it ain’t half hot, mum
Earlier, in commenting upon the decline of our nation’s sticky-floored nightclubs of yore, I mentioned the once similarly ubiquitous local curry-house was also suffering a similar death by a thousand cuts. Several of you voiced your concerns, and in such a vociferous manner that had you done so over our high-street and free-houses both would be thriving and jam-packed! As a staunch ally since my first gleeful forays into Indian food during my Sheffield student days when the town danced to the sound of Heaven 17, ABC and the Human League, onion bhajis were 10p, naans took two to carry (no, really) and a ‘suicide’ phaal came free if you could only finish it, I too am mortified.
From humble beginnings, the Indian restaurant business in this country started in a highly eclectic manner, growing sporadically until its eventual colonisation when the ever-lovely, yet completely ‘home-grown’ chicken tikka masala was finally anointed as the nation’s favourite dish. Initially set-up by Bangladeshi sailors who’d jumped ship, ‘curry cafes’ began to proliferate during the late 30s and 40s in the major ports of Liverpool, Cardiff, Newcastle and London. Cottoning-onto the fact that other restaurants closed early and assiduously avoided pub clientele, curry-houses recognised the potential of late dining and our love-affair with the ‘post-pub-ruby-murray’ was born.
Named the Taj Mahal, Passage to India, Old Empire or Koh-I-Noor (so-called in honour of the world’s once largest diamond) these early eateries date to the 60s and appealed largely to ex-forces personnel and expats, who wanted to eat hot chutney sauces and be treated like ‘sahibs’ again. From the 70s, shaking-off the colonial heritage and attracting a more modern, quixotic audience, you were far more likely to step into the Aladdin, Sheba and Lily Tandoori. However, irrespective of the name over the door, it’s now a fact that as many as three ‘Indians’ are closing their doors every week in Britain and it is yet another social mainstay we are in danger of losing. Yawar Khan, head of Asian Catering Foundation, goes even further, predicting the demise of more than half the current number of Indians over the next decade.
Notwithstanding London’s fine-dining The Cinnamon Club, the price of our most loved cuisine has barely changed in a generation but costs are now rising fast. The current weakness of the pound has more than doubled the price of imported spices, flour and rice, and staffing has grown to be a major problem. In 2016, a law was passed prohibiting Bangladeshi chefs from coming here unless they could prove earnings in excess of £35,000/year, after living expenses. In effect a ban, pure and simple and one that caused lifetime peer, Lord Bilimoria, to comment “You are damaging an industry that provides the food your country loves.” Not to mention one that generates £4bn and employs over 100,000. OK, he also owns Cobra beer but you get the idea.
In the run-up to the Brexit referendum, the then employment minister Priti Patel advised British Asians to vote Leave in order to ‘save our curry-houses and join the rest of the world’. Next time you walk down your high street check-out the Weatherspoon’s, the carb-heavy Domino’s and even the ever-shady Istanbul kebab house and compare this busyness to the unoccupied tables at the independent, family-owned Standard Tandoori. As with many things in life, it’s a case of ‘use it or lose it’ and I, for one, would miss the thrill of sizzling tikka smoke pricking at my nostrils and air heavy with cumin, cardamom and coriander tickling the senses.
