My sister brought this recipe to my attention coz she intended to make it in the weekend. We had our Chicken Vindaloo with rice and cabbage and there were lots of leftovers.. Some went into the freezer for another meal on another day.. I had some with some noodles.. Some with 2 pcs of bread as breakfast..
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Unexpectedly, gloriously, this vindaloo is honestly, truly the perfect hot summer night dish. Before my mother died, she would regularly send me parcels in the post. The cards would often be sent at times of crisis: when a long-term boyfriend broke up with me via email, when I was having a meltdown about work, when I was sad without rhyme or reason, or aching with homesickness.
After her death, I learnt that she used to do the same for her sister when they were my age: cards with little poems, and jokes and words of reassurance that my aunt kept.
But it sits on my desk, giving a combination of quiet support and gentle mocking of my ever-present anxiety. I know her handwriting is inside. I know the power of her handwriting. The story of her handwriting is for another time. But there it sits, telling me not to worry, safe in the knowledge that I almost certainly will. The close weather makes me even more anxious than normal: its inescapable, threatening heaviness and palpable tension overhanging every movement and interaction make me miserable and uneasy.
What on earth do you e at for comfort, for reassurance in this heat? All my go-to dishes are unsuitable. Stews and pies and casseroles are plainly out of the question, overbearing and overfilling, but salads are flimsy and inadequate, offering no succour when night falls and thunder comes. This dish is, I promise you, the answer. It is as balanced as the weather is unbalanced. When I am heavy and sluggish, it makes me feel invincible. When I loathe the thought of being touched, it makes me untouchable.
When my sister first cooked this curry for me, and told me it was a vindaloo, my face must have fallen. That is not what this dish is. Its heat builds from the chillis but is tempered by the sweetness of the onion and the lamb.
The potato gives the dish body without being rich or heavy. It cries out, as the weather does, for cool yoghurt and cooler beers. It is calming and cheering and comforting. It succeeds where just abut every other dish fails. Perhaps because it finds its parents in two hot regions, Portugal and Goa, it is a dish which lends itself to close, overheated surroundings. In the early days, I worried a lot about cooking. I wanted immediately to be competent and impressive, but I had no intuition, no reserves of knowledge or experience to draw on.
It was so simple and actually made sense to me. So, with renewed vigour, and just a touch of bravado, I made this curry. For me, this curry decodes curries. It suddenly made sense of curry cooking to me.
You make your spice base, and fry it off. You add your meat and liquid and allow to simmer. Add some potatoes if you want to soak up the simmering liquid. That is literally it. But the results and flavours are so much more unctuous and complex than such a simple recipe would suggest. The vinegar begins to break down the fibres in the lamb as it marinates, meaning that when it cooks, it is fantastically tender.
The pureed onion in the spice mixture gives an incredible sweetness to the dish, which compliments the lamb, a naturally sweet meat.
The combination of using a meat which produces fat and the oil from the marinade means that when you add the potatoes, submerge them, and replace the lid, the potatoes effectively confit. I promise you, you will never have eaten such tender, flavourful potatoes. This curry sings. Every curry novice should cook this. This is the opposite of that. You will never worry about curry again. The below is based on a Hairy Bikers recipe, with a handful of my tweaks.
The original uses a lot more lamb than this recipe does. Their recommended quantities are 1. I use less than a third of this, and easily feed 4. They recommend using lamb shoulder but I use neck on the basis that a my butchers only sell lamb shoulders whole, and these are too large for my purposes, and b this meat is going to be marinated and simmered down for a long time: it makes sense to use a cheap cut and bring out the best in it. Please do not be put off.
This curry involves a long list of ingredients, but honest to god, is so straightforward. I urge you to have faith and follow the steps. Take my hand, and you cannot fail to produce the most. Remember: I tell you below how to make a relatively hot curry. The heat in this curry should not be a gauntlet, but a comfort. Remove any excess hard fat from the lamb. Make your marinade by mixing the vinegar, oil and salt in a bowl big enough to hold it and your lamb. Place the lamb in the marinade, swoosh it about a bit and refrigerate for two hours.
Slice your onions. Heat 3 tablespoons of the vegetable oil in a large frying pan and gently cook the onions over a low heat for about fifteen minutes, stirring occasionally. Add a further two tablespoons of oil and cook together until thickened and beginning to colour about five minutes.
Remove the mixture from the pan and place into a large casserole dish. Brown the lamb in two tablespoons of vegetable oil over a medium-high heat. Once browned, add the lamb to your onion curry mixture. Add the reserved marinade and an extra ml of water to the casserole dish, along with salt and bay leaves. Bring the whole pot to a gently simmer — this always takes longer than you think. Be patient. Make a cartouche by placing greaseproof paper over the surface of the curry; place the lid on the dish, and cook for 45 minutes.
Remove the dish from the oven and stir in the potato chunks. Replace the cartouche and lid and cook for another 30 minutes. Check your curry: is it ridiculously liquid? Remove the cartouche and lid and return to the oven uncovered for a final 30 minutes. If your curry is already looking pretty unctuous, replace the cartouche and lid before returning to the oven for the last 30 minutes.
Icing on the Cake: We eat this scattered with coriander, alongside piles of naan bread, large bowls of mint yoghurt, and bottles of very cold beer. Now this I can make have all hairy bikers books so am going to give this ago have weekend off so plenty time and no excuses. Love and kisses to you all xx lynne allen.
Hi Lynne, hope the dish works out well! Livvy x. Pingback: Glorious lemon coconut cake for drizzly days A Half-. You are commenting using your WordPress. You are commenting using your Google account. You are commenting using your Twitter account. You are commenting using your Facebook account.
Notify me of new comments via email. Notify me of new posts via email. Close Search. Take my hand, and you cannot fail to produce the most Remember: I tell you below how to make a relatively hot curry. Preheat the oven to degrees C. TA DAH! Share this: Twitter Facebook Pinterest Pocket. Like this: Like Loading Morning livvy your mum was a very special lady and will always be with you and your sister.
Love and kisses to you all xx lynne allen July 7, Reply. Livvy x July 12, Reply. Leave a Reply Cancel reply Enter your comment here Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Email required Address never made public. Name required. Post to Cancel.
The ultimate day out for food lovers!
By Weekend Reporters. Serves 4. For the marinade. First make the marinade. Blitz the onion, garlic and ginger in a blender with tbsp of the red wine vinegar to a paste. Toast the whole spices in a dry pan until aromatic, grind in a mortar and pestle and then mix with the chilli powder, turmeric, sugar and salt. Stir in the onion paste and the rest of the vinegar.
The Hairy Bikers supreme chicken - and cracking eggs: Chicken vindaloo
It comes from the Goa region of India, which was once a Portuguese colony, and the cooking there has lots of Portuguese influences. Vindaloo has become a curry house classic. Trim the lamb, discarding any really hard lumps of fat and sinew. Mix the vinegar and vegetable oil with 2 teaspoons of sea salt in a non-metallic bowl until well combined, then add the lamb and turn it to coat in the marinade. Cover and leave in the fridge for 2 hours to marinate.
Unexpectedly, gloriously, this vindaloo is honestly, truly the perfect hot summer night dish. Before my mother died, she would regularly send me parcels in the post. The cards would often be sent at times of crisis: when a long-term boyfriend broke up with me via email, when I was having a meltdown about work, when I was sad without rhyme or reason, or aching with homesickness. After her death, I learnt that she used to do the same for her sister when they were my age: cards with little poems, and jokes and words of reassurance that my aunt kept.