2009 Gleann Abhann Kingdom A&S Entry - Curries and Curry Powder

(this is the documentation for a previous A&S entry)

A Powder of Curry

In modern times, cooks tend to take whatever shortcuts are necessary.  We go for spice blends that remind of us what we should be cooking -- whether it’s a pepper blend for Cajun cooking, a jerk chicken blend for Caribbean fare, or curry powder for Indian food.

But what is considered Indian food today is actually a conglomeration of cuisines, primarily that of the southern part of the subcontinent and of English cookery, combined by wives and servants brought by the English to southern India in the late 16^th and early 17^th Centuries to appease the English palate with what was available. 

In her book Curry:  A Tale of Cooks and Conquerors, Lindsey Collingham describes the process that the cuisine took, from its true roots on the dirt kitchen floors of India to the barracks for soldiers to the English housewife and the introduction of Indian spices into the world of fish and chips.  In the book, Collingham cites many examples of what is considered to be Indian fare across the world, and traces its origins to the creation of the curry powder.

Collingham contends that  the  term “curry” is actually a European term (think The Forme of Curye) -- a term that the was synonymous with “cuisine.”  Though the term may be European, the spice blend is certainly not.

Collingham and Indian Food Historian K.T. Achaya agree on the British influence in the name, and that the term “curry” may have well referred to any sort of Indian-esque dish.  In fact, Achaya points out in his book Indian Food:  A Historical Companion that the term “curry” is defined not as a spice blend in India but as a gravy served with or over meat or vegetables.

In fact, the closest thing we have to a western viewpoint on Indian cuisine would be that of French explorer Francis Bernier, who traveled the Moghul empire in 1656, a half century outside of our purvey of cuisine in SCA times.  Bernier did describe elaborate meals presented in the post-Akbarian courts of the Moghuls, and expounded on the cooking methods therein used.  Throughout his landmark tome, Travels in the Moghul Empire,  Bernier never mentions any sort of powder in use in the courts.

Collingham’s work does trace the eponymous beginnings of curry powder.  She notes the appearance in the late 18^th Century of a “curry powder” in English cookbooks, but none in Indian texts. 

So does this make curry powder a non-period item?

I found myself searching for the answer to this question when I began my research for a feast back in 2004.  I had been collecting redactions and period mentions of dishes in Northern India for my documentation, but had at the time been unsuccessful in locating any actual period recipes I could work on redacting.  To a fault, I found that every recipe I had encountered at the time contained at least some reference to “curry powder.”

The easiest part of my research would come from finding out what’s in modern curry powder.  That wasn’t as hard as I thought.  Through the blessings of good timing, an Indian grocery store had just opened up not far from my home.  I simply purchased several types of curry powder, went home, and read the labels.  What I found was a preponderance of ingredients that varied as much as you might expect the spice blend to change between one cook and another at a chili cookoff.  Very few items were standard.

I had at the time recently discovered Achaya’s research.  This scientist and eminent researcher worked with India’s Council of Scientific and Industrial Research and had in his efforts help define the very history of Indian cuisine.  I only regret that I had not discovered his work earlier; he passed away in 2002.  In the book Indian Food:  A Historical Companion, Achaya told of his visits to archaeological digs throughout India, and of his careful documentation of the remnants of food at such sites.  He talked with teams that had found cloves burned to ancient floors and long and black peppers contained in partially crushed clay vessels.  Through this book and through A Historical Dictionary of Indian Food, I was able to document the spices used in the powders.

At the time, I was all about “faster and better.”  I knew that the feast ahead would take much time and effort, and I aimed to take whatever shortcuts I could to make sure patrons weren’t waiting for their supper for an undue length of time.  Through experimentation and by utilizing only spices and herbs that were documented in Achaya’s work from archaeological digs, I was able to create a spice blend of my own to use in my cooking.

I could have quite easily walked away after the feast and had nothing more to do with any of the different cuisines I had so painstakingly researched for the project.  But my curiosity was still there.  Moreso, my husband was still there, and he had developed a particular fondness for the curry blend I had created.  So I continued to periodically gather the ingredients and grind them for the blend that I used, and I started to share this blend with others.

However, a kind lady with Al-Mahala at Gulf Wars encouraged me to take a further step and teach about the very spices I was using in my curry powders.  I felt that some explanation for each spice was necessary, and so I came up with a course curriculum that featured all of the spices I had researched in my efforts.  I even offered a hands-on class where participants could mix bits of dried spices to take home and try in their own homes.

