Passport & Plate - Durban Curry
South Africa | Sunday, March 1, 2015 | 2 photos
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Ingredients In its simplest form, masala consists of coriander, cumin, pepper, cardamom, clove and cinnamon. But this one has the most heavenly smell, and a flavour that is unforgettable.
500ml coriander seeds
200ml cumin
200 ml fennel seeds
30ml black peppercorns
25ml poppy seeds
12,5ml shah jeera (caraway)
15ml ground nutmeg
4 bay leaves
12,5ml cloves
25ml star aniseed
6 black cardamoms (peeled)
50ml cinnamon powder
25ml white cardamoms
60ml turmeric powder
250ml roasted and ground dry chillis
How to prepare this recipe: Pick over whole spices carefully and rinse. Spread spices on a large tray and dry in the sun for a few hours (we’re in Durban, remember!). Heat oven to 120 degrees Celsius and roast spices for 15 minutes until aromatic, or use the traditional method and slow roast spices in a karahi (a traditional little cast-iron wok). Cool then pound in a pestle and mortar. Inhale…..
THEN
DURBAN CURRY
This is my version which feeds about six people. As ever, start with lots of chopped onions - at least three large ones, maybe four, oh go for five. Fry in plenty of vegetable oil, around a cup. Add a small handful (each, of course) of coriander, cumin and fenugreek seeds, a few cardamom pods, and a broken and crushed stick of cinnamon. Simmer for ages, then add the homemade Garam Masala. Whatever you use, it’s around three large tablespoons and fry. Then add all the other ingredients: a generous handful of powdered turmeric, plenty garlic cloves – oh six or eight – I put them in whole, unpeeled; 2 tins of tomatoes, plenty tomato concentrate, diced fresh ginger an man's thumb size, quite a few whole green chillis, curry leaves - which I keep in the freezer - two organic beef stock cubes, plus a tomato can of water. Then get it up to the boil. Add the meat – I always make too much, at least a kg, although of course there’s never too much. My special is braising steak in biggish chunks plus a pack of oxtail. The bones give the curry a nice depth, and I really only eat the oxtail - it is the best bit - creamy and tender. Bring to the boil, maybe add a little more water to cover and place in a low oven to slowly simmer. After an hour or so, add peeled halved waxy potatoes (by now the casserole dish is getting VERY full, but no matter). Return to the oven, and very gently bubble for another two hours, until the fat rises to the top and meat is too tender. Long and very slow of course, like so much of my cooking. Twenty minutes from the end, thickly dust with a cup fresh-made Durban Garam Masala. To serve, top with fresh sheep's milk yoghurt mixed with chopped fresh onion, and torn fresh coriander, on a bed of basmati rice, of course....well you can't beat it.
THE STORY BEHIND THIS RECIPE
This curry is my signature dish. I'm always so grateful that I grew up in sunny Durban, on the east coast of Southern Africa. Apart from the golden beaches lapped by the tepid Indian Ocean; the sub-tropical climate with it lush forests and exotic fruit trees - I mean, you couldn’t throw a paw-paw pip out the back door without a huge gangling paw-paw tree springing up overnight - and the jolly and vibrant mix of Zulu, Indian, and English, it is the home of Durban Curry....obviously, the best curry in the world!
Durban in the fifties was an exotic brew. I’ll never forget my first crocodile egg. I was only four years old when my uncle drew my brother and sister and me together and presented us each with our own egg to bury in the garden. With a conspiratorial wink, he warned us not to tell our father. We nodded solemnly. He was a crocodile hunter, and crocs in those days were considered vermin. His home was a rambling and exciting adventure, echoing wooden floors, a baby impala running from room to room, but most extraordinary of all, their favourite Nile crocodile, Passepartout, who spent the afternoons sleeping on my cousin Bobby’s bed.
A treasured memory is when night fell like a light switched off, and we could hear the call to prayer of the mosques, mixed in with the tree frogs through the humid air. Gheckos scurried across the ceiling as we sat happily around their dining room table, uncles and aunts and cousins all eating delicious bunny chow. Found in all the Indian districts of Durban, bunny chow was a delicious mutton or beef curry served in a hollowed-out loaf of white bread - no plate required.
In the mid seventies, we all packed up and left that troubled country. My uncle and his family moved to Australia, a reformed hunter. And we moved to England, and here I have learned how to make my own Durban curries.
We buried the crocodile eggs in a sandy corner of the garden, and listened every day in the sunshine for the scratching... But they never hatched.
