A curry is like Indian music, Camellia Panjabi tells Michael Bateman, open to improvisation and with spices as the notes. This week, she selects her favourite recipes from the country's main regions
MICHAEL BATEMAN
WE ALL know that there's more to making a curry than stirring in the curry powder. But the secrets of Indian cuisine do not yield themselves up so easily. Without instruction from Indian teachers, is there any hope for keen home cooks?
The book we introduced last week, Camellia Panjabi's 50 Great Curries of India (Kyle Cathie, pounds 20), offers real guidance. The recipes, gathered together from a dozen main regions of India, have been tested in India and in Britain to allow for the availability of ingredients and even variations in cooking equipment (aluminium pans give shorter cooking times for onions, they discovered).
Camellia Panjabi has also analysed Indian cooking, and last week revealed how flavours and textures are achieved. For texture Indian cooks use thickening agents such as fried onions, coconut milk, dal (lentils), nuts and seeds - never flour. For colour, they use turmeric, saffron and fresh herbs; for souring, tamarind pulp, yoghurt, vinegar, lime juice, mango juice; for taste, cumin and coriander, cinnamon and cloves, fennel seeds, fenugreek, mustard seeds; for aroma, garam masala (mixed sweet spices, cinnamon, cloves, cardamom); and for varying heat, dried or fresh green chillies.
This week we publish a selection of Camellia Panjabi's own favourite recipes. But first, some tips from her about cooking Indian-style.
There is not a rigid or classic recipe for any curry dish, she says, and compares Indian cooking to their classical music, handed down through generations without a written code, open to improvisation. She defines curry as a dish with a spiced gravy, usually, but not essentially, eaten with rice. In many parts of India it's eaten with home-made roti (flat bread) made of wheat or millet.
There is always an essential ingredient: meat, fowl, eggs, a single vegetable like potatoes, brinjal (aubergine), mushrooms, or a mixture of vegetables such as peas, diced carrots and french beans or potatoes and cauliflower.
Indian cuisine is no different from French in its dependence on good stock as the basis of all sauces. When Indians use meat, chicken or fish they always leave it on the bone to give a robust flavour, and cuts include a few gelatinous pieces as well to give body. For extra body the shankbone, including the marrow, is used. Most curries start with the heating of cooking fat; traditionally this was clarified butter, ghee, but in western India this has been superseded by the healthier sunflower or corn oil.
The use of spices is the key to making curries, Camellia Panjabi says, and you need to understand the complex effect of each one and its part in providing colour, texture, aroma and flavour. 'Spices are like musical notes. All curries, like melodies, are composed of the same spices. For example, if a dish contains a lot of red chilli and is combined with coconut milk, then the red- hot flavour is balanced with sweetness. When the proportion of coconut is higher than the chilli the result is a delightful symphony of flavours.'
The choice of spices makes the sum total of taste and flavours. But the sequence in which they are put in the pot is important, and so is the length of time each spice is fried to release its flavour (frying releases the flavour of the spice more strongly than plain cooking). If all spices are added simultaneously some will burn in a few seconds, and some will remain uncooked. For example, you need to fry coriander powder for about six minutes, but cumin for less than a minute.
An essential technique is bhuna, when spices are stir-fried in medium-hot fat or oil, in continual contact with the base of the pan, stirring so that they don't burn. Alternatively, onions are fried first and, when their moisture has been driven off, the freshly ground spices are added in the right sequence. From this point onwards, most Indian curry dishes are cooked very slowly, often with the lid on, to concentrate flavours.