Curry – Andrew Harrison

A two-curry day

It was earlier in the week that I identified that Friday had the potential to be a two-curry day. Everything hinged on getting into London reasonably early in the afternoon, and managing to restrain the compulsion to dine until my arrival at a favoured destination. I decided to put my appetite in the hands of the road gods, and see what may or may not be possible.

First curry: Indian Veg

92-93 Chapel Market, London N1 9EX

The Northern Line spat me out at Angel, and I made my way across the busy A1 towards Chapel Market. Entering the market from Liverpool Road, the first shop you encounter is a big M&S, however the mix quickly changes in favour of independent businesses (along with its market) and as you walk along, one discovers a curious treasure trove of unfashionable signage. Passing the Millennium Café where a sixteen year-old Luke Littler ate his pre-match omelettes during the 2024 world darts championships, I walked on towards Penton Street. And soon enough, on the left, I found Indian Veg.

Around forty per cent of Indians identify as vegetarian and, knowing that this was now surely to be a two-curry day thought I had better join them for at least one of my meals. Indian Veg has been serving up a variety of interesting vegetables in a buffet format since 1984, and has been saved on my “curry possibles” Google map for the last three years or so. How have I only come here for the first time today? With its bright green exterior and various posters advertising the health benefits of a diet of vegetables it is an aesthetically busy delight.

I enter to find a man I take to be the proprietor sitting at one of the restaurant tables, facing the door, attending to his mobile phone. “One?”, he asks me. “Yes please.” He directs me towards a table and bids me to help myself. Hanging my coat over the back of the chair I find that each place is set with a plastic tablemat declaring lentil soup to be a nutritional powerhouse.

This isn’t the only available guidance on the powers of the humble lentil. Looking around, I note that just about every available surface is covered in posters informing the reader of the unique qualities of the vegetarian diet. Anyone choosing to eat here shall not leave uninformed as to the ways of the vegetable. It is everywhere; on the tables, on the walls, on the windows and so on. I would have no shortage of things to read.

Approaching the buffet, I decide to heed the guidance on the table and begin with some lentil soup. This appears to take the form and colour of a liquidised daal tarka. It certainly has the seasoning of one, and a level of spice that works with the seasoning to produce something that is really quite delicious. I decide I could eat this quite regularly, and on finishing the small bowl deliberate on filling another. I decide against this; there is more on the buffet to see.

Wandering around with a plate I amass a range of interesting vegetables. There are quite a few variations on the theme of potatoes and lentils, three types of rice and some small and suspicious looking onion bhajia. The vegetables are all well cooked and have imparted plenty of flavour from the masala. Even the bhajia were more giving than I had first suspected they might be.

Other than the excellent lentil soup, favourites from the buffet included the spicy mashed potato and the paneer, pea and coconut curry albeit with plenty of fishing around to find the paneer. I returned for a second spin of both of these. The bread was small and oddly greasy, but not unpleasant.

A few customers come and go as I eat, all of them solo. This is evidently a popular spot for the lone diner. Taking my leave I pay a different chap, our friend with the phone having disappeared. “Did you enjoy it?”, he asks. I very much did.

Second curry: Lahori Karahi

230 Commercial Rd, London E1 2NB

It’s later the same evening, I have been in Limehouse indulging in refreshing beverages and have the munchies. Stepping off the 15 bus at Watney Market I heave to for Lahori Karahi.

I had spotted this new entrant to the East End curry scene as they were readying themselves for opening back in the summer, and had been intrigued by a curious strapline on their sign. Here, in the Whitechapel/Shadwell borderlands, was a restaurant promising to deliver curry from Manchester, and I was informed by the inestimable Hector that it was most likely to be an offshoot of Lahori Karahi in Levenshulme, Manchester. I had to check this out.

