Durban king prawn curry - KZN curry stories 1
- Hobbychef
- 15 hours ago
- 23 min read
Durban in South Africa is known for its curries. The first in a colour-coded insider series on the Indian Diasporan traditions of the Durban curry focuses on the background to the fiery, red seafood and fish curries of South Africa's Eastern Seaboard and its iconic standard bearer, Durban king prawn curry
KZN curry stories 1 - the red sea
Durban curry is legendary. Or created its own legend. Durban is mostly known for its marijuana ("Durban poison") and curries. In both cases, there's a theme of extremity. In the case of the curries, known particularly for their fieriness; a penchant for Kashmiri chilli powder, cayenne pepper and fresh hot green chillies. Or so the story goes...
If you're not interested in tales of food or the history of how what we eat evolved, you should just scroll straight down to the recipe. As the title warned you, there is a story here. But I won't be offended if you simply want to get straight to the cooking.
Over the last few years, I've written a lot about what gets folded into the label "Durban curries". I'm increasingly restless about this term. For one thing, while the port of Durban might be the epicentre for the (largely) Indian Diasporan culinary culture that created a unique version of South African "Indian food", a lot of these recipes, including some of the most interesting ones, were developed in the towns around the sugarcane fields further north; the locales where Indian migrant workers arrived to work as indentured labour in the 19th century. KwaZulu-Natal curry, yes; Durban curry, maybe.
Furthermore, in what writing there is out there about Durban curries, almost all of the focus is on the "red and hot" curries. Don't get me wrong: they warrant attention. But, as someone who (mis)spent adolescence travelling around and learning KZN curries from locals acknowledged as experts in their communities, those who really knew their stuff, one thing became rapidly clear to me: so-called Durban curries, are, in fact, a pluralism of styles and dishes that have evolved uniquely on South Africa's eastern coast, not one monolithic huge, red curry. They can be red, yellow, brown or green. They can be fiery hot or incredibly mild. They are informed by the food observances of Hinduism, Islam, Zoroastrianism, Christianity and the otherwise engaged.
Unfortunately some big name (ex) South African chefs have fed the flames of misinformation to their substantial audiences. I'm not sure where they actually put in the time to even visit Durban or KZN while spending every waking hour promoting their classic French training, but they have found time to perpetuate the one-line cliché that Durban curries are almost entirely about fire. And it's been lapped up by those in the UK to the point that we now see vaunted London eateries putting so-called Durban curries on their menus; anaemic affairs lacking in flavour with a paucity of spices and a cooking method that bears no relation to actual Durban curries. But, hey, they have made them red and very hot...
I feel that the time has come for me to put in a little effort, to get a bit more interrogative and granular with the dominant notion that Durban curries are all red and hot; rely only on cayenne pepper, chilli powder, hot green chillies and a paucity of rich ingredients. As you will see from this recipe and the spice mix it deploys, they are about a lot more.
Oh, yes, these "red hot" curries definitely exist. They are the bestsellers at the forefront of the legend, the thing repetitive travel guides tell visitors they have to try. After all, they are a tourist industry earner.
So, it might seem ironic that, while questioning the monolithic nature of "Durban curries", that I'm starting with these "big reds" in the first in my colour-coded musings to hopefully give a bit of insight. More accurately, I'm going to start with the red, hot, spicy seafood subset because, while there are certainly mutton and beef "big reds", they are a little different, both in terms of ingredients, cooking method and, to some extent, culture.
Red sky in the morning...
In November 1860, the first indentured Indian labourers disembarked from The Truro in what is today the port of Durban. The ship was the first to bring what would swell into a wave of immigrant labourers over subsequent decades, arriving to work in the sugarcane fields of (then) Natal. Some 152,641 arrived in 1860 alone. Conditions were harsh. Labour had been recruited in India because almost all of the original Chinese indentured workers preferred to return to China after the completion of their contracts rather than to sign up for a new period of indenture.
Many of the Indian labourers, the majority of whom had come from coastal Southern India, where fish was a natural part of their diet, were somewhat surprised by this strange new place. Numerous areas where sugarcane was cultivated were close to the Indian Ocean. One of the things that baffled the arrivistes was that, despite being on the coast, local Zulu food culture had practically no interest in fish or seafood.