In my class handouts and in the class itself, I shared the following information about the spices that might be found in curry powders, and why I chose the spices I did for my own blend.  I also mentioned that the idea of curry powder itself is a post-SCA time period invention, and encouraged my students to seek out more information and whole spices so they could experiment with their own attempts.

The spices I included in my paper are as follows.  The information about each spice was culled from Achaya‘s archeological digs and from references in Bernier‘s epistle and Collingham‘s later work, derived from cookbooks of the British Raj era and later.  Further cited works are referenced with each relevant spice.

Bay Leaves:  In period, these would not have been the laurel leaves we know of today.  Achaya found the similar shaped and sized tej pat, a plant of the Indian subcontinent, in kitchen remains.  The plant is known as Cinnamomum tejpata or the more modern Malabathrum.  Its leaf has a flavor similar to cinnamon, but much milder.  Unfortunately, confusion between the two has resulted in the traditional European bay leaf being included in many modern curry spice mixtures.  Apicius cites the use of bay laurel leaves many times in his Roman era cookbook De Re Coquinaria.

Cardamom:  There are actually two very different sort of cardamom -- green and black.  Green cardamom (Eletaria cardamomum) is a green fibrous pod derived from a plant similar to the ginger plant.  Its flavors range from eucalyptus to citrus and it is considered far milder than its similarly named cousin.  Black cardamom (Cardamomum amomum) is a dark brown pod that brings smoky and camphor-like flavors to food.  It’s often used in tandoori-cooked foods like modern cooks use Liquid Smoke -- as a smoke-flavor agent.  If you have tried Chai tea, you have likely consumed green cardamom.  Achaya noted both of the cardamoms in kitchen ruins.  Both plants originate from southern India and Sri Lanka.

Cassia and Cinnamon:  These two barks are similar in nature, though cassia is generally less pungent and spicy than cinnamon.  Cassia is mentioned in the Bible (Exodus 30:23-24) as ingredients to anoint the Ark of the Covenant.  It comes from a tree believed indigenous to China, while cinnamon is a native plant of Sri Lanka and southern India.   In sources too many to mention, I have discovered cinnamon referenced as an ingredient.  Achaya noted that they appeared to be interchangeable in pre-Moghul and Moghul cuisine.

Cloves:  Achaya mentions the oldest clove found burnt to a floor in an archaeological dig.  It dates back to approximately 1721 B.C.  (give or take a millennium!).  Originally from the Spice Islands, they were known to have been cultivated as far west as Rome a hundred years before the birth of Christ.  They and their essential oils have been used in Ayurvedic medicine for centuries as a painkiller.  In modern curry powders from my own research, they appear to be interchangeable with allspice.  Clove or clove oil may have been added to food by Indian cooks.

Coriander seed:  Yes, it’s from the same plant as cilantro.  But the two spices are so far apart, there’s good reason to call them separate names.  The seed is actually the dried fruit of the plant.  Achaya notes that coriander was often used as a thickener.  It is a key ingredient in both garam masala (a traditional blend of whole spices common in Indian kitchens today) and “traditional” curry powder.  It’s native to the southwestern part of India through the Middle East and northern Africa.  From my research, coriander is apparently used much as file powder (the ground leaves of the sassafras tree) are used here in North America as a thickener.  I might extrapolate that coriander and its cooking could be the bridge between the term “curry” and its synonymous usage for the English term “gravy” in modern India.

Cumin:  Also a spice used since antiquity, cumin is native to most of India.  It’s the dried seed of the parsley relative Cuminum cyminum, and has been used in both Eastern and Western cooking extensively.  To me, the scent of cumin reminds me of the scent of chili (the dish, not the spice).  Achaya noted a prevalence of cumin throughout his archaeological travels.

Fenugreek leaves:   These are commonly known today as Methi leaves.  Both the leaves and the seeds of the fenugreek plant have been found at archeological digs and dated back as far as 4000 BC.  The leaves are used not only in Indian food as a spice for the curry gravy but also in yogurt and as a hair conditioner.  The leaves, to me, smell like what you encounter when you enter a modern Indian restaurant.

Fenugreek seeds:  Have you ever been told you smell like curry (guilty!) -- if so, chances are, you’ve been eating fenugreek seeds in some form or fashion.  The oils from the seed of the fenugreek plant give the aromas of Indian food (and consequently, people who eat it) that certain “tang” we all recognize. 

