It is a fact that the English love and appreciate the sun more than most other nationalities. This is because they rarely see it. On a sunny day in England everyone in the country collectively runs outside, sets up a sun lounger, lights their BBQ and soaks up the rays. Andy and I are no different. When summer comes, we fire up the barbie if the sun is even slightly visible through a veil of cloud cover. Trouble is we’re not very creative. We generally get a few burgers and some sausages from the butcher and that’s about as far as we’ve ventured. So I decided this was the summer we’d be more creative outdoor cooks and I started experimenting with marinades. The trouble is, marinades on sale at the supermarket are generally thick and paste-like—the consistency of tomato sauce. And I always wondered: How does that thick sauce sink into and flavour meat? Well of course it doesn’t. It just coats the meat and, once on the BBQ, it drips through the grill onto the coals. What remains on the meat sort of congeals and burns. So I kept looking, searching for the perfect marinade that was a bit sweet and a bit spicy and certainly more liquidy than pastey. Then I found it.
It’s so good. Really, I’m almost embarrassed by the amount of praise I receive from our friends every time we cook it for guests. This is not my own recipe, and in fact, it’s so good I have done nothing to change it. So I claim no credit here. I’m only passing along the good goods.
Since the marinade flavors rather than penetrates, stick with thin cuts like steaks, chops, fillets, and kebabs. This amount of marinade is enough for up to two pounds of meat. Any more than that, however, and you’ll need to double it.
Forgive me, Maggy, but I’ve always been a little skeptical of marinades. In my comparison testing over the years, marinated meats have never seemed worth the waste of ingredients that often end up down the sink. So when given the choice between a marinade and a spice rub, I usually chose the latter. In fact, the closest thing to a marinade in any of my published recipes is the buttermilk bath I soak chicken in before I fry it.
It was with that attitude that I poured your marinade over my very expensive ethically-raised NY strip steak on Thursday night. I was especially nervous because although I love sweet pork and chicken, I prefer my steak seared with a smear of blue cheese butter. Although I didn’t think it would end up in the trash, I was pretty sure this steak deserved better.
But when David flipped it on the grill and I saw those branded grill marks, the furrows in my forehead began to soften. In fact, without the marinade, I’m certain my 3-minutes-per-side, 3/4-inch thick steak would have overcooked before sear marks ever developed.
Whether you stumbled upon it or found it through a persistent, systematic search, you’ve come up with a perfect marinade. Ketchup and honey contribute sweet. Vinegar makes it tart, coupled with the chili sauce, which also gives it a little heat. Soy provides salt and that elusive yet unmistakably yummy umami. The consistency’s right too. Unlike the thick store-bought brands you described or the thin oil/herb/wine ones I’ve never liked, this one has just enough cling power without being gloppy.
We had friends for dinner last night. For the occasion I bought a 4-pound boneless lamb shoulder that I had planned to spice rub and grill. After Thursday night’s steak, however, I changed course, cutting half the roast into 1 1/2 –inch cubes and dunking them in your marinade, before threading them onto skewers with peach and onion chunks. Four minutes on the first side, three minutes on the second, then onto a bed of quinoa pilaf (another of your recent brilliant finds).
The best part—rather than grilling the whole shoulder and being stuck with leftovers today, I’ve got a pristine two-pound hunk of lamb I can do something completely different with tonight. What else you got up your sleeve?
For me, it’s appropriate that you’ve entitled this week’s post “Let’s Talk About Marinade.” I’m not sure if you’re riffing off that infamous Salt N’ Pepa song, “Let’s Talk About Sex,” but if you aren’t you should be, because this marinade is about the closest thing to it. It’s really just that sublime. Really.
I’ve never been much of a marinade-er. The only time I’ve seen Mom do it is when she soaks chicken parts in buttermilk before frying them. We Andersons brine, spice rub, and pan sauce, but we don’t much marinate. I think I’ve overlooked it for so long for exactly the reasons you mentioned: how far does it actually penetrate the meat—doesn’t it inevitably leave the outside tasting great and the inside just…normal? Also, let’s be real: marinating requires planning. You’ve got to soak that crap for hours before you plan to eat. And we all know that planning is simply not my strong suit.
I’ve always associated marinating with going over to friend’s houses for dinner in high school and watching their mothers empty half the contents of a bottle of Italian dressing into a gallon-sized Ziploc bag and throw in a few chicken breasts. All the while apologizing profusely for what they are sure is going to be sub-par meal since they’re “no cookbook author, like your mom.” It always turned out fine, nestled up next to an iceberg lettuce salad with the same dressing and a heap or rice or potatoes. It was dinner, in that comforting all-American way, but it was nothing to write home about.
This marinade is something to write (our) home about. Now that’s saying something. I remember the first time you made this for us Mags. We were all sitting around the table trying to get you to try a piece of the skirt steak that we’d marinated in this recipe. You said you’d tried Andy’s steak at some French restaurant a few weeks earlier and that you hadn’t liked it all that much despite it being “the BEST steak Andy had ever had.” I looked at you and said, “If there’s anything that will make you want to eat beef again, it’s this.” You tried it, and I was SO right, wasn’t I? It’s just that good.
It’s one of those really annoying things about living in the UK that everyone else always tells you how bad your weather is and how much it rains and how you never see the sun. Actually, it’s pretty nice here – you make it sound as though we’re always waiting for a tiny ray of light all year long…Just a pet hate of mine. Have you lived in the UK before?
maggy’s lived in the UK for 6 years 🙂 her husband is british. she’s in africa now and then they’re moving back to the states around Christmas this year!
Hi guys, I’m sitting in a bar sipping a manhattan and reading about your cooking escapades. I think your blog is brilliant. The three of you are amazing. Must be a lot of fun working together like this. My mouth is watering and I must try some of your recipes. And of course, it’s enhanced by Kevin’s cool illustrations. I like the site a lot! Kay
Hi Kay.
Given how much the Anderson women enjoy a good drink, we wish we were with you right now. We’re all having a blast with this blog.
You should try Maggy’s marinade I think it’s actually brilliant. And speaking of brilliant… we three many cooks think Kevin’s illustrations are so at home on our site. He’s one gifted artist.
Lived in the UK for 6 years with barely any sunlight?! I feel sorry for Maggy, in that case. But you know, I’ve lived here all my life and if we had a BBQ every time the sun shone there’d be no sausages left! 😛
Perhaps I have exaggerated a bit, but I remember a couple years ago wearing Ugg boots and sweaters in July. The weather is not the best in the UK, but it’s not as bad as people make it out to be. Although at least where we were living, everyone on our street had BBQ’s on the same days! My pet peeve is people saying that the food in England isn’t very good….how wrong they are!