‘Just add some geera’ I say while trying to concentrate on my soapie. My Scottish partner is making dinner tonight and is attempting to make chicken curry. ‘What do you mean by some?’ he says, ‘and what’s geera?!’ Sigh. Geera is cumin and by some I mean just a little bit, I think impatiently to myself.
As an English foreign language teacher, I am often asked by my students what the national cuisine of South Africa is. I can proudly say that I’ve never been able to provide a precise answer. The South African palate is as varied as its cultures and curry has become as much a South African dish as it is an Indian one. Being of Indian ancestry, there was a time when I had assumed that I would have a genetic imprint when it came to making curry - apparently not. I remember my mother trying (yes, there were repeated attempts) to pass on her knowledge. My brain however could not collate the woolly measurements of a bit of this, a pinch of that and quite of lot of something else.’ She would rush in from work and produce a scrumptious pot of curry for four within minutes (with her eyes closed of course). So, I left her to it.
There are three verbs that dominate most conversation in an Indian household: take, have and eat. If you don’t take, have or eat, the food would very easily be transferred to your plate despite your protestations. A visit to most Indian homes never involves a simple cup of tea and a biscuit. Food is very much a part of Indian hospitality – feed your guests until they burst and then insist that they have more. In my home, food always seemed to be there.
All I needed to do was open the fridge and operate the microwave. As a teenager growing up as part of a minority community in Cape Town, my sole mission was to distance myself from anything remotely associated with being Indian. It was hard enough being a teenager let alone having to cope with the stereotyping that came with being an Indian teenager. My mother’s attempts at trying to pass on traditional culinary knowledge stood about as much chance as me agreeing to an arranged marriage. Besides, any miserable, self-absorbed, adolescent worth their salt would agree: cooking is just not on the to-do list.
Having grown out of that self-conscious stage, the long process of self-identity took root. I began to find a balance between my heritage as an Indian and my nationality as a South African. For all my soul searching though, I still couldn’t cook and the gravity of my disinterest only hit me when I moved to London on a working holiday. In cold, drab, London weather, the cravings for curry began. While feeding on lentils and fresh air in a gloomy bedsit in Ealing Common, I would think back to my mother in the kitchen standing on a foot stool to reach the stove. With the skill of a diminutive alchemist, she would take basic, inexpensive ingredients and infuse them with incredible flavour. I could hear the sudden sizzle of frying onions, the pot would explode with colour from the elixir of spices, the aromatic steam would permeate every sense and the whistle of the pot indicated that the potatoes were soft. It was only a matter of time until she would yell, “Supper’s ready!” Curry was the binding factor amongst friends and family. Christmas or Diwali, in hot or cold weather, everyone would dive into the curry pot, literally scraping the bottom for the last meagre bits of sauce.
So, through clenched teeth, I made the call to find out how to make curry. Holding the receiver in one hand, and chicken in the other I would wait for the perfect moment to add it to the pot. ‘Just smell the spices’, she would mystically say. ‘You’ll know when its time’. What next? Do I have to become one with spices! The chicken of course went in once I’d shouted down the phone that the spices were burning. The first few attempts were disasters, but with time, I too acquired the touch and was eventually able to perfect the dish.
Many of our friends have asked us how to make curry but these recipes have become so ingrained that both of us have lost the ability to pinpoint measurements. It’s so much easier to invite them for dinner where they can take, have and eat as much as they want. After much demand we finally decided to put pen to paper and painstakingly measured the ingredients. As we recorded the recipes my mother recounted how her mother had taught her to blend spices to create her own masala. I remember my grandmother’s curry with a mixture of nostalgia and trepidation - just looking at the fiery mound made my eyes sting. It was paka curry (bona fide curry) - lots of oil, lots of butter, lots of masala (or gunpowder?) and not many vegetables. Most young Indian girls learnt the recipes by preparing the food so that all their mothers did were throw the ingredients in the pot and cook. Over time, while amma watched her ‘soapies‘, her daughters would do all the cooking. My mother’s first few attempts at curry however brought spurious praise from my father. In time though she began to change what she had learnt to suit herself and our family before perfecting it and passing it on - less oil, less masala, no butter and a variety of vegetables.
