My dear hooligans in arms, thank you for bearing with me during the hiatus since my last post. As you'll see shortly, I have not been idle.
No, indeed. Rather, I have been eating egg and sausage sandwiches. Just for you.
(Okay. Maybe an insy bit for me. But still almost exclusively for you.)
How in blazes (you may well demand) did I get my hands on an egg and sausage sandwich?
(I should perhaps point out, lest you be taken aback by their femininity, that those aren't actually my hands on the photo.)
… But, yes: how in blazes? After all (you may reason), I'm an Oxford blogger, ain't I? And what is Oxford if not the antithesis of egg and sausage sandwiches of the type depicted above? Oxford, panini capital of the world.
Well, it just so happened that I found myself, not so very long ago, in the township of my youth: a moderately desolate kind of a place – too large to have retained much charm; too small to have accumulated much buzz – called Bromsgrove.
Now, finding myself in the (unforgiving) position as Bromsgrove tour-guide elect, it was my duty to acquaint my companion, whose charming mitts feature above, with the sights of the town.
Except that Bromsgrove doesn't really do sights.
What it does do, though – with a modicum of aplomb – is tastes. Courtesy of the Best Thing About Bromsgrove: a small emporium named (with elegantly poised tackiness) Korner Kitchen.
If you're ever in Bromsgrove (stop laughing, will you?), check out the KK. It is seven flavours of superior. It is exceptional. It produces the finest, hottest sandwiches you will ever stuff, yolk-smearingly, into your ravenous gob – the pappy white bread cleaving to your palette; the morning sausage burning your tongue.
This is the Ur Sandwich. The anti-panino.
And it's yours for only £1.80.
Only in Bromsgrove.