Curry Favour

“You just want to run around eating curry?”

I’ll be honest, it wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for. My Dad had echoed the words of my careers advisor 8 years previous and nearly a decade of excitement had been dismissed as foul in one foul swoop. And no one dismissed something as folly unless they meant it, or unless it was the 1950s. In moments like this, I often use the fact I was sent to boarding school to win my parents over. It evokes pangs of guilt, particularly with my mother. If I was a bad person, I’d constantly use this as a tool for my own advantage. As I am a terrible person, I save it and use it to maximise its effect. So, a year later I had my friends and family’s approval for what I pitched as a gastro-spiritual adventure.
If the idea was, and is, simple, then the name is the work of a simpleton. I would tour the country eating in Indian restaurants across the land, sampling the best and worst Great Britain has to offer. A Cobra-fuelled pun-off, in the tiny town of Castle Cary, Somerset, with my friend and co-creator led to it being called, of course, Land of Hope and Tandoori. Fred had chipped in with The Chronicles of Naan but I had just about toppled him, according to the Indian waiting staff who we had deemed suitable to judge. David, the manager, had played the Simon Cowell role and cruelly went against Fred in the final showdown. I was delighted. I should mention this was nine years ago. Nine years sitting on a gigglingly exciting pun without acting upon it. It was like leaving the biggest Christmas present until Boxing Day. Boxing Day 2018.
The reason for Land of Hope and Tandoori remaining a hypothetical pub anecdote so long was, quite simply, the arrogance of youth. At 18, I didn’t think the 25-year-old version of myself would have time to do silly things like this, let alone justify it to his parents. Little did he know. I thought that, by 25, I’d be shitting Booker Prizes, stockpiling British Comedy Awards and schmoozing Richard and Judy on their sofa before trying to bed their daughter at the after party. Many of these are still aspirations; I’m just hoping “running around eating curry” might land me on their sofa.
So, that’s the messy conception of Land of Hope and Tandoori. However, what most people want to know is why I am doing this. Why put your body through six weeks of trauma, sleeping on sofas? First and foremost, I love Indian food. The variety of flavours on a menu at an Indian restaurant is astounding. The thought of going for a curry makes me physically salivate and the thought of salivating in the best restaurants in the country made my saliva salivate.
The ethos of what ‘going for a curry’ means, to me, is just as important as the food. Whenever I think of going out for an Indian with my friends, I don’t think of what I’m going to order. I don’t think of Pashwari or Keema, Cobra or Kingfisher. I think of the lack of awkward silences, the fact I laugh more than I do through any dodgy sitcom. I’ve chased that feeling, like someone trying to recapture a childhood holiday, ever since. Curry has been the social backdrop to the best and worst moments of my young life. When I got a promotion, we celebrated with a curry. When two of our oldest friends got engaged, we said cheers over a garlic chilli chicken and when I was so heartbroken I could barely leave my room, my best friend consoled me at my favourite Indian restaurant. Wouldn’t it be fantastic to have the guarantee of fantastic company, good food and great friends for six weeks? To visit friends I’ve not seen in years in the best possible meeting place? The thought of bringing together groups of friends that would never have otherwise met, and making curry their social crux makes me as excited as tucking into the madras does. Could they could possibly be the best six weeks I’ve ever had? I’m in the process of finding out.
By the time you read this, I'll be coming to the end of my trip and heading home to Glasgow. What started as a conversation in my local restaurant will come to its appropriate end, its birthplace, New Shimla in Renfrew. If Castle Cary was Hamburg then the Shimla was Abbey Road. We’d concocted a ridiculous idea and even more ridiculous name in the former. However, we had made ‘grown up plans’ in the latter that meant I was actually going to do this. For that reason New Shimla will always have a special place for me. Renfrew is a town that has more takeaways than people. It must be playing its part in the low life expectancy of the Scottish man. Therefore, we weren’t expecting much when we went upstairs. A huge picture of the Lotus Temple greets you as you enter. Fred and I already had the giggles after convincing his girlfriend that it wasn’t, in fact, a national landmark but the largest restaurant in the Shimla chain based in New Delhi. The modern interior was a pleasant surprise and this was only bettered by the friendliness of the staff and the quality of the food. Even if I’ve eaten in restaurants with nicer food, bigger reputations and better locations, I’ve never enjoyed myself in a restaurant as much as I did that night. It left such an impact that whenever Fred reveals his dinner plans, he doesn’t say he’s going for a curry. He excitedly tells me he’s off ‘for a Shimla’. I recommend everyone goes ‘for a Shimla’.
As I write this, I’ve just started. I’ve already had a disaster in Edinburgh and a magnificent mango-based curry in Cinnamon, Aberdeen on Valentine’s Day. I’ve met what feels like thousands of strangers, including an Edinburgh taxi driver called Peter, who I suspect may have invented curry, such was his knowledgeable versing. I’ve also been mistaken for Pete Doherty in what was a bizarre exchange with a drunk old man. One of many, I’m sure. Although, he did prove my point that curry is the great social equaliser, if he thinks rock stars are flocking to Aberdeen for Indian cuisine.

Newcastle awaits and more importantly so do weeks of two of my favourite things to do: 1) eating curry and 2) meeting people. Time will tell if they remain in that order.

Follow Craig's culinary journey around the UK at his blog landofhopeandtandoori.com