Daisy's Chicken Curry

Curry in a hurry

“Next out are the Thali dishes, I need twelve more beef, sixteen fish, more rice moulds and where’s the okra?”

The inclement weather had forced the Norfolk outpost (Cley next the sea) of the Urban Rajah Supper Club indoors. Our sixteen guests who were gathered in aid of Ol Lentille Trust shook the cold from their shoulders and huddled around newly set tables. The house now resembling a pop-up restaurant rather than the al fresco dining experience our hosts had hoped for. Our eager help for the evening came in the form of the Searle siblings, Daisy, George and Freddie, cut from fine English stock, ruddy cheeks, tousled hair, impeccable manners and thoroughly likeable.

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“I’m on it”, bellowed Daisy, juggling hot steel dishes bubbling with Beef Bughela. The brothers led the salmon charge and with dessert almost in sight, service would be over shortly. Diners dunked the last of the naans in their tarka dal and finished the evening with cardamom and pistachio chocolate mousse, rich, dark, opulent, qualities the Maharani wished I owned. Sadly I can only claim one. Coffee was served and Malboro Lights were sparked, we finished service and stepped outside for a sea air spritzer, The North Sea had refreshed the atmosphere and we piled our adrenalin soaked frames around the glowing garden brazier. The sky was void of light pollution, a fabulous evening raising funds for a remote school in the Masai...even Orion had loosened his belt from the evening’s indulgence.

Glasses of fizz were toasted with the youngest Searle claiming a generous share of the season’s harvest. Unlike most conversations with the yoof of today, the Maharani and I were entertained with their adolescent musings on politics, power, relationships...and drinking...oh and their futures. In Daisy’s case, the next three years would be spent in the arms of Leeds University, yes her degree might allow her to pursue a career of choice but that wouldn’t necessarily equip her with life’s essential skills. She needed to know how to cook a Ruby Murray and a mean one at that.

So here it is, a super quick Indian chicken curry recipe, as easy as brushing your teeth (or gargling mouth wash instead if you’re a student) and tastier than a pot of cardboard noodles.

It’s Daisy’s Dish but I’m sure she won’t mind sharing it with you.


Serves 4, takes 30 minutes costs about a fiver and tastes great with plain Basmati rice.

Scrumptious, affordable and freezable, if you don’t fancy sharing.

  • 2 smallish onions, sliced
  • 3 tbs vegetable oil
  • 3 garlic cloves, peeled and chopped
  • 8cm of freshly chopped ginger
  • 1 ½ tbs of Madras curry powder
  • 3 green finger chillies (chop 2 of them, keep the seeds and the other one whole)
  • 1 tin of chopped tomatoes (400g)
  • 250 ml water
  • 4 diced chicken breasts (use turkey for a leaner, cheaper option)
  • Salt, pepper to taste
  • Generous bunch of coriander

In a largish lidded pan heat the oil over a medium heat for 3-4 minutes, drop in the sliced onions and fry until they become soft, obedient and brown. Add the garlic, fry for a couple minutes and turn down the heat, tip in the ginger and spoon in the curry powder, coating everything in the pan. Stir for 2-3 minutes until the mix is dry, pop the chillies and tinned tomatoes in and cook for 5 minutes. Add in the diced fowl, making sure that all the chunks are covered in the sauce and pour in the water, cover and allow it to simmer for 15-20 minutes or until the meat is cooked. Stir a few times, making sure that the chicken curry or turkey curry doesn’t stick to the pan, add a little water if necessary. Throw in the chopped coriander leaves and the whole chilli stirring to dress the curry chicken.





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Curry in a hurry

“Next out are the Thali dishes, I need twelve more beef, sixteen fish, more rice moulds and where’s the okra?”

The inclement weather had forced the Norfolk outpost (Cley next the sea) of the Urban Rajah Supper Club indoors. Our sixteen guests who were gathered in aid of Ol Lentille Trust shook the cold from their shoulders and huddled around newly set tables. The house now resembling a pop-up restaurant rather than the al fresco dining experience our hosts had hoped for. Our eager help for the evening came in the form of the Searle siblings, Daisy, George and Freddie, cut from fine English stock, ruddy cheeks, tousled hair, impeccable manners and thoroughly likeable.

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