The Korma
What’s In a Name?
As I began frequenting area restaurants during the 1980s, I found that while I enjoyed korma, I was also a bit puzzled by it. Initially, I was confused by the variations on the name that peppered the menus. These inconsistencies in spelling raised several questions in my mind which I never posed to anyone; certainly not to anyone who would have been able to offer a good explanation. For awhile I even convinced myself that each variant was a distinct dish.
However, if I were to have asked, my first question would have been: what distinguishes shahi korma from “regular” korma or any other variation of the name. They all appear similar in presentation and taste, so what’s with the different names? And what exactly makes shahi korma different or special? Is it a dish for royalty? Did it originate in Shahi? My questions would continue: Are there many other kormas? And by the way, how do restaurants get their gravy to come out so smooth?
Obviously the term shahi intrigued me. But at the time, I never equated it with the title shah, a word that should have given me a clue (and have been somewhat fresh in my mind). Although I did not investigate it at the time, my interest was reawakened as I was writing this article. After quickly checking Wikipedia for the term shahi, I found myself even more confused since nothing on that page referred specifically to food. However, a better choice was to consult a dictionary, where I finally found the the word shah, which confirmed that my initial supposition was more or less correct; a royal dish.
As I tried kormas in restaurants, I became intrigued by a subtle flavor I could not identify. Like many other instances, this mild interest grew into a khojana of its own as I attempted to identify this mystery ingredient. Because menus listed some of the ingredients in their kormas, I assumed nuts were an important part of the gravy. But this flavor was something else. Finally, after many months — almost by accident — I concluded that some chefs were adding sultanas (a.k.a. golden raisins) to their gravies to impart a touch of sweetness as well as a brief burst of flavor. With that, this riddle was solved.
Several years later I kind of shook my head as I remembered that my mother had used raisins in a dry turkey “curry.” The dish consisted of cubes of turkey, “curry powder” and raisins and probably a few other ingredients; I’m not sure exactly what was in there. Although the taste of the raisins was not quite the same as sultanas they were similar. I’m surprised that I never put two and two together. Looking anew at a few more recent menus, I was not surprised to see raisins listed as an ingredient for a few kormas.
Eventually I concluded that as far as restaurants were concerned, notwithstanding the variations on the name, korma was largely the same dish from restaurant to restaurant. The small variances between kormas could be rationally explained by different chefs or even a particularly good (or bad) day in the kitchen. But, as often is the case, that was only part of the story.
Wait! There Really Are Variations?
Until I really began cooking in earnest, the diversity of South Asian food was beyond my comprehension. It was inconceivable to me how a dish such as a korma could vary from state to state across India. I never imagined that a chcken korma in Delhi could be different from one in Chennai. Or how the kormas we typically ate in western restaurants were dissimilar from the southern Indian recipes that I had begun to find in cookbooks. I mean, who ever heard of coconut in a korma?
Slowly the answers began to arrive, but they initially produced more confusion than clarity. In retrospect, I realized I didn’t investigate the dish thoroughly enough. (I did not have internet access during the eighties.) But, also, because I was so content with the restaurant dishes, maybe there was little impetus to dig deeper. After all, kormas were a mild, rich and flavorful change from my beloved vindaloo; comfort food in a manner of speaking.
Although I was content with restaurant kormas, I occasionally tried making one at home. But my ire was quickly raised when I realized the results varied significantly from the versions I enjoyed at restaurants. Unfortunately, like vindaloo, I was trying to create a restaurant dish at home and my results were hitting a similar wall. However, I knew that cookbooks had variations of their own; and they were generally different from the restaurant standbys. Which lead to a question that I probably should have been asking at the outset.
What Is a Korma Anyhow?
I could have consulted any number of cookbooks at home, or in a bookstore in search of an answer. But for starters I decided to check with a neutral source, Wikipedia. Their short page states that Korma or qorma is a dish with its origin in the Indian subcontinent, consisting of meat or vegetables braised with yogurt, water or stock, and spices to produce a thick sauce or gravy. The Etymology section explains that the English term korma “is an anglicisation of the Hindi-Urdu quorma,” which means braise; the cooking method. 1
That could explain the variations I was beginning to find. Korma was a cooking method, rather than just the name of a single dish. I should have not been surprised that this meant there would not be a single master recipe for korma, but potentially hundreds! OK, things were starting to make sense. The Wikipedia article further details a few different styles of korma including how the term shahi is indeed used to denote a royal dish.2 Ah hah!
OK. My question then required an adjustment: if there are all these styles of “korma,” why then were the ones from most local restaurants so similar? Were they just catering to their clientele? Or maybe simplifying preparation? Probably a bit of both. I think the answer lies in the fact that when I started to eat out, the typical menu was limited to the repertoire and restaurants stuck with a winning formula for an audience not accustomed to the variety or spices in south Asian cooking. Even after restaurants began to experiment with regional dishes a few years later, I still don’t remember trying any radically different kormas.
Still more interested in recreation rather than experimentation, I began to study cookbook recipes more carefully hoping to untangle the secret to the restaurant gravy. It appeared that many recipes from the north relied on a nut paste and cream or yogurt to create the luxurious gravy I was dreaming about. But none of the kormas I attempted to cook seemed to get anywhere close to the gravies at the restaurants.
In 1994, a large article in the Boston Globe featured recipes from a few area businesses. One for Chicken Khorma was provided by the Brookline restaurant Bombay Bistro. In the article, the owner, Samur Majmudar noted that the northern Mughlai version of korma was normally prepared using white poppy seeds, but his recipe utilized cashews since poppy seeds “are difficult to obtain here.” 3 Oh, some clues!
