When ‘Bad Word Curry’ Was Good!

One of India’s unique hybrid cuisines, Anglo-Indian food is the fascinating sum of its mish-mash of flavours and textures—with a few unusually named savoury dishes thrown in for dramatic effect.

By Raul Dias

I kid you not, but “Gladys Myrtle Harbour—last of the great Anglos”, was how my late maternal grandmother introduced herself to those she’d meet for the first time. Always insisting on including her maiden surname, her self-appointed title as a ‘propah’, card-carrying member of a dying breed and shunning her official name of “Mrs. Lobo” all in one fell swoop. None of us minded it, least of all my ever-giggling Goan grandfather who indulged his proudly Anglo-Indian wife to the hilt.
Nan—as we called her—was full of odd little quirks and peculiarities that would embarrass most. But not us eight grandkids who were always amused by her antics. Three of her most abiding memories that have stayed with me almost two decades since her passing are her signature Chanel No. 5 fragrance, her mother-of-pearl tipped cigarette holder and her predilection for profanity. The last, amply reflected in one of my favourite Anglo-Indian dishes that she was spectacularly good at conjuring up every Saturday for lunch at her home in Jaipur.

Having a ball
Yes, none of that wishy-washy “bad word curry” or worse “meat kofta curry” business for the Anglo-Indian staple of beef ball curry that would make most others blush before referring to it by its original name. Nan, in fact, had an even more ribald moniker for said curry. She’d occasionally call it “spinster’s delight curry”. I rest my case!  
Replete with chunks of potato—that I’d shamelessly bogart—nan’s version of ball curry always had coconut milk in it, perhaps as a tribute to her Goan husband. And it was never had sans its trusted cohorts of the turmeric-enhanced yellow rice and devil chutney. The latter a scary looking, but innocuous tasting condiment made from mild red chillies, tomatoes, sugar and vinegar.
Speaking of deceptive-looking dishes, another Anglo dish that I daresay my mum makes better than Nan ever did is the oddly named chicken country captain. The story behind this thick, angry red hued dish’s genesis is a rather interesting one. Apparently, in the early days of the East India Company, British trade ships sailing the waters in India were referred to as ‘country ships’ and thus their captains—‘country captains’. The hybrid dish of chicken country captain that had elements borrowed from the popular Italian preparation of chicken cacciatore and jazzed up with spices like chillies and coriander was a popular dish at said captains’ tables and hence its name.

Comfort food
Now, unlike the Goan side of my family where falling ill meant being force-fed boring ‘convalesce specials’ like the watery pez (rice gruel) and tizann, a glue-like warm porridge made with nachni (finger millet), the Anglos seemed to celebrate sickness to the hilt. Whenever one of us was a bit under the weather, Nan would get her trusted cook Kesari to conjure up wonderful concoctions like pish-pash and kedgeree. So much so that we’d almost hope to get sick to enjoy the two!
Though both are relatively similar in taste and texture, and both one-pot wonders, the former was always my clear favourite. Essentially a dish made with soft rice and some form of protein (mostly chicken) the term pish-pash was first recorded by English writer Augustus Prinsep in the mid-19th century where he called it “a slop of rice-soup with small pieces of meat in it, much used in the Anglo-Indian nursery.” Its name, in fact, is borrowed from the Persian term to break down something or pashidan.
On the contrary, the etymology of kedgeree is pretty lucid and prima facie obvious. The Anglo-Indian take on India’s greatest comfort food of khichdi is one that is made up of cooked, flaked fish (either haddock, tuna or salmon), boiled rice, parsley, hard-boiled eggs, curry powder, butter or cream, and occasionally sultanas.  

East meets South
Just like Saturday’s lunch had its ball curry-yellow rice, Sunday’s lunch at Nan’s was devoted to her favourite duo of mutton jalfrezi-pepper water. Now, the super-spicy jalfrezi is one scrumptious curry that gets the Anglos all divided up in two factions as to its origins. While my mum and her sisters claim that it was named in honour of an old British Army officer named Colonel Frazer, my grandaunt Audrey Rose has another theory. According to her, the name of the dish is derived from the colloquial Bengali word jhal porhezi, where jhal (not to be confused with jhol or water!) means hot, while porhezi comes from the Persian word, parhezi means suitable for a diet.
And if you ask me, its ‘plate-fellow’ of pepper water is nothing but an Anglo riff on the much-loved, tamarind pulp-based rasam or saaru of south India. Right down to the tempering of mustard seeds and curry leaves that are added at the end for that dramatic, sizzling finish.

