Condiment Review: Sweet Chilli Sauce

Hot and Sweet, scorching and saccharine, Sweet Chilli Sauce brings together the diametric opposites of the flavour spectrum. This timeless culinary combination has ruled over our palates for as long as man has felt the urge to dip deep fried carbs into tasty slop. Bringing these extremes together in harmony is nothing less than alchemy itself.

Like all the best women, Sweet Chilli Sauce is a condiment divided: dual, complex, difficult to read. Not to be second-guessed, she is all sweetness and light on first acquaintance, massaging your ego with flattering pleasantries and fluttering eyelids. But beneath this charming exterior lies an angry temper, an irascible fire. Treat her unkind, overload on her enslaving qualities and she will leave you singed. Do not cross this sphinx; she has a dark side.

I thought my taste buds could do with a bit of invigorating for this challenge so I took the train to Brighton where there were plenty of fresh-tongued Condimentalists eager for a taste off. I packed my bowls, scoured the streets for every sauce in town, and putting a mound of prawn crackers in the middle of the table, let them do the rest.

In 6^th place:

Yeo’s Sweet Chilli Sauce (375ml) - £1.45 (from Taj the Grocer in Brighton).

The Condimentalists were left unconvinced of that of this one’s claims to even be in the competition. Suggestions that it might be a Worcestershire-Ketchup hybrid masquerading as Sweet Chilli did not bode well. Acidic and shit: avoid at all costs.

In 5^th place:

Sharwood’s Sweet Chilli Sauce (150ml) – £1.39 (from Sainsbury’s).

Essentially the sweet and sour sauce from a Chinese take away that’s been left out over night in its polystyrene container. Plenty of sweet, but the heat was irritating not invigorating.

In 4^th place:

Blue Dragon Thai Sweet Chilli Sauce (380g) – £1.89 (from Waitrose).

Texturally too smooth and lacked body. Over eager on the spice, over zealous on the vinegar, with nothing much in between.

In 3^rd place:

Mae Ploy Sweet Chilli Sauce (730ml) – £2.89 (from Taj the Grocer in Brighton).

Extremely aromatic; if I closed my eyes the wafts of Thailand aroused concerning memories of a mind lost to a full moon party. Complex flavours let down by an overly thick texture.

In 2^nd place:

Encona Thai Sweet Chilli Sauce (285ml) – 99p (from Waitrose).

A classic fruity sauce with an afterglow to die for. Visible slivers of chilli hung ticklish in the thick jam releasing a fire when aroused. Encona Thai Sweet Chilli Sauce had all the right ingredients, but perhaps lacked the perfect balance of flavours to walk away with the prize.

And in 1^st place:

Tiger Tiger Sweet Chilli Sauce (200ml) – £1.65 (from Taj the Grocer in Brighton).

A classic fusion of sweetness and spice supported by a durable texture that hung tantalising when dipped. Showing all round excellence, Tiger Tiger Sweet Chilli Sauce dominated the field on all fronts and was a deserved winner. Buy it, dip it, and enjoy the alchemy.

Tiger Tiger Sweet Chilli Sauce - Winner of the Condimental Sweet Chilli Sauce comparison. 

Condiment Review: Lea and Perrins’ Tomato & Worcester Table Sauce.

I struggle to think of many moments I have enjoyed more in my life.

I am sat at my desk, my head-thrusting ridiculous to the truculent growls of Phil Anselmo, while I lick, straight from the plate, my fifth dollop of Lea and Perrins’ Tomato & Worcester Table Sauce. Dirty, filthy, squalid…this, my friends, is living.

First, let’s deal with semantics. Although this proclaims itself to be ‘Tomato’ based sauce, this is no ketchup. Its slow glide out of the bottle; its satisfying dollop; its sheen brown complexion; its layered swells of subtle spicing: Lea and Perrins’ Tomato & Worcester Table Sauce could only ever be considered a Brown Sauce.

The first thing I noticed when I opened the bottle was the smell: that unmistakable tang of Worcestershire Sauce quivering at my sinuses. Lea & Perrins’ have taken the key element of their Orient infused secret sauce and stiffened it up for the twenty-first century. Perhaps a criticism to be levelled at the original Worcestershire Sauce is its lack of versatility; sometimes all you want is a reassuring blob of shimmering gloop on the side of your plate. Lea and Perrins’ Tomato & Worcester Table Sauce is a sauce in its own right, ready to hold its own at any organised gorging or impromptu graze.

Aside from its pungency, the taste is complex, fluctuating and escalating as it spreads over the tongue. As it makes contact, it disperses its generous flavours, opening the pores to exotic scents and a sweet spicy piquancy. The heat here is not chilli hot, but rather a delightful bitter and peppery aftertaste, fluttering generous through the neglected realms of my palette. With each mouthful, subtle whispers of the East arc and swirl, tickling the taste buds, unleashing a rush of eager saliva. This is playful, addictive, and damn tasty.

It works with bacon; it works with sausage; it works with chicken; it even works a treat with grilled vegetables. The point is, this stuff will better any breakfast, boost any barbecue, or boss any banquet. It is very, very good.