Several recipes I found, including one in Das Sreedharan’s Indian Shortcuts to Success, appeared to be similar to the restaurant kormas. However leafing through one of my favorite books, The Great Curries of India, I came across a recipe named Safed Murgh Korma (White Chicken Korma) that seemed notably different from the restaurant kormas. For starters, the gravy was white, rather than light brown. This recipe calls for the poppy seeds Majmudar was referring to in the Globe article. The introduction even mentions that the original recipe called for a few additional ingredients: chaar magaz and powdered rose petals. Wow!
If that recipe wasn’t enough, The Great Curries of India also includes four additional kormas: Lamb Shank Korma; Chicken Korma with Cilantro Leaves; Chicken Pistachio Korma; and Dry Fruit Korma. All originate from northern India. The first two appear to be similar to other korma recipes, though the latter two are quite unique.
While many western diners likely expect their kormas to contain lamb or chicken, there is one well-known variation that features vegetables. The Mughlai-inspired Navratan Korma, seems to follow the non-veg northern Indian formula for the gravy by utilizing nuts and sultanas in a creamy gravy. The difference is, rather than lamb or chicken, the dish contains mixed vegetables and sometimes paneer.
But what of kormas from southern India? Consulting a few cookbooks, I found that kormas from states like Tamil Nadu and Kerala favor a different combination of ingredients. Cream or yogurt are generally set aside and a gravy is created using ground poppy seeds, coconut (or coconut milk) and cashews or almonds; ingredients sometimes found in salans. The recipes adjust for cooking lamb, chicken, or vegetables. The regional variances likely followed local tastes and the practice of using what was easily available.
Curiously, while I can not remember trying a southern-style korma, on closer inspection I found a few more adventurous local restaurants offer a korma that followed some of the southern recipes. For example, Somerville’s Dosa and Curry has a Vegetable Korma on their menu which they describe as “Mixed vegetables cooked in coconut sauce.” It appears that it is time to expand my horizons again.
Some Conclusions and Some Favorites
As the eighties progressed to the nineties, I finally concluded that while kormas from different restaurants might vary in small ways, their recipes seemed pretty similar. Shahi korma tasted pretty much like korma. And qorma, khorma, and kurma were all basically the same dish. Thankfully I also admitted to myself that all the different spellings (which I saw more of online, than in menus or cookbooks) were probably nothing more than differing opinions on the phonetic spelling of korma in English.
Over the years, I ate at several restaurants with open kitchens. While I would occasionally watch how the cooks were preparing my lunch or dinner, I didn’t pay close attention and missed out on great opportunities to learn. While I probably would not have picked up actual recipes, I probably could have answered some of my own questions. More recently, though, YouTube channels such as Latif’s Inspired have obviated my need to peer behind the counter.
As I learned more about restaurant cooking, I started to consider how they might prepare a korma. While I still didn’t understand how they achieved the silky gravy, I was able to guess at ingredients. They might start with a base gravy; add ground cashews or almonds, sultanas and pre-cooked meat before finishing the dish with a touch of cream, garam masala and a sprinkling of coriander leaves. Initially unaware of the base gravy’s importance, I learned that the better the gravy, the better the dish. A concept not limited to kormas.
Much like a favorite record, for every dish, there is always the version; one that speaks to me like no other. JMP, a family-run takeaway in the Allston’s Super 88 food court, had grabbed my attention for several reasons in the early 2000s. They probably created their korma much the same way as other restaurants. But theirs stood out due to their very unique base gravy. Like the enigmatic sultanas, it took me awhile to identify and discover JMP’s secret. Their gravy elevated the flavor of their korma, and many other dishes and had me coming back for more!
Another memorable korma poked its head out of the kitchen at a new restaurant in Cambridge. Darul Kabab had just opened in an old Kentucky Fried Chicken location outside of Porter Square. While I have seen weirder transformations, I still kind of shook my head about this one. I did the requisite Yelp! reconnaissance, and decided to give them a try.
On the first or second visit, I tried their korma. And, there it was! The gravy was smooth, rich, but had just a bit of a kick absent in most other restaurant’s kormas. But what was it? What made their korma stand out? I am not sure, even now. Perhaps they were using a home-cooked approach; maybe they just used a different combination of ingredients—liberal with the spicing. Or maybe they were not catering to what they perceived western diners were looking for. However they did it, the result was spectacular and grabbed my attention.
A “Quick” Korma?
As much as I enjoyed restaurant kormas, I had pretty quickly given up trying to make them at home as recounted above. And for the longest time, I couldn’t even fathom trying again. I’m not sure why because I did not seem too fazed by my other “failures.” Perhaps I hesitated because I could not find any recipe in my cookbooks that appeared to match what I perceived was the right one. Among the all recipes I downloaded from websites and blogs, there were only a few for korma. I know that I did not try any of them. Oddly enough, among all the downloaded korma recipes, there were two hiding within one of the first files I download from the internet: The Graduate Student’s Guide to Indian Recipes.
Eventually, something prompted me to try making one again, so I came up with a dish I dubbed “Quick Korma.” Interestingly, the recipe is very similar to the restaurant method I outlined above including a base gravy. I made this a few times and remember liking it, but never finished the recipe possibly due to my base gravy. I had been trying to come up with a “base gravy” of my own — something I could use for different purposes. I had ideas about what I wanted it to taste like, but I still lacked the finesse and knowledge to achieve my goals. However, when used as part of my quick korma, I was pretty happy with the result. For whatever reason, I did not make this too often, and haven’t recently looked for other recipes to try. Maybe kormas are meant to be a restaurant dish for me. And that is OK.