Thai red curry in the style of our home and budget

Though cooking is one of my few skills, I don't really do enough cooking-related blog-posting, and that seems like an unfortunate oversight. Maybe I assume that no one will be interested. On the other hand, everyone needs to eat, and (in my opinion) everyone ought to cook as much as possible rather than eat junk food or buy pre-made foods or dine in chain restaurants (if you wish to eat out, it is always best to patronize a locally-owned independent restaurant). I advocate this both for reasons of nutrition and aesthetics: home cooking done well is inevitably superior to any mass-produced meal, and one will  derive far more emotional satisfaction from it.

[Images of peppers growing in our garden; ingredients for this meal]

Tonight we prepared a simple and budget-conscious version of Thai-style red curry with chicken. To accomplish this I went to the neighborhood Asian market (the fantastic Super Cao Nguyen—which we call “Super Cow”) and purchased boneless chicken thighs, carrots, scallions, coconut milk and red curry paste. I also needed garlic, onion, and rice, which I already had at home. While I would normally wish to prepare the red curry paste from scratch, I ruled this out as an option today because of budget. The can of curry paste, for seventy-nine cents, while not as good as making it from scratch, is a totally passable ingredient and much cheaper than restocking my kitchen with ginger, galangal, lemon grass, fresh turmeric, cilantro, mint and tamarind paste.  But I was able to enhance the canned product thanks to the fact that J and I grow fresh herbs and chile peppers. We also had on hand already some things that we decided to incorporate: cauliflower, cabbage and frozen peas (a totally good way to keep peas around, unlike their canned form, which is an abomination). 

[Image of J stirring the pot.]

So I proceeded as follows: 1) I diced the chicken thigh meat and set it aside; 2) diced an onion, about a head of garlic, and a handful of assorted chiles from our garden and put those together and set aside for later; 3) diced a couple of carrots and about a quarter of head of cauliflower; set aside; 4) chopped about a quarter of head of cabbage and the whiter halves of a bunch of scallions and another clove or two of garlic; reserved for later; 5) chopped a hefty handful of basil from the garden along with the green ends of the scallions; 6) readied a cup of basmati rice and two cups of chicken broth in separate containers; 7) had on hand from the pantry: kosher salt, black mustard seed, turmeric powder; 8) had some peas from the freezer.

[The curry in process; the rice composed and ready to simmer.]

It was a two-pot operation:

POT ONE (started first): Heat (high). Some oil. Hot pan. Chicken. Sauté until cooked through. Thigh meat, unlike breast meat, really can’t be overcooked in an application like this, and, in fact, the longer it’s cooked the better. It will retain its chickeny goodness while not drying out or dissolving completely. After a while, add the onion, garlic and chiles. Let them get started for a minute or two and then add the carrot and cauliflower (or NOT: these veggies don’t necessarily need to be there—we just happened to have them and wanted to use them). After a few more minutes of this sautéing and stirring about of the stuff, you can go ahead and add the red curry paste. Let that cook with the other ingredients for a minute or two, and then add some water, about enough to cover everything, a bit more than half-way over the volume of the ingredients. Lower the heat and allow to simmer. Turn your attention to POT TWO…

[Me and the curry pot after addition of the herbs.]

POT TWO: This needs to be a solid, heavy-bottomed pot with a tight-fitting lid, preferably a deep cast iron frying pan, though anything not-too-flimsy can be made into an adequate rice cooker. You can even resort to a loose-fitting lid and some aluminum foil if need be. Here we diverged from the Thai curry concept. Normally one would just have some plain white rice with the curry. But I did this instead: 1) Hot, hot, hot pan. Some oil. Add a teaspoon or so of black mustard seeds. When they start popping and sizzling, add the cabbage/garlic/scallion mixture along with a generous pinch of kosher salt and about a teaspoon of turmeric powder. 2) Sauté until the cabbage has wilted. 3) Add the rice and stir it into the stir-fried mixture to coat completely; 4) Add the chicken broth and peas; 5) Bring to a boil and then immediately lower the heat to as low as it goes (lowest flame on a gas burner; good luck on an electric) and cover it with the tight-fitting lid—lay foil over the pan and then lid it if your lid does not fit tightly; 6) Leave it alone for twenty minutes. 7) Turn off the heat entirely and still leave it alone, covered and unlooked-at, while you go…

[The rice, finished!]

BACK TO POT ONE: Add coconut milk and that pile of chopped basil and scallion greens. We waited until now because that stuff doesn’t need to cook as long. Indeed, we want it to go in toward the end to preserve its bright burst of flavor. Simmer for maybe five more minutes and then shut off the heat. Let it sit until the rice pot is ready. Eat. Well, taste first, season further if desired, and then eat.

[The food served, some rice to one side of the bowl, the curry ladled in around it.]

Is this correct and traditional and proper? No, but it’s economical, easy, and it hews to the integrity and flavor profile of the real cuisine, and it beats the hell out of what you would get from most take-out joints.