Red... Curry Sauce

Bit of a stretch this one, but as it presents an opportunity to shoehorn in one or two Red Dwarf references down the line, I consider it a good excuse to chronicle just one or two stupendous social moments in my own personal history. Plus, Lister likes curry, doesn't he? Well, caviar vindaloo, at least.

So, I grew up just outside Birmingham, within walking distance of a Cantonese takeaway restaurant called the Golden Bird. When I was young, the establishment was run by Mark & Dorothy, of whom I have only the fondest memories. My father and I would walk down every late Sunday afternoon and collect a meal for three, which at the time cost around £10. For my birthday, they would never seem to forget to gift me a small red/gold envelope with a carefully folded banknote inside.

So much so did I eagerly await this special treat that, after some persistent and calculated nagging, the Sunday Night Takeaway eventually shifted 24 hours to Saturday. Then, I had the great idea of suggesting the old man collect the meal straight after work on a Friday by extending his bus ride home by a single stop. Then, it was Thursday, and now... well, you get the idea.

For many years, our Sunday order comprised a chow mein and a curry. Nothing particularly out of the ordinary. However, at the time of writing, part of this longstanding tradition requires the addition of a single colourful adjective in order to engage the figurative time drive and revisit a very special, eduring repast. As with at least one other nostalgic favourite of mine, that word just so happens to be 'red.'

Back in the day, the Golden Bird sold exclusively Red Curry Sauce, and this delicacy has since become the spicy stuff of legend.

On a slight tangent, I am fascinated by the concept of BIR (British Indian Restaurant) cooking. So far, I have not had the opportunity to visit India (or, for that matter, Canton, China, or Singapore), but it has long been said that the food enjoyed at many a traditional Indian Restaurant in Britain is, in fact, a world away from the 'authentic' cuisine you might find in the proprietor's country of origin. Traditional Bangladeshi cuisine, for example, is said to be markedly different from the food you might find at your local curry house. In simple terms, if in Dhaka, don't expect to be able to order a common or garden madras or vindaloo, as these are essentially British dishes.

... Talk about a missed trick for Lemons. Also, "Goat Curry," Lister - really?

From what I can tell, a BIR-similar tag does not seem to have extended into the vernacular for Cantonese or Chinese fare. I certainly haven't heard the term 'BCR' in recognition of any perceived culinary dissonance stretching British and East Asian soil. That said, I have heard that Singapore Chow Mein, for instance, is about as Singaporean as beans on toast, and is a dish that very much caters to our local palette.

As I understand, the history of the Golden Bird stretches back to 1969. In the early 90s, after your order was placed over the long countertop, you would be handed over a small white plastic slab with a numeric character engraved onto its face. You were then free to leave the building for 5-10 mins while your meal was prepared amidst a muffled clatter of heavy woks blasting away on high heat. I recall, these tiles became increasingly worn/lost over the years, and eventually the concept was dropped when the new owners took the reins of the business, until just a few years ago.

On that front, around 1997, the restaurant temporarily closed during hand-over of the family-run business. I will never forget the sheer disappointment with our first order under the takeaway's new management - not due to overall quality, but rather choice of recipe. On opening the same steaming foil containers (yet upgraded to the modern plastic tubs) we found the famous red curry sauce had been inexplicably replaced by the more common yellow (now known as 'Golden') variety you tend to find virtually everywhere. At just twelve years of age, I was so crushed difficult, I refused to eat it.

Just a short time later, my mother and I went on a much-needed week's holiday up north, to a certain seaside town, whilst my father stayed behind due to work commitments and, no doubt, the enticing prospect of five days' sole control of the telly remote.

It was a fantastic break for us both. Every day there was something brand-new to enjoy. Arcades, markets, flight simulators, waxdroids, the circus, Thunderbooks (now sadly closed), a ride in a helicopter, you name it. Every night, we would call home to check in with the old man. On either the Thursday or Friday evening, my mother handed over the landline receiver and said, "Your dad says he wants to speak with you..."

Tentatively, I held the moulded plastic receiver to one of two giant radar dishes stuck higgeldy-piggledy to the side of my head...

"Are you sitting down, Rich?"

"... Yes."

"I was walking through town the other day on my lunch-break, and found a collector's shop. In the window, there was a full set of Smegazines, and I asked if they could be held, as I wasn't sure if you wanted them."

"Oh, my God! Yes, please, Dad!"

"Okay. And now, there's the big news..."

"Bigger than that?!"

"... There's a notice sellotaped to the front door of the Golden Bird. It says, due to popular demand, the red curry sauce is coming back."

I think I nearly passed out.

On the way back to the train station, we stopped off at the aforementioned Thunderbooks store, and picked up the glorious, boxed Sevans Kryten vinyl model kit I'd had my eye on all week. I think it cost around £49, which, in those days was quite the investment. I'll never forget that holiday.

No less than two decades on, we sadly suffered a loss in the family that occured some two hundred miles South. Despite an urgent dash to make it in time to say goodbye, we missed the mark by just 30 minutes.

In the brief period of time we had to prepare ahead of the trip, I made a point of ensuring our hotel was within walking distance of the usual shops, including a takeaway just in case. After a long and difficult day, I headed up the road to collect our usual order from a restaurant we had never before visited. And would you believe it, without even asking if they did red sauce (unlikely to the point of not even crossing my mind), that is exactly what we got. When you consider I have personally visited many dozens of takeaways over the years during my travels, and have never seen this offered elsewhere, the odds are astounding.

