
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
The British spaghetti bolognese, built on Worcestershire sauce and patience, simmered until the kitchen smells like a weeknight worth remembering, and finished with a hill of grated cheddar because that's how it's done here.
The kitchen smells of onions and wine and something savoury that's been on the hob long enough to stop being ingredients and start being dinner. It's a Tuesday. It's raining. This is the right food for the right evening.
I should say, before anyone writes in, that this isn't a ragù. It isn't pretending to be. The Italians have their version and it's beautiful, but this is the other one: the one your mum made, the one with a bottle of Worcestershire sauce within reach and cheddar grated over the top in a pile so generous it half-melts into the hot pasta before you pick up your fork. It's a British weeknight institution and I won't apologise for it.
The trick, if there is one, is time. Not technique, not rare ingredients, just the patience to let it simmer until everything softens and deepens and the sauce clings to the spaghetti like it was always meant to be there. You can rush it in thirty minutes and it will be fine. Give it an hour and it will be something you'd write down in a notebook.
I've made this more times than I can count. The recipe hasn't changed in years because it doesn't need to. A recipe is a conversation, not a contract. Adjust it. Add more wine than I've suggested. Go easy on the garlic or double it. Your kitchen, your rules. We're only making dinner.
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
1 large
finely diced
Quantity
2 sticks
finely diced
Quantity
1 large
finely diced
Quantity
3 cloves
sliced
Quantity
500g
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
1 generous splash
Quantity
150ml
Quantity
1 x 400g tin
Quantity
250ml
Quantity
1
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
400g
Quantity
to serve
grated
Quantity
a handful
roughly chopped
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| olive oil | 2 tablespoons |
| onionfinely diced | 1 large |
| celeryfinely diced | 2 sticks |
| carrotfinely diced | 1 large |
| garlicsliced | 3 cloves |
| beef mince | 500g |
| tomato purée | 1 tablespoon |
| Worcestershire sauce | 1 generous splash |
| red wine | 150ml |
| tinned chopped tomatoes | 1 x 400g tin |
| beef stock | 250ml |
| bay leaf | 1 |
| dried oregano | 1 teaspoon |
| fine sea salt | to taste |
| black pepper | to taste |
| dried spaghetti | 400g |
| mature cheddargrated | to serve |
| flat-leaf parsley (optional)roughly chopped | a handful |
Warm the olive oil in a large, heavy pan over a medium heat. Add the onion, celery, and carrot with a good pinch of salt. Stir them through the oil and let them cook gently for ten to twelve minutes, stirring now and then, until everything has softened and the onion has gone translucent and sweet. No colour. You're building a foundation here, not frying. Add the garlic for the last minute or two, just long enough for it to lose its rawness and start to smell like something you'd want to eat.
Push the vegetables to the edges of the pan and turn the heat up. Add the mince in one layer and leave it alone. Let it sit against the hot pan until the underside is properly browned, two or three minutes. Then break it up with a wooden spoon and stir it through, letting all the pieces catch some colour. You want deep brown, not grey. Grey mince is mince that was steamed in a crowded pan, and it will taste of nothing. If your pan is small, do this in two batches. It matters.
Stir the tomato purée into the mince and let it cook for a minute until it darkens and starts to catch on the bottom of the pan. That's flavour. Add a generous splash of Worcestershire sauce, the kind of splash you'd give if nobody was watching, and pour in the red wine. Let it bubble fiercely for a minute or so until the sharp alcohol smell cooks off and you're left with something richer. Add the tinned tomatoes, the stock, the bay leaf, and the oregano. Stir it all together, bring it to a gentle simmer, and turn the heat down low.
Let the sauce tick away on the lowest heat for at least forty-five minutes, an hour if you have it. A lid slightly ajar. Stir every now and then to make sure nothing catches on the bottom. The sauce will reduce and thicken, the vegetables will have all but melted, and the kitchen will start to smell like the kind of evening where nobody is in a hurry. If it gets too thick, add a splash of water. If it's too thin, take the lid off entirely and let it reduce. You're looking for a sauce that clings to a spoon without running off.
When the sauce is nearly ready, bring a large pan of well-salted water to a rolling boil. It should taste like the sea. Add the spaghetti and cook it according to the packet, tasting a strand a minute before it says it's done. You want it with a bit of resistance still, not soft, not chalky, just right. Save a mugful of the starchy cooking water before you drain it. You'll want it.
Fish out the bay leaf and taste the sauce. Season with salt and pepper. It will probably need more than you think. Tip the drained spaghetti into the sauce and toss it through, adding a splash of the pasta water to loosen everything and help the sauce coat every strand. It should look glossy and generous, not dry, not swimming. Pile it into warm bowls, grate a good heap of mature cheddar over the top, and scatter some parsley if you've got it. Put the bowl in front of someone. That's the whole point.
1 serving (about 520g)
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