Before 1969 I had no experience of Far Eastern cuisine.
Dad sprinkled mustard powder on his Sunday meat, but apart from being present at his delight when he whispered “Yesssss…” as the mustard tickled his taste buds, I was but a virgin, uninitiated.
When I left school for Leeds Polytechnic I discovered at “Jaqwalls” on Woodhouse Moor the beauty of curry with chapati and/or poppadom. My palate at the time wasn’t robust, and when my friends ordered vindaloo or phall I was happy with a biryani.
.But tonight my belief in the mild delicacy of biryani was shattered.
I bought a biryani mix at a Ramadan sales promotion at Tesco’s.
My wife happily cooked the dish, but then tasted it.
Her expression changed from happiness to agony.
Many of you will have been there before. The chili seeds. The scotch bonnet.
My life’s quality was reduced for the next 10 minutes from tolerable to “let me get out of here”.
If you know of a recipe for a mild Chicken Biryani please share it with me.