A few years later, I made a point of visiting that same restaurant again, and asked the lady behind the till if they still served red curry sauce, and she looked at me blankly. In a heartbeat of minor concern, I was questioning whether I had gone to the wrong place when she replied, "... The chef used to do a Malaysian curry, but not any more."

This set me on a path to try and decode the secret recipe, and after years of scouring online sources, and a fair bit of trial and error, I have been reliably informed by trusted testers that my take is, at long last, pretty close. I won't be sharing my own recipe as yet, as it is still in process. Furthermore, you need only search for takeaway-style curry sauce recipes on YouTube to see just how much effort goes into a pot of authentic takeaway paste. Each restaurant has its own take, even on an established dish, with subtle unique changes bringing folk back time and again. I will say that combining fruit & vegetables for the base seems to make all the difference.

So, what is it that makes this famous red curry so different from standard fare? Well, there are basically three aspects: aroma, taste, and appearance.

• Aroma: Very savoury. It is similar to the usual 'sweet spiced gravy' you find here, there, and everywhere, but... just... better. A piquant, pervasive, well-rounded, and heavily spiced scent with an introductory smokiness akin to a burst of morning coffee percolations. An albeit alluring chemical note is enough to dissuade some, though.
  
• Taste: Salty, with a skein of sweetness akin to mango chutney in an Indian masala (perhaps boosted courtesy of large-cut crunchy slices of onion that provide a refreshingly tart, syrupy balance), and an overriding aniseed note. The sauce is a touch hotter than the usual Chinese curry, and mostly smooth, staining the tongue with thick hot spice.
  
• Appearance: Rather unsurprisingly, the sauce/gravy is notoriously red, though the exact shade has varied over the years, and is not entirely consistent even today. It used to be darker, and more richly red, that split with golden oil. Now, it's a more vibrant, stable tint and consistency, but occasionally can be browner or even closer to orange, sometimes depending on which day it is ordered.

Every now and then, I find the odd post on some forum somewhere enquiring about this dish. Virtually every time, people offer recipes for Thai Red Curry and/or BBQ sauce, which this most certainly ain't. Its glowing tone is likely derived from the usual high-strength food colouring that often gives char siu pork its ubiquitous rosy crust. However, I did recently hear that a similar result can be achieved when combining turmeric and baking soda - an alkalising effect which I myself have observed when attempting to wash off such spicy stains from a kitchen counter using conventional cleaning sprays.

Speaking of that particular shade of rouge, Red Dwarf and curry, of course, go hand in hand. Ironically, despite my love of Indian food being well-known amongt those in my inner semi-circle, it took some years for my single remaining tastebud to catch-up with my lofty expectations. Ironic that Lister's preferred go-to is a Vindaloo, as even 'Kamikaze Hot' wouldn't come close to touching the sheer paint-stripping strength of a phal. Lightweight.

Demons & Angels

I cannot recall Lister and Co. ever mentioning "going for noodles" (except the 'Pot' variety during Marooned and Demons & Angels). In fact, it was not until Dear Dave, and the... positively charming (to the point of intelligence circuit-melting) Taiwan Tony - a 'regional' vending machine with a vocal sub-processor that only its woefully underpaid coder could love - that I remember Oriental cuisine ever getting a significant mention in the series.

With the quite superb ALIEN IX: Romulus currently in drydock, it is also worth mentioning that the similarly done-for crew of the USCSS Nostromo can be seen noshing on noodles (described by director, Sir Ridley Scott as being intentionally "rather uninteresting-looking food" ahead of an expected jaunt in the old freezerinos) just before Executive Officer Kane violently succumbs to his off-world contagion whilst resting at the ill-fated star-tug's injection-moulded dining table. So very nearly close to being a reasonably good way to go. Shame.

ALIEN (20th Century Fox, 1979)

Legend has it, Japan had a Red Dwarf-themed restaurant at one point, though I'm not sure if it was officially licensed. Broadcaster NHK even offered small foil containers filled with Lister-brand curry, too. I'd love to find out more about what was on offer in terms of Japanese merchandise during the early 2000s. Infuriatingly, I let the opportunity to pick up a branded hand fan pass me by some time ago.

Being a fan myself, it would have made a perfect addition to the collection. You might even say, cool... ing.

To finish on a song... many moons ago, as I stood by the counter shortly after being served, a pleasant, everyday chap walked through the door of the Golden Bird, approached the till, and eagerly asked if he could purchase just three or four cartons of the red sauce itself. The lady serving briefly explained this would be no problem, and tallied up the amount, not giving him nearly enough time to explain how he'd come all the way from Worcestershire, having grown up with the distinct flavour, and was keen to relive his lasting childhood memory.

"Is there any chance you could wrap them up in tin foil for the journey home, please?" I recall him asking with an appreciative smile.

If only you could wrap all the best recollections to be preserved for later. Like replaying our favourite Red Dwarf VHS cassettes, over and over.

In grateful thanks for the memories.

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Oh, and you can imagine my reaction happening upon this here establishment, of course situated just down the road from Red Wharf Bay, North Wales, some 158 miles away from home...