Saying that, with my beard full of sauce and a grin of mad pleasure on my face, it works pretty well on its own too.

(A bottle of Lea and Perrins’ Tomato & Worcester Table Sauce cost me £2.05 from my local Tesco).

And so to the first challenge: English Mustard

English mustard: the Devil’s fiery load. Scoop it. Dollop it. Pile that peppery goodness high. This yellow peril makes meat come alive and is, surely, the king of all condiments. Show it respect or it will leave your eyes gushing and your nostrils gaping.

The ingredients are simple really - mustard powder, salt, water, perhaps a dash of lemon – but oh, how they vary. I have trawled the streets of London and found ten, ready available, versions. My quest was by no means exhaustive – I had a cold – but I did manage to make it to Sainsbury’s, Tesco, Marks & Spencer’s and Waitrose. These aren’t bespoke deli-squelch-pickle-style mustards that cost five quid a jar down Borough Market, these are mustards we can all find and can all afford.

And this is no amateurish lone-man, finger in the wind, comparison. I have toiled for my results. Once the mustards were bought I invested in some rather fetching white pots to put them in, all in the name of anonymity. 

The next step was to tempt over some willing volunteers. Waving the prospect of roast beef at them until they relented, I amassed The Condimentalists, a cultivated band of condiment connoisseurs. Their tongues are one-ended flavour finders: their taste buds have been chiselled, their palates primed.

And so to the results - let the mustard tears flow.

In 10^th place:

Colman’s Mustard Powder (57g) - £1.21

Powdery, watery, hot, yet rank. This do it yourself mustard powder failed on all counts with its combination of fiery unpleasantness and diluted insipidness. It tasted like a spicy puddle.

Although I am certain that I followed the on-the-packet instructions to the word, there is every chance that the failure for this to live up to Colman’s grand reputation was all my own.

In 9^th place:

Marks & Spencer Sandwich English Mustard (175g) – 89p

How to corrupt a perfectly good English Mustard? Two words: salad cream. Although this had a creamy texture it was far too impotent ever to be considered a true English Mustard. It contained vinegar too. Boo.

In 8^th place:

Tesco English Mustard (190g) – 48p

Too much acid and too much heat. Not enough roundness to the flavour. Again, there was vinegar involved. Get thee to the back of the cupboard and gather some dust.

In 7^th place:

Sainsbury’s Basics Mustard (180g) – 32p

Tasted chemically, not hot enough. Rather average, very cheap though. If you have a thing for shit mustard you could get three jars for a pound.

In 6^th place:

Colman’s English Mustard (170g) - £1.54 (from Tesco)

A turn up for the books perhaps? Colman’s, that most iconic of mustards, only scrapes into 6^th place. Although it had a good level of heat, the general consensus was that that was about all. Lacking in flavour.

In 5^th place:

Waitrose English Mustard (180g) – 55p

Getting better, but this was too sharp with not enough tang, even a little bitter. It did have an excellent texture though.

In 4^th place:

Sainsbury’s English Mustard (200g) – 59p

Smooth, not too abrasive, nice flavour. A little watery, and dare I say it, a hint of the salad cream.

In 3^rd place:

Marks & Spencer Hot English Mustard (180g) – 74p

Flavoursome, with a great kick. Deep yellow, screaming “Kiss me, I’ll make you cry.” A fine English Mustard. 

In 2^nd place:

Tracklements Strong English Mustard (140g) - £2.09 (Waitrose)

Intense, but fleeting, nose fire. Great texture and full of flavour. The Tracklements also contained vinegar, which technically disqualifies it from consideration as an English Mustard. Luckily I’m not being technical, but the flavour was a little too vinegary for it to take the top spot. 

And in 1^st place:

Inferno Old English Mustard (200g) – £1.59 (Waitrose)

The clear favourite with all of the Condimentalists. A rich balance between heat, flavour and tang. Deep tones, soft bouquet, good dolloping. This did things to our tongues that had never been done before. A jar of firecracker fallatio. 

Inferno Old English Mustard - Winner of the first Condimental English Mustard comparison. 

Welcome to Condimental

Welcome to Condimental, the blog that favours flavour. 


Here I, Colonel Mustard, will deconstruct those fiery perplexities that skulk away at the side of the plate. I will trawl the planet for zest and tang, fire and twang, proclaiming in my wake the greatest sauces and seasonings the world has ever seen.


I’m here to celebrate those trifling mounds of mustard-yellow or ketchup-red that we squirt uncouth over our food every day. They may look harmless, but they hold secrets to unsurpassable taste experiences. They rouse our food, make it come alive, stuff firecrackers under tepid titbits, and take our taste buds to delirium.

Condiments are the building blocks of food, the flavour enhancers that can turn a pan-frazzled steak into a plate of culinary majesty. They let us, the diners, take back control of our food. With my Condimental Reviews and Comparisons you can claim back your plate and make sure you never again squander a well-cooked burger on a reckless relish.