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Created by Chef Thomas
A bright, sharp sauce of chopped mint and vinegar made in the ten minutes before the lamb is carved, the kind of small ritual that turns Sunday lunch into Sunday lunch.
There's a moment, just before a roast lamb comes out of the oven, when the kitchen has done most of its work and there's nothing left to do but wait. That's when I make the mint sauce. Not earlier. The mint loses its edge if it sits too long, and the whole point of this sauce is the brightness, the sharp green shock of it against the rich, fatty meat.
It's barely a recipe. Mint, sugar, vinegar, a pinch of salt. You could probably make it with your eyes closed if you'd done it enough times, and most cooks of a certain generation could. But the proportions matter, and the freshness matters, and the timing matters. Every Easter and most Sundays in spring, this sauce appears on our table in the same small jug, and the jug is older than I'd like to admit.
The garden mint comes back every year without being asked. It runs along the wall behind the rosemary, taking over whatever space the other herbs aren't using, and by April there's more of it than I know what to do with. This sauce is the answer. A handful, chopped fine, drowned in vinegar and sugar, alongside a leg of lamb that's been resting under foil. Right food, right evening.
I wrote it down in the notebook once and the entry was three lines long. It didn't need more.
Quantity
large bunch, about 30g
leaves picked from the stems
Quantity
2 teaspoons
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
3 tablespoons
Quantity
pinch
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| fresh mintleaves picked from the stems | large bunch, about 30g |
| caster sugar | 2 teaspoons |
| boiling water | 1 tablespoon |
| white wine vinegar or cider vinegar | 3 tablespoons |
| fine sea salt | pinch |
Strip the mint leaves from their stems. The stems are tough and bitter and have no place in this. You want a good handful of clean leaves, bright green and smelling of the garden the moment you bruise them between your fingers. If your mint doesn't smell of much, the sauce won't either. Trust your nose.
Put the sugar in a small bowl or jug and pour the boiling water over it. Stir until the sugar has dissolved completely. This takes about thirty seconds. The point is a clean sweetness, not gritty crystals at the bottom of the bowl.
Pile the mint leaves on a board and chop them fine with a sharp knife. Not pulverised, not paste, just fine enough that the pieces will hang in the vinegar rather than clump together. A dull knife bruises the leaves and turns them black, so use the sharpest one you have. The kitchen should suddenly smell like a Sunday in spring.
Tip the chopped mint into the sugar water. Add the vinegar and a small pinch of salt. Stir. Taste. It should be sharp, sweet, herbal, all three loud and arguing in equal measure. If the vinegar is too aggressive, add a few drops more water. If it's flat, more vinegar. Let it sit for ten minutes before serving so the mint has time to soften and release into the liquid. Make it just before the lamb comes out of the oven and not a moment sooner.
1 serving (about 16g)
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