
Chef Thomas
Anchovy Sauce
A proper white sauce sharpened with pounded anchovy, the old Georgian trick for waking up a piece of poached fish or a slice of roast lamb on a Sunday in spring.
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Created by Chef Thomas
A bowl of sharp, fluffy Bramley apple sauce, made in the time it takes to carve the pork, the kind of small condiment that quietly makes the whole meal make sense.
There's a smell that comes off a pan of Bramleys collapsing in butter that belongs to autumn and to nothing else. Cold, slightly tart, faintly perfumed with orchard. It arrives in the kitchen about eight minutes in and tells you, without any fuss, that the rest of the meal is on the right track.
Apple sauce is one of those things people forget how easy it is. You can buy it in a jar, of course, and there are perfectly decent ones, but a jar of apple sauce will never taste like apples that softened on your own hob fifteen minutes ago. The difference is the sharpness. A good homemade Bramley sauce has a clean, fluffy bite to it that wakes up everything else on the plate. It's not pretending to be a dessert. It's there to do a job.
The job is pork. Specifically, the rich, fatty business of a roast belly or a shoulder with proper crackling, where the meat needs something cold and sharp to cut against. The sauce does for pork what mint sauce does for lamb. It steps in, makes its point, and steps back.
This is barely a recipe. Apples, a knob of butter, a spoonful of sugar, a pinch of salt. Twenty minutes of mostly leaving things alone. I wrote it down in the notebook once and the entry just said: "Bramleys. Sunday. Pork. Right." That was enough.
Quantity
500g (about 2 large)
peeled, cored, and roughly chopped
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
25g
Quantity
1 to 2 tablespoons, to taste
Quantity
small strip
Quantity
pinch
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| Bramley applespeeled, cored, and roughly chopped | 500g (about 2 large) |
| water | 1 tablespoon |
| unsalted butter | 25g |
| caster sugar | 1 to 2 tablespoons, to taste |
| lemon peel (optional) | small strip |
| fine sea salt | pinch |
Peel and core the Bramleys and chop them roughly. Don't bother being neat about it. They're going to collapse anyway, and the more uneven the pieces, the more interesting the texture at the end. Some bits will dissolve to a froth, others will hold their shape. That's what you want.
Tip the apples into a small heavy-bottomed saucepan with the tablespoon of water and the strip of lemon peel if you're using it. Put a lid on and set it over a low heat. The water is just there to stop them catching in the first minute. After that, the apples will give up enough of their own juice to get on with things.
Cook gently for ten minutes or so, lifting the lid once or twice to give them a stir. You'll hear them softening before you see it, a quiet hiss as the juices start to move. When the apples have given up their shape and the kitchen smells faintly of orchard, they're ready. If any pieces are stubbornly holding on, crush them against the side of the pan with a wooden spoon.
Take the pan off the heat. Fish out the lemon peel. Stir in the butter and watch it melt into the apples, turning the sauce glossy and richer in colour. Add the sugar a little at a time, tasting as you go. A pinch of salt. Taste again. You want it sharp enough to cut through pork fat, sweet enough not to make you wince. The line between the two is personal. Trust your tongue.
Spoon into a small bowl and put it on the table next to the roast. It can be warm or at room temperature. I prefer it just-warm, the way it sits in the bowl while the meat is being carved. A small jug of cream isn't needed here. The sauce is doing the cream's job.
1 serving (about 95g)
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