This had come about through a curious combination of things. For one thing, there were traditional Zulu dietary taboos about eating things that lived in water based in a complex system of beliefs about the nature of the evil spirits that could take the form of water animals.
We may never know the truth of apocryphal tales of Shaka kaSenzangakhona, King of the Zulu Nation, wiping out the Mhlongo of Elangeni (who inhabited the region near present-day Durban and notable for being a Bantu culture that did deploy systematic fishing) for dishonouring his beloved mother Nandi KaBhebhe, a royal princess of the Elangeni. But, what we do know, is that by the time the first British settlers and later Indian immigrants arrived, there were no longer any local significant settlements of Bantu peoples between Durban and Empangeni exploiting the ocean for food on a regular basis.
The initial groups of Indian indentured labourers had neither the resources nor free time to systematically harvest the ocean they already knew, expect in ad hoc ways; a bit of fishing from the beach or octopus raids on rock pools at low tide.
Ironically, it was the Anglo-Zulu War or 1879 that changed things. On the back of trusted Indian civil servants dispatched to South Africa to assist with the administration of the British war machine, word got back to India about opportunity.
By the mid-1880s, thousands of so-called "passenger Indians", merchants and those from other professions of independent means, started to arrive in greater numbers. The local infrastructure was further augmented by Australians, Irish and Scots sent to fight against the Zulu Nation and in the later Anglo-Boer War of 1899, but who decided to stay in a country not yet entirely subject to the British class system. And they took up key roles in burgeoning local enterprises and state-backed initiatives.
Asian entrepreneurs established shops and markets to the north of the Victorian municipal city centre, still within easy access of the vast natural port. They went largely unnoticed by the wealthy British colonials who preferred to live up on the elevated ridge of the Berea, cooled from the incessant humidity by sea breezes. The Irish, Scots and Australians took control of short-haul maritime, most notably trawling and whaling, smartly intuiting they wouldn't fall foul of the vested British "big shipping" interests run by the British gentry in control of the money-spinning long-voyage routes between Southampton, Liverpool and Asia and Australia via Africa.
What does this have to do with food? Yes, we could look at it and argue that it's all about macroeconomics, the rolling out of an infrastructure that would contribute to the might of the British Empire, and so on. Or, we could look at the microeconomics and argue—as I do—that it was a gamechanger in the evolution of South African Indian Diasporan cooking.
One of the new things this rough-'n-ready infrastructure created was a viable conduit between producers and consumers. Sure, the best quality seafood and fish would be bought for a premium at the quayside by sweating chefs throwing their selections on ice to cart up the hill for luncheon on clipped lawns or at eight-course dinners for British officers. But, the other stuff: the small prawns, the squid and octopus and the curious warm-ocean fish that did not appeal to colonials brought up on scaled things from cold seas would be taken to the burgeoning markets frequented by a largely Indian and African clientele.
The initial street markets were closely controlled by the British administration, and makeshift structures gave way to a building boom as the new Indian entrepreneurs turned profit into more permanent buildings, particularly along what where then named Grey Street and Victoria Street. From the decidedly Indian-facing to the shockingly moderne, successive waves of Indian entrepreneurs knew that buildings that looked like money made money. Here spice markets and textile shops, fishmongers, restaurateurs and booksellers moved into premises that drew in the crowds from far and wide.
This was quite literally the mechanism that gave birth to the Durban prawn curry and, indeed, Durban's heritage Indian district that would remain a vibrant commercial centre, even during Apartheid's stranglehold.
The Curry Coast
But, we probably also need to dial back a little further. The things that come out of the sea—prawns, crayfish, octopus, fish, etc.—are only one part of what makes a Durban prawn curry or the other dishes in the region's "big red" curry tradition.
It's fair to say that there are general tendences that define these styles of curries, typically very red or even dark plum in colour, usually cooked with seafood, fish and sometimes chicken. One is the use of three spices: turmeric, chilli powder and cayenne pepper.
Cayenne is probably the easiest to address. Yes, it gives these curries a lot of fire, but it is also what makes them stand out. Rarely used to this extent in curries elsewhere, it adds a difference beyond just heat. Cayenne pepper trigger tastebuds in different ways from chilli powder on a physiological level.
