How to cook perfect Goan fish curry

Never one to buck a cliche, I spent a year after school travelling around India, patting every temple elephant I could find and eating samosas by the bucketful. Initially, I admit, my youthful palate was a little disappointed by the mysterious lack of Kashmiri chicken with lychees, or garlic mushrooms, but it didn't take me long to buy wholeheartedly into the idea of a thali (perfect for the indecisive diner), a fluffy idli rice cake for breakfast, or even a brain pakora (OK, maybe I wimped out of that last one).

The biggest revelation came in Goa. Not after a trance party on the beach, but courtesy of the many restaurants, little more than a grill and a tray of unfamiliar sea beasts, which would turn out the most glorious, coconut rich, hot and sour fish curries every single evening. I became quite addicted. As we travelled further south, I realised that Goa doesn't have a monopoly on great fish curries, but they do remain some of my favourites.

That taste for sour and spicy food so beloved of the region's most famous dish, vindaloo – which, as Madhur Jaffrey explains, began life as a Portuguese pork stew, seasoned with garlic (alhos) and vinegar (vinho) – is also characteristic of their seafood. Although I love gingery, coconutty Keralan crab, or Bengali fish with yoghurt, for me, the Goan version packs the most flavour punch. Of the fish curries I've tried so far, that is ...

The fish

Initially, I think the variety of fish will be an important consideration. Gordon Ramsay specifies a "firm-fleshed" species, such as "kingfish, monkfish, halibut or tuna" for the Goan fish curry in his Great Escape book, and Rick Stein suggests conger eel or huss in Fruits of the Sea. Camellia Panjabi explains in 50 Great Curries of India that pomfret, a flat fish, is the Indian choice (a fact corroborated by Michelle Peters-Jones, the Mangalorean-born former MasterChef quarter-finalist, who very kindly sends me her mum's recipe adapted from that of Goan food writer Maria Teresa Menezes). Vivek Singh opts for turbot in the Cinnamon Club Seafood Cookbook, while the ever-wise Madhur Jaffrey exhorts readers of her Ultimate Curry Bible to "experiment with your local fish. It is better to get very fresh fish, whatever it be, than to hunt all day for a specific fish preferred in a recipe".

Gordon's right; although the fish is generally added right at the end of the cooking process, it's best to use something quite robust so it doesn't fall apart in the pan. The delicate flavour of monkfish, halibut or turbot seems wasted here, tuna and mackerel are too assertive, and the Marine Conservation Society urges consumers to avoid both conger eel and huss on the grounds of sustainability (to be fair to Rick, back in 1997, when this particular book was published, such issues weren't really on the radar).

After a bit of experimentation, I plump for pollock, but anything firm, white and with solid gold Fearnley-Whittingstall credentials should do. Madhur waxes lyrical about Goan prawn curry in Flavours of India, giving me an excuse to pop a few of those in too, but as long as it's seafood, feel free to choose whatever looks good on the day.

Although most recipes leave the fish well alone, Camellia marinates hers in lime juice, turmeric and salt before adding it to the curry, and Vivek Singh coats his turbot in black onion seeds, curry leaves, turmeric and salt before frying it separately. The lime juice seems to smother the flavour of the fish and Vivek's onion seeds, while they look pretty in his recipe, will get lost in a curry. I decide to keep the fish simple, and concentrate on the flavour of the sauce instead – the most important part of any curry.

The spice is right

Most critical to the character of the final dish is the masala, the spice paste which forms the base of the sauce. There are some ingredients common to all the recipes I try – garlic, turmeric, red chillies, coriander seeds – and some more esoteric additions. Vivek Singh includes star anise for example, a spice more typical of points further east but which, according to Madhur Jaffrey, is a legacy of Goa's trading past, and I love the slightly mentholated character it give his sauce. He also uses cloves, which add a deep sweetness to the dish.

Rick Stein, Madhur and Michelle include ginger as well as garlic in their pastes, which adds another layer of heat on top of the relatively mild Kashmiri chillies specified by most recipes; Madhur uses cayenne pepper and paprika instead. I initially assume this is because of the difficulties of obtaining these when her book was first published, but then notice she also calls for kokum, the dried skin of a fruit belonging to the mangosteen family, which is fairly hard to come by even today. Whatever the reason, the Kashmiri chillies provide both gentle heat and vivid colour in one handy package.

