Daft Old Duffer: Proper Curry?

The recent discussions in the forum regarding the merits of various Indian restaurants has made me smile. A bit smugly, I must confess.

Everyone is thinking of ‘posh’ curry of course. The sort served up to maharajas on silver platters.

My early experience of the dish was a little different. (No inferences here, I must stress, to any restaurants on the Island, all of whom have a justifiably good reputation)

The first ship on which I served employed a Malay deck crew and an Indian cook and assistant cook. One hot Indian Ocean day the assistant cook was observed sitting on the rear deck hatch cover preparing the evening meal for the crew.

As usual it consisted of a mound of rice topped by whatever flavouring was handy – if any. ‘Proper curry’ is the way I think of it.

On this day it was meat – a gristly, fatty garnering of some obscure animal which he was cutting into more or less bite sized pieces.

Cheesy Corn Curry
(warning, don’t read on if you’re eating whilst reading this. ed)

He happened to catch sight of his bare and somewhat grubby feet, noticed a corn that had grown too much and, using the same meat knife, spent several minutes paring off some surplus skin.

Skin that had never seen shoes and not often water.

Then, satisfied he had done all he could he returned to slicing the meat.

We lordly officers did not have to eat the curry – we had proper European stodge on the menu as an alternative. But we often did. And anyway, whatever we ate, everything was prepared in the same kitchen and by the same cooks.

Cooks who had no particular respect for us pinky-skinned youths in our pretty white uniforms. So it was as well we never thought it necessary to inspect the preparations being made for our stomachs.

Still, everyone aboard – crew and officers – all thrived.

Proving a little dirt never hurt anyone.

Changing the subject
I recently bought myself a new copier/printer/scanner thingy.It’s got lots of functions,many of which I shall never use.It’s so clever I’m glad it can’t talk. If it could talk it would probably start ordering me about.

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