Garlic:  Where did it come from?  Everywhere!  There are varieties of garlic found in almost every region of the world not covered with ice.  But whether garlic was used in period Indian dishes as an addition to curry-type dishes is up for debate.  Achaya did document it in a few of his digs, but overall it’s not a spice that’s encountered in the typical pre-British influence kitchen.

Ginger:  Strangely enough, this most Indian of spice is also questioned as an ingredient in period Indian dishes.  There is documentation of candies in South India prepared with ginger, but not much to substantiate that it would have been used in other parts of the subcontinent before Akbar.  I would personally postulate that its arrival came with exploration, both from European influences and through the expansion of the Moghul Empire from the late 15^th Century onwards.  However, I did find it included in many of the modern curry spice blends I encountered.

Mustard seed:  The seed is often used to flavor dishes but not often eaten whole.  It’s often cooked in oil to take advantage of its essential oils, which produce a distinctive tartness to a dish.  The Indian mustard seed is light brownish in color; other varieties range from a light yellow all the way to black.  Achaya’s work notes a wide spread across the Indian subcontinent of mustard varietals.  In curries it carries a bit of a zing.

Pepper:  Black, white, red, and green peppercorns all come from the same plant, piper nigrum.  It is not related to the capsicum peppers of the New World.  Long pepper or pippali (piper longum) is from the same genus and retains much of the “heat” we consider pepper to bring to our dishes.  Yet its flavor is considered to be more pungent.  Pippali is still a common ingredient in India with dishes, but there and especially in British and American-influenced applications the long pepper has been replaced with spices from members of the capsicum family, which would not have been utilized in India until the early 16^th Century.  Peppercorns are another of the spices that Achaya found common with most pre-British influence kitchen ruins.

Star anise:  This spice is sometimes confused with anise, but the two are completely separate.  Star anise are star shaped fruits harvested just before they ripen.  They originate in China and are a key component of Chinese Five Spice Powder.  First records of it being brought to Europe in the late 16^th Century.  It is cited as a component of many period Indian applications.

Turmeric:  This root (or rhizome) is what gives much of Indian food its yellowish coloring.  It’s also used in cosmetic applications to give a glow to the skin of the wearer -- and as a hair growth deterrent.  The flavor is mild but often used as a base for other flavors to build on.

On the use of capsicum peppers:  red peppers, chillies, and other “hot” peppers come from the New World.  There are some who will tell you over and over and over again that these spices were not used in period.  They are almost but not quite right.  Capsicum peppers did not come to the Old World until the “discovery” of America. However, while they were used mostly for medicinal purposes in the West, they were embraced by many Eastern cultures.  There is some debate over whether the introduction of capsicum lead to the end of cultivation (and therefore near extinction) of what is considered in India to be the “long pepper,” the spice pippali.  I have found it difficult to locate pippali in the States.

Once I had researched the different spices and created my blend, I shared that blend with others.  The original blend itself, from spices I ground in the coffeemaker:

A tej pat leaf (I used bay leaf in a pinch)

A tablespoon cardamom powder

A tablespoon of cinnamon powder

A half teaspoon of ground cloves

A tablespoon of coriander powder

Four tablespoons of ground cumin

A pinch of methi leaves

A teaspoon ground fenugreek

½ teaspoon mustard seeds, ground in my coffee grinder (ground mustard doesn’t work)

½ teaspoon ground black pepper

2 tablespoons powdered turmeric

I chose not to use ginger or garlic partly because it seemed that the spices weren’t used all through India, but moreso because I didn’t like what they brought to the table when mixed with the other ingredients in my curry powder attempt.  The taste, to me, was too sharp and a bit too modern.

This mix got me through my first attempt at Indian cooking in a feast, but I wasn’t satisfied with it.  I did more research, and read through the works of Collingham and Achaya, and also Joyce Westrip’s book Moghul Cooking:  India’s Courtly Cuisine.    After this and after discussions with cooks at Little Rock restaurants Star of India and Kebab and Curry in 2005, I started experimenting with a spice mixture that comes closer to what a cook would have used in the 16^th Century.  I learned about the necessity of heating spices in ghee and letting them release their essential oils.  I also determined that the whole idea of curry powder is prevalent today even with these cooks, simply on the basis of consistency and ease.  But there are still cooks who want to retain the traditions of whole spice curried dishes.  With this knowledge and assistance, I came up with my own, better spice blend.  Unlike the other blend, I keep the whole spices available to use when I make curry at home.  The amounts sometimes vary depending on what I’m cooking or what mood I’m in, but the base curry has come to this.

