A PASSAGE from INDIA
Tracing (and tasting) spicy tradition along the
Curry Trail.
A ZESTY AMBASSADOR TO THE WORLD of ethnic cuisine, a sexy sister
to the humble bowl of stew: Curry is the trickster of global
gastronomy, the shape-shifter, the wearer of many robes. Indian,
Malay, Indonesian, Thai, Chinese, African, Caribbean - all of these
cultures bless the food world with their version of vegetables,
meats, and spices, all bubbling in a velvety sauce.
This is no Asian Hamburger Helper: curry stars at many a communal
feast, whether it's vegetable kormas served on silver dishes at a
Gujarati wedding, curried fish in a banana-leaf packet pleasing
crowds at a Malaysian street stall, chicken in spiced milk at a family
dinner in Vietnam, or steaming goat stew poured over rice at a
Trinidadian celebration.
What curry is not: that homogenized, radioactive-yellow stuff
lurking in the back of the spice cabinet. As a distinct entity, curry
does not even exist. In the Indian lexicon, it is merely gravy, a
creamy concoction that marries meat and vegetables with a blend
of roasted spices, glossy leaves, pungent herbs, and seeds that
explode with flavor when kissed by hot oil. That's the thrill of curry:
Every cook has his or her own special blends mixed from scratch, so
the outcome is always unique.
Curry's origins simmer in the stew of prehistory, tracing perhaps
back to Mesopotamia. A more solid starting point is southern India,
where the Tamil word kari translates as "sauce," and where meats
have been stewed with spices since time out of mind. Over the
centuries the curry concept migrated from peninsular India to
Southeast Asia, China, Africa, and points beyond, first transported
by traders and later by the indentured laborers of British
colonialists. For the culinary anthropologist, this route is the Spice
Trail or Curry Trail. For the globetrotting foodie, it's a delectable
path to follow.
A curry-centric itinerary might go like this: India, Sri Lanka, Malaysia,
Indonesia, Myanmar, Thailand, Vietnam, Hong Kong, Japan. Next,
count on peregrinations to Kenya, South Africa, Trinidad, Guyana,
and England, where curry is nearly as pervasive and popular as fish
and chips.
START IN INDIA, AND PLAN TO STAY for a while. Like any landmass
with a diverse topography, India breaks into cultural regions, and its
cuisine follows suit. A curried Punjabi dish may be complex but mild,
while one bite of a Keralan curry may singe the nose hairs. Climate
also influences ingredients: yogurt, milk, lentils, and dried beans in
water-poor Rajasthan, which lies partially within the Thar Desert;
fresh fish and sweet flavorings from the waterways and sugarcane
fields of coastal West Bengal; rice and tropical produce in Tamil
Nadu, India's rice bowl at the peninsula's southernmost tip.
Broadly, sorting out India's cuisines is simple: Just divide the country
in half. Northern cuisine, aka Mughal style, developed its
distinctiveness from the influx of Muslims from Western Asia, who
brought over dried fruits, nuts, and a diet heavy in dairy and meats.
Breads are more common than rice in this temperate, wheat-
growing region, herbs more than spices, and tandoori ovens
(introduced by royal Muglai chefs) more likely to produce the feast
than the south's wok-like pans.
Venturing into the subtropical Indian peninsula necessitates
breaking out the lightweight cottons and steeling oneself for fire. As
the landscape grows lush with rain forests, coconut groves, and
monsoon-fed farmland, temperatures rise, and so does the heat.
Fenugreek and curry leaves, peppercorns and tamarind are all used
liberally in these fertile regions; ditto searingly hot chili peppers.
Instead of dairy and ghee, coconut milk softens the sting, and the
south's ubiquitous rice (medium-grain or red) soaks it all up. Flavors
become a circus of coconut sweetness, pepper heat, tamarind
sourness, and the bright bitterness of curry leaves.
Of course, heat isn't everything, but for gourmands with asbestos-
lined mouths, a detour to Goa is imperative. A tiny nub of a state
whose broad beaches are edged with deciduous jungle, Goa was
once the domain of Portuguese colonists, whose preference for
pork produced the fiery pork vindaloo, an acidic curry made with
gobs of dried red chilies, garlic, black peppercorns, and wine
vinegar, all of which preserved the meat on the voyage between
colony and homeland. For those with more tender palates, there's
always Goa's other classic dish: fish curry, made with fresh-caught
pomfret, shredded coconut, green chilies, tamarind pulp, and the
cook's choice of spices.
