If you're a heroin addict, you'll have some idea of how difficult it is, as an Indian person, to be deprived of Indian food for more than a week. The exact period of time depends on the individual - for example, my dad starts to lose his shit if he doesn't get something with 'masala' in its name every 45 minutes or so.
In almost every conversation over the last 5 weeks I have lamented to the generally uninterested other party that it is more or less impossible to find Indian food of better-than-junk quality almost anywhere in continental Europe. The only potential exception is Copenhagen, Denmark (where the Indian community is united by its facebook page) however the astronomical cost puts it well out of reach of your humble backpacker.
I was sitting at Copenhagen airport in July, salivating wildly at the prospect of boarding a flight to the UK - the holy grail for Indian people. There are over 1.4 million people of Indian origin in the UK, and they make up the largest visible minority population there. The reflects the fact that Indians have been migrating to the UK since the 1600s. Surely, with over 400 years of Indian presence in the country, I ought to be able to find a decent curry there, right?
Pause reading for dramatic effect.
Wrong. So very wrong.
After landing in Edinburgh (and accidentally blurted out 'chicken tikka masala' when the Immigration agent asked me why I was visiting the UK) I ran almost the entire distance from the airport to Zoe's house, and from there to an Indian takeaway around the corner. Breathlessly (I had been living on kebabs, remember?) I grabbed a menu and scanned it for a familiar dish finding ... nothing? I looked again; and observed that the curries were arranged in something of a matrix fashion. Meats were listed along the y-axis and 'sauces' (with peculiar names such as 'bhunia' and 'rogan') along the x-axis. Each meat could be paired with any sauce and the price noted where the column and row intersected. The gruff staff refused to recommend anything, despite my speaking with them in their native language. I eventually chose Chicken Bhunia at random and took a seat.
The meal arrived ...
In almost every conversation over the last 5 weeks I have lamented to the generally uninterested other party that it is more or less impossible to find Indian food of better-than-junk quality almost anywhere in continental Europe. The only potential exception is Copenhagen, Denmark (where the Indian community is united by its facebook page) however the astronomical cost puts it well out of reach of your humble backpacker.
I was sitting at Copenhagen airport in July, salivating wildly at the prospect of boarding a flight to the UK - the holy grail for Indian people. There are over 1.4 million people of Indian origin in the UK, and they make up the largest visible minority population there. The reflects the fact that Indians have been migrating to the UK since the 1600s. Surely, with over 400 years of Indian presence in the country, I ought to be able to find a decent curry there, right?
Pause reading for dramatic effect.
Wrong. So very wrong.
After landing in Edinburgh (and accidentally blurted out 'chicken tikka masala' when the Immigration agent asked me why I was visiting the UK) I ran almost the entire distance from the airport to Zoe's house, and from there to an Indian takeaway around the corner. Breathlessly (I had been living on kebabs, remember?) I grabbed a menu and scanned it for a familiar dish finding ... nothing? I looked again; and observed that the curries were arranged in something of a matrix fashion. Meats were listed along the y-axis and 'sauces' (with peculiar names such as 'bhunia' and 'rogan') along the x-axis. Each meat could be paired with any sauce and the price noted where the column and row intersected. The gruff staff refused to recommend anything, despite my speaking with them in their native language. I eventually chose Chicken Bhunia at random and took a seat.
The meal arrived ...
... and was a tasteless bowl of oil and almost-still-frozen chicken served with a somewhat acceptable naan whose best attribute was its size. I ate it, and then went home to take a shower. The shower not only masked the sound of my sobbing, it also washed out the grease which had already started to accumulate in my pores.
Later that month, I was wandering around the enormous Tesco supermarket in Bedford, England dodging literally hundreds of Indian people (whose supermarket etiquette is no better than those in Bombay, where the first supermarkets are just turning 10 years old) when I noticed an entire aisle of Indian foods, ingredients and time-of-year relevant cultural accessories.
Alot of the products, such as those pictured above, were very specifically Indian - and even in India, would be very difficult to easily locate together. Perusing the packaging, it appeared that most of the foodstuffs had been created especially for the United Kingdom.
Finding these things, in a supermarket full of Indian people, no less, illustrated the frustrating paradox of observing the UK as an Australian Indian who loves Indian food. Indian influence was everywhere, from public transport and television to supermarkets and shopping centres and yet Indian food from restaurants and takeaways was almost uniformly atrocious.
Indians have been moving to the UK for much longer than they have been moving to Australia - so, in time we can expect a similar phenomenon to occur here. We can't let that happen. Keep your local Indian restaurant honest. Tell them what sucks and, if possible, do it in a thick Indian accent so they think you know what you're talking about. For added authenticity, never tip, turn up late to your reservation (or don't make one), speak in a cacophonous din (even if you are on a date) and spend 45 minutes saying extended goodbyes on the footpath outside the restaurant.
The lives of thousands of students (and guys like me who can't cook) are depending on you.
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