Four green and one black cardamom pod
1 2-inch section of cassia bark or 1 one inch section of cinnamon bark or 1 tablespoon chopped cinnamon bark (do not use ground)
1 clove
2 teaspoons coriander seeds
1 ½ Tablespoons cumin seeds
1 teaspoon fenugreek seeds
1/2 teaspoon mustard seeds
1/2 teaspoon peppercorns, freshly and coarsely ground
1 star anise
1 bay leaf
1 ¼ Tablespoons powdered turmeric

1 healthy pinch methi (fenugreek) leaves (appox. 1 tablespoon)

As you can see from this listing, I am still not confident with cooking with some whole spices, in this case the turmeric.  Experimentations with this root have come out with a flavor that’s far from comfortable with my Americanized tongue, and my one attempt at using the whole root in a group situation failed to enthrall the diners that partook of my dibblings.  Besides, the root is somewhat wet, which makes putting it into the grinder or pulping it in the pestle come out as a paste that has to be refrigerated if not used right away.  It’s far more convenient to me to have the dried variety of the building blocks of  my own curry powder available for me to just throw into a skillet with whatever I decide to cook up.

When it does come to advance preparation, especially as it happens in SCA practice (ie, feast cooking for events), I have found it far easier to rely on a pre-made powder of my own creation.  Finding the time to listen for popping seeds or getting spices to evenly roast when the curry is just one of a couple of dozen dishes heading for the platters and plates of feast diners, having a powdered contingent on-hand that allows me to sidestep the roasting and mortaring process has been a blessing.  I can simply start at the roux stage and go from there.

Now, I did learn a bit more.  From attempting the making of curries with the whole spices, I’ve learned to start out with a dry skillet and place spices that come from seeds in it.  Let it toast a bit.  Cumin and mustard seeds will pop… and there’s a distinctive roasted scent similar to meat cooking that emanates.  When they’re toasted, take them out and let them cool a little, then grind them.  While that’s going on, throw the rest of the ingredients except the methi leaves and the turmeric powder into the same skillet with a tablespoon of ghee (that’s clarified, shelf stable butter).  Keep them from burning but get them thoroughly heated and mixed.  Add the ground seeds back in along with the ground turmeric and stir it like a roux. 

Now comes the fun part.  While I was doing all that research on curry powders and the like, I discovered something.  There’s always a liquid component in meat dishes.  Sometimes it’s yogurt, buttermilk, or milk.  It can also be fruit juice, coconut milk, or honey.  The general rule is to treat that spice blend like a gravy -- keep it moving like a roux so it won‘t burn (and if it does burn, throw it out).  Thin it with the liquid component and then add in the meat or vegetable that will cook in it. 

Strangely enough, most of what we get as far as entrée dishes at Indian restaurants today seem to be based on this basic equation (except, of course, that the gravy starts with the powder).  For instance, add ground cashews and cream to the gravy equation and you have a Korma sauce.  Tomatoes and potatoes with some capsicum-type pepper element brings you to a Vindaloo.  Masala is the same sort of spice gravy but with a tomato component -- which is sometimes ketchup. 

Even non-sauce dishes come from this gravy.  Biriyanis in period were the spice gravy layered between layers of rice and either meat or vegetables in a heated pot that was then left to cook on its own in the embers until ready to serve (think medieval casseroles).  Today it’s meat soaked in the curry gravy that’s then mixed by hand into rice and allowed to sit for a little bit.

But I digress.

The past several years of accumulating this information and practicing its applications on my friends and upon willing feast goers has brought me to the conclusion that, while there is no such thing as a period curry powder, most of the same spices were used in Indian cooking.  I have learned that though I have created a pretty decent recipe that others could follow to create a simulation of my curried dishes, that on any given day I might choose to throw in this or that or change the amounts of spice used or even to omit something that I usually utilize.  By doing so, I have started to cook a little closer to my culinary predecessors.

However, as a feast cook, time and ease will likely leave me clinging to my homemade curry powder.  I am not comfortable with the results of freezing or otherwise utilizing advance preparation methods in my curried dishes.  The results, to me, don’t taste as fresh.  Therefore I find myself offering this compromise when cooking for crowds of 100 or more.  It is my modern compromise to historical cookery that seems to be acceptable to the palates for which I cook.

