Curry Off 2007

When Prasad and I had drunkenly challenged each other to a curry cook-off almost a year ago, I doubt either of us imagined that our friends would be urging us to make this a yearly event. Our last Curry Off ended in a tie, and so a rematch was in order. And, to make it interesting, we would cook lamb.

I had never cooked lamb before; neither had Prasad. And, because I didn’t have an Indian mother who telephoned in with her recipes, I spent several weeks before the scheduled date--which, admittedly, I kept pushing further and further away--trying out different recipes trying to find a winner. One practice run tasted like some weird British-style lamb stew, another wasn’t spicy enough and lacked that richness you feel in your mouth and on your tongue from the introduction of fat, and a third had an unappealing grainy texture. There was only one practice run curry that seemed like a possibility. It was time to cook.

Because we scheduled Curry Off 2007 as a Sunday night supper, I planned on prepping and cooking Saturday night. Jeanne was in town and since she was so hungover that she couldn’t rouse herself to go out again Saturday night, she helped with the preparation. I started by creating a curry paste. Onions, garlic, ginger, paprika, cloves, black peppercorns, red chilies, cumin seeds, poppy seeds, fennel seeds, ground cinnamon, and dried coconut went into the blender with a little bit of water. The mixture was pulsed, chopped, and blended until it became a smooth paste.

I sautéed some chopped onions in oil until they were nearly brown, which took much longer than I had assumed. Next, went in the curry paste along with some bay leaves and an armload of constant stirring. Then, the cubes of lamb were added, seasoned with salt and pepper, and browned. The chopped tomatoes were thrown in. And, finally, I poured in some water and let it simmer away. I put the lids on the pots (I had to use two because of the large quantity), turned off the heat, attached notes reading “Do Not Uncover” to prevent Scott from peeking underneath (although he ignored the notes and was stopped by Jeanne), and went to bed. When Sunday rolled around, I heated my curries back up, let it simmer away to evaporate some of the extra water, added some coconut milk and a touch of cream, and adjusted its seasoning. It was ready.

We headed over to Prasad’s house a little early with curry, rice cooker, and my favorite wooden spoon in tow, and set up shop on Prasad’s stove. Prasad was shit-talking, calling my curry a fancy-looking bean dip and even taking jabs at the rice cooker my mom bought me when I moved into my first apartment. Although he was barely just turning on the fire on his curry, I was nervous. He had a whole crew of folks, all on his side, in his house, and I only had my wooden spoon. Was my curry really just a fancy-looking bean dip?

When our friends arrived, we started serving. Ryan, thinking ahead, had numbered opposites sides of paper plates with 1 and 2. Rice went down the middle of the plate, flanked on both sides by the two different curries. Ballots with a numerical rating system that judged curries on taste, texture, and spiciness were made; however, the curries on the ballots were labeled “Susan” and “Prasad”--so much for a blind competition. Eating, and judging, began.

Our friends mmm’ed as they sweated in the living room. With about 20 people in that room all eating spicy curry, it felt like a sauna but our friends trucked through, even going back for seconds and thirds.

And, it was a tough decision. Prasad’s curry was good; it was spicy but not too spicy (last year’s chicken curry nearly knocked me to the floor with its intensity), the lamb chunks were still lamb chunks (my lamb had nearly disintegrated with all that slow simmering), and it tasted like Indian curry. Eleanor, Colin, and Carlo were huddled together in a corner discussing the merits of each curry, and I wanted to listen in, but they stopped talking when I approached. The Australian neighbor and the barbeque chef with an accent both said they enjoyed the texture of the meat of my curry. What did this all mean? I was still nervous.

When all the ballots were placed and counted up, Prasad’s friend came into the kitchen, where he and I were sitting, and announced the winner. After a little speech and some explanations that no one understood, it was deduced that Curry #2 was the winner by a one-point differential. People asked whose was #2, and I responded that my last name spoke for itself.

Even with all of Prasad’s trash talk earlier in the evening, I couldn’t gloat in my victory. It’s not my style. And, as Ryan had mentioned, the voting system was flawed. But, even more importantly, there was talk of a Curry Off 2008 with seafood. Prasad even came up with a campaign slogan, “Can’t wait for ’08!” We’ll see.