How curry spread across Asia, spawning local versions from Japan to Indonesia, Singapore and Thailand – and three Hong Kong chefs serving regional curries

Is “curry” a racist, colonialist term, and should it be cancelled? In a social media post that was widely reported (including by this newspaper), an Indian-American food blogger stirred up fiery debate on the subject, saying that curry doesn’t exist in the South Asian lexicon, and is an offensive catch-all word that misrepresents the cuisine of an entire subcontinent. Derived from the Tamil kari, which varies in meaning from “blackened” to “spiced sauce”, it was adapted to carel by Portuguese colonisers during the 1500s. The British, who followed them, changed it to “curry”, a word they used to describe all manner of Indian dishes – and a nebulous term that went on to conquer the world. Today, local versions of curry are a staple of many Asian cuisines, some clearly influenced by the cooking of India, others bearing little resemblance. Either way, curry has transcended cultures and cuisines, and Hong Kong is a great place to sample them, including the kari of Sri Lanka and Indonesia, the gaeng of Thailand, Japanese kare raisu, and the city’s own gaa lei fish balls, a beloved street snack. For Gisela Alesbrook and others, a life without curry is no life at all. The Sri Lankan-born chef at Hotal Colombo, in SoHo, says: “We eat it every day, sometimes for breakfast, lunch and dinner.” Alesbrook, who learned how to cook at an early age from her mother and grandmother, says defining curry can be tricky, although “it should have some kind of sauce, which doesn’t have to be spicy.” Curry powder is essential, preferably not the Westernised, mass-produced ones, and Alesbrook makes her own from recipes passed down through generations. “Our curry powders are not heavily seasoned or spiced, with no more than five spices going into a blend,” she says. Onions and tomatoes form the base of curries, as they do for much of Sri Lankan cooking, along with garlic, ginger and coconut milk. Known as “kari” in Sri Lanka, they are similar to those from southern India, and are “dairy-free, light and easy on your stomach”, making them suitable for daily consumption in hot weather. Drastic drop in tourist arrivals hits Chungking Mansions restaurants hard Alesbrook says a good curry must have the freshest ingredients, and the smell should make you hungry, adding: “Curry is never eaten on its own. It’s not a soup, you have to have carbs with it,” whether it’s rice, or one of the flatbreads. While Hotal Colombo’s curries have been refined for aesthetic purposes, Alesbrook won’t modify flavours to suit local palates. She says: “It was difficult at first, because initially people asked us to turn down the heat. We stuck to our guns, and now we get so many guests who cry [because of the spice], but really enjoy it.” Chefs can be reluctant to choose a favourite dish, but Alesbrook nominates the black pork kari based on her grandma’s recipe. It has a black-pepper-packed flavour punch, with the pork cooked twice, first in its own fat to crisp the meat, then slowly simmered. The dish brings back fond memories of Easter celebrations, when “our family would gather for a feast of yellow rice with cashews and raisins, served with brinjal moju [eggplant relish], papadam, seeni [onion] sambol, and black pork curry … that would be my perfect meal,” she says. At Bibi & Baba in Wan Chai, chef Ho Wai-kong’s favourite is a dry chicken curry from his home city of Ipoh on Malaysia’s west coast. It’s too time-consuming to make in the small kitchen he oversees, but with two days’ advance notice, Ho might be persuaded to make his version of nyonya chicken curry with kaffir lime leaf, lemongrass and chilli. The restaurant, which bills itself as Malaysian-Singaporean, is an excellent place to discover the delights of nyonya, or Peranakan, cuisine, which reflects the fusion of migrant Chinese and indigenous Malay cultures. “Peranakan food uses lots of spice, fresh herbs, dry shrimp, blue ginger, turmeric, ginger, and chilli,” says Ho. Dishes are often “cooked longer so they are more fragrant and aromatic”. Ho, too, finds it difficult to define curry, but is clear about what it is not. He says that the restaurant’s standout dishes, such as ayam buah keluak (chicken braised in a thick black nut sauce) and babi pongteh (braised pork belly with salted bean paste), are not curries. A dry beef rendang, while listed as a curry, is not entirely one either, “because it doesn’t have curry powder, which is most important”. One dish that undoubtedly makes the cut is the Indian-influenced nyonya fish head curry, a pungent clay-pot wonder that arrives at the table still bubbling, ready to be shared. As the name suggests, a whole fresh fish head is the star, complemented by vegetables such as eggplant, okra and tomato, slow-cooked in a heady mix of ground spice, onion, garlic, tamarind water, coconut milk, curry leaf, and yes, curry powder. It’s a delectable balance of sweet, sour and savoury, and the gelatin from the fish head adds a viscous richness to the dish. Thai cuisine needs little introduction in Hong Kong, but it might surprise some diners to learn that one of the city’s leading proponents is an Australian: Adam Cliff, chef-owner of the Samsen restaurants in Sheung Wan and Wan Chai, both of which have been awarded Michelin Bib Gourmands. Cliff fell in love with Thai food in Sydney and recalls the first great curry he had, a sour orange curry with prawns and omelette at a restaurant called Spice I Am. His love of Thai food took him to Bangkok, where he worked at Nahm with David Thompson, another Australian chef acclaimed for bringing Thai food to an international audience. During his years in Thailand, Cliff – who speaks Thai – was exposed to challenging regional curries made with frogs, fish liver and other exotic ingredients, which “took me a while to learn to appreciate”, he admits. Fret not, you won’t find those on the menu at Samsen, Cliff explains, because “people come to enjoy the food, so I cook what they want to eat”. That said, “the menu is carefully selected so I don’t have to compromise on flavours, though we can adjust spice and oil levels, because it is not detrimental to the dish.” According to Cliff, the spectrum of Thai curries, often identified as gaeng, is broad, but “the key element is curry paste, which is what separates it from soup.” A paste can be dry-spiced or wet, and include as few as two ingredients, or up to 30 for the most complex recipes. Like other curry experts, Cliff has firm views on what makes a good curry, and “one thing that is often overlooked is consistency.” Too thick, and it gets bogged down on the palate, too thin and it may as well be soup, which is a no-no, though khao soi, a curry noodle soup dish from northern Thailand, happily bridges the two, and has proved a runaway success. The curries on the menu at Samsen are chosen specifically to go with roti, a crisp, flaky flatbread, as well as rice. “I love carbs, so I serve curries that go well with it,” Cliff says. These include gaeng massaman, a smoky, nutty braised beef dish (Cliff uses wagyu beef cheek), which takes hours to prepare and cook; and an aromatic gaeng gari gai, or “curry-curry chicken.” Curries are made to be shared, and enjoyed in the company of others. Curry rises above the culture wars, and is intrinsic to so many cuisines. Curry is not only delicious, it also unites, rather than divides us. Hotal Colombo 31 Elgin Street, Central, tel: 2488 8863 Bibi & Baba 1-7 Ship Street, Wan Chai, tel: 2555 0628 Samsen 23 Jervois Street, Sheung Wan, tel: 2234 0080 and 68 Stone Nullah Lane, Wan Chai, tel: 2234 0001 Like what you read? Follow SCMP Lifestyle on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. You can also sign up for our eNewsletter here.