My son put me on to his favourite chilli sauce, as first made for him by my brother-in-law, Jim, and I have been making and eating it compulsively ever since. It is quite possibly one of the most ridiculously easy things to make — you just bung coriander, stalks and all, chillies, garlic, salt, lime juice, a jar or two, drained, of char-grilled peppers and oil in a processor and blender and blitz until you have a fiery, flecked emulsion.
I had to make some pronto this evening to accommodate an impromptu gathering of teenagers and although I couldn't see any tortilla chips (the ideal vessel for dunking) in the house, I made do rather pleasingly with a beautiful Pugliese loaf, which I sliced and toasted, letting the scorched bread be dipped into the sauce or smeared, bruschetta-style, with it.
Once I'd presented my dish, I knew to make myself scarce, but not before scraping out the processor and whisking the remains into some more oil and lime juice to make a dressing for my salad of chicken (leftover from a roast for lunch), mizuna (think Japanese rocket) and broccoli sprouts, which I ate in bed in front of the TV. I'm trying not to think of the state the kitchen's in now…