I made my entrance into a brightly lit room with an open kitchen off to the right, fronted by a counter with a range of fare on display in the true style of a curry café. Taking a seat with a good view of the door I evaluate the menu and am immediately drawn to the array of karahi dishes available by the kilo, not least under the section entitled “Brohi of Balochistan” where one will find the legendary and peppery white karahi. I was again solo, and stuck therefore with the smaller meat portion where such wonders were not available. There is karahi though, and paya and nihari and haleem, so the lone curry hound need not go hungry.

The waiter arrives, and explains that I am seated in a restaurant that specialises in karahi. Well goodness me. I order lamb karahi, on the bone, along with a portion of daal tarka and a butter naan. For hydration, a glass of mango lassi. The waiter returns after a few minutes, bearing my lassi, some raita, and a salad of cucumber, onion and tomato. Four gents arrive, and take a seat in the window. They are doing the kilo. I am envious.

After a respectable wait, here is my karahi. A reasonably dry curry, but with a rich looking masala and visible oil separation. A sprinkling of coriander atop. The lamb is generously apportioned, and tender. The masala is delightfully spicy but maybe a little light on the seasoning. There is a chance that meat and masala have only got to know each other comparatively recently, but this is a fine karahi indeed.

The daal is delightfully thick and well seasoned, a rich yellow ochre colour with some of the lentils not entirely broken down. It is a delight. The naan is served whole and blistered, moistened with a brushing of ghee, maybe a smidgin less well done than I would usually like but this is no great problem.

With an accompanying little mountain of naan, the gents get their kilo. Taking a stickybeak across the tables I am struck with a jealousy – it looks superb. I return my attention to my own meal, separating meat from bone as I go. I am enjoying myself.

Paying my bill at the counter, I am asked if I might mind leaving Lahori Karahi a review. Go on then.

No Frillingdon

Spice Mix, 611 Sipson Road, West Drayton UB7 0JD

I find myself on a dull Tuesday evening in the London Borough of Hillingdon, an excellent staging post ahead of a visit to a certain nearby airport for sundry work purposes that are of little interest here. Previous research into lodgings along the Bath Road had alerted me to an interesting venue on the way to Sipson:

Could this be Pakistani curry within easy walking distance of the strip of airport hotels that line Heathrow’s northern flank? I knew I would have to investigate.

I drove up from the south coast under apocalyptic skies, accompanied throughout the journey by stop-start (but not much in the way of stop) torrential rain. Dashing from my parked car to the hotel entrance entailed getting thoroughly soaked. Although my goal was only ten minutes’ walk away I wondered if this was an option in these conditions.

After checking in I noticed something of a sucker’s gap on the weather radar. It was now or never. My confidence in making the journey without drowning received a further boost on the discovery of an ingenious machine in the lobby that would hire me an umbrella for the princely sum of two quid. Suddenly I was all set.

A visit to Spice Mix, Sipson — The magical umbrella machine

I made my way along Bath Road, constant and thunderous traffic keeping me company as I dodged the puddles and spray. As I made my way up Sipson Road my goal gradually revealed itself around the corner – here was Spice Mix, sharing its salubrious location with an airport parking firm and a hand car wash.

Presenting myself at the building shown on Google Maps, I noticed a sign directing me further into the car park. A portacabin beckoned from a corner. Strolling in, I found it empty. The actual kitchen was to be found in the next building, along with a member of staff in the midst of a phone call, who espied me as I wandered around. He bade me wait for him in the portacabin.

Phone call still underway, the man joined me in the portacabin to take my order. This was to be lamb karahi, plain rice and a butter naan. I had an important question – did the karahi contain the devil’s vegetable (capsicum)? It did not. But – and this was most important – how spicy did I want it? I offered “desi spicy?” – this was understood. “Medium?” he replied. “And a little bit more.” We had an understanding.

I took a seat and appraised my surroundings. This was no frills in the extreme, a curry caff in its purest sense. Others arrived, and similar negotiations were entered into.

After a decent interval my food appeared. This would be an extremely moist karahi, to the point of it having shorva as opposed to masala. It was bedecked with a garnish of julienned ginger, bullet chillies and a sprig of coriander. The bread was served quartered. The rice was in abundance, and would probably be too much for me. Dipping the bread into the shorva revealed spice but not much in the way of seasoning.

