(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 16th
and early 17th 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 18th 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 15th 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 16th 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 16th 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 16th 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 16th
and 17th 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.