To put it another way, if you were to compare a Durban prawn curry with another hot curry such as a British prawn vindaloo (not the Portuguese Goan style), you will notice the difference. A vindaloo triggers heat in the mouth, but in one way. That heat comes mainly from the chilli powder and mustards seeds. A Durban curry triggers heat in the mouth in at least two different ways because there is actually both a trigger time and sensorial difference between the experience of heat in the mouth from the chilli powder and the cayenne pepper, a difference based on physiological responses. This may seem irrelevant but, as Mrs Panday explained to a youthful me, it is this specific complexity in flavour that Durban Indian Diasporan cooks chased. It is what makes it different.
Think I'm nuts? Go and ask a Chinese chef about the difference between chilli and Sichuan pepper...
Although the red cayenne pepper looks very similar to many other varieties of chillies, it is, in fact, notably hotter. And though some varieties are used as whole chillies in cooking (in certain Thai dishes, for example) in South African Indian cooking (as in Cajun cooking) it is used as ground cayenne pepper powder. In fact, one of the things that is notable about so-called "Durban curries" is their reliance on dry spice mixes versus "curry paste".
The legend goes that when the Portuguese were introducing chilli peppers of various varieties to India from Central and South America, cayenne peppers and piri-piri/bird's eye peppers proved "too hot" for the emerging Indian appetite for chillies. Fortunately, the Portuguese themselves had developed a bit of a passion for very hot chillies and so their use continued in the cuisines of Portuguese Goa, Angola and Mozambique. If that doesn't kick racist cultural stereotypes about food in the capsinoids, I don't know what does.
Over centuries, the market for what had once looked like "the peppers least likely to succeed" grew in these regions. In addition to local African markets, as Cape Malay and Indian Diasporan settlers grew in number in South African settlements, the Portuguese found markets receptive to these very fiery peppers. Cape Town and Durban were literally en route for ships bringing spices and dried chillies landed at Luanda and then around the tip of Africa to Lourenço Marques and onwards to Goa and Macao.
Spice run
By the time waves of Indian immigrant workers arrived in Natal in the 19th-century, Portuguese coastal traders were regularly running desired spices and ingredients, among other things, between Mombasa, Dar Es Salaam, Zanzibar, Antsiranana, Beira, Lourenço Marques and Durban on a regular basis.
In many ways, it was a doubling-up of the even older trade routes with the Arab world. A spice for which Arab traders were renowned, turmeric, would also find a new market on South Africa's east coast via the fledgling port of Durban. This isn't just a convenient segue: turmeric has a place of centrality in many Durban curry dishes and is often used in greater quantities than in dishes elsewhere in the world. Even the rice gets cooked with it.
Finally, it's worth mentioning the somewhat quirky thing I was taught—and saw used by many highly regarded chefs—is that sprigs of fresh thyme were always included in these "big red" seafood curries. Thyme is not really a herb associated with fish and seafood in much of the Western world, though it is used in various seafood dishes in Cajun cooking and traditional recipes from the Southern USA. When you taste a perfectly cooked "big red" seafood curry, you understand exactly why.
Simply red
You might read elsewhere (including on this site) that, in broad general terms, Durban curries don't usually use cream, milk, yoghurt or nuts, and very little butter or ghee. This is a bit of a generalisation because there are specific dishes that use exactly these ingredients, though they tend to be the exceptions rather than the rule. Furthermore, this truism is definitely accurate in the case of the Durban "big red" seafood and fish curries. Yet, it can be misleading and needs a little unpicking.
Pragmatically, one of the reasons that Indian Diasporan cooking from the KZN region of the Eastern Seaboard (shorthanded as "Durban") doesn't use much dairy is that these recipes evolved at a time when refrigeration wasn't yet widespread. With a humid, subtropical climate, much of the region wasn't suited to dairy farming. Cows' hooves tended to rot and they'd succumb to various infections, some carried by endemic parasites. This meant that many dairy products were not readily available, had to be transported in from the cooler Highlands, and were therefore comparatively expensive. Conversely, grain oils, most notably sunflower oil, stored well and were cheap.
Interestingly, there are actually a number of Durban curry recipes that use maas, a fermented milk product most widely used in Bantu food cultures, but these never became "fashionable" in Indian dishes, probably because, like goat meat, maas has a fairly pungent aroma.