I should note at this point that I had recently recovered from a bout of the ‘vid during which my sense of smell went temporarily astray. While it has now returned there is still a possibility that the taste buds might not be completely back to full function although I think they are mostly working ok now.

Getting stuck in, I decided my method of attack would be to transport the rice from its bowl to sit atop the shorva. The lamb was tender, with one piece on the bone of the eight or nine present. I got the impression that it and the shorva had been introduced only recently. The spice built nicely, however the seasoning was still rather lacking. It was however a perfectly serviceable curry, and one I was enjoying eating.

The bread was an interesting proposition. While it certainly had butter on it and tasted buttery, it was a stodgy old thing and not quite what I had hoped it would be. I considered I would possibly have been better off forgoing the bread in favour of the rice, which was nicely infused with the aroma of cardamoms, one of which I narrowly avoided biting into – always the surprise nobody wants.

I managed all the meat and most of the shorva, but as I predicted an amount of the rice had to remain uneaten. This was perfectly good, honest food, which set me back £13.90. Not unreasonable by any means. The man I paid was a different fellow to the one who had taken my order and prepared the food. I found him as I left, in the same window through which he had originally espied me. “How was it?”, he asked. I told him I had asked for desi, and that was exactly what he had given me.

Smile, it’s Afghan curry time

After the roast beef (never t*rk*y) excesses of Christmas Day, I’m out of the house on Boxing Day and looking for a late lunch. I desire curry, but something different from the usual BIR fare one finds is omnipresent round these parts.

Smile Grill (121 Charminster Road, Bournemouth BH8 8UH) is one of those pizza-kebab-burger-curry joints that are relatively common in many parts of the UK but the curry element is a bit of a rarity on the sunny south coast, us spice lovers having to satisfy ourselves with BIR establishments all serving variations on the usual offerings. Smile is set apart still further by being an Afghani outlet. My hopes are high.

On entry, I note a series of tables to the left, all occupied bar one. I catch the eye of one of the numerous staff and point to it, receiving an affirmative nod. The menu is laid out on an illuminated sign above the counter, and I engage what turns out to be mein host to place my simple order – lamb curry and rice. What rice? The options are pilau and “Kabul rice”. This joint is busy and while I would like to question mein host what goes on in Kabul rice I opt for pilau. Would I like bread? Oh, go on then.

Taking my seat I further observe a Tardis-like back room that seemingly swallows up all the subsequent arriving customers. The tables are bare, bar a selection of condiments that I did not investigate. Behind the counter, the various curry offerings are visible along with a rotisserie cabinet and the usual elephant’s legs.

A waiter appears with a single naan bread, a small plate of hummus and a courtesy salad. The bread is served whole and is pleasantly blistered – I sacrifice some to the hummus and find both to be enjoyable. My rice follows, studded with sultanas and embedded with strips of carrot. With that, the main event arrives.

This is most certainly not a BIR curry. Lots of small – boneless – pieces of lamb in something that is decidedly more masala than shorva. I note visible oil separating around the edges of the dish. I decide to adopt a two-pronged method of attack, digging into the masala with the bread and transporting the meat over to the larger rice plate.

The bread is both crisp and slightly chewy – perfect – and collects the masala well. The lamb is soft, not to the point of falling apart but needs minimal persuasion. The spice level is decidedly medium but is certainly enjoyable – I had not asked for any customisations so this was fine. The rice was delightful, bouncy and with a fruity twang thanks to the many sultanas.

My only gripe is that the food could have been slightly hotter, although this was not helped by my being slightly in the draught of the constantly opening-and-closing front door.

The price of this Boxing Day feed – including a Diet Coke – came to the princely sum of £11.00 which I was more than happy to hand over to mein host at the counter on departure.

Would I return? Most certainly – I want to investigate the alternative Kabul rice, and to enquire at a quieter time about the possibility of customisation. I also want to have a go at what appears to be a lamb shank biryani. A la prochâine!