
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.
A cooking platform built around craft, culture, and the stories behind what we eat.

Created by Chef Thomas
Forced rhubarb and stem ginger cooked into the year's first jam, a sharp pink preserve made on a quiet February morning when the garden is still asleep and the kitchen needs something to do.
Forced rhubarb arrives in February when nothing else is happening. The garden is still bare, the markets are still mostly root vegetables and stored apples, and then suddenly there it is on the stall: long, slim, electric-pink stems that look almost too vivid to be real. They've been grown in the dark in Yorkshire sheds, by candlelight, and they taste of spring before spring has any right to be thinking about itself. I buy more than I need every time.
This is what I do with them first. A jar or two of jam, made on a Saturday morning when the rain is doing whatever rain does in February and the kitchen wants a project. The rhubarb sits overnight with sugar and ginger, drawing out its own juice, and the next morning you cook the whole lot down into something pink and sharp and warming. The smell while it boils is one of the better smells of the year. It's the first sign in the kitchen that the seasons are turning, even when the garden hasn't quite caught up.
Ginger is the right partner for rhubarb. I don't really know why, but I've stopped questioning it. The fresh ginger gives heat, the stem ginger gives sweetness and that slightly perfumed warmth, and the two of them together stop the rhubarb from being merely tart. A jar of this on a piece of toast in March, when winter still hasn't quite let go, will tell you more about the season than any forecast.
I wrote it down in the notebook the first year I made it: "Rhubarb. Ginger. February. Worth the morning." I've made it every year since.
Quantity
1kg
trimmed and cut into 2cm pieces
Quantity
900g
Quantity
1 large
juiced
Quantity
60g
finely chopped
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
30g
peeled and finely grated
Quantity
1
split lengthways
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| forced rhubarbtrimmed and cut into 2cm pieces | 1kg |
| jam sugar with added pectin | 900g |
| lemonjuiced | 1 large |
| stem ginger in syrupfinely chopped | 60g |
| stem ginger syrup | 2 tablespoons |
| fresh ginger rootpeeled and finely grated | 30g |
| vanilla pod (optional)split lengthways | 1 |
Tip the rhubarb into a wide, heavy preserving pan or your largest saucepan. Add the sugar, the lemon juice, the chopped stem ginger and its syrup, and the grated fresh ginger. Stir it all through with a wooden spoon. The sugar will look stubborn at first. Don't worry about it. Cover the pan with a clean cloth and leave it on the side overnight, or for at least six hours. By morning, the sugar will have drawn the juice out of the rhubarb and you'll have a pink, glossy slurry sitting under a layer of softened fruit. This is the start of everything.
Wash four medium jam jars and their lids in hot soapy water and rinse them well. Set them upside down on a baking tray and put them in a low oven, around 120C, for fifteen minutes until completely dry. Leave them in the warm oven until you need them. Cold jars and hot jam don't get on. The lids can go in a small pan of just-boiled water for a few minutes.
Put a small plate in the freezer. You'll need it later. Set the pan of macerated rhubarb over a low heat and stir gently until any remaining sugar has dissolved completely. Drag the spoon across the bottom of the pan. If you can feel any grit, keep stirring. Once it's smooth, drop in the split vanilla pod if you're using one, then turn the heat up and bring the jam to a rolling boil. Properly rolling. The kind that won't stir down.
Let it boil hard for eight to ten minutes, stirring now and then so nothing catches on the base. The colour will deepen from pale pink to a darker, jewel-toned coral, and the smell will turn from raw rhubarb into something warmer, with the ginger coming forward. Skim off any pink foam that gathers at the edges with a spoon. It's harmless, but the finished jam looks better without it.
Take the pan off the heat. Spoon a little jam onto the cold plate from the freezer and put it back in the freezer for a minute. Push it with your fingertip. If the surface wrinkles and the jam holds its shape rather than running back together, it's ready. If it's still loose, put the pan back on the heat for another two or three minutes and try again. A jam that hasn't reached set will be lovely on yoghurt but won't hold its shape on toast. Better to test twice than to be sorry.
Let the jam sit in the pan for five minutes off the heat. This stops the fruit from sinking to the bottom of the jars. Fish out the vanilla pod if you used one. Ladle the jam into the warm jars, right up to within a centimetre of the rim, and seal the lids on tightly while everything is still hot. You should hear the lids pop down as they cool. That's the seal forming. Label them with the date once they're cold.
1 serving (about 20g)
Culinary guides, cultural storytelling, and the editorial depth that makes cooking meaningful.
Discover Culinary Explorer
Chef Thomas
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.

Chef Thomas
A spiced autumn chutney made from a glut of apples and a quiet afternoon, simmered down until the kitchen smells of October and the jars line up on the counter like a small, useful insurance policy.

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.

Chef Thomas
Beef bones roasted until dark, then coaxed for a long afternoon into a deep amber stock, the foundation of every good gravy, every braise, every bowl of winter soup worth the trouble.