From southern India the trail begins to diverge: In Sri Lanka, red,
brown, and black curries are less blended, less oily, and cooked
briefly for a crisper flavor; in Malaysia, innumerable mamak stalls are
open late and enormously popular. These street booths offer Indian-
style or Chinese-style (called nyonya) takeaway. Meals range from
Chinese curry laksa, noodles topped with chicken or seafood bean
curd, and sprouts, and swimming in a spicy sauce, to mutton kurma:
goat or lamb simmered in a mild coconut curry. In Singapore, the
signature stew is a bold one: fish-head curry. In this dish, a fat
grouper or red snapper head - eyes, lips, and all - swims in coconut
milk spiked with both fresh and dried chilies.
Northward lies Thailand, whose curries bring out the color chart -
red, green, yellow, and white (the latter uses white peppercorns,
star anise, ground peanuts, and, of course, coconut milk to achieve
its pale hue and relatively mild flavor). Vegetables are more likely to
grace the side dish than the curry bowl, but replacing them are the
bright, sweet-and-sour flavors of kaffir lime leaves, basil, galangal,
and lemongrass; depth comes from pungent fish sauce and blachan,
a fermented shrimp paste. Thai curry's cousins reside in Cambodia
(chicken with lemongrass; h'mok, fish and coconut in a banana leaf)
and Vietnam, where northerners make salty concoctions with
fermented rice, and southerners stir up sweet and spicy potatoes
and carrots.
In contrast to the sweet, mellow heat of Southeast Asian curries,
the Chinese variety is pure salty, savory flavor, heavy on the beef,
often devoid of vegetables, and flavored with soy, bean, and oyster
sauces, chili pastes, rice wine, and cornstarch. Closest to a Chinese
curry is Japan's kare raisu, a thoroughly industrialized take on curry.
Rarely made from scratch, it's an extraordinarily popular concoction
of rice, curry roux (curry powder and flour), meat (usually beef),
and a handful of potatoes, carrots, or peas. Like the mamak stalls in
Malaysia, kare raisu stalls are as ever-present in Tokyo as hot-dog
stands in New York City.
FOR AN ENCORE, curry seekers can travel to Africa's east coast,
where colonial Brits brought in hundreds of laborers from India to
work their plantations. Inevitably, curry was introduced into the
African culinary consciousness. In East Africa, sumptuous vegetable
curries of pumpkin, cassava, beans, and eggplant gain equal footing
with beef and goat stews, most using coconut milk and (gasp!)
premixed curry powder. The most famous African curry, however,
hails from South Africa: Durban's bunny chow. The "bunny" is not so
much a recipe as it is packaging: a small bread loaf filled with the
curry of the day, created as backdoor takeout for black Durbanites
banned from entering the front door. Apartheid is no more, but the
bunny remains a popular fast-food fix.
The backstory to East African curry carried over to the sugarcane
plantations of Guyana, Trinidad, Jamaica, and Barbados. Hungry
travelers can go anywhere in these Caribbean nations today and find
curried chicken, fish, root veggies, or even labba (also known as
agouti), a kind of wild rodent. In addition, they may happen upon
the regional answer to the Hawaiian luau - the goat curry feast. The
recipe is similar throughout these former British colonies, with dark
roasted spices, garlic and onions, pimento seeds, and pungent
wiri-wiri or superheated scotch bonnet peppers, all typically served
over rice and pigeon peas. Accompanied by a cold local beer, it's a
great way to fight fire with fire and beat the Caribbean heat.
THERE'S NO REAL END to the Curry Trail; it keeps branching out as it
reaches into the West. In England, where colonialists returned
home with their love of Indian food in tow, curry can be found in
every neighborhood of London and, for that matter, every English
town. And the cuisine itself keeps on evolving. High-end, nouvelle
curry houses such as Zaika, Chutney Mary, and Chowki tantalize
with Euro-Indian creations such as mahimahi curry, curry-leaf
risotto, guinea fowl in northern curry sauce, and cheese and lotus-
seed curry with nuts, raisins, and rose petals. The traveling epicure
can return home to find Indian, Thai, and Vietnamese restaurants
serving curries or, if so inspired, tackle a home-cooked curry -
leaving that jar of yellow powder in the spice rack, of course.
© 2005 Lisa Costantino, as first published in VIRTUOSO LIFE magazine.