It’s not uncommon to find both my parents in the kitchen these days; my mother making curry and my retired father making rotis to accompany the curry and with much aplomb, doling out advice on how to roll the perfect roti. ‘It’s all in the pressure of your hand’ he says.
With the right masala mixture and a well-stocked cupboard of freely available spices, anyone can lay on an authentic feast for their family or friends. It’s an acquired skill, not a hereditary one. With some patience on my part, my partner did eventually produce a delicious curry, though now that he has the touch, I live in fear of his suggestion of Haggis curry! It shows that almost anything can be learnt and adapted, yet remain authentic. All that’s needed are the basic home truths.
SPICE LINGUA
Shopping at local spice shops might be daunting for those who don’t know the lingua, as most spices are labelled with their authentic names. Here’s a breakdown of the basics:
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Geera - Cumin (this comes in the form of seeds and powder)
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Dhanya - Coriander (this comes in the form of seeds, powder and as fresh leaves)
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Bori - Turmeric
- Methi seeds - Fenugreek seeds
RECOMMENDED MASALA MIX
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100g packet of Packo Masala curry powder
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200g of Osman’s Taj Mahal mutton masala
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2 dessert spoons of chilli powder
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1 heaped teaspoon of geera powder
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1 heaped teaspoon of garam masala
THE PERFECT ROTI
Roti should be light with a slight, crispy touch and rolling it correctly is the difference between this and thick, doughy roti. The dough can be made or bought in advance, frozen and defrosted a day before use.
- Sprinkle flour on both sides of the dough to prevent it from sticking to the surface.
- Flatten the dough using the base of your hand and roll lightly into an oblong shape, being careful not to press down too hard as this makes the dough stick to the surface.
- Turn the dough over and in the opposite direction roll lightly again until it becomes a circle. Working the dough too much causes it to lose shape, become too thin and break.
- Be sure to dust the surface so that residual flour doesn’t harden on the surface when frying.
- Fry the roti without oil in a large pan on a high temperature. A low temperature causes the butter to seep out of the dough and makes the roti hard and crusty.
- When air bubbles start to appear, flip the roti.
- Remove from the pan when patches of brown appear. This is a quick process so be sure not to let it burn.
COOK’S TIP
Eat roti as a snack during the day with butter or jam, or roll in curried potatoes or butternut and serve as a starter at dinner parties.
CHICKEN CURRY RECIPE
Serves 4 EASY 45min
This meal is used with the accompanying masala mix. The heat of the curry can be adjusted to your taste by the number of chillies you use.
Ingredients:
- 40ml sunflower oil
- 6 chicken breast and 4 drumsticks, cut into chunks
- ¾ onion, chopped
- 3 cinnamon sticks
- 1 heaped teaspoon geera seeds
- 4 curry leaves, chopped
- 6 heaped teaspoons masala mix
- ½ teaspoon, breyani mix, ground (*see note below)
- 2cm slice green pepper
- 1 ½ small tomatoes, grated without the skin
- 3 green chillies, chopped
- 1 ½ potatoes, cubed
- 1 heaped teaspoon ginger and garlic paste
- Fresh dhanya leaves, chopped
Method:
- Heat the oil in a large pot and sauté the onions, geera seeds, cinnamon sticks and 2 curry leaves.
- Add the masala and breyani mix and cook for a minute.
- Add the chicken pieces and ginger and garlic paste. Adjust the heat so that the chicken doesn’t draw water and cook for 10 minutes. Add salt to taste.
- Stir in the grated tomatoes, chillies, green pepper, 2 curry leaves, pinch of dhanya and onion. Cook for 5 minutes at a high temperature so that the curry draws in the tomatoes. Turn down the heat and cook for a further 5 minutes. If the mixture gets dry, add a little water (depending on how much sauce you want).
- Add the potatoes and cook until soft.
- Garnish with dhanya leaves. Serve with basmati rice or freshly fried rotis.
COOK’S TIPS
Breyani mix is a shop bought mix, usually found at a spice shop, which needs to be ground and then spooned into the curry as per recipe quantities