However, the elephant in the room is that with many "big red" seafood curries, it's about choice, not pragmatism. Nuts, most notably cashew nuts from Mozambique or peanuts, were readily available. A plethora of other "rich" ingredients, ranging from mangoes and raisins to bananas, are used a lot in other dishes or Cape Malay cooking, not really a surprise given where South African raisins and sultanas are produced. So, the pared back ingredients in a Durban prawn (or other seafood) "big red" curry is about choice rather than cost.
Prawns have never been cheap paesan food, neither in Durban, nor elsewhere. This dish uses a lot of prawns and never deploys the "filler" of potatoes, carrots or beans, common in other local dishes all about stretching a buck. No, "big red" prawn curries aren't extravagant dishes from a maharajah's table, but they are something a bit special. And, for really special occasions, these curries would be made with white crab meat or whole crayfish tails, either in the shell or not.
Little red
In this recipe I am doing king prawn curry. However, it's far more usually made with smaller prawns. You stick to using the same weight in prawns, but there are obviously a lot more of them. In some ways, it's easier because if you used shelled, cooked frozen prawns (which I recommend) you can bypass the first steps of the recipe below.
Simply add the powdered turmeric at the same time you start adding the mother-in-law masala to the tomatoes. Then you add the thoroughly thawed and washed cooked prawns in the last two minutes of the cooking. Nothing could be easier.
In Durban red curries, the simplicity is about focus. In many ways, it reminds me of the best classic Italian cooking where a handful of ingredients—onions, tomatoes, red bell pepper—and carefully selected herbs and spices are skilfully distilled to a specific intensity that only underscores the flavours of the proteins, in this case king prawns, fish or other seafood. Yeah, that could produce a lacklustre supper in your local Italian chain restaurant. Yet, if you've ever had the luck of being served such a dish as primi piatti at the right Roman or Milanese table, you'll know exactly what I mean.
However, in Durban red curries, the simplicity may well be in the ingredients but, if you've made your own mother-in-law masala, you'll know the spices are decidedly complex.
The version with small pink prawns
Scary spice
I would never dream of making a Durban "big red" curry without using mother-in-law masala. Now, if you were in Durban, there are plenty of places you could buy it freshly ground in the heartland of South African Indian Diasporan cuisine. But I'm not and if you're not, you now have my spice mix recipe for it.
Mother-in-law masala is also known as mother-in-law's tongue and you may find it referred to by this term in some places. Not everyone got the memo on the name change that supposedly removes the pejorative sexism, though any theorist could pull apart that it still implicitly endorses the institution of marriage. But, before you logically ask, "Why didn't they just rename it Durban masala?", that is actually another masala that already exists... moving on...
Like many things related to South African Indian Diasporan cooking, mother-in-law masala spice mixes vary from chef to chef, vendor to vendor. If you don't want to grind your own, I would suggest that you use what gets called Kashmiri masala (at least in the UK), the nearest plug-'n-play version, and it comes as both pastes and spice mixes. In my opinion (yep, I have cooked with them when necessary) there is nothing wrong with them, but they use less spices and the true beauty of mother-in-law masala lies in just how baroque it actually is. Up to you, really.
What I would suggest is that is you buy one of these readymade Kashmiri masala mixes or pastes, check the ingredients. If they contain cayenne pepper (they usually don't) add at least 1 tspn when adding the spices. And the same goes for turmeric powder.
Side bar
It's also worth noting that the simplicity in ingredients in the side dishes and accompaniments learned from those who taught me to cook "big red" Durban seafood dishes or observed in many of the eateries with big reputations where I experienced them.
For a start, there is a difference between "Durban yellow rice" and "yellow rice with raisins". The yellowness of the rice in both cases is down to turmeric, or, at least it should be. However, the former is a product of east coast Indian Diasporan cooking while the latter is more heavily associated with Cape Malay cooking, though there are definitely crossovers. Today, within mass South African food culture, the two are used almost interchangeably, there being this widely expressed opinion that somehow the raisins (or sultanas) make the rice intrinsically more interesting.
One thing I first noticed in places with reputations for excellence and later had confirmed by Mrs Panday, whose own recipes would sometimes call for yellow rice with raisins or coconut, is that the "big red" seafood curries were always served with Durban yellow rice or "baked" turmeric rice in which the turmeric was the only ingredient. I intentionally say "ingredient" rather than "spice" because all the consummate chefs used finely minced turmeric root rather than the powdered spice. This makes utter sense. Why, after taking such great effort to pare the curry to intense, essential flavours, would you muddy the waters with a rice riddled with the very particular note of raisins?
