Gram's Malaysian Beef Curry

~Awakening~ I grew up in a time considered by some to be the culinary dark ages. Betty Crocker reigned supreme and Campbell’s soup lined the shelves of America’s pantries. Casseroles played a prominent dinner- time role in my home, as in many, making use of that trusty brand. Green bean, chicken and rice, broccoli and chicken, tuna noodle. My gratitude for the sanctity of dinnertime at our house runs deep, but I have to admit, dinner was a bit short on flavor, even for my young taste buds. My parents shook their heads in wonder as I dribbled a bit of Heinz apple cider vinegar over just about everything but my breakfast cereal. This was my early attempt at kicking the flavor up. Later would come Tabasco, and A1. Anything with a little zing, moving my meal beyond the one dimensional creamy casserole. There was no local outlet for what my taste buds craved-no Chipotle, no ethnic dives. Just the vinegar cruet. That is until my Grandma came back from two years in the Peace Corps in Malaysia. Most grandmas bake cookies and banana bread. My Grandma made Malaysian beef curry. You knew you were in for a treat before you even opened the door. The tantalizing smell of spices somehow wafted around door frames and leaked through window panes to hit you on the front porch. She made it every time I came to stay on her farm, and for every family gathering, except Thanksgiving. She used curry powder that traveled home with her from this far-away exotic land, and made her own Garam Masala to sprinkle on top as the final flourish. Here in Wakeman Ohio, the corn belt of the Midwest, she found a coconut, wrenched it open with a screwdriver, grated the milky white flesh, and pressed her own coconut milk. She used just a bit to take the edge off the spiciness and lend a subtle richness. To say I took to the dish is an understatement. I was downright greedy about the stuff and secretly relished when she made it just for my visit, and not when the whole family visited. Other family members would balance their plates with the variety of garden fresh foods Grams always provided: pickled beets, corn relish and cucumbers. I wasn’t interested in taking up any unnecessary room on my plate. Just curry and cardamom scented rice for me. One little spoonful of corn relish was acceptable, since that whole vinegary thing worked really well with curry too. Curry benefits from a few hours to mellow and marry the flavors-what torture! Whether it was resting or was leftover, I simply could not resist it, and would snitch a bite here and there while Grams napped unawares or even just went to the mailbox. Luckily, my Grandma taught me to make curry. She showed me how to render the fat from the meat-why add oil to the pan, and waste the beef fat, when you already have the fat you need? I learned how to exercise restraint in adding the spices, tomatoes and coconut milk as each element blends together for a surprisingly subtle harmony. I learned about the importance of fresh spices, how the meat makes its own gravy, and the rarity and luxury of meat in many cultures. Life lessons blended with cooking tips in our kitchen sessions. Something happened to me from that early exposure to Gram’s curry. It was an awakening to the exotic, the ethnic, the foreign; to the people, flavors and stories of places outside my own. Each time Grams made beef curry for me it was a reminder of a whole other world of flavors and way of cooking. A world I was eager to explore-through travel, eating and cooking. Eventually, I did, and I am grateful for the many experiences I’ve had and the endless possibilities for discovery that still await me. Of course it was much more than the curry that ignited this interest. As with any cooking, the meaning comes from the cook. The dish is an extension of the cook in some ways, making comfort food so personal and nurturing. The fact that Grams made beef curry and not cookies for her granddaughter is symbolic of how she lived. During the depression she was adamant that she should have the opportunity to attend college, as some of her siblings had. Eventually her father found a way to trade the pigs he raised for tuition for her education. It was during those years that she found her way on a ship destined for Argentina-an unusual journey for a single woman. In her 60’s she set off for the Peace Corps in Malaysia, learning a new language and teaching in remote jungle regions of Borneo. Again at 74 she set off for the Peace Corps, this time learning Spanish and living in the Andes mountain region of Ecuador. She was a faithful, involved member of her Congregationalist church, but a spiritual member of all of humanity. Mornings at the farm began at dawn with meditation and sun salutations. Grams studied Buddhism and other religions she learned about in her travels, and carried their messages with her in the life she led. Curry is a taste memory of all she represented to me and what I learned from her. When my own home is filled with the aroma I am reminded of the powerful legacy of a life well lived, and her spirit is with me, right there in my own kitchen.