Olivia Potts has narrated this article for you to listen to.
‘Sausages,’ my son says to me, leaning forward from the back of the car, with the authority and confidence only a three-year-old can truly muster. ‘Sausages?’ I reply distractedly, while navigating a particularly awkward roundabout. We’ve been talking about my job, but I assume his train of thought has taken a lunchier direction. ‘Yes, sausages. You write about sausages. And… things like sausages.’ He sits back, satisfied in his career analysis, probably contemplating whether lunch can indeed also feature sausages.
I briefly consider explaining to him the craft of writing, the wider implications of food on politics, race and class, maybe even clarifying that at one point I was in fact gainfully employed as a criminal barrister, but conclude not only that now is not the time, but that he is correct. Because, yes, writing about sausages is quite a large part of my job. I think of the next recipe sitting open on my computer, ready for me to write: sausage rolls.
A sausage doesn’t stare at you from the fridge like half a sad broccoli or an opened pot of taramasalata
Of course, this is an enormous privilege. While food is complicated and food writing shouldn’t solely be about the pleasure that food can bring us, pleasure can and should be a huge part of both cooking and eating. And I love sausages! A well-made sausage is a thing of joy. And they’re practical, too. You never don’t know how to use up a sausage. It doesn’t stare at you from the fridge like half a sad broccoli or an opened pot of taramasalata. A sausage is a solution, never a problem.
And while I don’t think sausages require a vehicle beyond a hand or, if I’m feeling fancy, a fork, encasing them in pastry and cooking in a very hot oven until puffed and sticky is one of the best ways to enjoy them. There’s a good reason that sausage rolls have become the staple of a British party. It’s hard to think of a truer crowd-pleaser; they will satisfy the smallest hands at a child’s birthday party, be the most in-demand offering at a picnic, and hold their own alongside a glass of fizz at a proper grown up ‘do’. I promise you that the vast majority of people will be far more excited to be handed a still-warm sausage roll than an objectively fancier bruschetta or blini. I have never known a person that I like or respect to decline a sausage roll.
All too often, however, these sausage rolls are the sad, pallid pastries that come in enormous multipacks, tubs of beige disappointment. Now, if you offer me these at a party, I will eat ten, but that says more about me than it does about sausage rolls.
A homemade sausage roll – by which I mean using bought sausage meat and premade pastry; we’re not laminating pastry or whipping out a sausage grinder here – is one of those dishes which is so wildly beyond the sum of its parts, that it feels mad, once you’ve made them, that you ever did without.
For me, the pastry should be puffed and flakey, burnished with egg wash, and generously sprinkled with sesame seeds. The filling needs to be really good quality sausage meat, so that, first of all, it does much of the hard work for you in terms of both flavour and texture, but also so that when it cooks, it caramelises properly, and doesn’t release water, which can make the pastry soggy. If you’re using good sausages, you don’t need to bulk them with breadcrumbs or grated veg, which can dull the flavour.
Sausage rolls should have a deep, thrumming base note of flavour, so that they aren’t muted by the richness of the pastry, so I mix the sausage meat with a couple of tablespoons of mango chutney, and a dollop of English mustard which, together, bring a can’t-quite-put-your-finger-on-it hum of spice and aromatics, and just a little sweetness. I like my sausage rolls chunky and straight from the oven, but the recipe enables a choose-your-own-adventure of size and style, and they are equally good cold. A quick note: many supermarket sausages now use alginate casings, rather than the traditional skins. These plant-based casings can be harder to remove, and probably won’t come away in one piece, but they will peel off with a little effort.
Serves: 6 large sausage rolls, or 12 smaller ones
Hands-on time: 10 minutes
Cooks: 30-40 minutes
- 400g sausage meat or sausages
- 2 tbsp mango chutney
- ½ tablespoon English mustard
- 320g rolled puff pastry
- 1 egg, for washing
- 2 tbsp sesame seeds
- Preheat the oven to 200°C/180°C fan. If you’re using whole sausages, run a knife lightly down the skin of each, then peel the skin away and discard.
- Place the sausage meat, mango chutney and English mustard in a bowl and combine; I find this easiest to do with my hands.
- Unroll the puff pastry and slice in half longways, so that you have two long strips. Divide the sausage meat in two and place a line of it in the middle of each strip of pastry. Fold the pastry over and under, so that the top of the sausage rolls is rounded and smooth.
- For chunky, picnic-style sausage rolls, slice each strip into three; for party sausage rolls, slice each into six. Carefully transfer to a baking tray. Break up an egg with a fork and brush the egg wash on to the rolls, then sprinkle with sesame seeds.
- Bake large sausage rolls for 40 minutes, and small sausage rolls for 25-30 minutes until the pastry is golden and puffed and the visible sausage meat caramelised. Allow to cool for ten minutes, then serve warm or allow to cool completely and refrigerate.
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