Curry Trail.
A ZESTY AMBASSADOR TO THE WORLD of ethnic cuisine, a sexy sister
to the humble bowl of stew: Curry is the trickster of global
gastronomy, the shape-shifter, the wearer of many robes. Indian,
Malay, Indonesian, Thai, Chinese, African, Caribbean - all of these
cultures bless the food world with their version of vegetables,
meats, and spices, all bubbling in a velvety sauce.
This is no Asian Hamburger Helper: curry stars at many a communal
feast, whether it's vegetable kormas served on silver dishes at a
Gujarati wedding, curried fish in a banana-leaf packet pleasing
crowds at a Malaysian street stall, chicken in spiced milk at a family
dinner in Vietnam, or steaming goat stew poured over rice at a
Trinidadian celebration.
What curry is not: that homogenized, radioactive-yellow stuff
lurking in the back of the spice cabinet. As a distinct entity, curry
does not even exist. In the Indian lexicon, it is merely gravy, a
creamy concoction that marries meat and vegetables with a blend
of roasted spices, glossy leaves, pungent herbs, and seeds that
explode with flavor when kissed by hot oil. That's the thrill of curry:
Every cook has his or her own special blends mixed from scratch, so
the outcome is always unique.
Curry's origins simmer in the stew of prehistory, tracing perhaps
back to Mesopotamia. A more solid starting point is southern India,
where the Tamil word kari translates as "sauce," and where meats
have been stewed with spices since time out of mind. Over the
centuries the curry concept migrated from peninsular India to
Southeast Asia, China, Africa, and points beyond, first transported
by traders and later by the indentured laborers of British
colonialists. For the culinary anthropologist, this route is the Spice
Trail or Curry Trail. For the globetrotting foodie, it's a delectable
path to follow.
A curry-centric itinerary might go like this: India, Sri Lanka, Malaysia,
Indonesia, Myanmar, Thailand, Vietnam, Hong Kong, Japan. Next,
count on peregrinations to Kenya, South Africa, Trinidad, Guyana,
and England, where curry is nearly as pervasive and popular as fish
and chips.
START IN INDIA, AND PLAN TO STAY for a while. Like any landmass
with a diverse topography, India breaks into cultural regions, and its
cuisine follows suit. A curried Punjabi dish may be complex but mild,
while one bite of a Keralan curry may singe the nose hairs. Climate
also influences ingredients: yogurt, milk, lentils, and dried beans in
water-poor Rajasthan, which lies partially within the Thar Desert;
fresh fish and sweet flavorings from the waterways and sugarcane
fields of coastal West Bengal; rice and tropical produce in Tamil
Nadu, India's rice bowl at the peninsula's southernmost tip.
Broadly, sorting out India's cuisines is simple: Just divide the country
in half. Northern cuisine, aka Mughal style, developed its
distinctiveness from the influx of Muslims from Western Asia, who
brought over dried fruits, nuts, and a diet heavy in dairy and meats.
Breads are more common than rice in this temperate, wheat-
growing region, herbs more than spices, and tandoori ovens
(introduced by royal Muglai chefs) more likely to produce the feast
than the south's wok-like pans.
Venturing into the subtropical Indian peninsula necessitates
breaking out the lightweight cottons and steeling oneself for fire. As
the landscape grows lush with rain forests, coconut groves, and
monsoon-fed farmland, temperatures rise, and so does the heat.
Fenugreek and curry leaves, peppercorns and tamarind are all used
liberally in these fertile regions; ditto searingly hot chili peppers.
Instead of dairy and ghee, coconut milk softens the sting, and the
south's ubiquitous rice (medium-grain or red) soaks it all up. Flavors
become a circus of coconut sweetness, pepper heat, tamarind
sourness, and the bright bitterness of curry leaves.
Of course, heat isn't everything, but for gourmands with asbestos-
lined mouths, a detour to Goa is imperative. A tiny nub of a state
whose broad beaches are edged with deciduous jungle, Goa was
once the domain of Portuguese colonists, whose preference for
pork produced the fiery pork vindaloo, an acidic curry made with
gobs of dried red chilies, garlic, black peppercorns, and wine
vinegar, all of which preserved the meat on the voyage between
colony and homeland. For those with more tender palates, there's
always Goa's other classic dish: fish curry, made with fresh-caught
pomfret, shredded coconut, green chilies, tamarind pulp, and the
cook's choice of spices.