I'm making "baked" turmeric rice using basmati rice, simply because I like it more. You could always get it in South Africa, but for almost a century, you needed to make a special journey to do so and pay premium price. This is because other long grain rices, particularly American long grain rice, were grown in Africa and therefore cheaper. In many ways, Durban yellow rice made with American long grain rice is somehow more "authentic" to this diasporan kitchen. Your choice...
The same could be said of the condiments and other side dishes. Mango and peach chutneys gave way to simple onion chutney or lime pickle. Sambals were fresh and clean such as ripe tomato, cucumber, onions, fresh coriander and raw greens chillies (or various combinations thereof), diced and bathed in clear malt or wine vinegar. Or, fresh mango mixed with chopped fresh coriander. Only rarely did you see the "luxury" of a sparing quantity of crushed flaked almonds included in the sambal. The banana, apple, coconut or raisins that may well find their way into sambals for other dishes were never present. Garnishes were almost always of fresh coriander leaves or fresh mint.
Taken as a gestalt, you can see how everything about "big red" seafood curries works towards maintaining an intense focus on the core flavours of these dishes; what makes them unique. They really are a case where "less is more" as a counterbalance to elaborate spices. So, it's best to try them in their purist form before messing about with free-form improvisations.
This version serves 2 to 3 people, depending on the your side dishes and condiments. I've intentionally used images from cooking it on two different occasions, once as a king prawn curry and once as a prawn curry. It should be easy to tell why.
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DIY mother-in-law masala
If you are making your own mother-in-law masala, which I strongly recommend, then below are the ingredients you will need to make it. Frankly, I have no idea what the quantities would be for just one curry. I always make it in larger batches because I use it a lot. Like all curry powders, it stores well. I find the the benefits of making your own masala mix remain pungently and fragrantly obvious for at least 3 to 4 months if it is stored in a cool, dry place. It's not that you can't use it for longer, but after that time, the immediacy of the flavours begin to fade and you might as well being using store-bought masala mixes.
for the Durban Mother-in-law Masala spice mix
3 tbsns cayenne pepper
1 tbspn smoked paprika powder e.g. pimentón
7 tbspns Kashmiri chilli powder (mild)
1 tspn dried chilli flakes (hot)
2 tbspsns coriander seeds
1 tbspn fennel seeds
1 tbspn green cardamom pods
1 tspn black mustard seeds
1 tspn cumin seeds
1 tspn fenugreek seeds
1 tspn garlic powder
1 tspn ground mace
1 tspn ginger powder
1 tspn black peppercorns
½ tspn grated nutmeg
3 dried bay leaves
3 tbspns dried curry leaves
2 cinnamon sticks
1 cassia bark stick ("Chinese cinnamon")
2 star anise
4 cloves
Preparation method
Toast all of the whole spices (i.e. seeds, pods, peppercorns, sticks etc.) in a large dry pan on a medium heat, moving them about frequently to prevent burning
You don't need to time it: it's ready when the mustard seeds start to pop. You'll notice! Remove from the heat and allow to cool fully
Place all of your toasted elements in the spice grinder first and grind down. Gradually add the finer powders and chilli flakes and blend it all together
If you want a much finer powder (which is more traditional with Durban curries), pass it through a sieve. But, I often prefer cooking with the "chunky bits" in; up to you
Store in a sealed jar and use until it's gone. It's safe to store in a cool place for years (think about how long those store-bought masalas sit in warehouses) but the immediacy of ground whole spices starts to reduce after about four months
Shopping list
for the Durban prawn curry
Approx. 450g peeled raw king prawns
2 medium onions, (red or brown), cubed
Approx. 400g small very ripe fresh tomatoes; roughly puréed; not strained
