Salsa inglesa

Anchovy and tamarind under the cheese. Rarebit without it is just toast.

Acid, salt and fish glutamate. Three things raw minced steak cannot supply for itself.

Two glutamate sources plus vinegar. The juice stops tasting like breakfast.

The anchovy is the reason a Bloody Mary works before midday at all.

A few drops in the pan and scrambled eggs read seasoned rather than salty.

Green sulfur and phthalides against the tamarind sour. Both taste of brine.

Malt sweetness under the vinegar; rarebit is these two and a lot of cheese.

Cooked allium sugar is what the sauce is trying to imitate. Stack them.

The sauce descends from mushroom ketchup. It is going home, essentially.

Two bottled ferments: one sweet and blunt, the other sharp and thin.

Anchovy glutamate straight into the gills, brushed on halfway.

Clove and tamarind flatter gamy fat more reliably than mint sauce does.

Fish sauce on shellfish. Cooked, not raw — the vinegar is too loud otherwise.

Tamarind, clove and molasses are three-fifths of a mole. Cocoa completes it.

Sweet, acidic and enzymatic against fermented fish. It reads as a Filipino glaze.

Anchovy furanones meet berry furanones; the vinegar makes the join invisible.