When I woke this morning, my hand still smelled of butter chicken. Never did I think I’d develop a craving for butter chicken as comfort food. And never did I think it all started with a trip to Sydney—after an Indian food tour there, to be exact. But here I am, waking up in Darwin with my hand smelling like butter chicken, 7,361 km from its birthplace and 3,942 km from the place where I fell in love with it for the first time.
I am developing a preference for it. The butter chicken has to be both buttery and nutty—a combination of these two things is one of the good things in life. I am convinced all the foodies agree.
I am still learning to determine a good colour for a butter chicken dish. What shade of orange is ideal? As for the chicken, you might laugh about this; it is the part that I could care less about, as I have never been a big fan of chicken to begin with. So, as long as it’s cooked, I’m good. Writing this makes me wonder whether there is such a thing as butter prawn curry. If there is—or even if there isn’t—I’d like to know whether I should attempt to cook it — combining my lifetime love for seafood and a newfound love for hot buttery masala, mixing it into a perfect shade of orangey liquid.
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