1 large red bell pepper; finely cubed
2 or 3 hot green chillies; sliced vertically and deseeded
2 thumbs of root ginger; finely chopped
4 cloves of garlic; finely chopped
4 to 5 tbspns sunflower oil
4 or 5 whole green cardamom pods; bruised
1 dried dandicut red chilli
3 tbspns mother-in-law masala (see above)
5 whole cloves
5 or 6 fresh curry leaves
1 tspn mild Kashmiri chilli powder
1 tspn turmeric powder
1 tspn garam masala
2 or 3 springs of fresh thyme
2 tspns Demerara sugar (or other coarse brown sugar)
The juice of 1 fresh lemon
A generous clutch of fresh coriander; chopped
3 or 4 sprigs of fresh thyme
A few fresh coriander leaves; washed and drained
Water, as needed
Salt, to taste
for the mushroom pakoras
1 cup gram flour
½ tspn baking powder
1 large onion, finely grated
200g small mushrooms; chopped
A fresh mild red chilli, finely chopped
1 tspn garlic & ginger paste
1 tspn garam masala
1 cup golden breadcrumbs
1 egg, whisked
salt
enough sunflower oil for frying
other sides and condiments
Pick and choose from the following:
Durban yellow rice or "baked" turmeric rice (similar to pilau; see below)
"sambal" — chopped green and red chillies, cucumber, shallots and tomato in vinegar
Chutney - I prefer onion chutney or something fairly simple
Fresh mango cubes with chopped coriander - dress with a little lemon juice
Raitha of yoghurt, chopped cucumber and mint - for dipping the pakoras
Cooking method
the Durban king prawn curry
When your king prawns have cooled to room temperature, add the Kashmiri chilli powder, turmeric powder and garam masala to the bowl. Mix using clean fingers to ensure the spices coat all the prawns.
In a pan or wok, heat approx. 3 tspns of oil on a medium heat. Throw in the spiced prawns and immediately squeeze over half of the lemon's juice. Cook until about three quarters done. Remove from the heat and place to one side. As they cook, they should produce some liquid. Don't drain this off. You will use this "spice water" later
In another pot or deep pan with a lid, heat the rest of the oil on a medium heat. Add the whole cardamom pods, whole dried dandicut chilli and the cloves. Cook for about 1min, then add the onions and stir
When the onions begin to soften, add the green chillies and roughly chopped ginger and garlic. Stir in and sweat on a medium heat. If anything begins to stick, add small amounts of the "spice water" from the king prawns (e.g. 30ml at a time)
When the onions are notably soft (you don't need to wait until they actually brown), add the chopped red bell pepper and stir in. As the pepper begins to soften, add 1 tbspn of mother-in-law masala and stir in. When these ingredients as all notably soft, add another tablespoon of mother-in-law masala and stir in. Then immediately add the tomatoes and the remaining "spice water" from the prawns, and increase the heat slightly
Add the fresh thyme and fold in the tomatoes, adding the remaining mother-in-law masala. Bring the ingredients to a healthy simmer. Add half a cup of water. Cover and simmer for about 15 to 20mins
When the sauce has reduced by about half, add the sugar and remaining lemon juice and, if it is already too thick, more water e.g. a half a cup. Reduce to a low heat so that it is gently simmering. Re-cover and simmer for approx. 20mins, stirring occasionally. Taste it frequently. The process is very similar to cooking an Italian sugo; you're looking for the moment when it is not merely "cooked", but when all the flavours fuse. I've developed this recipe with British people in mind who say they like spicy curries, but have no idea what that can mean in Durban. If it is not as spicy as you would like it, add additional cayenne pepper, a little at a time.
When the curry is reaching near optimal consistency, add the prawns and fold in. Simmer for no more than a minute or so, add the fresh curry leaves. As soon as their distinctive aroma is released, stir, cover, and remove from the heat. Cover to keep warm while it rests for a few minutes
Plate or take to table in a serving dish, garnishing with a little fresh coriander. Serve with your side dishes and condiments of choice.
