The Ultimate Stoner Sandwich

“The grill’s working so we can melt cheese without using the hairdryer.”

What would the ultimate stoner sandwich contain? The sandwich to end all sandwiches, a culinary colossus to sate hunger and slay munchies in one fell swoop. Well?

Don’t answer that.

You can’t answer that because you’re in no shape to answer that. Unless you’re currently ripped all the way to the Helix Nebula, you’ve no right to dictate the ingredients of the world’s greatest stoner sandwich. The rules are simple:

1. Get blazed.

2. Get creative.

3. Get munching.

Right now, I’m as sober as a man who’s sparked a couple single skinners. All that’s about to change though as I hit the red eye express in the name of gastro-science. Once suitably zooted – and only then – will I turn my thoughts to creating a bread-bound masterpiece.

The question is, are you ready for the hunk of awesomeness that is the ultimate stoner sandwich? Can you handle the layers of goodness, piled together in an orgy of flavour? A sandwich so good you just want to bury your mouth in it and taste the juices?

Muh munchies

Lest this project prove too much for one man, I’ve enlisted the help of a willing accomplice. With an insatiable weed habit and a lifelong case of the munchies, she ticks all the right boxes including the ones marked “Degenerate” and “Has own kitchen”.

All I’ve eaten today is a bowl of ramen and a packet of Hula Hoops, but it’s one peasant meal more than Coz. Judging by the message that pings as I’m parking up, she’s ready to rock:

Stoned level: Lit

“I’ve got a plan of action,” begins my righteous sidekick. “We should eat a piece of the chocolate and then go to the shop.”

The chocolate in question is a batch of insanely dank shit procured from a medicinal marijuana dispensary. It’s so potent, the recommended dose is one third of a piece: half a thumbnail’s worth.

“I can’t risk getting stopped while on chocolate,” I protest. “I won’t be able to keep a straight face.”

Joints? Yes. Chocolate?

Two jeffersons later and we’re ready to hit Tesco. At least I thought we were. Her shoes are laced and her hoodie zipped, but Coz is immersed in the mirror.

“Jesus I didn’t realise we were gonna do makeup just to go to the shops.”

“It’s only so I don’t look so stoned,” she insists, fixing her lashes. I can count on two hands the times I’ve seen Coz apply makeup. Why now?

Stoned level: Enlightened

“Basket or trolley?” I glance over at my passenger.

“Trolley, so I’ve got something to…”

“..lean on?”

We burst out laughing, and I’m not sure if it’s the weed we’ve smoked or the thought of the weed to come.

Tesco’s too bright and too busy. We grab a trolley and head straight for the bread aisle. I’d been thinking ciabatta. All week long, while I was trying not to think about The Sandwich, it had been ciabatta. But now I’m here, other ideas are forming. Partly because I can’t find the ciabatta, but also because the poppy seed bloomer is looking hella soft and tempting. We pick our vics and move on.

“Mmm beetroot,” murmurs Coz gazing longingly at a jar. “Barbecue sauce…I definitely need barbecue sauce. And I think I might need gravy granules.”

Now it’s my turn to tune out; I’m starting to worry that I’ve gotten the wrong bread. If the poached egg is too runny it’ll go right through it.

“Yum, chilli crackers!” exclaims Coz. Into the trolley they go.

£38 of sandwich ingredients later and we’re headed for home, where the world’s greatest hash chocolate, a fuck-ton of joints and the ultimate stoner sandwich await.

“I’m gonna have mustard, gravy and barbecue sauce on mine,” recites Coz, unloading our haul onto the counter.

I shake my head slowly. “Your sandwich is gonna be disgusting.”

“Oh winner.” She delves into the bag and pulls out a pack of halloumi. “Can I have some on mine?”

“But you’ve got cheddar.”

“I don’t want cheddar now. I want halloumi.”

Stoned level: Fritzl’d

“It’s like the best chocolate in the world!” proclaims my sister in smoke.

It’s 9pm and we’re eating the best chocolate in the world, half a square each washed down with a cup of tea and joint number three while we laugh at stuff on the internet.

It’s comfy on the sofa and the kitchen feels like a world away. 20 minutes drift by before the enormity of what must be done sinks in.

“Ugh we’ve got to make this fucking sandwich now.”

“I know, I can’t be arsed,” agrees Coz.

“Shall we just get Domino’s?”

“It’s the thought of frying onions that’s doing me,” she laments.

“I hope you cry like a bitch.”

At least there’s one positive development: “The grill’s working again so we can melt cheese without using the hairdryer.”

Soon the kitchen is abuzz with the sound of culinary conjury. The kettle boils, onions sizzle and heat pours from everything: the tap, the microwave, the George Foreman, the hob and the oven grill. It’s infernally hot as we prowl the tiny kitchen brandishing sharp knives and creasing with laughter.

