Your sandwich will never be ‘woke’ enough for Gen Z

Artisan bread, pulled pork, avocado… whatever happened to a good, old-fashioned ham sandwich? Clair Woodward says Gen Z is trying to kill it off

In a surprising move, the “woke wars” have a new target in their sights – the nation’s favourite sandwiches.

According to a survey from baker Allinson’s, “younger Brits are ditching English classics like ham and mustard, in favour of fancy woke fillings”.

But what are these fancy woke fillings – and what makes them woke, exactly? Can you now buy an “anti-Trump on oatmeal”, or a panini with trans rights and extra political correctness? Has the BLT become a BLM?

If we must have a generational war over what is essentially something you shove down your gullet at lunchtime, can it at least come as part of a disappointing meal deal?

The radicalisation of the sandwich isn’t a new thing. For all this, I blame middle-class, middle-of-the-road M&S – because, frankly, they started it. In 2019, for Pride month, the nation’s favourite high-street department store added guacamole to the classic BLT, so it could sell the lettuce, bacon, tomato and guac combo in rainbow-striped packaging as an “LGBT”.

It was the lunch sandwich no office-worker had been hankering for – none with tastebuds, in any case – and least of all gay people, who cringed at the prospect. But it was all in a good cause, raising money for a charity for homeless LGBTQ+ young people. Predictably, social media filled its boots with an unhealthy dollop of outrage, but also a sprinkle of quite good jokes (“Hey mum and dad, I’ve got something to tell you... I’m guacamole”).

This latest broadside against “woke sarnies” is a thinly-veiled, bread-based bash at how millennials and Gen Z reputedly spend all their money on smashed avocado on toast and £4 coffees, and not being able to afford to get on the property ladder. But it’s nothing new: pansexual comedian Joe Lycett does a good routine about ordering a “feta and avocado smash with a poached egg” in a Birmingham cafe.

I think there’s a happy medium in all of this – make your own sandwiches.

Maybe it’s because I’m Generation X that I think that sandwiches were better in my day. But, if you ask me, a ridiculously simple round of sarnies always taste better than an elaborate deli-style doorstopper stuffed with thick slices of this and a schmear of that. Certainly, they “hit different”, as the kids say these days.

When I was a kid, I loved a tomato sandwich. Not one made with a lovingly hand-sliced heirloom variety of tomato and slathered with a knifeful of something zingy from an imported jar – Nigel Slater recommends a Green Zebra dressed with coriander paste (of course he does) – but, rather, ketchup. Just ketchup.

Another favourite was Heinz Sandwich Spread, an 80s favourite that was essentially salad cream with tiny chopped vegetables in it. I couldn’t make up whether my parents were weird or avant-garde, as I was horrified when for lunch they’d often enjoy a banana sandwich sprinkled with sugar. Then I read that Elvis Presley’s favourite sandwich was peanut butter, bacon and banana, and realised my parents weren’t so weird after all.

Many of us save a posh sarnie for the weekend. Britain’s relatively new street food culture means that bread has become increasingly important. It usually involves eating pulled pork while wandering around a disused car park in the rain. Putting food between two delicious slices of thick, artisan bread, therefore, means that it doesn’t dribble down your arm, making the experience slightly more enjoyable. (As it should be, because these beautiful butties don’t come cheap!)

You’re probably looking at around a tenner for a really great one, but at least you’ll love it, and it’ll look fantastic on the socials. But at those prices, it’s not something most of us can afford to indulge in every lunchtime.

Life is hard, so don’t let our sandwich fillings divide us. Liking cheese and pickle doesn’t make you a patriot, and having an artisanal six-inch-thick toastie doesn’t make you a woke warrior. Eat whatever you like, as long as it doesn’t make you so bloated that you die on the loo like Elvis did.