
The sandwich looks ethereal wrapped in its white parchment - and the taste is exalting; so rapturous, in fact, I swear, you don't even care about the calories (and I always care about the calories).
Fortunately for my waist, this temptation is only available on weekends at London's Borough market - which, somehow, only makes it better.
The heaven-purveying stall also sells something called raclette: bubbling Ogleshield scraped onto a mound of boiled potatoes and gherkins.


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