An Ode to the Korma

Contributed by Chinmay Pangarkar

Every discerning foodie anywhere in the world is likely familiar with the korma, or has at least heard of it. It is a staple at every Indian restaurant, and its color varies anywhere from light yellow to brown to orange. The korma generally has a subtle sweet taste and contains nuts and raisins. Except, most restaurants make korma as simply their regular stock sauce re-packaged in yoghurt and cream! Now I don’t believe in the word “authenticity” when it comes to food. Almost nothing is authentically Indian or Chinese or French. One should eat what one likes and people should keep inventing dishes. I will not pooh-pooh the Indian-restaurant korma as inauthentic. However, the tragedy of the korma is not that the available versions are inauthentic, but rather that the authentic versions are not available!

The word korma comes from the old Turkish qavurma, which is a recipe to preserve meat by frying it in lamb fat. However, besides the name and the origin, the Indian korma doesn’t share much with its Turkish namesake — it appears to have evolved beyond recognition. In Indian cuisine the korma is what I would call “pre-Colombian”, in the sense that it precedes the widespread adoption of new world ingredients such as chili peppers, tomatoes, cashews and potatoes in India. It seems to have come to India from Central Asia and risen to prominence during the early Mughal era (late 1500s). It has evolved into many sub-types over the intervening centuries with contributions from Portuguese invaders, royal chefs and, perhaps, creative housewives.

The foundation of all these kormas is simply the braising of meat in yoghurt or cream. Beyond this common thread, kormas have umpteen variations (as is true of all Indian recipes). Going along the Grand Trunk from west to east: there is the afghani korma, generally made with beef; the lahori korma which uses tomatoes in addition to yoghurt; the redoubtable purani dilli ka korma; the royal rampuri korma; the highly refined lucknowi korma and finally the bangladeshi korma which has a lot more cumin than others. Kormas are generally made at weddings, parties and other festive occasions. Of course, there are vegetarian dishes like the navratan korma or the south Indian kurma, but “whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent”.

I grew up in a small town on the deccan plateau of India — very far from the influence of refined Mughlai cuisine. I had not tasted a real korma until moving to the US and eating at a Pakistani restaurant called Shalimar. The repertoire of a typical, accessible, neighborhood-style Indian restaurant (whether it is in the US, UK or India) is dominated by Punjabi dishes and British-Indian curry-house recipes. Restaurant owners’ “populist” approach leads to the bizarre situation where otherwise unique regional recipes like the vindaloo, korma, kadhai get painted with the same broad Punjabi brush. For instance, the vindaloo I get in our local Indian restaurant does not have even a hint of mustard seeds and tamarind — two ingredients that are otherwise key to this great fusion recipe. This phenomenon is no different from the “disney-fication” of world culture or “bollywood-ization” of Indian story-telling; in short, the sacrifice of regional nuance at the altar of broader appeal.

Be that as it may, the korma in Shalimar really startled me. It had a gentle sweet-sour balance combined with subtle earthiness of garam masala that I had not experienced before. The fragrance was different from the garam masala we are used to in most north Indian dishes. The chicken was tender, the gravy was eminently soak-able with naan and it was not spicy-hot at all. Finally, one could turn up the intensity for a particular bite by choosing to chew on a whole peppercorn or clove or green cardamom! I was sold. I looked for kormas wherever I went: from the humblest Pakistani joint to the fanciest sit-down place. Some didn’t disappoint, many did. The most common culprit was cream — completely unnecessary, yet used liberally. The second culprit was turmeric. I think Indian cooks must become hard-wired with time — the hand automatically moves to the bright yellow powder in the masala dabba! Though an essential part of most Indian dishes, the venerable turmeric is a big no-no in the korma. The third was, of course, the overly liberal use of oil which just makes the whole thing so unappetizing. The last one is also a failing of Shalimar’s korma. I have never tried the old Delhi version in old Delhi, but YouTube videos show that they are closer to Shalimar’s oil level. Anyhow, this uneasy peace between me and my quest for a good korma remained in status quo for more than a decade.

A COVID-lockdown-driven exploration on YouTube revealed a number of recipes ranging from an elaborate home version with multiple steps, pots, mixer-grinder to ones made by professional chefs that started with more than a liter of oil or vanaspati (plant-based) ghee! There were a number of recipes presented in truly brilliant ways: Bong Eats, Ranveer Brar and Rana Safvi, to name a few. There were some common threads: (i) the garam masala should be whole and not ground, (ii) fried brown onions to give a subtle sweetness, and (iii) yoghurt gives sourness. There are other supporting steps that enhance the flavor, but they are more variable across the sub-types: (i) use of ghee vs oil, (ii) browning the meat with ghee prior to braising, (iii) use of cashew or chiraunji or makhane or coconut paste to round-off the flavors and (iv) use of kewra water or essence.

