
Turns Out I'm the Weirdo: A Brown Sauce Confession
Back home, HP Sauce wasn’t a steak sauce. It was a lifestyle. It sat proudly on the breakfast table, next to the tea, beans and whatever else your hangover could tolerate. It’s called brown sauce for a reason, because in the UK, we don’t ask for brands, we ask for colours. “Red or brown?” is practically a national greeting. No one asks if you want ketchup. You ask if they’ve got red sauce. If you’re in a proper greasy spoon, it’ll be in a crusty old squeezy bottle that’s had the label worn off for 10 years, and still taste like home.