Composing a Symphony - king crab curry

Beethoven's Ninth versus Nirvana Unplugged

I used to make a variation on lasagna bolognese that tended to go over well at parties and pot luck gatherings. In my lasagna I substituted a layer of spinach leaves for every other layer of noodles, substituted hot Italian sausage for ground beef, and incorporated five cheeses: mozzarella, provolone, ricotta, cottage cheese curd, and reggiano parmigiano. My lasagna sauce was a thick concoction of tomato sauce, tomatoes, mushrooms, roasted red bell peppers, onions, garlic, oregano, and basil. In several years, I only received two complaints about the dish. One was from an acquaintance who didn't like mushrooms. The other came from an aunt of mine who tried a few bites and then pushed it away.

"I'm sorry," she explained, "it just contains too much stuff. It's too many flavors for me. My taste buds don't know what to concentrate on."

I shrugged it off: de gustibus. Still, the criticism has stayed with me all these years, and I occasionally find myself thinking much the same thing about overly complicated dishes. I've seen many fine dishes ruined by the addition of one too many stout ingredients. I stopped visiting one of the local Italian restaurants because they insist on putting garlic in everything but the drinks and desserts. Their bread sticks, salad dressings, red sauces, white sauces, and pestos all contain raw or sautéed garlic. Garlic is good where garlic is good, but not every savory dish needs garlic or even benefits from its presence. (Of course, it doesn't help that the restaurant in question uses too much garlic in every dish. After a few bites of any entrée, you can't even taste the parmigiano.) I've seen similar effects in various restaurants from unnecessary addition of balsamic vinegar, chilis, corn, sun dried tomatoes, ginger, citrus, and even cheese. After experiencing this problem enough, it's easy to conclude that a dish can have (to crib from Amadeus) too many notes.

How then do we explain curries? A good curry can include as few as a half dozen or as many as two dozen strong aromatics, and most curry cooks employ cooking methods that enhance the strength of some of the aromatics. Balance of flavor elements is the key. Achieving that balance in a curry—or any complex recipe, for that matter—just takes a bit more thought. The problem in unbalanced dishes isn't too many notes—it's too many clinkers.

For any dish to be a success, every flavor in the dish has to balance with every other. One strong element can overbalance all the rest. Even the best desserts contain some tart or spicy or even bitter contrasts to their essential sweetness. Generally, I want my meals to present a spectrum of flavors and textures. That means sweet elements have to be matched with spicy or bitter offsets, tartness has to play against salt, and buttery tenderness needs a contrasting crunch. You can enhance the sweetness of some items with other sweet items, but then you have to be doubly certain that the dish (or an accompaniment) provides something to achieve a balance. Otherwise, you get a cloying sense of sweetness. If I serve lobster with a peach gastric, for example, I would likely balance the sweetness by plating the lobster upon or against a bit of salad that included endive, cucumber, or celery (perhaps all three) for contrast.

Where this methodology usually goes awry is in adding one strong element too many or just too damned much of one strong element.

Consider, for a moment, two quite different but generally well-received musical presentations: Ludwig van Beethoven's Ninth Symphony as conducted by Herbert von Karajan and Nirvana's MTV Unplugged presentation of "Come As You Are." The former production required the cooperative interaction of the one-hundred plus members of the Berliner Philharmoniker, the Vienna Singverein Chorus, four other singers, and von Karajan. The latter required a three guys playing two guitars and a trap set. Yes, the differences in these two works are vast, but in some ways the similarities. Both of these works are complex, moving, and satisfying pieces of music thanks to the artful employment of harmony, melody, rhythm, and dissonance in balance. Each presentation contains strong elements capable of overwhelming the music if they're not properly controlled. Each work elicits a strong, positive emotional response from its aficionados. The largest difference in these works is a matter of order of magnitude. What Nirvana accomplishes by balancing three instruments and a single voice, von Karajan pulls off with twenty times as many elements.

A good curry works a lot like a well-orchestrated, well-conducted symphony. Too much of any one aromatic can overwhelm the dish. I've had bad curries. Sometimes the problem is just timing: overcooked or undercooked elements. Overcooking is a common problem in restaurants where many curries are prepared at the beginning of a mealtime and lift to simmer for a few hours. More commonly though the problem is too much. Too much cumin or garlic or ginger or cloves makes that particular ingredient stand out. Too much powdered spice makes the concoction taste and feel dusty. Too much curry relative to the main protein component kills the flavor of that component. If the dish is supposed to be curried shrimp, you should be able to taste shrimp.

