Hogget Recipes, Lamb Recipes, Mutton Recipes

North Indian Mutton Curry with Potatoes

Birds eye view of curry in dark pan, topped with coriander, silver spoon in curry resting on edge of pan. Pan on wooden table with charred naan breads to the left.

A deliciously complex curry, smoky with black cardamom, fragrant with cinnamon and ginger and fiery with green chilli. Absorbing all these flavours, the potatoes are arguably the star of the show here.

Living in Yorkshire, we are blessed with delicious and varied regional Indian cuisine, of which my favourite is the bold, rustic flavours of the mountainous regions of north India. One of the key details I have realised, from conversations with chefs and home cooks, is the importance of cooking out the spices at each stage – a good indication this has been achieved is when the oil separates. Another is that coriander, a seemingly fragile herb, is often added for a duration of the cooking period, not necessarily at the end of cooking, although often both. The earlier addition bringing out a different, less delicate and more strident flavour. Equally delicious with mutton, lamb or hogget.

Serves: 4

Cook time: 2 hours 30 minutes

Ingredients

For the potatoes

For the masala

Method

  1. Begin with the potatoes. In a good, non-stick or heavy pan with a moderately high sides and a lid, heat the ghee or oil over a medium heat, add the cumin seeds and bay leaves, sizzle for 30 seconds or so, before adding the potatoes.
  2. Turn the heat down a touch and fry, turning frequently, for 10 minutes or until evenly coloured golden brown. Remove the potatoes from the pan, leaving as much oil in the pan as possible, and drain on kitchen paper.
  3. Return the pan to a medium heat. Add the onions, turn over in the oil, then place a lid on the pan – after 2 minutes, lift the lid and stir the onions. Return the lid and repeat this process 3-4 times until the onions are a shade darker than golden brown – this is the basis of a deep flavour and rich sauce.
  4. Whilst the onions are frying, make the marsala paste – take the ginger, garlic and roughly chopped chilli, and pound in a pestle and mortar with a good pinch of salt to a coarse purée. This can also be done in a small blender, a splash of water may be necessary.
  5. Add the black and green cardamom pods, the cinnamon, cloves and mace and cook for 1 minute.
  6. Introduce the marsala paste to the onions and stir until fragrant – 1–2 minutes.
  7. Add the ground cumin, coriander, Kashmiri chilli powder and turmeric, along with 2 tbsp of water, and continue to cook for 2–3 minutes or until fragrant – the water will evaporate quickly but prevent the spices from catching on the bottom of the pan too much – they will catch a little, but this is fine.
  8. Add the mutton – the meat will release some moisture initially, continue past this point until the oil has visually separated – this process will take around 10 minutes; turn the meat in the pan regularly.
  9. Introduce the tomatoes – cook again until the oil has separated, this will take a further 5–10 minutes.
  10. Now add the lamb stock, chicken stock or water, season with 1 tsp of sea salt and add the whole green chilli, reduce the heat and cover. Cook for 90 minutes, stirring now and again. The meat should be tender to the touch – test, and if necessary, continue to cook for another 15 minutes. If becoming dry add a splash of boiling water.
  11. Stir the potatoes into the curry.
  12. 10 minutes after adding the potatoes, add two thirds of the fresh coriander, continue to cook for another 10 minutes – at this stage, judge the sauce – if looking ideal and thickened, return the lid to the pan. If looking a touch too liquid, continue to cook without the lid.
  13. Test the sauce for seasoning – add a pinch of salt If necessary. Allow the curry to sit, lid on for at least 20 minutes – made a day ahead of time would be ideal.
  14. Garnish with the remaining fresh coriander. Serve alongside good naan bread or chapatis, or alternatively simply steamed basmati rice.

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Instagram

  • We have all seen the videos. A chicken arrives. Five neat strokes of a knife. It falls apart as if by magic. That comes from thirty years at the block. Most of us do not have that.

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A calm, sensible way to take a good chicken and break it down at home. Nothing flashy. Just understanding the joints, working with the bone, and giving each part the respect it deserves. When you do that, you open up a week (almost) of meals. Breasts cooked one way. Legs another. A carcass that becomes stock rather than waste. More on that to follow.

The only things you truly need are a great chicken and a proper knife. Ours is a beautiful honsuki knife kindly supplied by @kitchenprovisions and it does the job expertly. Sharp. Balanced. Delightful.

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That is the mutton we favour and source. Darker, firmer and deeper in flavour, shaped by prolonged grazing on moorland such as this, just outside Skipton.

