Like Happy Days, Frasier, or even The Simpsons, Rogue Sarnies is that rare beast: a spinoff that’s utterly eclipsed its source.
The sandwich spot began life as a hatch in the side of sharing plates set menu spot Rogues, itself a Covid pivot from two chefs who met working at Galvin La Chapelle, when London’s second lengthy lockdown forced the restaurant to shut temporarily. As restrictions ended, Rogues came back, but Rogue Sarnies had already grown too big to let shutter. It’s since moved to a dedicated space round the corner, launched a permanent-ish food truck spot on the South Bank, and has been raved about by every food influencer with an Instagram account and a smartphone — whereas, with all due respect, I don’t hear about Rogues all that often.
The first thing you need to know about Rogue Sarnies is the bread. Baked in-house every day in a wood fire oven, this is a crispy, charred flatbread that comes folded around the fillings, but thanks to high hydration and an overnight proof it has echoes of Neapolitan pizza dough, with a semolina dusting to drive home the comparison. It’s puffy, airy, and just a little bit chewy, perfect for soaking up sauces and mopping up stray splashes.
The menu is concise, currently six sandwiches in Bethnal Green and just four on the South Bank. Like most of London’s bougie sandwich purveyors, there’s a delicate balance between signature staples and rotating options, so you can expect some variation from visit to visit, though some things shift forms as they recur.
On my first visit to Rogue, last summer, I tried a Lamb Grand Slam, slow-roast shoulder topped with caramelised onions, pecorino, and a bright, fresh green sauce. Returning last week, I found echoes of it in the Lord Nelson: roast topside and beef shin, caramelised onions, and gravy, finished with horseradish-dressed leaves and a touch of cheese. Each was an effort to capture all the energy of a roast dinner between two bits of bread, whether that be pink beef or fall-apart lamb, and each a roaring success. I’d only really ask for a punchier horseradish hit in the Lord Nelson — there’s more than enough beef here to bear it.
Not everything has such a British inflection. An Aubergine Parm is just that, roasted aubergine in a bright tomato sauce with rocket, basil, and a welcome ooze of mozzarella. The Three Little Pigs is equally Italian, piling on porchetta, mortadella, and salami along with hot peppers and smoked scamorza. It’s the weakest sandwich I’ve tried from Rogue so far, too salty by half and lacking a sharp enough element to cut through the pork triple threat. It’s still probably better than 90% of the sandwiches you’ll find in the city.
My favourite was a bit more of a surprise: the Rogue Club, not my default choice. Tender roast chicken and crisp streaky bacon are the heart of the affair, with tomato, baby gem, red onion, and parmesan to fill it out. It’s the house club sauce that makes it though, sharp and just a little spicy, a unifying element that makes this masterfully moreish.
And that’s really all that Rogue Sarnies does: sarnies. There’s no time or effort wasted on sides, just a handful of dips and a rogues’ gallery of corner store crisps: Nik Naks, Monster Munch, and Frazzles to help you build a superior meal deal. Drinks range from Fanta Fruit Twist to Moët & Chandon, so most conceivable lunchtime vibes are catered for.
A bit like Max’s Sandwich Shop, Rogue Sarnies is hard to categorise along the usual lines, it feels distinctly its own. From the house-baked flatbreads to the roasted fillings and wide-ranging flavours, these aren’t sandwiches that fit into easily demarcated styles. Perhaps that’s their fine dining heritage coming through, a knack for inventive approaches and unexpected ingredients. But perhaps the best thing about Rogue is that it doesn’t lose sight of what a sarnie’s all about, never letting surprise get in the way of simple satisfaction.