Over the last few months, I cooked six different variants of the korma, exploring different sequences of operations as well as different spice profiles. There was one clear, absolutely clear winner. The Usain Bolt of kormas; the Federer, the Sachin. This is the lucknowi korma. What makes it so awesome? It shares all of the basic features of the korma. In addition, and most importantly, it uses the trifecta of cardamom-mace-nutmeg — this creates a magical fragrant flavor (which I have come to associate with a korma). This is the main act, the other spices, the sweet-sour combination of fried onions and yoghurt are all cameos. They are important, but in the background.

My recipe is inspired from the lucknowi korma but it is, inevitably, not as refined as the lucknowi version. Let’s call it the poor man’s awadhi korma, so we don’t offend the Lucknowites (they are known for their grace, good manners and polish, but let’s not push it). I have dropped some ingredients (kewra) and steps to fit it into a weeknight meal slot — less than 1 hr of prep + cook time and < 30 mins of active time. Almost every recipe called for the use of fried onion paste and some nut-paste. These are “secondary operations” requiring a separate pot or mixer-grinder and creating more clean-up tasks. I wanted to simplify this to a weeknight recipe. My spice grinder is small and light and its container can easily go into the dishwasher. However, the wet grinder is a lot more work. Its also loud, which annoys the entire household. So I permitted the use of the spice grinder but not the wet grinder. This outcome of this recipe is significantly different from the Shalimar version which had startled me all those years ago. The recipe may continue to evolve, but this is as good a time to share as any.

I made this recipe for lunch today, and from the other side of three chicken thighs, three chapatis and rice, my wife and principal food critic was moved to remark: “thank god for making me Indian, thank god for making you my husband”. This is the highest form of praise from that quarter.

Recipe — Ingredients:

Meat: Traditionally, the korma is made exclusively with fatty goat meat (and one must try it to know why). Chicken makes a good substitute. Indeed — this being a weeknight recipe, chicken is the only option. Goat takes too long to cook. For best results, use bone-in chicken thighs scored to the bone and seasoned for ~30min. This recipe is for 5 chicken thighs (~1.8 lbs) which is more than enough for two people. Chicken breast is a big no-no. If you only have chicken breast on hand, please make something else!

Garam masala: This must be whole — no powders. The main reason is that the taste of the garam masala must be subtle. Powdered garam masala is not only strong but has different flavor profile to that of whole spices — oil/ghee probably extracts flavors differently from whole spices than they do from powdered ones. Garam masala has a supporting role to the main act of cardamom-mace-nutmeg.

- 6–8 black peppercorns

- 4 cloves

- 2 pieces of cinnamon 1” long

- 4 green cardamoms

- 4 bay leaves, cut into halves so it is easier to mix

Korma masala: This must be ground to a fine powder. My obsession with this trifecta probably leads me to overdo this. If you are not sure, start with half this amount. You can sprinkle some at the very end after tasting the korma.

- 5g green cardamom seeds OR 7.5g whole green cardamoms

- 2g mace

- 2g nutmeg

(I don’t know if mace and nutmeg are interchangeable to some extent — but they may be. Their flavor is very similar and indeed they are part of the same fruit. I would strongly recommend shelling the whole green cardamoms and using only seeds for this masala. If you like this recipe and plan to make it often, you can get cardamom seeds from the store.)

Other:

- 15g coriander powder

- 7g red chili powder (Yes, this is a post-Colombian mod to the korma — remember, nothing is authentic!)

- 50g cashews (another post-Colombian mod!)

(Indian food is all about balance, and one cannot balance garam masala without the floral and slightly sour taste of coriander seeds.)

Onions: About 250g or one medium sized onion. Slice it as thin as you can, don’t chop it. Slicing will give a nice texture to the sauce and is much faster. I generally quarter the onion before slicing so that the slices are shorter. A mandolin comes real handy here.

Ginger-Garlic paste: About 25g. Store bought is OK, but fresh garlic and fresh grated ginger will probably be better.

Yoghurt: About 100g — 125g of thick Greek yoghurt depending upon how sour you like it. Non-fat will work as well as whole milk yoghurt — there is enough fat in the dish anyway! But it must be sour.

