What Does it Take to Make a Great Sindhi Curry?
What does it take to make a great Sindhi curry? Reshma Sanghi shares a few guidelines (and taboos) to making a classic Sindhi curry, plus a recipe for Sindhi curry two ways.
First, the shot — “Oh, you’re a Sindhi?”; followed by the inevitable chaser: “I LOVE Sindhi curry!”
If you’re a Sindhi, chances are you’re well-acquainted with the interaction above. My friends hardly believe me when I insist that Sindhi curry is made only twice a month in our home.
That said, while other dishes like Dal Pakwan, Koki and Sai bhaji might be familiar names to staunch Indian foodies, Sindhi curry is the undoubted pride of our cuisine. This is perfectly understandable, given that a well-made Sindhi curry hits all the right flavour notes. A perfect bite starts with the sourness of tamarind enhanced with the addition of kokum, followed by a punch of chilli and ginger, finishing with a comforting hint of jaggery. A Sindhi curry meal will always be accompanied by a bonus offering of papad, kachris and aloo tuk, and you have an almost unreasonably delicous pairing of flavours and textures.
No two Sindhis will ever make the same Sindhi curry. There’s the toss-up between jaggery or sugar as sweetener; tamarind or kokum as souring agent — further, white kokum or black kokum; tomato or besan, you get the drift. Some households make it only on festivals and special occasions, some for weekend lunch, other as an everyday staple. One Sindhi friend was horrified when she saw cubes of suran in my curry, “Who adds suran?” Another friend replied when I posted a picture of Sindhi curry on Wednesday: “But it’s not Sunday!”
These choices have as much to do with personal preferences as they do with the culinary influences of each regional corner of Sindh.
As most readers are no doubt aware, Sindhis originally hail from the geographic territory that constitutes modern-day Pakistan. Dispersed by the chaos of Partition, the group that migrated to India brought with it a rich, vibrant cuisine that was influenced, in part, by the flavours of its regional neighbours. Sindhi curry shares a common ingredient – besan (gram flour), with the curries of Gujarat and Rajasthan.
My family comes from a district called ‘Thatta’ in Karachi, which makes us Thathai Sindhis. When I was growing up, Sindhi curry in our home was always made with a base of besan. Many Sindhis make their curries with a base of tomatoes, which lends that deep orange colour, that conforms with most people’s ideas of a classic Sindhi curry. If you’ve never experienced the heady aroma of besan gently toasting in a pan that has already been inaugurated by a party of asafetida, fenugreek seeds and cumin seeds in the hot oil, you’re missing out. It is a combination that could fool you into believing there’s something exotic cooking in the kitchen, and not just our everyday homecooked fare.
The most common version of Sindhi curry relies on tomato as the hero of the dish. Here, besan is used as a thickener. The result is a bright red-orange stew. This specific variation was referred to as tamatey ji curry in our house. Some Sindhi households were even more adventurous, boiling tuar dal and tomatoes together to form a base which is as delicious. The rest remains the same in most versions.
A noticeable change in modern replications of Sindhi curry is the rare use of yam or suran. One might assume that this is to reduce the amount of carb content for modern diets, but I don’t think this is true. The mound of aloo tuk that accompanies any Sindhi meal stands in opposition to this theory. Perhaps starch was used in earlier times to bulk up the curry in times of paucity, to make it more nutritious and filling. Today you can pick and choose a medley of vegetables to serve that same purpose.
Personal preferences dictate which vegetables make the cut. One of my aunts adds cauliflower and fresh peas to her curry. My sister adds potatoes instead of suran. One time I was mortified to find eggplant in the curry at a Sindhi wedding. I complained to my sister, “How could they put baigan in it?!” She patently explained that some Sindhis like to add it. Yes, yes, each to their own. But “Mummy never used to do it.”
Growing up in Delhi, there were hardly any Sindhis around us. I had no sense or reference for the food other Sindhis cooked. My mother’s cooking was our world. The only other Sindhis I knew were my father’s brother and his family, and they made their curry exactly like ours.
On most Sundays, we would go to my uncle’s for lunch. I loved being in the kitchen with him because he would make the curry himself. He always began by putting a cassette player on the kitchen table. He would rummage through his collection looking for the right musical accompaniment to his own performance. This was mostly a charade – we both new which cassette he was going to choose. Soon enough, the mellow lilt of Ghulam Ali would fill the kitchen.
With a chilled beer within arm’s reach, and a kitchen towel resting on one shoulder, he would begin cutting the vegetables, unleashing the most intoxicating mix of scents and spices. It was the most wonderful teaser to a meal. My memories of his kitchen are some of my fondest. The place, the time, the smells, the sounds, the love – are all etched in perfect frame. It’s why I rank his Sindhi curry a close second to my mother’s.
In contrast to my uncle, my mother would start her prep early in the morning. I loved watching her work because she would turn the kitchen counter into a canvas, painting it in bright shades of green. Her ingredients were always fresh, courtesy my father who had been out to the early morning bazaar to fetch the vakhar.
