
Chef Thomas
Anglesey Eggs
Eggs bedded into leek-flecked mash under a blanket of sharp cheese sauce, baked until golden and bubbling. A Welsh supper dish that proves the simplest things are usually the best.
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Created by Chef Thomas
Good sausages, slow-cooked to a deep bronze, a pile of buttery mash, and an onion gravy that has been given the time it deserves. The kind of supper that makes you glad you came home.
The kitchen smells of onions. Not raw onions, not the eye-stinging sharpness of a just-cut bulb, but the deep, sweet, caramel warmth of onions that have been sitting in butter on a low heat for the better part of half an hour. That smell is the start of everything good about this meal.
Sausages and mash is not a recipe that needs defending. It is, by most reasonable measures, the finest thing you can put on a plate on a Tuesday evening when nobody has the energy to be ambitious. The sausages need to be good, the mash needs to be properly made, and the gravy needs time. That's it. Three things done well. We're only making dinner.
I've made this more times than I could count. Every season, every kind of weather. It works in January when the windows are black by five o'clock and you need something that feels like a warm hand on your shoulder. It works in September when the evenings start to draw in and the kitchen light comes on earlier than you expect. The notebook has dozens of versions, all essentially the same, all scribbled with the same note: right food, right evening.
The gravy is the thing. Not the sausages, not the mash, though both matter. It's the gravy that ties the plate together, that gives you a reason to drag your fork through the mash one more time. Four onions, cooked slowly until they're sticky and sweet, then stock and a little mustard and ten minutes of simmering. It takes patience, not skill. A recipe is a conversation, not a contract. This one is a short conversation with a generous result.
Quantity
8
Quantity
1kg
peeled and cut into even chunks
Quantity
75g
Quantity
100ml
warmed
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
4 large
halved and thinly sliced
Quantity
30g
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
500ml
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
a splash
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| good pork sausages | 8 |
| floury potatoespeeled and cut into even chunks | 1kg |
| unsalted butter (for mash) | 75g |
| whole milkwarmed | 100ml |
| fine sea salt | to taste |
| white pepper | to taste |
| onionshalved and thinly sliced | 4 large |
| unsalted butter (for gravy) | 30g |
| olive oil | 1 tablespoon |
| plain flour | 1 teaspoon |
| Worcestershire sauce | 1 tablespoon |
| beef or chicken stock | 500ml |
| Dijon mustard | 1 teaspoon |
| red wine or port (optional) | a splash |
This is the part that takes the longest and matters the most, so it goes first. Melt the butter with the oil in a heavy pan over a medium heat. When the butter foams, add all the sliced onions and a good pinch of salt. Stir them through the fat, then drop the heat to low. Cook the onions gently, stirring now and then, for a good thirty minutes. You're not in a hurry. They'll go from sharp and white to soft and translucent, and then on to a deep, sticky, golden amber that smells sweet and savoury at once. If they start to catch on the bottom, add a splash of water and scrape it up. That caramelised residue is flavour. Don't waste it.
While the onions are doing their slow, quiet work, get the sausages on. Put them in a cold pan (not a hot one, this matters) and set it over a medium-low heat. Let them cook slowly, turning them every few minutes, for about twenty-five minutes. The skins should go deep golden all over, tight and glossy, with a few blistered patches. A sausage cooked gently stays juicy inside. A sausage cooked fast over high heat splits, spits, and dries out. You've seen it happen. We all have.
Put the potatoes in a large pan of cold, well-salted water. Bring to the boil, then simmer for fifteen to twenty minutes until they yield completely to a knife. No resistance at all. Drain them well and let them sit in the colander for a couple of minutes so the steam drives off the excess water. Return them to the warm pan and mash. Not with a food processor, not with a stick blender. A masher or a ricer. Add the butter first, in pieces, and beat it in. Then the warm milk, a splash at a time, until the mash is smooth and loose enough to fall slowly from a spoon. Season generously. Mash without enough salt is just hot potato.
When the onions are deeply golden and sweet, sprinkle over the flour and stir it in for a minute. Pour in a splash of wine or port if you've got a bottle open. Let it sizzle and reduce to almost nothing. Add the Worcestershire sauce and the stock, stir well, and bring to a steady simmer. Let it cook for ten minutes or so, until it thickens to the consistency of double cream poured from a jug: not thin, not gloopy, but with some body. Stir in the mustard. Taste. It should be rich, savoury, slightly sweet from the onions, with a background warmth from the mustard. If it needs more salt or a touch more Worcestershire, trust your instincts.
Pile the mash onto warm plates. Not a neat quenelle, not a careful swipe. Just a generous mound, pressed slightly with the back of a spoon to make a cradle. Lean the sausages against the mash, two per person, and pour the onion gravy over the lot. Be generous with it. The gravy should pool around the base and soak into the edges of the mash. Put the plate in front of someone. Watch their shoulders drop. That's the whole point.
1 serving (about 620g)
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