“I think that chocolate’s starting to kick in,” observes Coz, switching to a smaller knife for safety’s sake.

Stoned level: Medicated

There’s a ping and my sandwich buddy delves into the microwave to retrieve her white pudding.

“Aghh!” She recoils, clutching her hand. “That’s hotter than the sun – touch it,” she urges, running the cold tap.

I impolitely demur. I may not have charred my epidermis, but I’m wrestling problems of my own: the poppy seed bloomer is being a little bitch. Or to put it another way, I can’t slice for shit.

“See, you’ve chosen such soft bread,” remarks Coz. She’s right: I dun goofed. Should have gone with the ciabatta.

>implying there was any left

I whip out the camera and survey my groaning plate. It looks like something out of Dimly Lit Meals For One. Presentation: 3/10. Taste: TBC.

My Ultimate Stoner Sandwich

• Poppy seed bloomer (would swap for god-tier bread)
• Light mayo (sorry not sorry)
• Grilled chicken breast marinated with Lea & Perrins
• Grilled halloumi
• Romaine lettuce
• Oven-roasted tomatoes (antipasti)
• Sliced gherkin
• Sliced avocado
• Prosciutto
• Poached egg

Coz’s Ultimate Stoner Sandwich

• French baton
• Horseradish sauce (spread on one side)
• Tomatoes
• White pudding
• Gravy
• Fried onions
• Roast beef
• Cheese
• Barbecue sauce

Stoned level: Demuggled (we wizards nao)

Sandwiches seasoned. Pics taken. Let the dough orgy begin.

Coz takes her first bite. “This is so good. This is my favourite new food since forever.”

A minute passes, punctuated by chewing. “My God I feel like I’m having a heart attack…This is a ridiculous amount of bread to attempt. What were we thinking?”

I’ve no idea. My sandwich tastes winningly wondrous, especially when the chicken and halloumi kicks in, but what possessed me to carve two of the bastards? I’ve barely made a dent.

I give up and take a bite of Coz’s. It’s filling. Really filling. So stodgy it’s like wading through a bog filled with oatmeal, but surprisingly good. Or perhaps it just seems that way cos I’m blazed off my tits.

It’s Coz’s turn. “That’s really nice. I could eat that. Mmm,” she says, before confessing that her own sandwich is better. The very same sandwich that is now choking the life out of her.

“It’s just sitting in my throat…This is really fucking sore. I might get a hot water bottle.”

Stoned level: Hitchin’ a ride on the 420

Up in Smoke is playing. The world’s greatest stoner sandwich has been tasted. The hash chocolate has kicked in. And we’re onto joint number six. Everything is good in our hazy little world.

Another bite is out of the question, but Coz has found something to suck on: a cannabis lollipop, procured from the same dispensary as the chocolate. I lick the lollipop. It tastes green and sweet. Crazy, I know.

“My god I am loving life right now,” purrs Coz. “This is, like, the perfect night. I think we need to do this more often. But with more chocolate and more lollipops.”

“It feels like I’ve been sucking it for a week.”

She stops speaking and sparks a joint. I think we’re at number eight but it’s hard to tell. The act of just sitting on the couch is taking up all my concentration.

Lollipop in one hand, phone in the other, Coz sits in a daze before rising and knocking over her glass of water. She curses.

Stoned level: Tatered

“My god, food that tastes of weed is so amazing,” she murmurs. “I’m just gonna finish this lollipop is that okay?”

“Why the fuck did we think we could manage two full sandwiches each?” I wonder. “We’re fucking retarded.”

The rest of the night drifts by in snippets of chatter, uttered by two stoned stoners watching the ultimate stoner flick of all time while stoned off their nut.

“Siri: Cheech and Chong.”

“Cheech and Charles?”

“Ugh…just Google it. I’ve got this massive bit of lolly in my mouth and can’t speak.”

“This is taking me ages to eat. It feels like I’ve been sucking it for a week.”

“Hey man,” says Cheech for the 100th time (or is it Chong? I can never tell those two apart). “We’re here to pick up the van, man.”

“I’m gonna have another bit of sandwich and see what it’s like cold…that’s not bad actually.”

“OK that’s the lollipop almost done. It was good but it took too long. I don’t like hard candy.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” The glass of water has gone over again. “Oh and the cat’s gone and done a shit. Oh my god that’s fucking horrific.”

“Bread is filling. That’s what I’ve left learned from tonight,” reflects Coz. “You know what my sandwich could have used? Sweetcorn relish.”

—★★★—

Got a better stoner recipe? Stick it in the comments below or fire off a tweet. Don’t have a better stoner recipe? You’re a disgrace to your vocation. Get it sorted.

httpss://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CWxgfTMLtc0