
Chef Thomas
A Proper Bacon Sandwich
Back bacon in a hot pan, good white bread, soft salted butter. Ten minutes between waking up and the first bite of something that makes the morning make sense.
A cooking platform built around craft, culture, and the stories behind what we eat.

Created by Chef Thomas
Soda farls and potato bread fried in bacon fat and butter until golden and crisp, with sausages, eggs, pudding, and the quiet conviction that this is a breakfast worth getting out of bed for.
The smell of bacon fat in a hot pan on a Saturday morning. The hiss of potato bread hitting butter. A kitchen still cool from the night, the window starting to fog. This is how an Ulster fry begins, and if you've had a good one, you already know that no other breakfast quite compares.
The thing that sets it apart is the bread. Soda farls, dense and pale and faintly sour, split and fried in the fat the bacon left behind until the cut sides go golden and crisp. Potato farls, thin and floury, catching colour in the pan until the edges turn lacy and almost shatter when you bite through them. Without these, you have a fry. With them, you have an Ulster fry. The distinction matters.
I ate my first proper one in Belfast, years ago, in a cafe with Formica tables and a woman behind the counter who assembled each plate like she was conducting an orchestra. Everything in its right place. Everything cooked in the same pan, in the right order, so the flavours built on each other. She didn't consult a recipe. She didn't need to. I wrote it down in the notebook that evening: soda farl, bacon fat, perfect. It still is.
This is not health food. It is not trying to be. It is a generous, unapologetic plate of things fried in butter and good fat, and it is best eaten slowly, with strong tea, on a morning when you have nowhere else to be. Your kitchen, your rules.
Quantity
4 rashers
Quantity
4
Quantity
2
halved horizontally
Quantity
2
Quantity
4
Quantity
1 small tin
Quantity
2
halved
Quantity
100g
sliced into rounds
Quantity
a generous knob
for frying the breads
Quantity
a little
for the pan
Quantity
to taste
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| dry-cured back bacon | 4 rashers |
| good pork sausages | 4 |
| soda farlshalved horizontally | 2 |
| potato farls | 2 |
| large free-range eggs | 4 |
| baked beans | 1 small tin |
| ripe tomatoeshalved | 2 |
| black puddingsliced into rounds | 100g |
| butterfor frying the breads | a generous knob |
| dripping or vegetable oilfor the pan | a little |
| white pepper (optional) | to taste |
Put your largest, heaviest frying pan over a medium heat with a slick of dripping or oil. Lay the sausages in and let them be. They need fifteen to twenty minutes, turned now and then, to go from pale and tight-skinned to burnished and deeply golden, with the fat rendered and the casings blistered in places. Don't prick them. Don't rush them. A sausage cooked slowly is a different thing entirely from one blasted on high heat. You'll know they're ready when they feel firm if you press them gently with a spoon, and the kitchen smells of browned pork and pepper.
When the sausages are halfway there, push them to one side of the pan and lay the bacon rashers flat in the rendered fat. Two or three minutes a side is usually right. You want the fat turned golden and a little crisp, the meat still yielding. Add the black pudding slices alongside. They need only a couple of minutes on each side: enough for the outside to go dark and crisp while the centre stays soft. Set everything aside on a warm plate, loosely covered. Don't wash the pan. You need all of that flavour.
This is where an Ulster fry becomes itself. Add a good knob of butter to the pan. When it foams and the foam subsides, lay the soda farl halves and potato farls cut-side down in the butter and the residual bacon fat. Fry until the undersides are golden and properly crisp, two or three minutes. Turn them and give the other side the same attention. The soda farls should be crunchy on the outside and still soft within. The potato farls should be golden-brown with slightly lacy, crisp edges. Nothing else tastes quite like this. Set them aside with the meat.
Place the tomato halves cut-side down in the pan. Let them sit for two minutes until they pick up some colour and soften, then turn them over. While they finish, warm the beans gently in a small saucepan. They don't need anything added. They just need to be hot.
The eggs go last, always. Add another small knob of butter to the pan. When it foams, crack the eggs in. Keep the heat at medium. Spoon the hot butter over the whites as they set, tilting the pan slightly to pool the butter at the edge. The whites should be just opaque, the yolks still soft and trembling. A little white pepper over the top. Nothing else.
Warm the plates. This matters more than you think, because a fry on a cold plate is a diminished thing. Lay everything out without fuss: sausages, bacon, and pudding on one side, the fried breads together, eggs where the yolk can run into the soda farl, tomatoes and beans finding their own space. Put the plate in front of someone. Sit down. There are few better feelings than this.
1 serving (about 710g)
Culinary guides, cultural storytelling, and the editorial depth that makes cooking meaningful.
Discover Culinary Explorer
Chef Thomas
Back bacon in a hot pan, good white bread, soft salted butter. Ten minutes between waking up and the first bite of something that makes the morning make sense.

Chef Thomas
Tinned beans warmed with butter and Worcestershire, spooned over thick toast and topped with a fried egg. The meal that half the country falls back on when the day asks nothing more of them.

Chef Thomas
Oats soaked overnight in milk and cream with grated apple and lemon, then spooned into bowls and buried under whatever the orchard and the hedgerow are offering this week.

Chef Thomas
Thick slices of black pudding fried crisp in butter, served alongside sharp apple wedges softened in the same pan. A cold-morning breakfast that smells like someone is paying attention.