I had never made these: my Sainted Aunt's asparagus fingers. She used to make them every year for a picnic we would all have in Cape Town, at Maynardville, an open air theatre which stages Shakespeare once a year. The picnic was always the best part of the evening, closely followed by the thermos-hot coffee with a slug of Something in it, at interval.
She put canned white asparagus in them. I could not find any so had to settle (...everything is relative!) for fresh green, which I cooked till barely done. Then, onto the softest, and most terrible-for-you-bread I could find (commercial potato bread in this case), I spread mayonnaise and some cracked pepper. Put a couple of thin spears (one fat one would do) at one end, and rolled. One must place the finished finger seam-side down, in a container which would fit all of them. This keeps them rolled up. It has to be squooshy bread.
They were divine.
We sat on upturned flower pots in a big commercial wholesale nursery, balancing our plates and napkins on our laps, with two more pots as tables, and must have looked pretty funny.