Belligerent Recipes #1: Lamb Curry

Whenever I watch cooking competition shows on TV I always hear the judges advise the contestants to “cook with passion” or “cook with joy.” But what about cooking with other emotions, like fear or anxiety? Negatively valenced feelings and attitudes can be just as useful. In this series I’m going to present my favourite recipes in a manner that brings out the best in my food: total hostility. I will not treat my words like I would ground beef – that is, they shall not be minced! Follow these recipes and enjoy great-tasting food. Or don’t. Whatever.

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Don’t test me.

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Today’s recipe is my childhood favourite: curry. That’s right, curry. Hold your stupid opinions until I give you the back story. I got this recipe from my mom. No, my mom isn’t South Asian. And when she used to tell me that curry was “Indian food,” for the longest time I actually thought she was using the term “Indian” in the Indigenous peoples of North America sense (a pejorative term, I realize, but widely used in rural Manitoba at the time to describe First Nations people). So that means I thought she meant “curry” was First Nations food. I assumed she had learned the recipe from my Grandma Ruth (a real Indian princess) or something. In other words, I thought curry was authentic Aboriginal fare. I was a confused little boy. Shut up.

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I have a Ph.D.

Alright, let’s make some curry. You’re going to need some meat. This isn’t some bourgeois Vegan slop. Animals are going to have to die for you to make this meal. Suck it up, buttercup. It doesn’t have to be lamb, just use whatever hunk of mammal flesh you have lying around. Goat, mutton, beef, chicken. Jesus, I don’t care. Pick something. I usually use leftover leg of lamb from a previous night’s roast. Cube that meat. It doesn’t have to be perfect cubes. Stop being such a perfectionist.

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Set the meat aside and let’s set the stage. First, melt some butter. I guess you could just heat some oil instead. But then you’d be an asshole.

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Now, add a chopped onion. Remember when you were a kid and you hated onions? Well grow up. You’re not 9 anymore. Eat some damn onions. They’re delicious.

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Fry that onion along with 1.5 tablespoons of curry powder and 0.5 teaspoon of savory. Oh you don’t have savory? Well you don’t have to cry about it. Just substitute it with marjoram or something like that. While you were locking yourself in the bathroom freaking out because you didn’t have any savory, the rest of us were doing some cooking. Pull yourself together.

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Fry that for a few minutes. Notice that I’m using a wooden spoon. Apparently, that’s the secret. Don’t ask why, just use a goddamn wooden spoon and shut your mouth. In fact, I’m using the same wooden spoon with which my mother used to strike my backside whenever I misbehaved as a child. DO NOT JUDGE HER. It was a different time and besides, if you don’t want slivers in your ass, you do as your mother tells you. My mom is a saint.

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Now add a can of coconut milk. You can use broth instead but if you do you should be ashamed of yourself. Go back to your playhouse and let the grownups do the cooking.

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Add a handful of raisins. “But I don’t like raisins!” you are probably whining right now. SHUT. YOUR. MOUTH. Raisins are fantastic in curry. And use sultanas for god’s sake – have a little dignity.

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Cut up an apple and toss it in there. Yes, we’re adding fruit to this meat. Don’t puss out on me now.

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Add some minced garlic. You can pretend to be Anthony Bourdain and crush the garlic with your chef’s knife or you can stop being a hero and just use a garlic press like me.

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Add a teaspoon or so of ginger. What’s this? Processed ginger in a tube? That’s right. Processed ginger in a tube. Because I have better things to do with my life than work with fresh ginger. Pain in the ass.

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Put some salt and pepper in there and add a couple tablespoons of lemon juice. As you can see, I’m not measuring it exactly. I’m ballparking it. Because that’s what badasses do. Of course, you go ahead and measure those two tablespoons out perfectly, Nancy. You’re an embarrassment.

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Toss in the lamb. Let that simmer for half an hour. I swear to Christ if you take one bite before 30 minutes have elapsed I’m going to come over there and beat your ass with my wooden spoon. Have some patience to let those flavours mingle.

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Okay, it’s ready. Was that so bad? Honestly, you’re hopeless. By now my kitchen smells amazing. If yours doesn’t, you’ve screwed something up – as usual.

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Spoon that over some rice. Oh yeah, you should have been making rice while it was simmering. Well what did you think? You were going to eat this by itself? Idiot.

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Slop some mango chutney over it. You’ll thank me later. Or maybe you won’t because you’re an ungrateful jerk.

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Now shove some of that delicious curry in your pie-hole and shut up. I’m done here. You sicken me.

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 Serves: Well it depends on how hungry everyone is, doesn’t it? Dummy.

Nutritional information: You think I give a shit? Eat it. It tastes good.

Rating: 5 stars out of 5 stars

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4 Responses to Belligerent Recipes #1: Lamb Curry

  1. Sandra Colp says:

    Your father sent me here. That had better be _Basmati_ rice or it’s ten whacks of the wooden spoon for you, Will Junior!

  2. Pingback: Belligerent Recipes #7: Cauliflower Pizza | The Smoked Mackerel Chronicles

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