I’m back, after a short break from blogging. Yesterday evening I came across Anton Mosimann’s recipe for a Thousand Islands Dressing, which had me scurrying back to the bookshelves for further research.
To make the Mosimann version sieve two egg yolks into a bowl, mix in 80 ml sherry vinegar or lemon juice and season with ground pepper. Next, whisk in 250 ml olive oil drop-by-drop (as you might make mayonnaise), and then add three tablespoons of chilli sauce and two tablespoons of brandy. Finally fold in 125 ml whipping cream or plain yoghurt. Just before serving add one small red pepper (cleaned and finely chopped) and season with paprika and a little salt.
It sounds good if a relatively sophisticated and pared-down interpretation. The Thousand Island Dressing is one of those retro sauces with, belatedly, a tacky reputation, due, in part to memories of awful buffet parties: warm plastic plates piled high with limp lettuce. Lipstick pink radioactive sauces. Stale tomato wedges. Which is unfair, as a Thousand Island Dressing made with care and love might be a very good thing indeed. And as with so many other so-called classic dishes, there are many different versions, each one claiming to be the Real McCoy.
The Oxford Companion to American Food and Drink reckons the dressing comes from the Thousand Islands region, located along the Upper St Lawrence River between the United States and Canada, which makes sense. There’s another theory that the earliest print reference to the sauce can be dated to 1912. What's in it? Apart from the obligatory mayonnaise, there’s a plethora of possible ingredients and flavourings which include: Tabasco, Mustard, Worcestershire Sauce, Chili Sauce, Tomato Ketchup, Cream, Yoghurt, Chopped Pickles, Onions, Green Olives, Chives, Garlic and Hard Boiled Eggs.
The Philadelphia Cookbook (published 1940) gives this version:
1/2 cup mayonnaise
1/4 cup tomato catsup
1/4 cup cream, whipped
1/4 cup celery, chopped fine
1/4 cup green pepper. chopped fine
1/4 cup pimento, chopped fine
Combine all ingredients and serve with Crab Canape Norfolk
Which brings me to the Marie Rose Sauce. With this one I’m on home territory, as according to that trusty sword of truth, Wikipedia, it’s of British origin and- shock horror- invented, apparently (really?) by scary old Fanny Cradock back in the 1960’s. I’m sceptical about this. It’s American, surely?
Fanny Cradock: The Face of Reason
And after years of tinkering and experimentation, I reckon I’m finally there with a definitive version. Here’s the official Greasy Spoon recipe for Marie Rose Sauce:
Take a bowl of mayonnaise and mix in two or three dollops of Heinz Tomato Ketchup. Add a dash of Lea & Perrins, a shake of Tabasco (I’m currently obsessed with the milder Green Tabasco, made from Jalapeno chilli peppers), and a squeeze of lemon juice. Now for the secret ingredient: mix in two teaspoons or so of cognac. Makes all the difference. Smooths out the sauce for some reason, giving it a slightly sweet taste, although, tempting as it is, you don’t want to add too much brandy otherwise you will end up with a thin and watery sauce. Finish with a pinch or two of Cayenne Pepper and a pinch of salt.
This will make you an excellent Marie Rose Sauce. Combine with fresh prawns to make prawn cocktail. As Nigel Slater says, you don’t want to tinker with this classic. Too many cooks try to pep it up with the dreaded “twist”. Don’t even think of it.
