A Tale of Two Curries
The Angel Curry Centre — Chapel Market, London (Est. 1991)
‘Stay or go? Britons in China weigh up coronavirus risks’ — The Guardian
‘Trump acquitted by Senate in impeachment trial’ — BBC News
‘CAMERON COP LEFT GUN IN LOO’ — The Sun
So read the headlines from Wednesday 5th February 2020 when, on a cold and misty pre-pandemic evening, we headed to North London for the next instalment of #T2C: two blokes, four bottles of beer, and one curry centre.
This part of town is a safe bet for decent Indian food. Drummond Street’s famous Bengali eateries; Dishoom in King’s Cross (arguably the pick of the bunch?); and Islington’s Zaffrani and Masala Zone — these are all solid, well-reviewed joints. But can they do it on a cold, rainy night in Stoke? That is to say, they’re not T2C material. We’re in the business of the bog-standard. The simple. The honest. The path less trodden. The je ne sais quoi of the classic, family-owned, quite frankly timeless Indian restaurant that has become our obsession over the past few years.
The Angel Curry Centre is just that. Before entering, we’re encouraged by oversized capital letters on the door to “BRING YOUR OWN ALCOHOL & DINE HERE WITH NO EXTRA COST”. The first sign of a common code that connects all curry houses and instils an instant sense of ease and comfort.
We were one of only two tables filled, and though we expected a smaller crowd on a school night, this was a more intimate affair than anticipated. Nay bother. As anyone who’s ever been to one of Aadit’s birthday parties knows, vibes don’t necessarily come from numbers. Across the room sat a couple who were on an odyssey of their own, ordering an impressive amount of food and more than making up for the lack of covers with sustained levels of chat at decent decibels.
This was the first time that the two of us were able to enjoy a curry together, without company, since we began this blog. And boy, did it feel good. We cracked open a frosty and focused on the details. Let’s start with the name.
It’s quite a unique choice: what exactly is the proprietor claiming? Have they gone with something that is intentionally bombastic, positioning the restaurant as the hub of all things “Curry” in Angel? Another reading of this part of the name lends itself to the more mundane; think conference centres, community centres…venues that are predictably and, at times, reassuringly nondescript. Mills recently came across a quite brilliant Twitter thread about the British village hall. If curry houses are as essential to the fabric of towns and hamlets as community centres, and as uniform in nature as village halls, then the concept of a curry centre is really quite sensible.
If the restaurant is all too ostensibly named after Angel, then it is by extension named after The Angel Inn: the original establishment that gave its name to this hallowed area of land between Clerkenwell and Islington. How fitting then, that this inn of sorts is named with similar panache and purpose.
Our food arrived in a dizzying flurry. Shanks, for once, has ordered well and appears to be steadily acquiring the rare but profoundly important skill in picking out what’s what from a c-house menu. Stay away from daals and chaats; gravy-less dishes only if the waiter recommends; additional mango chutney is smart. You can’t go far wrong if you align yourself with the icons of a curry house menu: Madras, Tikka Masala, Korma, Vindaloo. Rogan Josh and Jalfrezi, maybe. Bhuna, yep. But stray too far, as Shankar learnt in Trowbridge, and you’ll likely be punished for trying to be a clever-clogs.
“Design is the fundamental soul of a human-made creation” — Steve Jobs
As we’re eating we discuss how, food aside, there are a few features* that both separate curry house dining from other averagely-priced establishments in the surrounding area (think Rosa’s Thai, Wahaca, Franco Manca), and also create a homogenous, familiar feel each time you step in:
1) The attentive, almost fussy, quality of service. There is a pushiness that survives from a bygone time of high demand.
2) The table cloths. Sounds minor — but white table cloths, which have otherwise either gone out of fashion or become the reserve of high-end Michelin-starred restaurants, have become a symbol of the curry house.
3) Decor: 80s-style, often maroon in mood. There are almost always posters or photographs of Indian monuments such as the Taj Mahal or a map of India. Imagery of spices are common, too.
Akin to the mystery of how a certain type of gravy and curry sauce is unique to English fish and chip shops, yet somehow uniformly so, the fact that you could walk into a curry house in Skegness and mistake it for your local in Staines is quite remarkable. The guidance in this interior design guide for Indian restaurants is surreal… “Indian restaurants should have a certain set of elements included in the interior design to ensure the authentic feel…”(!)
Somewhere along the road to establishing itself as a £5 billion industry, the entire dining experience that is associated with the consumption of a curry has become somewhat fetishised.
This cooperative approach to interior design might be explained by initial successes in the 1970s, as Bangladeshi restaurateurs adapted their menus, in a shift away from the original target market of South Asian factory workers, for a working-class, white clientele increasingly fond of heavily spiced food. The evolution of these restaurants is the collective story of enterprising immigrants coming up with a formula that works. “Going for a curry” became, eventually, the thing to do in the 90s, part of a typical night out routine, and there were certain expectations attached to this (the same can be said for the food: unfamiliar, but not too unfamiliar — but that’s for another article). Whilst you can get a curry anywhere nowadays — at Tesco, down at your local ‘Spoons, in the school canteen — nothing can replicate the “authentic” experience of “going for a curry”. Somewhere along the road to establishing itself as a £5 billion industry, the entire dining experience that is associated with the consumption of a curry has become somewhat fetishised. Is it a problem? Maybe not, but what we’re learning on this journey is that — if you’re willing and able to look past the white table cloths and dodgy 80s decor — the food and the people that are the pillars of the restaurants we’ve visited have rich and interesting stories to share.
Before we step out into the bleak winter’s eve, in blissful ignorance of the fact this would be the last time we would dine together for a while, we look on in amazement as the couple opposite enter into a long, warm embrace with each member of staff. Regulars? Drunks? Whatever — they, like us, clearly felt welcome at The Angel Curry Centre. They were also clearly willing to look beyond the carefully constructed façade of this particular curry centre, and see the fun and beauty that lies within.
Bitesize: The Angel Curry Centre
Highlight: The banter that was exchanged between the endless stream of takeaway customers and the staff.
Lowlight: The devilish brain fog the next day from what seemed like a harmless four-pinter.
Quote of the night: “You’re going to have a great time in India, Danny. I’ve just got a really good feeling about this year…”
Best line from the menu: The Angel Curry Centre: fully air-conditioned restaurant.
Rating: Mills 7/10; Shankar 6.75/10
*A question to our readers (responses in the comments section, please):
What does the British curry house mean to you? What’s quintessential to the curry house experience? List three things!
