Deviled Sausages

On Tuesday nights in our house in the 1980s, Mum made Deviled Sausages. Not because it was fancy, not because it was fashionable, but because it was Tuesday, the week was long, money was tight, and Deviled Sausages was reliable, affordable, and universally loved by her four kids. We'd walk in from school, smell the tangy-sweet sauce simmering, and know that dinner would be good. "It's not cordon bleu," Mum would say, stirring the pot, "but it's honest food that fills bellies and uses what we've got. That's good enough."

Deviled Sausages emerged in Australian home cooking in the 1960s and 70s, part of a wave of "convenience cuisine" that relied on pantry staples, economical proteins, and quick cooking. The name "deviled" refers to the tangy, slightly spicy sauce made from tomato sauce (ketchup), Worcestershire sauce, mustard, and vinegar - the same flavoring profile used in deviled eggs and deviled ham. It was budget cooking at its best: cheap sausages transformed into something special with ingredients that cost pennies and lived indefinitely in the cupboard.

Mum's recipe came from her mother, who made it through the tough years of the 1960s when feeding five kids on a single income required creativity and thrift. The technique was beautifully simple: brown the sausages (any kind - thin sausages, thick sausages, beef, pork, whatever was on special), make a quick sauce from tomato sauce, Worcestershire, mustard, a bit of sugar, and water, simmer everything together until the sauce thickens and the sausages are coated in glossy, tangy goodness. Serve with mashed potato and peas, or rice, or just white bread to soak up the sauce. Done in thirty minutes, cost about five dollars to feed six people, and nobody complained.

The taste of Deviled Sausages is pure nostalgia - sweet and tangy from the tomato sauce, savory and umami-rich from the Worcestershire, sharp from the mustard, slightly caramelized from the sugar. The sauce clings to the sausages like a glaze, and when you serve it over mashed potato or rice, that sauce soaks in and makes every mouthful perfect. It's not sophisticated, it's not photogenic, but it's deeply satisfying in a way that fancy food rarely achieves.

By the 1990s, Deviled Sausages had fallen out of favor - too retro, too unsophisticated, too redolent of tight-budget cooking. Families moved on to stir-fries and pasta dishes, and Deviled Sausages became a relic of a different time. But recently, like many retro Australian dishes, it's experiencing a nostalgic resurgence. Food bloggers are rediscovering it, parents are making it for their own kids, and people are realizing that sometimes the old ways were good ways.

When I make Mum's Deviled Sausages now for my own family, using her exact measurements (which she never wrote down but somehow I remember), I taste every Tuesday night of my childhood. The sauce is still tangy-sweet, the sausages still juicy, and the comfort level is still off the charts. My kids love it just as much as I did, and they fight over who gets the extra sauce. Some recipes aren't about being fashionable or impressive - they're about being reliable, affordable, and loved. Deviled Sausages is all three.