By Eshita Bhargava
Before curry became comfort food across continents—from the streets of Bangkok to the pubs of Birmingham—it was an expression of something much larger. At first bite, it’s warmth and wonder. But behind every swirl of turmeric and coconut milk lies a trail of empires, indentured labour, spice ships, and hybrid homes. The story of curry isn’t just a culinary one—it’s a spicy saga of conquest and creativity, of colonial imposition and diasporic adaptation. And like all the best dishes, it only gets richer the deeper you dig. The Spice Race: When Pepper Was Worth Its Weight in Gold Long before “fusion cuisine” became a buzzword, the original fusion was happening in the hulls of ships on the Spice Route. Cinnamon from Sri Lanka, cardamom from the Western Ghats, and cloves from the Moluccas made their way into European courts, bringing exoticism—and economic obsession—in their wake. Fun fact: In 1498, when Vasco da Gama landed in Calicut (now Kozhikode), he wasn’t looking for curry. He was looking for pepper. But what he found was a kingdom steeped in spice and recipes that blew the blandness off European palates. Soon after, the Portuguese, Dutch, British, and French joined the spice scramble, not only claiming territories but also tampering with food systems, introducing chillies (from the Americas!), tomatoes, and potatoes—now core to many “traditional” curries. Curry: Not One Dish, But a Colonial Construct Let’s get one thing straight: there’s no such thing as a singular “curry” in Indian kitchens. In Tamil, it’s kari, meaning sauce. In Bengali, it’s jhol. In Punjabi homes, sabzi. “Curry” as we know it was a British catch-all—a colonial shortcut for the countless stews, gravies, and masalas they encountered and couldn’t categorise. The British Raj began packaging curry—both literally (hello, curry powder) and culturally—as part of their legacy. By the 18th century, “Madras Curry” became a household item in Britain. Think of it as the early version of supermarket tikka masala. Fun fact: The British invented Chicken Tikka Masala in Glasgow in the 1970s. It’s said a customer complained his chicken was too dry, so the chef tossed in a tomato cream sauce. A curry crisis was averted, and Britain got a “national dish.” Diaspora Dishes: The Curry Goes Global Colonialism didn’t just move spices—it moved people. From indentured labourers in the Caribbean to East African traders in the UK, wherever people went, their food followed. Aloo Matar – India’s Humble Comfort Start with India’s Aloo Matar—a vegetarian stew of potatoes and peas. Born out of simplicity, it’s the go-to dish for rainy days and tight budgets. But don’t be fooled. Its balance of cumin, turmeric, and tomatoes speaks of generations perfecting the art of “less is more.” Chintan Pandya, the celebrated chef behind Dhamaka in NYC, pays homage to this humble classic. His version uses high-grade ingredients but sticks to the soul of the dish—simple, hearty, and proudly Indian. Senegal’s Mafé – A Peanut-Powered Powerhouse Travel west to Senegal, and you meet Mafé—a luscious curry of lamb, sweet potato, and peanut. Originally Malian, this dish symbolises community and comfort. Its creamy, nutty base predates the British Empire and has nothing to do with curry powder—but everything to do with spice migration. Pierre Thiam, chef and author, adds coconut milk in his NYC restaurant Teranga, nodding to both West African richness and the global curry diaspora. The dish, centuries old, continues to evolve across oceans. Fun fact: Peanuts, a New World crop, became a staple in African cuisine through colonial trade. It’s one of the many unintentional gifts of imperialism. Japan’s Katsu Curry – Colonialism with a Crispy Twist Next stop: Japan. Katsu Curry looks and tastes Japanese—but it was born of British naval curry. During the Meiji Restoration, Japan modernised rapidly, and that included adopting curry. But trust the Japanese to reinvent it: thickening the sauce, sweetening the flavour, and pairing it with panko-fried pork cutlets. Sonoko Sakai, author of Japanese Home Cooking, champions the homey feel of Katsu Curry. Her advocacy for handmade curry roux reconnects people to the dish’s colonial roots—and its modern-day comfort. Thailand’s Gang Gai Khao Mun – Where Harmony Meets Heat Thai curries are symphonies of balance. Gang Gai (chicken curry) with Khao Mun (coconut rice) is the edible definition of aromatic elegance. While it wasn’t directly birthed by colonialism, Thai cuisine adapted foreign influences through trade and diplomacy, not conquest. Nok Suntaranon, of Kalaya in Philadelphia, keeps tradition alive using scratch-made curry pastes and fresh herbs. Her food speaks of the Thai resistance to colonisation, but openness to flavour fusion. Fun fact: Thailand is one of the few Asian nations never colonised, but it freely borrowed culinary elements from neighbours and trading partners. Caribbean Curries – Buss Up Shut and Boldness In Trinidad, curry isn’t just Indian—it’s Caribbean. The dish Curried Pumpkin with Buss Up Shut (a torn, flaky roti) is a remixed recipe born from the Indo-Caribbean experience. After the abolition of slavery, the British brought Indian indentured workers to the Caribbean, and they brought their masalas with them. Nina Compton in New Orleans celebrates this Indo-Caribbean legacy with flair. Her restaurant’s curried pumpkin dish layers history with sweetness, spice, and a roti that’s lovingly messy—hence “buss up shut” (busted-up shirt). Curry’s Comeback: From Postcolonial Pride to Global Plates What was once appropriated is now being reclaimed. Across London, New York, Johannesburg, and Sydney, second- and third-generation immigrants are reimagining the dishes of their ancestors—swapping butter for ghee, curry powder for garam masala, and instant pastes for homemade blends. This renaissance is more than culinary—it’s cultural healing. Curry is no longer just something to sell to the West. It’s a spicy love letter to heritage. So, What’s In a Curry? A Whole Lot of History At first glance, curry might just look like a delicious mess of spices, meat, and gravy. But behind every plate is a history of empires built and broken, identities suppressed and reclaimed, and flavours that refused to be forgotten. And whether it’s wrapped in roti, poured over rice, or nestled beside naan, curry has done something remarkable—it’s brought us closer. Not just to our roots, but to each other. Spicy truth: You don’t need a passport to travel the world. Just follow the curry trail—and you’ll end up with a belly full of stories. The World is Curried From the colonial kitchens of Calcutta to the contemporary cafés of Cape Town, curry has weathered wars, voyages, and reinventions. It’s a dish that tells us where we came from—and where we’re going. So next time you stir that pot, remember: you’re not just cooking a meal. You’re simmering centuries. And that, dear reader, is the spiciest story ever told.