The Curry With the Singe On Top

the sting of satan is the pathway to paradise

East Indians have known--for 6,000 years--that the only way to overcome a certain type of fire is to build another fire.

When a man's body becomes so hot that ice water can't cool it, he eats curry--a golden blend of fifteen spices from the devil's own kitchen. Like Mexicans in the desert who gulp down enormous quantities of hot chili, the Indians have always endorsed the theory that only heat in the stomach can take heat away from the brow. In the north of India where it is cold, the curries are light and delicate. But as you go farther south in India and the climate becomes more and more sweltering, the curries become hotter and hotter.

In India there are several traditional styles of cooking. The Yogic cookery, for instance, is extremely mild and bland. On the other hand, the Rajawansi foods, rich concoctions for harem-owning rajahs, may include anything from dangerous aphrodisiacs to ground pearls or ground gold dust sprinkled over the rich platters. Undoubtedly the best known class of foods are those identified as Tomashi. The word Tomashi means mischievous, provoking, enjoying life. In this category are the famed Indian curries--curries of fish, seafood, poultry, meat, vegetables and eggs. Statues of Indian deities are bathed with curry. Perhaps the Indians express their feeling best in the proverb which says, "Even the pebbles of the Ganges will taste delectable if curried."

If you've never eaten curry, the pale golden stew looks innocent at first. But like a courtesan from the orient who rubs her cheeks with yellow turmeric rather than rouge, curry is deceptive and full of sensuous surprises. It warms at first, then provokes, bites, singes, sears, explodes and satisfies.

No other food shows so clearly the alliance between pain and pleasure as (continued on page 54)Curry(continued from page 49) curry. A pleasure becomes dull after continuous consumption. But a pain grows in intensity as it continues. Henning, the English psychologist, in an experiment once smelled oil of cloves for hours without showing any sign of weariness in his sense of smell. Curry is one of the eating pleasures that doesn't become dull. Like the soft tread of a night caravan, an exotic flavor creeps up on your taste buds: instead of camels, you become aware of a piquant procession of spices--turmeric ... cumin ... cardamon (or cardamom or cardamum, they're all the same thing--but not cordovan, that's a leather). And then as you swallow the curry, tears come to your eyes and you know that your stomach is aflame. You gorge great mounds of rice and greedily eat from the bowl of chutney. You drink big glasses of ale to quench the fire. And then you inevitably return to the curry and the now familiar flame.

Retired Englishmen, smelling of snuff and gunpowder, will always tell you that there is no real curry outside of India. You don't make curry, they'll tell you. like the native servants did at Stenchnapur. You don't sit on the damp kitchen floor patiently grinding the whole spices between a heavy stone roller and a stone slab. Your curry, moss-backed Britons will conclude, is therefore not authentic. It's an occidental version of an oriental dish.

There is only a tiny crumb of truth in this. The reason native cooks still prepare curry with primitive stone rollers is because many Indians don't have grinding equipment such as one finds in a modern spice factory. Then the best professional cooks in India are the Goanese, who combine European culinary practices with native Indian methods in their curries. These chefs are from the province of Goa, originally ruled by wealthy Portuguese merchants who brought French, Italian and other European cooks to Goa. And, as a matter of fact, the curries served in some of the large cosmopolitan hotels in Europe and America, while differing from the curries in Bombay or Ceylon, are still magnificent dishes in their own right.

When you make curry in America, you buy your curry powder already prepared. It's sold on the spice shelf just like paprika or pepper. You won't find one kind of curry designed for mutton and another for mushrooms. But many of the prepared curry powders are superb blends of spices and are usually more consistent in quality than any freshly prepared curry might be. If you want to add your own creative touch, you are at liberty to put into the pot a few cardamon seeds, a bay leaf, a piece of cinnamon bark or any other spice that appeals to your own individual fancy.

Each of the spices that goes into curry has its own magic and lore. There is cumin, the seed that witch doctors guaranteed would not only incite lovers but also instill retentive powers. To this day girls in Italy give cumin to their sweethearts to make sure of their continued attachment. There are cloves (which alchemists have been pouring into goblets d'amour for centuries), mustard (the Indian symbol of generation), and coriander (which pontifical British physicians once described a specific sexual stimulant when mixed with wine).