From southern India the trail begins to diverge: In Sri Lanka, red,
brown, and black curries are less blended, less oily, and cooked
briefly for a crisper flavor; in Malaysia, innumerable mamak stalls are
open late and enormously popular. These street booths offer Indian-
style or Chinese-style (called nyonya) takeaway. Meals range from
Chinese curry laksa, noodles topped with chicken or seafood bean
curd, and sprouts, and swimming in a spicy sauce, to mutton kurma:
goat or lamb simmered in a mild coconut curry. In Singapore, the
signature stew is a bold one: fish-head curry. In this dish, a fat
grouper or red snapper head - eyes, lips, and all - swims in coconut
milk spiked with both fresh and dried chilies.
Northward lies Thailand, whose curries bring out the color chart -
red, green, yellow, and white (the latter uses white peppercorns,
star anise, ground peanuts, and, of course, coconut milk to achieve
its pale hue and relatively mild flavor). Vegetables are more likely to
grace the side dish than the curry bowl, but replacing them are the
bright, sweet-and-sour flavors of kaffir lime leaves, basil, galangal,
and lemongrass; depth comes from pungent fish sauce and blachan,
a fermented shrimp paste. Thai curry's cousins reside in Cambodia
(chicken with lemongrass; h'mok, fish and coconut in a banana leaf)
and Vietnam, where northerners make salty concoctions with
fermented rice, and southerners stir up sweet and spicy potatoes
and carrots.
In contrast to the sweet, mellow heat of Southeast Asian curries,
the Chinese variety is pure salty, savory flavor, heavy on the beef,
often devoid of vegetables, and flavored with soy, bean, and oyster
sauces, chili pastes, rice wine, and cornstarch. Closest to a Chinese
curry is Japan's kare raisu, a thoroughly industrialized take on curry.
Rarely made from scratch, it's an extraordinarily popular concoction
of rice, curry roux (curry powder and flour), meat (usually beef),
and a handful of potatoes, carrots, or peas. Like the mamak stalls in
Malaysia, kare raisu stalls are as ever-present in Tokyo as hot-dog
stands in New York City.
FOR AN ENCORE, curry seekers can travel to Africa's east coast,
where colonial Brits brought in hundreds of laborers from India to
work their plantations. Inevitably, curry was introduced into the
African culinary consciousness. In East Africa, sumptuous vegetable
curries of pumpkin, cassava, beans, and eggplant gain equal footing
with beef and goat stews, most using coconut milk and (gasp!)
premixed curry powder. The most famous African curry, however,
hails from South Africa: Durban's bunny chow. The "bunny" is not so
much a recipe as it is packaging: a small bread loaf filled with the
curry of the day, created as backdoor takeout for black Durbanites
banned from entering the front door. Apartheid is no more, but the
bunny remains a popular fast-food fix.
The backstory to East African curry carried over to the sugarcane
plantations of Guyana, Trinidad, Jamaica, and Barbados. Hungry
travelers can go anywhere in these Caribbean nations today and find
curried chicken, fish, root veggies, or even labba (also known as
agouti), a kind of wild rodent. In addition, they may happen upon
the regional answer to the Hawaiian luau - the goat curry feast. The
recipe is similar throughout these former British colonies, with dark
roasted spices, garlic and onions, pimento seeds, and pungent
wiri-wiri or superheated scotch bonnet peppers, all typically served
over rice and pigeon peas. Accompanied by a cold local beer, it's a
great way to fight fire with fire and beat the Caribbean heat.
THERE'S NO REAL END to the Curry Trail; it keeps branching out as it
reaches into the West. In England, where colonialists returned
home with their love of Indian food in tow, curry can be found in
every neighborhood of London and, for that matter, every English
town. And the cuisine itself keeps on evolving. High-end, nouvelle
curry houses such as Zaika, Chutney Mary, and Chowki tantalize
with Euro-Indian creations such as mahimahi curry, curry-leaf
risotto, guinea fowl in northern curry sauce, and cheese and lotus-
seed curry with nuts, raisins, and rose petals. The traveling epicure
can return home to find Indian, Thai, and Vietnamese restaurants
serving curries or, if so inspired, tackle a home-cooked curry -
leaving that jar of yellow powder in the spice rack, of course.
© 2005 Lisa Costantino, as first published in VIRTUOSO LIFE magazine.
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