There was once a rhythm between wool on our backs and mutton on our tables. Perhaps that rhythm still makes sense.
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@cantonarms
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It was part of a cycle. Practical and sustaining. What changed was not the meat, but our habits.

Yet not all mutton is equal. Age alone does not create depth. Mutton reflects the life it has lived. When sheep are kept longer and allowed to graze widely on varied forage, moorland grasses and herbal leys, time and terrain build complexity into the muscle and fat.

That is the mutton we favour and source. Darker, firmer and deeper in flavour, shaped by prolonged grazing on moorland such as this, just outside Skipton.

There was once a rhythm between wool on our backs and mutton on our tables. Perhaps that rhythm still makes sense.
Mutton has earned itself an unfair reputation. For centuries it was simply the meat we ate. Lamb is, in many ways, the modern preference, made possible by refrigeration and global trade. Before that shift, it would have made little sense to slaughter an animal before it had lived fully and bred. Sheep were kept for wool and continuity, and when their working life was complete, they became mutton.

It was part of a cycle. Practical and sustaining. What changed was not the meat, but our habits.

Yet not all mutton is equal. Age alone does not create depth. Mutton reflects the life it has lived. When sheep are kept longer and allowed to graze widely on varied forage, moorland grasses and herbal leys, time and terrain build complexity into the muscle and fat.

That is the mutton we favour and source. Darker, firmer and deeper in flavour, shaped by prolonged grazing on moorland such as this, just outside Skipton.

There was once a rhythm between wool on our backs and mutton on our tables. Perhaps that rhythm still makes sense.
Mutton has earned itself an unfair reputation. For centuries it was simply the meat we ate. Lamb is, in many ways, the modern preference, made possible by refrigeration and global trade. Before that shift, it would have made little sense to slaughter an animal before it had lived fully and bred. Sheep were kept for wool and continuity, and when their working life was complete, they became mutton.

It was part of a cycle. Practical and sustaining. What changed was not the meat, but our habits.

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That is the mutton we favour and source. Darker, firmer and deeper in flavour, shaped by prolonged grazing on moorland such as this, just outside Skipton.

There was once a rhythm between wool on our backs and mutton on our tables. Perhaps that rhythm still makes sense.
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It was part of a cycle. Practical and sustaining. What changed was not the meat, but our habits.

Yet not all mutton is equal. Age alone does not create depth. Mutton reflects the life it has lived. When sheep are kept longer and allowed to graze widely on varied forage, moorland grasses and herbal leys, time and terrain build complexity into the muscle and fat.

That is the mutton we favour and source. Darker, firmer and deeper in flavour, shaped by prolonged grazing on moorland such as this, just outside Skipton.

There was once a rhythm between wool on our backs and mutton on our tables. Perhaps that rhythm still makes sense.
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These are our Pork Chops with Rosemary and Anchovy Butter. Two thick, rindless chops. Two discs of handmade compound butter. Anchovy, rosemary, lemon zest, a little shallot. Old friends. It works.
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A haggis sausage roll with coarse cut native breed pork.
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Food for a cold night.
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Two pastry wrapped tributes to Robert Burns.
Made with chef Josh Whitehead of @finer_pleasures.

A haggis sausage roll with coarse cut native breed pork.
A hot water crust pie of mutton and lamb haggis, oats, onions and spice.

Food for a cold night.
Burns Night, 25 January.

Two pastry wrapped tributes to Robert Burns.
Made with chef Josh Whitehead of @finer_pleasures.

A haggis sausage roll with coarse cut native breed pork.
A hot water crust pie of mutton and lamb haggis, oats, onions and spice.

Food for a cold night.
Burns Night, 25 January.

Two pastry wrapped tributes to Robert Burns.
Made with chef Josh Whitehead of @finer_pleasures.

A haggis sausage roll with coarse cut native breed pork.
A hot water crust pie of mutton and lamb haggis, oats, onions and spice.

Food for a cold night.
Burns Night, 25 January.

Two pastry wrapped tributes to Robert Burns.
Made with chef Josh Whitehead of @finer_pleasures.

A haggis sausage roll with coarse cut native breed pork.
A hot water crust pie of mutton and lamb haggis, oats, onions and spice.

Food for a cold night.
Burns Night, 25 January.

Two pastry wrapped tributes to Robert Burns.
Made with chef Josh Whitehead of @finer_pleasures.

A haggis sausage roll with coarse cut native breed pork.
A hot water crust pie of mutton and lamb haggis, oats, onions and spice.

Food for a cold night.
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