The sly young sahibs and crafty old bedouins who read Playboy, however, are much too realistic to expect results from a piece of old ginger root or a sprinkling of cardamon. They do, however, frequently find themselves dated with playmates who are suffering from ordinary kitchen blight. Nothing on the (concluded on page 58) Curry(continued from page 54) menu seems to suit them. Roast beef is cold comfort. Seafood no longer stimulates them, and stews make them sullen. For such girls, Playboy suggests the heavenly dish with the sting of Satan--curry.

Girls who drink dry Martinis and love large green olives, who choose tall men with large size shoes, who like to be kissed on the lips rather than the cheeks, who go into long clinches and who do not mind when their faces burn from a man's beard--these girls will love curry and become happy addicts.

To all potential curry eaters, Playboy would like to sound a word of caution against carrying the curry torch too far into the realm of the exotic. To make a good curry (that is, good for people with occidental background) it isn't necessary to go into the ritual of sitting on a bamboo mat with one thumb on the left nostril while inhaling with the right nostril, forcing the breath through the cheeks, going into the seven sacred breaths and then eating a cleansing breakfast of orange juice, honey and almonds. Not quite.

The occidental accompaniments to curry, however, are numerous and novel, and here you can let your imagination go into some fancy play. For instance, along with a hot curry it is traditional to serve chutney, shredded coconut, bombay duck (a dried Indian jellyfish), toasted almonds, shredded dried shrimp, poppadums (thin baked wafers made of rice flour and soy beans), crystallized ginger and other provocative garnishes. Of these side dishes the best known is chutney. On store shelves you will see Major Gray's chutney which is not a brand name but a traditional recipe used by a number of different food packers. Chutney is a thick, sweet, tart preserve made of mangoes, raisins, tamarinds, apples and spices. Curry lovers spoon their chutney as well as other garnishes right into the curry on the serving plate, combine the whole mixture with rice and then dig in.

Curry dishes are best when prepared one day and served a day or two later. In a fine curry of chicken, for instance, which has been standing a day or two in the refrigerator, the curry flavor will penetrate the chicken, and the chicken flavor will be more pronounced in the sauce. This blending or marrying of flavors is the first thing veteran curry experts look for.

A good curry should have a fruity tang. Chutney goes so magnificently with curry because of its snappy fruit flavor. Equally fine tart accents are grated lemon peel or lime peel, orange juice, dry sherry or shredded apple. Many native Indian curry dishes are made with a base of tomatoes rather than with stock. The tangy tomato flavor provides the lively note in the curry theme.

When you buy curry powder, select a small size container so that it will retain its freshness as long as possible. Like all spices that are ground, the jar or package of curry powder should be tightly sealed when not in use. Among the many fine curry powders on the market, Playboy would like to cite for special mention the Sun brand, Crosse & Blackwell's, Spice Islands and House of Herbs.

The exact amount of curry powder you'll want to use in any recipe is a matter of individual taste. In appetizers, soups, salad dressings and sandwich spreads where curry is a minor flavoring ingredient, the curry may be delicate and restrained. But when curry goes into the main course--the fish, meat or poultry--it must be inferno itself. As you grow fonder of curry, you'll probably develop a hankering for even more peppery and pungent versions.

If, after you've made a curry, you find that it does not have the proper zing, it's a simple matter to add more curry to taste. Don't drop the curry in as you would salt or pepper, or it may form into lumps. Dissolve the curry in a few tablespoons of water, and then add it in whatever proportion you prefer.

When curry appears on the menu, every other course takes a back seat. A fresh fruit cocktail with lime or grenadine, melon, or a mild consomme or chicken broth are respectful preludes. The only beverage with curry is ale or beer. The delicate flavor of wine is simply lost in the overpowering curry sensation. For dessert, fresh raw fruit or simple sherbert or ice cream are pleasant. If you want a hot beverage, take Darjeeling tea or a strong demitasse.

Since rice is the inevitable accompaniment with curry, our first recipe this month is for dry fluffy rice.

