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Created by Chef Thomas
A proper chip shop curry sauce made at home in half an hour. Mild, fruity, and the colour of an old penny, the kind that turns a plate of chips into Friday night.
Friday, dark by five, the windows already running with condensation from whatever's on the hob. This is the evening for it. A pan of chips in the oven, a small saucepan of curry sauce on the back ring, and the radio on quietly because nobody is in the mood to talk yet. We're only making dinner.
Chip shop curry sauce is one of those things people assume comes from a tin or a packet, and you can buy it that way, of course. But it takes about as long to make properly as it does to walk to the corner and back, and the homemade version tastes of something. Onion cooked down slowly in butter. A grated apple for sweetness and body. Mild curry powder toasted in the pan until it stops smelling raw and starts smelling like the back room of a good chippy. Stock, a spoon of flour to hold it together, a touch of sugar, a drop of vinegar to wake it up. That's all there is.
It's not authentic to anywhere in particular. It isn't trying to be. This is a sauce that grew up in British seaside towns and northern high streets, somewhere between memory and invention, and it has its own quiet integrity. Mild, fruity, glossy, the colour of an old penny. Pour it over hot chips in a generous puddle.
I wrote it down in the notebook the first time I got it right: "Curry sauce. Apple. Toast the spice. Friday." Some things don't need more detail than that.
Quantity
30g
Quantity
1 large
finely chopped
Quantity
1
peeled and grated
Quantity
1 clove
finely chopped
Quantity
a thumb
grated
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
500ml
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
to taste
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| unsalted butter | 30g |
| onionfinely chopped | 1 large |
| eating applepeeled and grated | 1 |
| garlicfinely chopped | 1 clove |
| fresh gingergrated | a thumb |
| mild madras curry powder | 2 tablespoons |
| plain flour | 1 tablespoon |
| caster sugar | 1 teaspoon |
| chicken or vegetable stock | 500ml |
| light soy sauce | 1 teaspoon |
| malt vinegar | 1 teaspoon |
| fine sea salt | to taste |
Melt the butter in a small heavy saucepan over a low heat. Add the chopped onion and a pinch of salt and let it sweat slowly. You want it soft, sweet, and just barely starting to take on colour at the edges. This takes ten minutes or so. Don't rush it. The onion is doing most of the work in this sauce, and the slower it goes, the better the finished thing tastes.
Stir in the grated apple, the garlic and the ginger. The apple will collapse almost straight away into the buttery onions, going pale and soft. Cook for two or three minutes until everything smells fragrant and the apple has lost its raw edge. The kitchen should start to smell like the back room of a chip shop, in the best possible way.
Tip in the curry powder and the flour and stir hard for a minute. The mixture will turn thick and pasty and the spice will go from sharp and dusty to warm and toasted. Trust your nose. The moment it smells properly cooked, not raw, not burnt, you're ready for the stock. This step matters more than any other. Raw curry powder tastes of cupboard.
Pour in the stock a splash at a time, stirring after each addition so the flour loosens into a smooth sauce. Add the sugar, the soy and the vinegar. Bring to a gentle simmer and let it bubble away quietly for fifteen minutes, stirring every so often, until it's thickened to the consistency of single cream and coats the back of a spoon.
Take the pan off the heat. Blend until completely smooth with a stick blender. The sauce should be glossy and the colour of an old penny. Taste it. It probably wants a touch more salt, maybe a tiny pinch more sugar if your apple was sharp. If it feels too thick, loosen with a splash of stock. Pour over chips, still hot, in a generous puddle. That's the whole job.
1 serving (about 220g)
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