the mushroom pakoras
Some recipes sauté the mushrooms, and you can. However, I find it can make things "slushy". I prefer to bake the mushroom pieces dry, spread out on a baking tray, in a pre-heated hot oven for about 20mins. This will make them shrivel somewhat: don't worry about it. Remove from the oven and allow to cool
Sift the gram flour and baking powder into a mixing bowl and a mix in the garam masala. Add the grated onion and chopped fresh chilli and mix in with clean fingers. Add the mushrooms and garlic & chilli paste and work in
Slowly, a little at a time, add water until you are able to work this rather dry mixture into a malleable dough that can be shaped
Shape into little balls. Dip in the egg and roll in the breadcrumbs. Don't make them larger than a Ping-Pong ball otherwise they won't cook through in the centre
Fry in oil, turning gently until golden brown all over. Alternatively, if you wish, you can deep-fry them and dry off the excess oil on kitchen roll. This is obviously faster but absorbs more oil
The "baked" turmeric rice
Wash and thoroughly drain the rice i.e. leave it to drain for at least an hour
In a stove-to-oven dish with a lid (you can do this in a frying pan if you don't have a stove-to-oven dish), heat about 1tbspn sunflower oil on a medium heat. Add the raw rice and seal (much in the manner of starting a risotto). As soon as the rice is sealed, add salt, the minced turmeric and pour in vegetable stock. Depending how much rice you have used, add boiling water as needed. The rule is that for each cup of rice you use, you need to use two cups of liquid
Cover and bake in a hot pre-heated oven e.g. 250°C, stirring about every 20mins. How long it takes is going to depend on your dish and oven. With mine, it takes about 50 to 60mins (cooking 1.5 cups of basmati rice). If all the liquid evaporates before the rice is cooked, simply add a little more boiling water
When the rice is nicely cooked and almost all the liquid has cooked off, turn off the oven. Fluff with a fork, re-cover and either return to the oven if your curry is not yet ready, or simply rely on the residual heat in the dish to cook off all the moisture. Take to table and serve with your curry
Alternatives
This is a pescatarian dish by default but can be adapted to suit the needs of vegans, vegetarians and carnivores.
Like a lot of South African Indian Diasporan cooking, the core of this dish is vegan; only the king prawns make it otherwise.
The vegan and vegetarian versions I like most are very simple. Simply use Quorn pieces or tofu in exactly the same manner as you do the king prawns here: mix in the three spices and wok them in a little lemon juice until almost entirely done, then add them into the curry in the last few minutes. Interestingly, one lactovegetarian version of this curry that was common in Durban was to add hardboiled eggs (peeled or not) to the vegan curry base for about the last 6mins of cooking. Personally, I love this version.
The main carnivore variant of this curry, probably as common as the prawn version, uses chicken. Treat bite-sized pieces of chicken exactly as the king prawns are here; wokked in the spices and lemon juice, etc. Introduce back into the curry earlier e.g. about 10mins before you think it will be ready. For those who insist on red meat, sure, go for it. But I would suggest you might want to hold out for another of the curries planned for this series that is beef-based.
Pairings
This is probably the curry at the back of my mind whenever I hear some august food critic or TV chef say, "Wine doesn't really go well with hot curries." Bullsh**te!
I always bang on about my beloved South African chenin blancs being the go-to option for curries and in this case, with its seafood focus, it's doubly true. This dish almost proves why I default to KWV Classic Chenin Blanc ( I wouldn't shell out for their The Mentors Chenin Blanc, which I think is a little too subtle for the spices in this dish) but really, you do not need to go overboard on price. I kid you not when I say that I think one of the best pairings with this dish is Co-op Fairtrade Chenin Blanc. Yes, that might make Karel run for the hills, but when I was cooking the second (not king) prawn version of this dish, it got a little late and local options were limited and I thought, why not? At least it's Fairtrade...
But, I'm not being facetious. The high acidity in this cheap-'n-cheerful chenin blanc is perfect for slicing through the complex spices with its tangy apple and pineapple notes. And, if your quaffing has contributed to The Bovlei Community Centre now housing a medical clinic, preschool, library and computer centre, all the better.
Another white that works very well is Santa Cristina Umbria Bianco. My partner and I first chanced upon it in an Antwerp supermarket when I was cooking a piquant Sicilian dish, for which it was great. I later remembered it when I saw it pop up in a London supermarket when I was planning to cook this king prawn curry. A bit more restrained on acidity, but the right fruity freshness.
I guess what I'm saying is don't pick a fancy wine that needs love in its own right when nothing can detract from the intensity of this dish.
I shall leave the more erudite wine pairing ideas to Karel should he have time. On thing I certainly know, it that this is a dish he will love.
As always, a chilled beer works fantastically or simple soda water with a slice of lemon on ice. You have plenty of options. Just bear in mind this curry will always be the command performance.
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