I've experimented with a number of pre-mixed curry powders over the years. The biggest problem with them is that no single combination of aromatics can match with every possible protein. You can't expect a curry powder that matches well with shrimp and coconut milk to work with chicken. In composing my own curries, I have more success dividing my aromatics into two batches: a dry spice mix (masala) and a curry paste that combines dry and moist aromatics. This allows me greater control of the flavors of the ingredients. The ingredients in the masala are enhanced by a little extra cooking. The ingredients in the curry paste will be ruined if they cook too long. The crab curry I've listed here is one that I originally concocted for use with lump blue crab meat, but I found that—although the paste worked just fine with lump crab—the dry masala overwhelmed the crab. I decided that I needed a sweeter crab: stone crab, king crab, or snow crab.

King crab curry

The Girltzik (my step-daughter) returned from a summer visit with her father on Sunday night (July 29th). I served this dish over basmati rice. The crab proved itself perfectly capable of sharing the stage with my apple-pie spice masala. Everyone ate too much.

dramatis personae

one tablespoon peanut oil
one Fuji apple, cored and diced (skin on)
one quarter of a sweet onion
(optional) one quarter cup chopped snow peas
one pound of king crab meat
one half can of coconut milk

for the apple-pie spice masala:
one quarter teaspoon cinnamon
one quarter teaspoon ground cloves
one half teaspoon ground allspice
one half teaspoon ground cardamom

for the paste:
three tablespoons chopped ginger root
two tablespoons chopped garlic
one teaspoon ground coriander seed
one teaspoon ground turmeric
one quarter teaspoon cayenne

quality of ingredients

I would have liked to include a handful of snow peas in this curry, but the snow peas in my local supermarket were horrid: yellowish, hard as wood, and blighted with little brown speckles. Snow peas, if you plan to use them, should be bright green and pliable but not so pliable that they won't snap if bent too far.

The apple should be smooth, fresh, and crisp. This is usually not a problem with Fujis. I wouldn't recommend the double-sized Fuji apples sometimes sold as Hugey Fujis. They're inconsistent, and some of them are a bit light on flavor. If you cut into the apple and see any brownish flesh, throw it out. If, on the other hand, you see any translucent, lemon yellow, crystallized-looking portions, consider yourself lucky. The crystallized Fujis are sweeter, crunchier, and all around better tasting. As far as I know, there is no way to spot the crystallized apples until you cut them open.

The king crab should be as described in Keeping Cool - the crab course.

The ginger root, once peeled, should be bright yellow, juicy, and have a sharp, clean, lemony aroma.

The garlic should be fresh but not beginning to sprout. Sprouting garlic is bitter. If your garlic is sprouting and have no alternatives available, cut the cloves open and remove and discard the green center portions .

preparation notes

Mix the masala in a small bowl or ramekin and set it aside.

Place the paste ingredients in a food processor and pulse it until you have a uniform consistency with no outstanding bits of garlic or ginger. I have a small (3 cup) food processor that's ideal for small jobs like curry pastes, pestos, and ingredients for vinaigrettes. If all you have is a large food processor, you might find it more convenient to triple the ingredients and put two thirds of it in the freezer for later use.

Heat the peanut oil in a large sauté pan over medium-high heat. Once the oil begins to shimmer, pour in the masala. Let the spices steep in the oil for about five minutes. This allows oily aromatic compounds in the spices to leach out and blend in the peanut oil. It also makes the kitchen smell terrific.

Stir in the apple pieces and toss them to thoroughly coat the apple. Continue to cook the apple, tossing occasionally, for three to five minutes. This will allow some caramelization of the apple without softening the fruit too much.

Stir in the onion (and snow peas, if you have them) and the curry paste. Thoroughly mix the ingredients in the pan and continue to cook them until the onion is translucent and beginning to soften.

Stir in the coconut milk and the king crab. Continue to cook, stirring or tossing constantly, until the coconut begins to thicken.

Serve the king crab curry over basmati or kasmati rice and with your favorite chutneys on the side.