The genius of curry harmony (and why Mozart can learn from every Indian chef)

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In a recent Guardian feature (What does Europe mean to you?) opera director Kasper Holten gives a lovely definition of how different voices can blend into one harmonious experience: “The second act of Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro ends with sheer genius: starts with two voices, another gets added, then another, and so on until seven people with different agendas are all talking over each other – and it forms perfect harmony.” http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2013/jan/27/what-does-europe-mean-to-you?INTCMP=SRCH

It’s a beautiful image. But as a definition of genius… just seven voices in harmony.. really??

SURELY Mr Holten should have reached for THE metaphor of harmony arising from complexity… a curry!

Let’s take a single dish (and one of my favourites) the spicy rice from southern India: Bissi Bele Hulli Anna. This harmonious work of genius contains no less than 36 ingredients (cloves, coconut, chilli, curry leaves, cinnamon, fenugreek, tamarind and poppy seeds… to name just eight). Follow the recipe in Chandra Padmanabhan’s inspired Dakshin, and you’ll travel on a four part odyssey which blends all 36 ingredients into a mouth-watering symphony.

And that’s just the rice!

The Indian meal it’s served at would almost certainly include several other dishes, not to mention chutneys and relishes – bringing literally dozens of ingredients together in one meal.

Which, for me, is the whole genius of Indian cooking – the art of bringing together a semi-infinite palette of tastes together on a single palate.

No other national cuisine, I believe, matches the genius for fusion that’s existed for millennia in India… as its people embrace each new wave of culture – and give it back to the world in an ever richer and more complex cuisine. (The chilli, let’s not forget, was imported by the Portuguese from the New World to India – who went on to make this new vegetable the foundation of some of their greatest dishes).

So – Wolfgang Amadeus – up your game, mate. Give us an opera with 36 part harmonies, and we’ll start to name-check you as a master of fusion.

Until then, we agree that CURRY is the gold-standard for harmony – and that not even the God of Opera can touch the Indian cook for producing joy from complexity.

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A curry journey

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Every journey starts somewhere, and my ‘curry journey’ started in the checkout queue in Tesco, Brixton.

The year was 1995, and I found myself on a solo shopping trip in Tesco, standing behind an elegant mother and daughter wearing saris, who were struggling to lift the biggest bag of rice I’d ever seen. I offered to help. Somehow, we got onto food – and I had to share with them the guilty fact that I’d never managed to cook a single bowl of the ambrosial rice that Indian restaurants serve in their millions. My rice was stuck in a 70s rut of British cooking: a floating, homogenous sludge that’s a million miles from the vibrant community of liberated grains that a great pilau can be. Could they help?

They could.

On the back of a handy Tesco flyer (‘Easter Opening Hours, April 1995’), the mother gave me the first Indian recipe I’d ever owned. Several decades later, I still have that piece of paper (pasted into a foodie diary of all the meals we shared with daughter Mia in her first year). As a family, we’ve cooked dozens, maybe hundreds of times from that Tesco flyer – and it’s never given us anything less than perfect rice for our table.

Thanks to that mother and daughter in Brixton, I took the first step on a ‘curry journey’ that’s led me to own a small library of Indian recipe books, and cook countless delicious curries with family and friends.

Good Korma.

Starting this blog, I want to return the favour – to share whatever I know about Indian recipe books, ingredients, blogs and restaurants with anyone who shares my passion for curry.

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