I have recently started working in a local café. It's a quaint little place that bridges the gap between shabby chic and cosy old caf. Every day there is a delivery of 15-25 loaves of sliced bread from the local bakery for the making of fresh sandwiches while-u-wait. This is currently my job. I stand begloved  behind a display containing large bowls of rare roast beef, sliced ham and marinated tuna, and small bowls of chutneys, mustards and mayos, waiting to be called upon. From midday onwards we are flooded with hungry customers, (mostly regulars) who all turn up eager for their fix of Britain's finest lunchtime invention. Most don't look at the menu chalked up on the board above my head but speak out their order directly -- usually a combination of several combinations (the gentleman who on Monday ordered bacon, egg, ham, lettuce "oh and a bit of cheese as well, maybe some brie?), or a simplification of a classic (the softly spoken lady who asked for "just cheese and cucumber, thanks"). The most popular this week has been the hot roast pork roll, served with butter, a smush of apple sauce and stuffing, several tong-fuls of sizzling,gravy-dripping meat and a crispy-yet-soggy piece of crackling on top. It's like Sunday lunch, but better. No awkward formalities, no annoying relatives, and no blessed potatoes. Just a hot, fragrant, soggy-yet-satisfying bap. Bliss.

As a healthy-eater/quasi-vegetarian in a society of ever expanding waistlines I am unsure as to whether this sandwich addiction is a positive thing or not. Everyone asks for butter, and no one has yet made a comment about the thickness of the bread (2 to 3 times your average slice -- "how do you even fit it in your mouth??" I ask myself) or the quantity of fat on the meat. This is not the haven of the roasted sweet potato, kale and chickpea eater. You can't get the egg without the mayo. And there's no quinoa in sight. It is heavy, hearty and comforting fare. From the careful opening of the grease-paper wrapping, to the eyes-closed-in-contemplation swallowing of  the first bite, to the satisfied chewing of the final crust, it is easy to see that these oh-so-British delights will no go out of fashion any time soon. Whether they're simple, sophisticated or just a bit naff, one's sandwiches for lunch form an integral part of our national identity. It wouldn't be proper to do without them. Watching the umpteenth customer stride away from the counter, smiling with paper bag in hand, I can't help feeling (sweating and covered in flour as I am), that perhaps I do a national service by making sandwiches. They seem to be good for the soul.