In her book The Indian Kitchen, Monisha Bharadwaj mentions a spice called tirphal, grown "deep in the rain forests of western India" and often used in Goan fish curry, but none of the Indian grocers I call claim to have any knowledge of it. Perhaps they're simply from the wrong place: it's so regionally specific that Monisha admits that, despite "searching carefully, I have been unable to find an English name for it". I eventually discover, too late, that it's a variety of Sichuan pepper: I'd be interested to know if anyone includes it in their recipe, and what they think it brings to the dish.

The sour draws nigh

The most common way of achieving the sour element of the dish is to use tamarind pulp. However, Madhur deploys kokum, which I find in an Indian supermarket in Brick Lane, and Vivek Singh white vinegar. Although I'm so fond of tamarind that I'm mildly addicted to the tamarind sweets often found on the counter of Caribbean grocers, here, I actually prefer the vinegar.

Perhaps it's because it reminds me of vindaloo, but the biting acidity of the Cinnamon Club sauce is gloriously, undeniably Goan. The kokum, meanwhile, is rather more subtle, especially once I read Madhur's footnote that it is "rarely eaten" but left on the plate or the serving dish. To balance the astringency of the vinegar, Vivek adds a little sugar – I use palm sugar, which has a wonderful honeyed flavour.

Not coconut shy

The coconuts that grow so abundantly in Goa are put to good use in various forms in the recipes I try. Camellia Panjabi adds fresh coconut (handily available ready grated and frozen: my cookery discovery of the week) to her spice paste, Maria Teresa Menezes coconut cream, and everyone else coconut milk.

I'm not particularly keen on the sauce of Camellia's curry: made with water, it's too thin for my taste, and the coconut and spice paste clings to the fish. The coconut cream, however, even watered down as in Menezes' recipe, is a bit too sweet and rich. Coconut milk, and a dash of water, seems the best option.

Method

Most of the curries are made in a fashion familiar from other recipes: frying the spice paste with onions then stirring in the liquid and cooking until the oil separates out. Both Madhur Jaffrey and Maria Teresa Menezes take a different approach, boiling the masala mix with water and onions in the latter case or coconut milk in Madhur's recipe, before adding the fish.

Although both are delicious, I think that without frying the masala you lose some of its aromatic qualities – after all, to take just one of the ingredients, garlic is far more flavourful fried than poached. I do love the tadka in Menezes' dish though: curry leaves, ginger and mustard seeds, fried in hot oil until sizzling and aromatic, then stirred into the finished dish: it really lifts the flavours. The more spice the better, as far as I'm concerned.

Other ingredients

Tomatoes and onions are a popular addition, and work well with the sour heat of the other flavours. Vivek Singh uses a mixture of fish stock and coconut milk, which I think makes the coconut flavour too subtle – I want my curry to taste of one of those glorious Goan beaches. It certainly takes me back.

Perfect Goan fish curry

Serves 4

For the masala:
1 tsp cloves
1 tbsp coriander seeds
1 tsp cumin seeds
8 dried red Kashmiri chillies
2 star anise
½ tsp turmeric
1 tbsp palm sugar
1 tsp salt
5 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed
3cm root ginger, peeled and grated
1½ tbsp white vinegar

3 tbsp vegetable oil
1 onion, finely chopped
1 large tomato, grated
400ml tin of coconut milk
2 fresh green chillies, slit lengthwise
400g firm white fish (eg pollock), cut into 2cm chunks
200g prawns (or 600g fish)
½ tsp mustard seeds
10 curry leaves
Coriander, to garnish

1. To make the masala, toast the spices in a dry pan until aromatic. Grind to a powder in a food processor or pestle and mortar, and then mix in the remaining ingredients.

2. Heat 2 tbsp oil in a large pan over a medium high heat, then add the onion. Fry until soft and lightly golden, then stir in the masala mix. Cook, stirring, for a couple of minutes, until you can really smell the spices, then stir in the tomato and cook until most of the liquid has evaporated.

3. Mix in the coconut milk and 100ml water, add the chillies and bring to the boil. Turn down the heat and simmer for about 10 minutes until the sauce has thickened slightly. Taste for seasoning. Add the seafood and cook for about 5 minutes until cooked through.

4. Meanwhile, make the tadka. Heat the oil in a frying pan on a high heat, then add the mustard seeds and curry leaves. Cook for 30 seconds, until they begin to pop, then stir into the curry. Serve with rice and coriander to garnish.

Does Goan fish curry float your boat, or do your allegiances lie in Kerala, Thailand or the West Indies? What are your favourite fish for standing up to spice – and can anyone recommend a really great squid curry?