Crumbs, Scores and a Very Serious Loaf: Blind-Tasting Christmas Sandwiches at The Bull

There is a particular kind of quiet in a pub back room before service. Chairs still stacked, glasses polished, someone in the kitchen arguing gently about whether the cranberry sauce has enough bite. That was the setting for our Christmas sandwich tasting: three regulars, one loaf, three fillings and a scoring sheet that started as a joke and ended up being treated like a planning application.

The brief was simple. The Bull is putting Christmas sandwiches on the bar menu for December 2026, and we wanted to know which ones people would actually order after a walk along the river, a Saturday shop or a Friday pint. So we blind-tested three: a traditional turkey and stuffing number, a vegetarian chestnut and mushroom version, and a kitchen leftover special built from whatever Sunday had left behind. Same bread. Same rules. No gravy allowed until the scores were in.

The rules of the bench

We kept it deliberately fussy. Each sandwich was cut in half, numbered and served on a plain board. The tasters — let us call them the builder, the retired teacher and the one who claims not to be fussy — scored each sandwich out of ten for bread, filling, sauce and structural integrity. Structural integrity meant exactly what it sounds like: could you pick it up, take two bites and still have something resembling a sandwich rather than a warm salad in your hand?

Water and a few plain crisps were allowed between rounds. Gravy was not. Nobody was told which sandwich was which. The kitchen, sensibly, stayed out of the room until the sheets were handed in.

Contender one: the traditionalist

The turkey and stuffing sandwich arrived looking like the Christmas sandwich people picture when they say the words Christmas sandwich. Cold roast turkey, sage and onion stuffing, a thin layer of cranberry sauce and a smear of bread sauce. The bread was a white sourdough from the same batch for all three sandwiches, which gave us a fair baseline. It toasted well, held its shape and had enough crust to argue back.

The scores were strong but not gushing. Bread came in at seven or eight across the board. The filling scored highly because the turkey was sliced properly rather than shredded into oblivion, and the stuffing had enough herbs to taste like stuffing rather than damp bread. Sauce was the split decision. Two tasters wanted more cranberry; one thought the bread sauce was the smarter move and that extra cranberry would have tipped it into dessert territory.

Structural integrity: very good. This was the sandwich least likely to embarrass you in front of a colleague. It also, perhaps unfairly, set the benchmark for what a Christmas sandwich is meant to be.

Contender two: the vegetarian dark horse

Chestnut and mushroom is the sort of combination that sounds sensible in November and can go badly wrong by December. Too often it turns into a soft, brown, worthy paste. This one did not. The chestnuts were roughly chopped, the mushrooms cooked down with thyme and a little garlic, and there was enough texture to remind you that you were eating food rather than filling.

It scored lower than the turkey on initial filling marks from two tasters, who both wrote some version of nice, but I would want something sharper. The third taster ranked it top. The sauce — a sharp apple and mustard mayonnaise rather than anything creamy — was the deciding factor. It cut through the earthy filling and stopped the whole thing becoming heavy.

Where it won, unexpectedly, was structural integrity. The chestnut mix held together without sliding out of the bread. It was the only sandwich where every taster picked up both halves without a single crumb-based incident. The kitchen had clearly thought about moisture, which is more than can be said for a lot of vegetarian pub sandwiches.

Contender three: the leftover special

This was the wildcard: cold roast pork, a slice of stuffing, a few Brussels sprouts halved and browned, apple sauce and a spoon of gravy mayonnaise. It was the sandwich that smelled the best and behaved the worst. Flavour scores were high. Very high. The sprouts were the surprise, giving a savoury, slightly sweet edge that stopped the pork tasting like Sunday dinner reheated in a car park.

But structural integrity was a disaster. The gravy mayonnaise, delicious as it was, made the bottom slice surrender. One taster’s half collapsed at the second bite, which is exactly the sort of thing that sounds funny until it happens to you in public. The scoring sheet simply said: tastes like Christmas, falls apart like January.

It is worth saying that this sandwich was never designed to be neat. It was designed to use up the good bits and make people happy. On that measure it succeeded. As a bar menu item for December 2026, though, it needs work.

What the scores actually told us

The turkey and stuffing sandwich won overall by a small margin, largely because it was the safest bet for the widest range of people. The chestnut and mushroom version was the best-built sandwich on the table and the one most likely to convert a sceptic. The leftover special was the most enjoyable three bites and the least practical eight bites.

That feels about right for a village pub. People want tradition, but they also want something that survives a walk back to the table. They want flavour, but they do not want to wear it.

Kitchen notes: how to build a Christmas sandwich that holds

A few things became obvious once the crumbs were cleared away.

First, bread matters more than people think. A soft white loaf is lovely, but it needs a crust or a light toast to give it some spine. The sourdough worked because it had enough structure to cope with sauce and filling without being tough.

Second, sauce placement is not a detail. Put wet sauces in the middle rather than against the bread, or give the bread a thin barrier of butter or mayonnaise. The leftover special failed because the gravy mayonnaise went straight onto the bottom slice and stayed there, quietly dismantling the operation.

Third, filling needs to be cold or room temperature, not fridge-cold and not warm. Cold roast meat is fine. Fridge-cold stuffing is not. Let the components sit out for ten minutes before building.

Fourth, cut the sandwich just before serving, not an hour before. A pre-cut Christmas sandwich is a sad thing by the time it reaches the bar.

And fifth, do not overfill. A Christmas sandwich should be generous, but generosity that ends up on the plate is just waste. Two good bites of fillings per half is usually enough.

What to order in December 2026

The turkey and stuffing will be on the bar menu from the start of December 2026. The chestnut and mushroom will run alongside it as the vegetarian option, and we suspect it will quietly win over more than a few people who normally go straight for the turkey. The leftover special will appear when the kitchen has the right bits left over — not every day, but when it happens, order it with a fork and a sense of humour.

As for the scoring sheet, it is now pinned up in the kitchen. Not because anyone needs a reminder of who won, but because it is a useful thing to look at when someone asks whether a sandwich will hold together. The answer, as with most things at The Bull, is usually yes — provided you build it properly and do not rush the loaf.