         

SUNDAY RECIPE
Chicken Country Captain
(Recipe courtesy, Ann Dias)

INGREDIENTS:
Chicken pieces (drumsticks and thighs) 500 gms
Vegetable oil 5 tbsp
Onions (sliced) 4
Water 1 cup
Salt ½ tsp
Coriander powder 1 tbsp
Cumin powder 1 tsp
Turmeric powder ½ tsp
Dried Kashmiri chillies 6
Fresh green chillies (slit lengthwise) 3
Fresh coriander leaves (chopped) ½ cup
Ginger (finely chopped) 2-inch piece
White vinegar 2 tbsp
Sugar 1 tbsp
Potatoes (cubed and deep fried) 5

METHOD:
1. Heat oil in a medium sized pan and sauté sliced onions till golden brown.
2. Add the chicken pieces and fry for 10 minutes. Add the water and salt and allow to cook till tender. Remove chicken and set aside.
3. In a spice blender, make a smooth paste of the coriander, cumin and turmeric powders along with the Kashmiri chillies and a splash of water.
4. To the residual liquid of the chicken and onions in the pan, add the spice paste, green chillies, fresh coriander leaves, ginger, vinegar and sugar. Simmer till the gravy is thick.
4. Add the chicken pieces and fried potato cubes and cook for another 5-7 minutes.
5. Serve hot with either herbed rice or garlic bread.

(An edited version of this article first appeared in the 25th August 2019 issue of The Hindu newspaper's Sunday Magazine section on pages 26-27 https://www.thehindu.com/life-and-style/food/spinsters-delight-pish-pash-and-kedgeree-a-few-favourite-things-from-my-anglo-indian-family-kitchen/article29231232.ece)

Taking Kedgeree Home

Post Independence, the British returned home with a whole lot of desi magic to jazz up their rather ‘uninspiring’ cuisine. Raul Dias introduces you to a few such dishes that have additions of that unmistakable Indian tadka to them!

By Raul Dias

I have very little doubt that Indian cuisine is one of the world’s greatest cuisines with its perfect blend of flavours and cooking techniques that range from the wonders of dum to the smoky brilliance of the tandoor and a whole lot more in between. The sheer variety of genres on offer across the country’s length and breadth sort of invalidates the term ‘Indian cuisine’ with each region giving us treats more exotic than the other.
No wonder then, that the Brits—on leaving India after Independence came into being in 1947—have co-opted several India-inspired dishes into the folds of their rather boring cuisine to come up with dishes that are delicious hybrids that have now gone on to define modern British cuisine. Here are four such examples:

Piccalilli
This low-on-spice British interpretation of Indian achar is a sort of relish made up of chopped pickled vegetables and spices, particularly cauliflower, onion, and gherkin—and seasonings of mustard and turmeric. And like in the various Indian achars, in Britain too regional recipes of piccalilli vary considerably. The Oxford English Dictionary traces the word to the middle of the 18^th century when, in 1758, a certain Hannah Glasse described how “to make Paco-Lilla, or India Pickle”. An apparently earlier reference is in Anne Blencowe’s Receipt Book, written in 1694, which has “To Pickle Lila, an Indian Pickle” credited to Lord Kilmory. Today, piccalilli is best had as part of a traditional Brit working meal called a ploughman’s lunch.  

Mulligatawny
We can easily see the underpinnings of this spice-redolent soup in the South Indian rasam. The tongue-twister of a name originates from the Tamil words for pepper (miḷagu), and water (tanni). Due to its popularity in England during British India, it was one of the few items of India that found common mention in the literature of the period. Recipes for mulligatawny varied greatly over the years. Later versions included British modifications that included meat, though the local Tamil recipe on which it was based did not.

Jalfrezi
Though it shares its name with an Indian dish, the British version of jalfrezi is a concoction all of its own. It consists of a main ingredient such as meat, fish, paneer or vegetables, stir-fried and served in a thick spicy sauce that includes green capsicum along with onions and tomatoes. The recipe for it first appeared in cookbooks of the British India as a way of using up leftovers by frying them with chilli and onion. This English language usage derived from the colloquial Bengali word jhal porhezi: in Bengali, jhal (not to be confused with jhol or water!) means spicy, while porhezi comes from the Persian word, parhezi means suitable for a diet. Today, there is probably not a single curry house in all of Britain that doesn’t sere an iteration of jalfrezi.

Kedgeree
Once again, like the others on this list, Kedgeree too has been adapted from a local Indian dish. This time from the ultra-popular comfort food and convalescence favourite preparation of khichdi! This dish moved to Victorian Britain and changed dramatically. The Brit take on the dish is one that is made up of cooked, flaked fish (traditionally smoked haddock), boiled rice, parsley, hard-boiled eggs, curry powder, butter or cream, and occasionally sultanas. The dish can be eaten hot or cold. Other fish can be used instead of haddock such as tuna or salmon, though that is not traditional. It is believed to have been popularised by returning British colonials who had enjoyed it in India and introduced it to the UK as a breakfast dish in Victorian times, part of the then fashionable Anglo-Indian cuisine.

(An edited version of this column first appeared in the 11th August 2019 issue of The Free Press Journal newspaper's Weekend section on page 3 https://www.freepressjournal.in/food/food-review-taking-home-indian-tadka)