The myth and reality of curry

Max Jacobson

Wednesday, Jan. 30, 2002 | 8:21 a.m.

Perhaps nothing in the food world is more misunderstood than curry, a generic term that exists in many forms across many cultures. In England, for instance, it is often found in the form of a yellowish sauce used with meats and accompanied by sweet chutneys, raisins, shredded coconuts and various other sweetmeats.

It is also commonly -- and mistakenly -- identified as a component of Indian food. Many times someone will say, "I don't like curry," when asked about Indian food. The fact is, there is no such thing as curry. There is no curry plant, for example, and no single recipe for curry powder, which is often a yellow-colored powder sold commercially.

The curry powder one often finds on the spice shelf gets its vivid yellow color from a root that is called turmeric, and its flavor from ground cumin seed, coriander seed and a variety of other spices.

But at restaurants such as the Japanese noodle house Togoshi Ramen, 855 E. Twain Ave., a dish advertised as Japanese Curry is a thick, floury sauce containing beef or chicken, potatoes, carrots and onions, eaten over steamed rice. Japanese curry has a dark brown color because it is made from a paste composed of cumin, coriander, white pepper, red chili and fenugreek. It's inexpensive and filling, and that is the reason that it is the favorite meal of students in Japan.

Most of the Las Vegas Valley's Thai restaurants, furthermore, feature Thai curries, which come in a variety of colors -- red, yellow, green and sometimes even brown. Thai curries are rich and sweet because they are made with spices and coconut milk, as well as condiments popular in Thai cooking such as lemon grass, galangale, garlic, kaffir lime and even dried shrimp. As a result these curries are as different from an Indian or English curry as night is from day, so it would be a mistake to think of them in the same way.

Nonetheless, it is Indian cuisine that gets the most creative with what is thought of as curry, although the spice mixtures are referred to as masalas in that style of cooking. A great Indian home cook, however, typically makes a different masala for each dish he or she prepares. And they do it by grinding fresh spices, in quantities that are often determined by color or taste, as opposed to using recipes.

Barbara Bhatt, a local real estate broker who is married to a retired IBM executive from India, was happy to demonstrate how to make her version of garam masala, a spice mixture that she uses for vegetable dishes such as aloo gobi, stewed cauliflower and potato.

Bhatt's husband is a native of India's Gujurat state, the home state of Mahatma Ghandi, and he grew up in a vegetarian tradition. It was actually Bhatt's husband who introduced her to this style of cooking, which she says she has been doing for more than 35 years. ("We can go even higher, if you like," she says.)

The total time it takes to make her garam masala is a little more than half an hour, using spices that she buys at local Indian grocery stores, a simple iron skillet, and a $20 electric coffee grinder. And as she is preparing the mixture, the scent of the sweet, aromatic spices perfumes her kitchen -- a sensual delight.

For the masala, Bhatt first dry toasts, over medium-high heat, 1/4 cup each of cumin seeds, then coriander seeds, and 1 1/2 teaspoons of sesame seeds in the skillet.

"I toast each spice separately," she says, "because they have different cooking times. You don't want them to smoke. Toasting softens these spices for grinding, and also brings out their intensity."

The next step for Bhatt is to grate half of a 3-inch cinnamon stick and 3/4 teaspoon of whole clovers. She then toasts some black peppercorns, though she declines to specify an amount.

"You pepper your masala to taste, according to how spicy you like it, and if you really like it spicy, you can add crushed red pepper," she says.

At the end Bhatt mixes the spices together and adds a dash of shredded nutmeg and two teaspoons of cardamon, which she purchased already ground from a local Indian grocery store.

She grinds everything up separately in her grinder, then mixes and stores the masala in an airtight glass jar. The spice mixture lasts two or three weeks, but Bhatt is quick to point out that it loses a little of its intensity each day.

"Of course, if I am cooking meat or fish, I make an entirely different masala," she says.

She also explains that many Indian housewives use the traditional mortar-and-pestle method of spice grinding, rather than the more modern electric route. "Whatever works best for you," she says, smiling.

Diners at an Indian restaurant such as Priya's Fine Indian Cuisine, at 2605 S. Decatur Blvd., will be able to sample a few different masalas as well. Owner Tony Chinnaswamy is from New Delhi, and his chef, Datvir Singh, is from India's Punjab, so at this restaurant diners will eat the north-Indian style of cooking.

The chef makes his masalas from core ingredients such as turmeric, coriander, fenugreek (a highly aromatic relative of spinach) and cumin seed. He keeps his methods for the masalas a closely guarded secret.

"The chef won't even tell me how he makes these spice mixtures," Chinnaswamy says.

Chinnaswamy did say that he makes four separate masalas, which is about the average at most local Indian restaurants -- one for lamb, another for chicken, one for prawns and a fourth for vegetable preparations.

Among the good dishes to sample at Priya's Fine Indian Cuisine are lamb vindaloo, chicken tikka masala, aloo saag (stewed potatoes and spinach) and channa masala, a dark stew made from garbanzo beans, onion and tomato.

Just don't tell them that you don't like curry.