Beautiful crisp, green bhindi and gvar were topped and tailed. Singi were peeled and cut into finger-sized pieces. Scraggly looking suran was chopped into rough chunks. Shiny curry leaves were stripped from their stalks and kept at the ready. Stalks of ginger and chilies were finely chopped. A fistful of white kokum phool and a ball tamarind were soaked separately in two bowls of water, awaiting their turn. Jaggery for the curtain call. Every ingredient was carefully practiced and prepped to play its part in her orchestra.
A final addition — in our house, the curry was always accompanied by ‘makhani dal’ (no, not the kind you’re thinking). This version was made with yellow mung dal soaked and (over)cooked in the cooker till it was thick and creamy, almost resembling the consistency of mashed potatoes.
Finally, we would gather at the table. My favourite part was watching my mother ladle the veggies out of the curry and place them over a mound of rice on my plate, and then spoon curry lovingly over it. This was topped by a dollop of makhani dal, some fried papad and kachris. And then, the feast. Hands only, no cutlery allowed, trying to balance the mountain on our plates. The key was to get a little bit of everything in each mouthful. My sisters and I would slurp our way through the meal happily, the silence broken only by the crunching of fried goodies.
There are many ways to make Sindhi curry and many ways to eat it, but this is ours.
Like I said earlier, no two Sindhi curries will ever taste the same because no two households will every make it the same way. The beauty is that, today, not only can you make it however you like, but you can enjoy it pretty much any day you like.
RESHMA SANGHI’S RECIPE FOR SINDHI CURRY
Ingredients
4 heaped tbsp gramflour (besan)
75 g cluster beans (gvar), topped, tailed & halved
75 g ladyfinger (bhindi), topped, tailed & halved
1 drumstick (sing), cleaned & cut into 3” pieces
50 g yam (suran), peeled & cut into cubes
15 g ginger, peeled & finely chopped
2-3 green chillies, finely chopped
5-6 stalks of curry leaves
1 tsp mustard seeds
1 tsp cumin seeds
½ tsp asafoetida
1 tsp fenugreek seeds
5-6 pieces white kokum (kokum ka phool)
1 lemon-sized ball tamarind
15 g chopped jaggery
2 tsp turmeric powder
Salt, to taste
3 tbsp oil
3½-4 cups water
Method
Soak the kokum in ¼ cup water for 15 minutes before you start. Do not throw away the soaking liquid.
Soak the tamarind in ¼ cup water for 15 minutes, after which, squeeze and strain out the pulp. Keep aside.
In a large heavy-bottomed pan, heat oil. Add the mustard seeds. As soon as they crackle, add in the cumin seeds, asafoetida and fenugreek seeds.
Add in the chopped ginger and green chillies. Stir for 6-8 seconds and add the gramflour. Reduce the gas to low and keep stirring till it turns into a nutty brown colour and your entire kitchen is full of its aroma.
Turn the gas on high and add the water, curry leaves, salt and turmeric. As soon as the mixture comes to a boil, add in the vegetables.
Simmer the curry on medium heat for 10-12 minutes, stirring occasionally. When the vegetables are almost cooked, add the kokum with the soaking liquid and the tamarind pulp.
Simmer for another 10-12 minutes till the vegetables are cooked well. Add the jaggery, stir into the curry and turn the gas off.
Enjoy over a bowl of hot steamed rice!
Chef’s note: If you find the curry too thick, feel free to add some more water towards the end and give it a boil.
RESHMA SANGHI’S RECIPE FOR TAMATEY JI CURRY
Ingredients
400 g tomatoes, halved
2 tbsp gramflour (besan)
75 g cluster beans (gvar), topped, tailed & halved
75 g ladyfinger (bhindi), topped, tailed &halved
1 drumstick (sing), cleaned & cut into 3” pieces
2 potatoes, peeled & quartered
15 g ginger, peeled & finely chopped
2-3 green chillies, finely chopped
5-6 stalks curry leaves
1 tsp mustard seeds
1 tsp cumin seeds
½ tsp asafoetida
½ tsp fenugreek seeds
1 lemon-sized ball tamarind
½ tsp turmeric powder
Salt, to taste
2 tbsp oil
4-5 cups water
Method
Place the tomatoes in a cooker with 3 cups water and cook for one whistle.
Cool and grind the tomatoes, saving the boiling liquid. Strain them through a strainer.
Soak the tamarind in ¼ cup water for 15 minutes after which squeeze and strain out the pulp.
In a large heavy bottom pan, heat oil. Add the mustard seeds. As soon as they crackle, reduce the heat and add in the cumin seeds, asafoetida and fenugreek seeds.
Add the chopped ginger and green chillies. Stir for 6-8 seconds and add the gramflour. Keep stirring till its fragrant and light brown.
Turn the gas on high and add the blended tomatoes along with their liquid, rest of the water, curry leaves, salt and turmeric. As soon as the mixture comes to a boil, add the vegetables.
Simmer the curry on medium heat for 15-20 minutes, stirring occasionally. When the vegetables are almost cooked, add the tamarind pulp.
Simmer for another 8-10 minutes till the vegetables are cooked well.
Enjoy over a bowl of hot steamed rice and crisp aloo tuk!
Reshma Sanghi is a restaurateur, caterer and food consultant with over 30 years of experience in the food industry. She is passionate about her Sindhi heritage and is currently in the process of writing her first Sindhi cookbook.
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