[recipe_title]Rice for Curry[/recipe_title]

Serves 4

[recipe]1 cup converted rice[/recipe]

[recipe]2-1/2 cups water[/recipe]

[recipe]2 chicken bouillon cubes[/recipe]

[recipe]1 teaspoon vinegar[/recipe]

[recipe]1/2 teaspoon stalt[/recipe]

Use a heavy saucepan fitted with lid for cooking rice. Bring water to a boil. Add the bouillon cubes, salt and vinegar. Stir until bouillon cubes are dissolved. Add rice. Stir once. Reduce flame very low. Keep pan tightly covered and do not stir rice during cooking. Cook for about 25 minutes or until rice is tender.

[recipe_title]Curry of Shrimp[/recipe_title]

Serves 4

[recipe]1-1/2 lb. fresh shrimp[/recipe]

[recipe]1 medium size onion[/recipe]

[recipe]1/4 cup butter[/recipe]

[recipe]2 tablespoons curry powder[/recipe]

[recipe]1 teaspoon lemon juice[/recipe]

[recipe]1-1/2 cups sour cream[/recipe]

Remove the shells from the shrimp. Remove the veins running through the back. Chop the onion very fine.

Melt the butter in a heavy saucepan. Add onion and saute 3 minutes. Stir frequently. Add the curry powder, shrimp and lemon juice. Stir well so that shrimp are well coated with curry. Sprinkle with salt. Cover the pan with a tight fitting lid. Simmer slowly over a low flame 8 minutes.

Add the sour cream. Stir well. Continue to cook over a low flame until the cream is hot. Do not boil. If sauce seems too thick, thin with a small quantity of milk or light cream. Season with salt to taste.

[recipe_title]Curry of Crab Meat[/recipe_title]

Serves 4

[recipe]1 lb. fresh cooked crab meat[/recipe]

[recipe]1 small onion[/recipe]

[recipe]1 clove of garlic[/recipe]

[recipe]1 small green pepper[/recipe]

[recipe]1 small bay leaf[/recipe]

[recipe]4 medium size fresh mushrooms[/recipe]

[recipe]1/4 cup butter[/recipe]

[recipe]2 tablespoons curry powder[/recipe]

[recipe]8-ounce can of tomato sauce[/recipe]

Examine crab meat and remove any bone or cartilage. Chop the onion, garlic and green pepper very fine. Separate the mushroom caps from stems. Slice mushroom caps and stems 1/8 inch thick.

Melt the butter in a saucepan. Add the onion, garlic, green pepper, bay leaf, mushrooms and curry powder. Saute slowly until the mushrooms are tender, stirring frequently. Add the crab meat. Simmer 5 minutes. Add the tomato sauce. Bring to a boil. Reduce flame. Simmer 5 minutes. Remove bay leaf. Season to taste with salt.

[recipe_title]Curry of Chicken[/recipe_title]

Serves 4

[recipe]3-1/2 lb. frying chicken[/recipe]

[recipe]1/2 cup shredded canned coconut[/recipe]

[recipe]1 cup milk[/recipe]

[recipe]1 pint water[/recipe]

[recipe]1/3 cup vegetable fat[/recipe]

[recipe]1 medium size onion[/recipe]

[recipe]3 tablespoons flour[/recipe]

[recipe]2 tablespoons curry powder[/recipe]

[recipe]2 bouillon cubes[/recipe]

Have the butcher cut up the chicken into pieces for frying.

Combine the water, milk and coconut. Bring to a boil. Remove from the flame. Set aside.

Chop the onion fine. Melt the fat in a heavy saucepan fitted with lid. Add the onion to the fat and saute 3 minutes stirring frequently. Add the curry and chicken. Stir well so that chicken is well coated with curry. Saute the chicken until light brown on both sides. Add more fat if necessary to keep chicken from sticking to pan bottom. Use a low flame and scrape pan bottom frequently so that curry does not burn. Sprinkle the flour over the chicken when chicken is light brown. Stir well until no flour is visible.

Strain the milk mixture and squeeze the coconut by hand to extract all liquid. Pour the liquid into the pan. Stir well. When liquid boils, add bouillon cubes. Cover and simmer over a low flame 1/2 hour, stirring frequently. Add salt to taste.

The coconut may be served with the chicken as a side dish along with chutney and rice.