Ghee: 1.5 Tbsp. You can change the relative proportion of oil and ghee. We both love ghee too much to replace it. Feel free to use even twice this amount. The ghee is essential to make sure that the korma get properly roasted. You can always separate it before eating so as to reduce the fat ingested.

Oil: 1/2 Tbsp

Recipe — Procedure

A weeknight meal never really follows mise-en-place. Read through the whole procedure before you start cooking so that you can parallelize some cooking and prep steps. My measurement for the total time for this recipe is about 1hr, with <20min of active time. You will be able to do many other tasks around the kitchen while this korma is cooking.

1. Choose a big enough pot with a tight-fitting lid. I would not recommend a non-stick pot. Later on in the process, we will roast our sauce and we need it to stick and brown on the bottom. I use my trusted dutch oven.

2. Add ghee and oil and turn heat to medium-high. Once the fat is hot, add chicken thighs and let them brown on each side for 1 min, completely unmolested. Remove the chicken and put it aside in a plate. If pressed for time, I skip this step. If pressed for time, I don’t even season the chicken.

3. Turn the gas to low heat and wait for the fat to cool down. Then put in the whole garam masala. As a general rule, whole garam masala must be roasted with ghee starting at low temperature. This is often done incorrectly by many Indian cooks, who instinctually gravitate to the tadka method of waiting for the oil/ghee to heat up before putting in cumin or mustard in anticipation of the pop. Garam masala will burn very quickly at those temperatures, before we have had a chance to extract its flavors sufficiently. Mix to make sure that each whole spice is covered in fat. Note that it is really the fat that is going to extract and carry the flavors of the garam masala in this dish. Let this stay for a minute or so. You should be able to see te spices slowly bubbling due to the heat.

4. Add sliced onion, mix to coat. Turn heat to medium-low. At this point I put the lid on for about 5 mins to accelerate the process of cooking. Professional chefs who make korma in big pots called degh use a lot of oil so that they don’t need to worry about things sticking and burning. Our version doesn’t have enough oil, so we must be careful.

5. Once the onion is soft and has lost enough moisture, you will see some fat separating out. Move the onion and spices to one side of the pot and tilt it to allow the fat to move to the other side. To this fat, add coriander powder, red chili powder snd cashew powder. It is important to maintain the heat at medium-low throughout steps 4 and 5, lest our powdered spices burn. Mix the powdered spices and let them roast by their lonesome for 30 seconds or so. Then you can mix everything in the pot together. I personally like the taste of roasted coriander a lot more. Secondly, this step will ensure that your fat carries the spice and color of red chili powder. (Credit for this observation is squarely with Bong Eats).

6. Keep roasting the onion and the spices. Rana Safvi, in her ode to the korma, quotes her grandmother telling the secret of the korma: Masala aise bhuno jaise dushman ka kaleja (roast your spices as passionately as if it were the enemy’s heart). This is how important it is! Have patience. May be this is a good time to do other chores around the kitchen. We have to wait until the onions start browning. This is the way we are going to get the subtle sweetness of the onions. If we add any moisture before the onions are browned, then they will never brown (caramelize) properly. It won’t kill the dish, but the korma will not have a sweet dimension. I have tried cheating and adding a pinch of sugar here. Its OK, but too easy to add too much. I would recommend max 2g of cane sugar.

7. Once the onions are browned, add the ginger-garlic paste. Mix and keep roasting for a good 3–4 mins. You will see a dramatic change in the texture of the masala paste. The moisture from the ginger-garlic paste will rehydrate the brown onions which have, by now, lost most of their moisture. In the process, things will start coming together. The mix will now be dark brown due to the onions as well as the coriander powder. From the time that you started with the onions, this should be around 20–30mins, depending on how low you kept the heat.

8. Now turn the heat to medium-high. Add a teaspoon-ful of yoghurt at a time and immediately mix it with the rest of the stuff in the pot. This will prevent it from curdling. Keep going until you have added all of the yoghurt. Keep scraping.

9. At this step, I use my spice grinder to grind the korma masala. Add the whole thing to the pot. Mix. Keep roasting and keep scraping. Add water every now and then if you feel the masala it is sticking too much to the bottom, but do not reduce the heat. Keep doing this for a full 5 mins.

10. Add salt and taste. Add water to adjust consistency to that of a thick coating sauce. In the next step, water from the chicken will further thin it out.

11. Now reduce the heat to low. Add the browned chicken and mix. Cover the dutch oven. Braise for a good 25–30 mins. The chicken must be very well-cooked in a korma.

12. Done.

13. Serve with chapati or naan or rice.