A1 and Other Sauces with Secrets

Overhead view of a red chilli sauce and hot chocolate on a marble table, creating a cozy food pairing.

If an architect makes a mistake, he grows ivy to cover it. If a doctor makes a mistake, he covers it with soil. If a cook makes a mistake, he covers it with some sauce and calls it a new recipe. ~ Paul Bocuse

While I disagree with the quote on some points, it is true that kitchen errors may occasionally be remedied with savory blankets. Sometimes we are complicit in the cover-up, in much the same way we recognize Foley Art as an imitation, yet play along. However, there are occasions when we are consuming a food product that is exactly what we expected from a taste perspective, but might have ingredients that surprise us. I’m not talking about the time you ordered sweetbreads and didn’t know it was organ meat—not until it arrived on your plate. Or the time you ordered sea cucumber, thinking it was a vegetable. No, this is about condiments you love. Let’s explore a few.

A top tier example

A.1. is a case in point. Sure, it has the expected tomato paste, corn syrup,  and spices. But it also has orange puree and raisin paste. I’m feeling my gorge rise as I type. Yes. If you use A.1., you’re pouring raisin goo on your steak. When did all this start?

How Stuff Works tells us that King George IV’s private chef, Henderson William Brand, concocted this sauce about 100 years ago. The king proclaimed it A1, thus naming it before it became commercially available. Note that Brand suggested A.1. as a condiment on fish, meat, and fowl, later specifically mentioning broiled lobster and mutton chops. I’m assuming those dining suggestions were akin to Ruth’s Chris clientele. Additionally, the marketing provided a partial list of ingredients, among them: raisins, dates, oranges, and tomatoes. Well, they were warned.

A.1. sauce: Immigration to the U.S.

By the 1890s, A.1. held 50% of the bottled sauce market in Great Britain, but it didn’t arrive on U.S. shores until 1906. That’s when the marketing shifted to steak-eaters. Shocker. There were a few other changes, too.

  •  A.1.’s name changed to A.1. Steak Sauce in 1960.
  • At some point in the 20th century:
    • The wholesome-sounding (if not odd) ingredients were reduced to pastes and purees.
    • Potassium sorbate and xanthan gum were added, perhaps for shelf life?
  • Kraft changed the name again in 2014, dropping the word steak. Everyone does use it for hamburgers and chicken now, right?  

Fun fact about one of the ingredients. Raisins may have been used in the sauce recipe to mask the odor of rancid meat on which it might be poured, or so the story goes. Yew.

One more paragraph before you check your pantry

A.1. isn’t the only condiment that has some funky add-ins. Some of these you may already know about. The source is linked to the product name, in case you want to check them out.

I don’t know what to think about all this. Sure, it’s just surprising or somewhat unappetizing, but if the end result is tasty, should we care? I don’t know. Probably not.

But anchovies?

To top it off, a little on original ketchup ingredients (the first two minutes will suffice)

Ma

8 thoughts on “A1 and Other Sauces with Secrets”

  1. sorry to hear about the anchovies! yuk! raisin paste caught me off guard too.That would be high sugar. I only recently learned that ketchup has over 25 percent sugar. probably why I love it so! interesting post.

    1. We all know that the best case scenario is when the steak is prepared correctly and needs neither. I like Worcestershire to marinate pork chops, but I don’t think I’ve ever used it on beef.

  2. Sunshine P Mitchell

    Lots of information there. My granddaughter eagerly reached for the A-1 when she was tiny. A must for her and I want nothing on my steak. Good article.

  3. Interesting, indeed. A friend says I live in a condiment free world, and that’s true for the most part. Now I know why I don’t use A1. I must have sensed the raisins. I only use Worcestershire when making Chex Mix, and will just put the anchovy knowledge in a back corner of my mind.

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