
By late August the courgette plants have turned from generous to faintly menacing, and by mid-September the windfalls under the apple trees are drawing wasps faster than you can gather them up. Then come the green tomatoes, the ones that will never ripen before the first frost. Chutney is the answer to all three. It is the most forgiving preserve in the cottage larder: nothing needs to be perfect, nothing needs to set, and the finished jars will sit quietly in a cool cupboard for a year or more, improving all the while.
The word travelled to Britain from the Indian subcontinent, and so did the habit of balancing sweet, sour, salt and heat in a single spoonful. That balance is the whole craft. Get it roughly right and you can chutney almost anything that grows.
A good chutney is roughly half fruit or vegetable, a quarter vinegar and a quarter sugar by weight, with salt and spice to lift it. Start here and adjust to taste as it simmers.
A dependable spicing kit for autumn: mustard seed, ground ginger, chilli flakes, a few cloves, allspice berries, coriander seed and a stick of cinnamon. Toasted lightly in a dry pan first, they will taste twice as warm.
Windfalls are perfect chutney material, provided you sort them properly. Cut out bruises, brown flesh and any maggot damage; a little scab or sooty blotch is harmless once peeled or scrubbed. Leave the skins on for colour and pectin, but always remove the cores. Bramleys collapse into a lovely soft body, while eaters hold their shape and give texture.
A reliable batch for six or seven jars:
Simmer everything gently, uncovered, for an hour to ninety minutes, stirring often once it thickens. It is ready when a wooden spoon drawn through the pan leaves a clear channel that fills slowly.
Courgettes are low in acid and full of water, which is exactly how you end up with a sloppy, bland chutney. Two habits prevent it. First, slice them, layer with salt in a colander and leave for an hour, then rinse and pat dry — this firms the flesh and draws out excess liquid. Second, add extra acidity with lemon juice or a splash more vinegar, because courgettes need help to keep well.
Marrow, that unavoidable end-of-summer arrival, works beautifully with ginger, lemon zest and mustard seed in a golden chutney. Peel and deseed it first, then dice small so it breaks down with the onions rather than sitting in lumps.
When blight threatens and the fruit will not ripen, pick them green and make a chutney that will outshine anything you buy. Chop 1.5kg green tomatoes, salt them briefly, then cook with 400g onions, 200g sultanas, 400ml cider vinegar, 450g brown sugar, a thumb of grated ginger, mustard seed and a good pinch of chilli. The result is sharper and more savoury than apple chutney, and it is superb with cold pork, strong cheese or a ploughman's plate.
Wash your jars in hot soapy water, rinse well, then warm them in a low oven at about 140°C for fifteen minutes while the chutney finishes. Fill them while both are hot, right to the shoulder of the jar, and press out any air pockets with a clean skewer. Wipe the rims, seal with vinegar-proof lids, and label with the date and contents.
The hardest part is leaving them alone. Chutney straight from the pan tastes raw and vinegary; give it four to eight weeks in a cool, dark cupboard and it will round out into something mellow and complex. Once opened, keep it in the fridge. Unopened jars will happily keep for a year or more — which means the glut of one September becomes the Christmas table of the next.
Hi, my name is Anthony kuber. I am artist and fashion designer.
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