A Visit to Brick Lane Curry House: Vindaloo, How Are You?

Yesterday after work, my good friend T-Pain (not THAT T-Pain) and I headed down to 6th street to eat at Brick Lane Curry House. The mission? To consume a fiery curry known as Vindaloo to see if I can handle it and appease a curiosity I’ve had for years.

‘Allo

When I stepped inside, I noticed a lot of “Underground” and “Mind the Gap” signage, which hail from across the pond in London’s subway system. A little digging let me know that Brick Lane is a street in East End London that’s home to a large Bengali immigrant population and hence, curry houses.

 

The real Brick Lane in London

Now you know, due to British colonization of India back in the day and trade routes, the Brits developed a taste for spices and curry. I would too after eating bangers and mash all the time. But as with any country that takes on another culture’s food, they never leave it alone. They always have to morph it in some fashion. See what Japan did with mayonnaise (barf) and salisbury steak.

The Brits took curry, which is already spicy, and decided to go insane with it. Curry houses in England put quite a bit more heat in their dishes than what you would find in the US or even India to some degree. Now I like spicy food. At least now I do. Prior to meeting the Mrs. I rarely ate anything spicy and when I did, I’d cry like a little girl and run for a snow cone post-consumption. But yesterday, I took my “Hello, I eat spicy food” to a whole other level.

Fiery Vindaloo

I heard about Brick Lane Curry House a couple years ago when Food Network had a show called “The Secret Life Of…” The host went to Brick Lane to try their stupid-hot curry known as Phaal. Since then, I believe Adam from “Man Versus Food” had this dish as well, but I don’t know if he won. For this curry, you have to declare a verbal waiver. If you complete the entire dish, you get a certificate and get your name placed in the P’hall of Fame. Get it?

Anyway, I’m not a fan of intestinal distress or spitting fire (think about it) so I did not opt for the Phaal. However, I did go for the next step down and that was the Vindaloo curry, which I paired with chicken. 

Another quick history note: Vindaloo actually made its way to India via the Portuguese  (Vindalho). The Goan people modified the dish to their own tastes by adding a truckfull of spice and ta-da, super spicy Vindaloo was born.

Now you know you’re in for a treat when the curry comes out blood red. I took a pic from my cell but the quality is really poor.

Mmmm lava

The First Bite

At first, I was like, “Aw yeah, I can handle this. Vindaloo all day every day!” A few bites later, the scotch bonnet and habanero seeds bursting in my mouth, coating my tongue in viciously-scalding oil, and I was singing a different tune. Picture millions of small Indian men clad in red jumpsuits like Britney Spear’s Oops! I did it again video, stabbing my mouth with pitchforks made of the sun and you’ll get an idea of what kind of heat I’m talking about.

Perhaps that’s an exaggeration but the point it, this shit was hot as hell. But I soldiered on and completed the dish – but as you can see from above, I left a lot of the sauce behind. That stuff was SERIOUS.

For my efforts, I rewarded myself with a big bottle of Kingfisher beer, which is an Indian beer, although my bottle was made in upstate New York and any badinage between T-Pain and I was put on hold until I could talk again.

Tastes like quenching

Besides the curry, T-Pain and I also got some potato samosas and garlic naan. Fantastic. The naan was thinner than most I’ve tried, with a thoroughly crispy bottom like thin-crust pizza, but soft and bubbly on the top. T-Pain had the Tikka Masala, which he said was spicier than most places. 

I will never order Vindaloo again, because while spicy as hell, any and all flavor was diminished as my taste buds were burned off. It was one of those curiosities I always saw on Indian menus that I had to satisfy. Now that I have, and at a place well known for their insane spices, I feel safe in knowing that I’ve done the dish proud and can move on to less devastating meals.

Until I see you again, Brick Lane, keep a Kingfisher cold for me.