Tamarind Fish

This is a dish built for a table, not a plate. Fish, fried until the skin shatters, then bathed in a tamarind sauce that hits every corner of the tongue at once — sweet, sour, hot and savoury, all reaching for your attention and refusing to settle.

In the kitchen

The fish is scored and fried until the outside crackles and the flesh stays moist beneath. Meanwhile the sauce is built: tamarind pulp for a deep, fruity sourness, palm sugar caramelised until it edges toward smoke, and fresh chilli and garlic fried until fragrant. The sauce is reduced to a glossy glaze and spooned over the fish at the last possible moment — so the skin stays crisp under the shine rather than going soft.

At the table

It comes out glistening and dramatic, the sauce pooling around it, chilli and herbs scattered on top. You break through the crisp skin into soft, sweet flesh, then drag it through the sauce — and that’s where the magic is, sweet and sour and hot in the same mouthful. It’s the kind of dish that turns dinner into an occasion: everyone reaching in, the sauce disappearing first.

Share it. Break the fish at the table and spoon the sauce over your rice.