Chicken Tikka Masala

We’ve been lagging in the post department round here. Sorry about that. The holidays, the news, all the usual reasons a blog goes dark. Never mind. It’s 2017. We’re back, bearing news of Chicken Tikka Masala.

(A fair copy of a shot the IK took with her cell phone. This one taken with her real camera. Fun with filters and garam masala.)

Granted, if you are a reader in the British Isles–and thank you, by the way–Chicken Tikka is no news at all. Here in America, however, Chicken Tikka Masala is not a national passion. Americans do not understand, to employ an English term, Chicken Tikka’s addictive moreishness. Chicken Tikka Masala is so very moreish, in fact, that should any be leftover, the IK will eat it, cold, until it’s gone. She is unashamed of her addiction, because upon consulting her many, many British cookbooks, she found countless iterations of Chicken Tikka Masala and its Anglo-Indian-curry offshoots. This led her to realize she was far from alone in wolfing chilly spoonfuls of creamy, tomatoey rice long after dinnertime.

The IK’s initiation into all things CTM occurred thanks to her other life as a book reviewer for Popmatters.com. Here she reviewed The British Table: A New Look At The Traditional Cooking Of England, Scotland, And Wales by Coleman Andrews. This is largely a wonderful book, what with Coleman Andrews being himself, and the photographs being shot by Christopher Hirsheimer and Melissa Hamilton.

The major trouble arises when one attempts to cook from said book: the recipes are poorly copyedited, if at all. Andrews is blameless in this–an author of his stature certainly knows how to write a recipe–but the book is rife with mistakes. Given this, I still strongly recommendThe British Table. Do proceed carefully before cooking anything, though, reading each recipe through, making notes of errors, perhaps even making a clean copy if necessary.

Some prep notes. While Chicken Tikka Masala isn’t a set it and forget it, neither is it difficult; having made it, oh, seventeen times in the past two weeks (cough), I promise you  the dish requires attention but no skill. Nor is any fancy equipment needed, a good thing since many of us lack our food processors just now. You’ll dirty a spatula and spoon, but there’s time to clean up mid-recipe.

The recipe calls for downmarket ingredients certain to get up the noses of snobby types like yours truly. Canned soup? Boneless skinless chicken breasts? Omigod! Look, just make the recipe. You’ll thank Coleman Andrews later.

Successful tinkering with this recipe includes replacing the lime juice with lemon–that includes unripe lemon, for you Californians with lemon trees, and substituting half-and-half  for the heavy cream, simply because I keep half-and-half in the house for coffee.

The recipe calls for chili powder, which I don’t have; I used red pepper flakes. Which brings us to chicken tikka’s heat level: this is a creamy dish, which counters the spiciness. Nevertheless, the heat gradually creeps up on you as you shovel it into your face. I’d call it moderate. Still, if spice isn’t your thing, decrease the initial marinade spices to a quarter teaspoon each, and the final tablespoons even more–while this is your call, chicken tikka masala is meant to be somewhat punchy. If spicy food isn’t your thing, this may not be the recipe for you.

A final note about the Campbell’s Tomato Soup: the original recipe calls for 8 ounces. Here in the United States, Campbell’s Soup is sold in 10 3/4 ounce cans. Having no use for 1 3/4 ounces of leftover soup, I used the entire can in the recipe and it worked just fine. While we could be uppity, using a higher-end tomato sauce, the end result is so insanely delicious I see no reason to get snooty. Why mess with perfection?