I had such great plans for the Curry Diary, and the follow up to the Kala Bhuna needed to be something special, something new. The idea was that we’d get the train and ride a few stops up the coast but I didn’t get round to booking a table. Best laid plans and all that.
The best alternative to seeing if they had a table anyway was to do something at home instead, but a combination of shredding my hand with a DIY plumbing job, and shredding my hand again assembling rust proof steel frame flat pack free standing shelves for the cellar, I needed something simple. I opted for a jar of balti.
Anecdotally
Balti was my first curry. Well, chinese mushroom curry and chips was my first curry but chinese curry and Indian curry are two different beasts.
That first curry was a Chicken Balti ready meal type affair in the early nineties. Call it 1993/4. The college years. After an hour on the bus I’d arrive home at about half six and see what was in the freezer, at least once a week there was a frozen balti ready meal and miniature naan bread to go with it.
This Balti was unique among baltis. It cooked for about forty minutes in the oven. And it was a deeper richer, perhaps even burnt flavour than I ever seen sunce. I’ve spent decades trying to find a balti even remotely similar but without luck.
The Meal
From the shop of Tesco it came. I really wanted something good. A nice slap up family meal at a trusted Indian restaurant. What we got was alright. From a jar.
Peroni has somehow become the curren lager of choice, but I wouldn’t usually have it with a curry. King Fisher is for a curry, surely.
If we had been at the restaurant, we would have a pickle tray, the only dip available from our little Tesco was Lime Pickle, but I also got some Barjis and Falafals. I learned how to make Onion Barjis several years ago, and they were always better than store bought. What was I thinking.
For the Curry, I fried up some onion, fried up some chicken, and then added the sauce from the jar. Incredibly easy. Deeply unsatisfying. What was I thinking.
For the side, I did McCains Fries. They’re cooked in seed oils, frozen, and take about an hour to cook in the oven. They pass for a chip, but they’re no Maris Piper, parboiled and deep fried in tallow. What was I thinking?
Antithesis
What was meant to be a family curry night, with a short but scenic train ride, a few beers, a good selection of sides and note taking worthy culinary experience became me in the kitchen, cooking alone sipping beers, pouring out the content of a jar over meat. Frozen chips. The laughter and anecdotes and ‘how was your week?s’ that i had looked forward to, turned, replaced with the sound of ‘thanks dad’ and the stomping of feet on stairs and the slamming of doors, as everyone retreated with food to their own spaces.
Oh the humanity.
Lately, it seems like the universe is trying to tell me that one cannot cut corners in life, and what more proof do we need than curry from a jar.
Lesson learned.
Waste Not Though
I have learned my lesson indeed, but I still have a bunch of corner cutting futilities to chomp through. Lets not be over committing ourselves…
Duggan's Dig 