Five Simple Sauces That Steal the BBQ

Smoke and char bring depth. They don’t bring everything. That’s where I want chimichurri: parsley, garlic, oregano, chilli, red wine vinegar and olive oil. Sharp enough to cut through a rich bite. Rough enough that you can still see what went into it.

I chop rather than blitz. The point is a loose, spoonable sauce, not green wallpaper paste. Stir it together, let the garlic and vinegar mingle, then taste again before adding salt. If it tastes oily and quiet, it probably wants more vinegar, not more garlic.

Spoon it over sliced steak after a 5–10 minute rest, or let it run into the edges of charred celeriac. I add it after cooking. Those fresh herbs have no business getting cremated.

I’m not handing out medals for making every component from scratch. Good shop-bought mayonnaise, chilli crisp and a squeeze of lime make a cracking sauce. You get creaminess, heat and little crunchy bits in the same mouthful. Beige mayo has finally found some interesting mates.

Stir the chilli crisp in gently, taking some of the solids as well as the oil. Taste before adding anything salty; those jars can already pack plenty. I want enough lime to stop the mayo feeling heavy, without turning it into a runny dressing.

This is made for a scallop bap, crispy potatoes or grilled sweetcorn. Add it at the table, not over the coals. Keep the crunch and let the fire handle the food.

For a South Carolina-style sauce, I start with yellow mustard and loosen it with cider vinegar. Then a little soft brown sugar, a dash of Worcestershire sauce and chilli to taste. Mustard leads. Sweetness follows. Get that backwards and you’ve made pudding with an attitude problem.

Warm it gently in a small saucepan until the sugar dissolves, then taste a cooled spoonful. I’m looking for tang first, followed by enough sweetness to round off the edges. It should pour easily, not sit there like custard.

Try it with pulled pork, rested for at least 30 minutes before shredding, or spoon it over blistered onions in a bun. Keep it off fierce direct heat: sugar catches quickly, and burnt mustard sauce is nobody’s secret weapon.

A cooling sauce still needs a backbone. I stir chopped mint, fresh green chilli and lemon juice into thick plain yoghurt, then season it properly. A little finely grated garlic works too. A little. Raw garlic can take over the whole conversation.

Mix it while the barbecue settles, then keep it chilled until serving. Taste again before it hits the table. Thick yoghurt can muffle seasoning, so a sauce that seems almost there often needs another pinch of salt or squeeze of lemon.

I love this against smoky aubergines or lamb chops, rested for 5–10 minutes. Spoon it underneath or alongside rather than burying every charred edge. You worked for that crust. Show it off.

This is the warm one. I melt unsalted butter in a light-coloured saucepan and watch as the foam settles and the milk solids turn golden brown. That nutty smell is the cue. Black flecks and acrid smoke mean you’ve pushed it too far.

Take the pan off the heat and carefully stir in lemon juice; it can spit. Add chopped capers and parsley, then taste before salting because the capers bring their own. Spoon it straight over grilled fish, leeks or tenderstem broccoli while it’s warm.

The lemon matters as much as the butter. Without that sharpness, you’re just adding richness to richness. My rule is simple: a sauce should give the next bite something the last bite didn’t have.