Bibliography

Achaya, K.T.  Indian Food:  A Historical Companion.  Oxford University Press 1994. 

Apicius. De Re Coquinaria (The Roman Cookery Book). Translated by Barbara Flower and Elizabeth Alföldi-Rosenbaum. London and Toronto: Harrap, 1958.

Bernier, Francis.  Travels in the Mughal Empire.  Original publication in France in 1670.  South Asia Books 1989.

Collingham, Lindsey.  Curry, A Tale of Cooks and Conquerors.  Oxford University Press 2007.

Various Authors.  The Bible.  King James Version.

Westrip, Joyce.  Moghul Cooking:  India’s Courtly Cuisine.  Serif Publishing 2005.

  

A note on the display:

While an attempt was made at a period-esque display, this wasn’t completely possible.  Requirements being what they are (for each entry to be presented at serving temperature and for entries to be available from 9am to after court), I had to improvise.  Therefore, the applications of curried chicken are within the electrical device.  However, the curry powder display itself is presented on a dish I painted myself.  The design is based on the small five petaled flowers seen in the borders of several examples of Mughal paintings of the 16^th and 17^th Centuries.  The specific examples that inspired the painting of these items comes from the British Library’s exhibition of an illumination, King Khusraw hunting, by Abd us-Samad dated 1595. 

  

The Period-Style Curry

Four green and one black cardamom pod
1 2-inch section of cassia bark or 1 one inch section of cinnamon bark or 1 tablespoon chopped cinnamon bark (do not use ground)
1 clove
2 teaspoons coriander seeds
1 ½ Tablespoons cumin seeds
1 teaspoon fenugreek seeds
1/2 teaspoon mustard seeds
1/2 teaspoon peppercorns, freshly and coarsely ground
1 star anise
1 bay leaf
1 ¼ Tablespoons powdered turmeric

1 healthy pinch methi (fenugreek) leaves (appox. 1 tablespoon)
2 Tablespoons honey

4 Tablespoons ghee

1 pound chicken breast

Place pan over low to medium heat.  Spread cumin, cardamoms, cassia or cinnamon, clove, coriander, fenugreek and mustard seeds, star anise and bay leaf over the bottom of the pan.  Grind peppercorns and add to pan.  Listen to the pan and stir frequently until the cumin and mustard seeds begin to pop (they sound a little like Rice Krispies).  Remove pan from heat and let cool a moment.

Remove star anise and bay leaf.  Add other ingredients to a mortar or a purposed electric grinder.  Grind to a coarse consistency (think coffee grinds).

In the same pan, heat ghee over low to medium heat until melted.  Add ground mixture and turmeric to the pan (it works better this way; otherwise, the powder will clump, as I discovered in my tests).  Stir together until it becomes gravy-like, a roux of spices.  Add the honey and stir to combine.  Add the bay leaf and the star anise back in.  Add in the methi leaves and stir.

Slice the chicken breast into ½ inch slices and place in pan, turning to coat in the spice mixture.  Cover and let simmer on medium heat for five minutes.  Remove lid and stir.  Add up to ¼ cup water if the spices are too clumpy.  Cook uncovered until the chicken is almost cooked through (155 degrees F).  Remove from heat and let sit 10 minutes (the chicken will come to 165 degrees F).  Remove bay leaf and star anise.  Serve curry on its own, over rice, or with naan.

The Powder-Based Curry

1 teaspoon ground bay leaf

1 Tablespoon cardamom powder

1 Tablespoon cinnamon powder

½ teaspoon ground cloves

1 Tablespoon coriander powder

4 Tablespoons ground cumin

1 teaspoon methi leaves

1 teaspoon ground fenugreek

½ teaspoon mustard seeds, ground in a purposed electric grinder

½ teaspoon ground black pepper

2 Tablespoons powdered turmeric

4 Tablespoons ghee

2 Tablespoons honey

1 pound chicken breast

Place pan over medium heat.  Melt ghee.  Add spice blend to ghee and stir into a roux.  Add honey and combine.

Slice chicken breast into ½ inch slices.  Add to pan and coat with ghee-spice-honey mixture.  Cover and let simmer on medium heat for five minutes.  Remove lid and stir.  Cook uncovered until the chicken is almost cooked through (155 degrees F).  Remove from heat and let sit 10 minutes (the chicken will come to 165 degrees F).  Serve curry on its own, over rice, or with naan.