned long-handled metal toastie pie makers. I like my corn toasties with feta, mozzarella and basil pesto. You spread sandwich sliced Vogel's (or a softer wholegrain bread like Molenberg) with butter on one side, then flip it over so it's butter-side down. On the unbuttered side spread some basil pesto then sprinkle over crumbled feta cheese, corn kernels and a grating of mozzarella. A sprinkle of pepper, salt, then the bread top goes on (buttered side up) and it's into the toastie.

"Two minutes of effort, that isn't going to turn you into the Michelin man."

Giveaway

The Herald on Sunday has five copies of Astral Sligo's Kiwi Toasties (David Bateman, RRP $17.99) to give away. And each winner gets a Kiwi Toasties fridge magnet too.

All you need to do is answer the following question: What food item is the main ingredient in a toasted sandwich?

Email your name, address and answer to editor@hos.co.nz, with the subject line, "Toasties competition". Entries close at 5pm on Wednesday, June 24.