British Masala

Dean Vowles discovers Curry contentment in London’s East End


Six Months, twenty-three countries, countless train journeys, more money than I care to recall, and a plane load - I’d like to think – of new friends. I contemplated what I had achieved, what I had experienced in my life since I left Australia. I’m not going to lie - I was pretty impressed. I left home a fresh faced, clean-cut, innocent, run-of-the-mill nineteen year old. Six months later, and in less than twenty-four hours, I would be returning to my homeland a travel worn, under-slept, stubble ridden twenty year old with hair resembling the household mop. Would my friends still know me? What would my parents think of my lifestyle of recent? How would I find work? These questions, and many more (Will that girl still have a killer body?), are what I should have been thinking about as my once-in-a-lifetime trip drew to its inevitable end. I should have been researching ways that I could somehow stay longer, trick the visa system, find some long forgotten wad of travellers cheques in my travel folder. Memories should have been flooding through my head, overwhelming me with feelings of anxiety and sorrow in prospect of my return home. But that wasn’t how I’d been living this trip, and I definitely wasn’t going to start acting that way now. And, to be blatantly honest, all I really wanted – all I really felt like - was a curry.


With this, and only this in mind (I am a man of simple needs after all) I sent out the mass text. “London friends unite! It is my last night in town and I want two things. Firstly, I would like a chance to say goodbye. Secondly, I could really go a curry. Meet me at Liverpool tube station at seven” And with that it was on.



From Liverpool station it is a short and pleasant stroll through the born-again ultra-trendy area of Spitalfields Markets, eventually leading to London’s aromatic Brick Lane. ‘The Lane’ - as locals seem to affectionately know it - is a lengthy pedestrian street in the East End of London, known as the city’s hub for the Bangladeshi–Indian community. Not particularly pretty and definitely not up-market, Brick Lane is routinely touted as the place to go for an authentic Indian curry in London.

For centuries the East End of London has been a haven for many immigrants working in the docks and shipping from the ports surrounding India. Their regular stopovers (or perhaps more accurately, their stayovers) paved the way for curry outlets to be opened up, catering for the new demand. Humble beginnings such as this gave birth to curry hubs all over the UK – and considering the standard of fish and chips these days, thank god they did. It is worth noting, by the way, that Britain now recognises the Chicken Tikka Masala as a national dish, with surveys finding it ‘the most popular dish in British restaurants’. Clearly somebody is doing something right.

In recent years Brick Lane has undergone a regeneration of sorts, becoming a home for vibrant art and fashion areas, however it was its reputation for curry that drew us there this night. As our hungry pack of seven strode down the lane I couldn’t help but feel we had left London behind us. Maybe it was the promising smell of Indian spices that suddenly filled our nostrils, or perhaps that signs now featured foreign languages, or – most likely - the fact that restaurant staff had taken to routinely harassing us. They say food is better when you work for it. I, a previously self-confessed mummy’s boy, wouldn’t know, but I decided it was right about time I found out. You see to get yourself a dinner in Brick Lane you have to bargain a price. Our larger group seemed to attract the attention of the touters and before long we found ourselves in hunger-fuelled arguments over bargain bargi’s and top value vindaloo’s. As we negotiated prices with one curry house, another would beckon us over with the promise of free wine, or Brick Lanes best curry or simply – and my personal favourite – ‘good food, good time, and good ladies’.


After 20 minutes of mayhem, and cleverly (if I may say so myself) playing two neighbouring touters against each other, we found ourselves being ushered into a surprisingly modern and upmarket looking restaurant by the name of ‘Aladin’s’. The promise of 3 bottles of free wine for the ladies and a round of free beer for the gentlemen was simply too good to pass up, and so the decision was made (an assurance of unlimited pappadums might also have swayed us). The restaurant was fabulously lined with gold-trimmed Sari’s hanging from the ceiling, creating an eclectic mix of purples, reds and bronze-tinged gold’s. Old Indian art and rusted relics added to the visual mix, rivalled only by the fragrant combination of cardamom, turmeric and cumin wafting from the kitchen. Why couldn’t my Masterfoods Garam Masala mix have this effect at home? Once seated, our wine and beer arrived almost instantly, along with what was to be my new favourite friend: Aladdin’s menu. It may have been the extensive list of naan breads, or the idea that I just worked for a free beer, but as I sat there taking everything in, it was clear we had made a good choice.

Catching up with my London friends was undeniably a good idea, and before long we had negated our free round of drinks by ordering two more. Our meals may have taken longer than one would usually hope, but in an environment like Aladdin’s it’s hard to question anything; after all, I’m just a shaggy little Australian and Aladdin’s is (undoubtedly) the real deal. Once our curries did arrive, it was impossible to ignore the fact. As the waiter departed from my side, I looked down to find the biggest Pasanda curry I have ever seen. Slightly to its left lay - I was sure - the largest Peshwari naan ever to be in existence. I looked around the table only to see the scene replicated in front of every one of my crew. Our once empty table was now filled with oversized portions of everything from the aromatic Lamb Briyani to the old favourite, Chicken Korma. It all looked incredible, and that opinion was soon extended to the taste, as I dipped my naan – overflowing with coconut, nuts and dried fruit – into the creamy and flavoursome curry. I began to wonder why had I been persevering with English pubs when something like this was on offer right around the corner. Before long (sooner than the dish size would suggest) the last of my naan was in hand, desperately trying to salvage some curry residue left on the side of the bowl.


We left Aladin’s slightly heavier than we entered, and undoubtedly more satisfied. One would almost assume we all looked like Elephants, for as we wandered back down the lane all the touters magically left us be. It was as if they could sense the sheer satisfaction emanating from our curry-tinged breathes. I looked around to see people exiting from the numerous establishments as we walked by - all looking as equally happy and pleased. What a glorious place Brick Lane is, I thought. Bringing people together and giving them contentment - all through the power of curry! And after our time at Aladin’s I totally understood it. After all, isn’t that what had just happened with me?

At Liverpool station I said my last goodbyes to my friends and headed back to my hotel. As I went to bed I couldn’t help but let the thoughts creep into my head: Six months, twenty-three countries, numerous train journeys, too much money, a heap of new friends, and one damn fine curry.