The Thing About Curry Is . . .

About author / Amy Powell

World traveler; gourmet 30 minute meals; lover of exotic ingredients; winner on FoodTV's Chefs vs City; graduate French Culinary Institute. Her recipes will tantalize your taste buds.

The thing about curry is, no matter what you may think, it is probably not what you think it is. As a personal testament to curry's convoluted history, it is appropriate that my own relationship with the dish may have spanned the globe but to date has not once seen me set foot on East Indian soil. And I believe a nation of Brits might understand me best because curry is, in fact, arguably and strangely, their most popular food.

To capture how my understanding of curry has evolved, we must start at the very beginning (my beginning at least), which is, as they say, a very good place to start. It is a story that will take us from the warm walls and good intentions of a California kitchen, to the stalls and markets of London, some hips and hops through the Far East, and through Lady Liberty to the alleys of New York.

In my curry infancy, I found myself with my brother in the humble surroundings of my family's California kitchen. "Curry" was a dish my brother and I grew to dread. Sadly for my parents, whatever whole foods cookbook directed them to fill a lazy Susan tray with a variety of peanuts, coconut, raisins, yogurt, brown rice, and store-bought curry powder, greatly led them astray. It would be years before either of us would recover from our traumatic past enough to venture into an Indian restaurant and give any dish with "curry" in the title a second chance.

Although I dabbled in college in vindaloo and biryanis, it really was London that was responsible for making me take another look at this dish I previously despised. Sadly, the rumors that British food is wretched are partly true. But then there is the other part that is untrue and that is where I found some truly delicious British cuisine. During the first month or so of living in the posh neighborhood of South Kensington in London, I learned that any British restaurants in my neighborhood that were good enough to eat at, were usually way out of my budget and far from satisfying. But luckily I learned that Britain is light-years ahead of America in providing freshly prepared foods in take-home packages from every Waitrose and Marks and Spencers market. Virtually every corner provided single serving kormas that were as good as any Indian take-out.

Beyond fish and chips and bangers and mash, the best pub food (and late-night sobriety solution) has to be chicken curry chips (British for French Fries). Try as I might to explain the early morning satisfaction of fishing into a paper cone with a plastic spork to bring chunks of deep-fried potatoes smothered in amber curry sauce with shreds of chicken meat to my eager mouth, you probably wouldn't understand.

Including some trips to the Far East and loads of ethnic eating in New York City, I have consumed just about every food possible in its curried incarnation from Thai to Japanese to Chinese renditions. No two curries are alike. Except, that is, on the infamous curry row of New York City. In the East Village, on 6th St. between 1st and 2nd Ave, a string of Indian restaurants with names like Taj Mahal and Raj Mahal beckon with waiters in Little Italy-style persistence. They entice you inside with offers of a free glass of wine with every dinner. The common joke, of course, is that although these dozen or so restaurants may have separate entrances, they really all share the same kitchen. It is no matter, though, that the food mostly borders on average, for unless one resorts to the sort of curry found in jars at the supermarket (sorry, Mom and Dad), no curry is a bad curry.

Curry is so misunderstood in fact that food writer Lizzie Cullingham recently felt compelled to unveil the myth and the mystery in her book, Curry: A Tale of Cooks and Conquerors. In this book, she traces the invention of curry as we now know it to the colonization of the Far East by the Portuguese and the British. She states that curry as we now know it was the creation of colonists who fused their cooking techniques and rich sauces with the spices of the countries they invaded.

But who misunderstood curry more than me? I am pleased to report that my relationship with the dish, thanks to the exemplary efforts of several nations, most notably the United Kingdom, and some fine work at the tables of New York City's restaurants, have reversed my former condemnation. We are now well on our way to what is sure to be a long and delightful affair.

Dan Kolster's Curry Base

This is not a recipe (according to Dan Kolster):

Heat up cumin and black mustard seeds in oil until they jump around.

Add a sliced onion or two. Let it go on very low heat until the onion browns (stir

infrequently).

Add 1 small can roasted garlic tomato paste.

Work the paste around and fry it to get the tastes saturated, add more oil if you like,

maybe finish it off with a little butter.

Keep in the fridge.

Works wonderfully as a base for any assortment of vegetables and meat.

Serves/Makes: 6

• 2 pounds boneless chicken pieces
• salt and pepper
• 2 tablespoons vegetable oil
• 2 red peppers
• 2 cloves garlic
• 1 red jalapeno
• 3 plum tomatoes
• 1 can (19 ounce size) coconut milk
• 1 tablespoon turmeric
• 1 1/2 tablespoon tomato paste
• 1 package (28 ounce size) frozen steak fries