Re: [CH] White Chilli
Mary-Anne Durkee (durkee.ch.list@gmail.com)
Wed, 31 Jan 2007 16:20:24 -0800
White Chili Powder is quite hot VBG They use it at Brick Lane Curry
House in their infamous Phal.
mary-anne
DECEMBER 27, 2005
NICOLE DAVIS
EATS & DRINKS
"Why are you getting that?" Ganesh asked when I ordered the phaal. To
be sure, it's never a good sign when a restaurant's staff turns its
nose at the food coming out of the kitchen. But I understood his
dismay. Brick Lane Curry House, a standout in the mulligatawny of
sub-par, East 6th Street Indian joints, has dozens of excellent
options, and I had chosen the one gut bomb.
"Have you ever tried the phaal?" I asked Ganesh.
"Oh, no. Only a few teaspoons. It's insanity. But you know that."
I already had an inkling from Brick Lane's co-owner Sati Sharma, a
rotund man from New Delhi. "You can pull your teeth out after the
second bite—that's how numb your mouth gets," he told me.
This would probably be music to the ears of a "chilehead," those spicy
food masochists. There are legions of them across the pond, where
phaal originated on London's own Brick Lane. Somewhere along that
strip of Bangladeshi restaurants in the 1970s, a chef concocted this
fiery curry. Its apocrypha, according to Pat Chapman, British author
of the New Curry Bible and expert on all things spicy, is that phaal
was a means of revenge against the "lager louts"— sloshed Brits who
arrived at their restaurants past the pub's closing time and spewed
out all manner of rude insults. Phaal, which in Hindi means fruit, was
the closest the chefs could come to saying "fart," something the louts
would have plenty of the next day.
Azmal Hussain of Preen, a restaurant on London's Brick Lane, claims
that the meaning of the word "Phaal" (which is also spelled "phal") in
Bengali means "jump"—like a jump in temperature or excitement. He also
claims Brits have a higher tolerance for heat because of the cold.
If all of these explanations sound specious, there is one strong piece
of evidence that the Brits really do like it hot—hotter than us,
anyway. When you finish the phaal in London, no one gives you beer.
Here on 6th Street, however, a chalkboard advertises Brick Lane's
running dare: Order the phaal, finish it, and we'll buy you a beer.
It's the kind of trick Homer Simpson would fall for, and as it
happens, two of my friends already have. I learned about the dish
first from Jimmy, an adventurous eater who was turned onto it by a
British business associate. After his dubious victory, Jimmy told me
that his picture was going to be posted Brick Lane's website. One of
the rewards of finishing the phaal is being inducted to the P'hall of
Fame, where you are forever memorialized online as a "Curry Monster."
So I went to the site, and found my friend Cliff. The restaurant
estimates that one or two people, many of them Brit ex-pats, finish
the dish every week, but not everyone sends in their photos. Sati
Sharma speaks with reverence about one such mystery man, Alan
Solsberry, who has eaten the phaal at least a dozen times. "He has
guts of steel," says Sharma.
I do not have such iron-clad insides, but I was willing to see if I
could stomach the phaal just once, as Cliff "The Curry Killer" Ransom,
my dinner guest, had done. Though he advised me to order my phaal with
meat, I decided on paneer. I thought the homemade cheese would help
cool things down, along with lots and lots of raita, and nan. Then the
nuclear curry arrived. It looked like roasted Rooster sauce—that red
hot condiment with the green cap and rooster on it—but its ingredients
were much more complex: dried red chilies and fresh green ones,
Kasmiri chilies, white chili powder, black pepper powder, and black
peppercorns. Pure pain.
"I understand now—the meat," I said. I meant that chicken or lamb
would have helped mask the curry's heat, unlike paneer, which neither
added flavor, nor took away the fire. But I wasn't able to say more
just then—after a few bites, I felt as though I had breathed in
fiberglass. Cliff understood, and spoke for the entirety of our meal,
regaling me with tales about his recent trip to Arizona, his love
life, his family. For the most part I just nodded and complained.
"I can't believe they have the nerve to add a whole chili to this," I
said, picking out the fresh green bugger.
"I know," said Cliff. "I went through this same stage—anger. It's
followed by disbelief."
Without asking, Ganesh brought over a mango lhassi to quench the
afterburn. I alternated between sips of it, my beer, bites of nan, and
every so often another forkful of the fiery phaal, now almost pink
from the yogurt sauce swirled on top of it.
"Keep your eyes on the prize," Cliff said, pointing to our sweating
bottle of Kingfisher. I nodded, thankful for the encouragement, but it
was too late. I was full, and now desperate to get home. I asked the
busboy to take away our plates. Then Ganesh came out to congratulate
me.
"You finished it!" he said. "There was nothing left in the bowl."
I explained that I had simply dumped the bowl of phaal on my plate,
then buried it in rice.
"Well, there was hardly any left. I'll give you this beer," he said.
It seemed like an accomplishment.
Brick Lane Curry House
306-308 E. 6th St. (betw. 1st & 2nd Aves.)
212-979-2900.
On 1/31/07, Dave Drum <dirty_dave@chillicooks.org> wrote:
> Whilst checking out a new Asian food store yesterday (mostly Indian
> sub-continent stuff) I picked up a 200g bag of "white chilli" powder
> on spec. As it was only 79c/US it's no great loss if I was gulled.
>
> But, I thought I might ask if anyone has information on this product
> before I charge off in all directions. Especially, Glen - who IIRC has
> in-laws from the sub-continent and may have some direct experience of
> white chilli powder and its uses.
>
> Oddly (or maybe not - given the South Asia nature of the store) the
> attendant was not familiar with durian.
>
> I really miss the Asian Foods Distribution Centre that was destroyed
> in the F2 Tornado of 12 March 2006.
>
> --
> ENJOY!!!
> --------
> UNCLE DIRTY DAVE'S KITCHEN --
> Home of Yaaaaa Hooooo Aaahhh!!! HOT SAUCE and Hardin Cider
>
> The only difference between a tax man and a taxidermist is that the
> taxidermist leaves the skin. --Mark Twain
>
>
>