Curry across the borders: how the world co-opted this beloved dish
Curry is one of the most misunderstood—and most travelled—words in the culinary world. Contrary to popular opinion, it doesn’t refer to a single spice blend or a fixed set of ingredients. In fact, “curry” was never a native term to begin with. The word likely evolved from the Tamil word kari, meaning sauce or relish for rice, and was generalised by the British during colonial rule in South and Southeast Asia. From there, curry was exported, adapted, hybridised and gloriously remixed in kitchens across continents.
Today, curry can be a fiery vindaloo in Goa, a subtle green coconut stew in Bangkok or a comforting katsu atop rice in Tokyo. Every region has made curry its own, personalising it with local produce, historical baggage and the human tendency to crave something warm and saucy to pour over carbs. Take a look at how curry took root and evolved in different corners of the world.
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How curry (sort of) began in India
India didn’t invent “curry” per se—the term itself is a colonial construct—but it did give the world masalas, the complex spice blends that form the soul of countless Indian dishes. What outsiders call “curry” here could mean anything from butter chicken in the North to tamarind-laced sambar in the South. Every region boasts its own gravied creations: Rogan Josh from Kashmir, Bengali fish curry with mustard seeds or Kerala’s coconut-laden vegetable ishtew. While the British created their “curry powder” for a one-size-fits-all approach, Indian curries are hyperlocal, highly seasonal and deeply ritualistic, reflecting an ancient tradition of spiced dishes that predates colonial influence by millennia.
How Japan turned a naval favourite into a comfort staple
Japanese kare raisu, or curry rice, is a legacy of the Meiji era, introduced via the British Royal Navy. It’s thick, mild, slightly sweet and often comes as part of a no-fuss meal with rice, pickles and a pork cutlet. It’s so beloved it has its own fast-food chains—like Coco Ichibanya—and boxed versions in nearly every supermarket aisle. The Japanese made curry their comfort food by toning down the spice and dialling up the umami.
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How Thailand chooses fresh aromatics over heat
While the word “curry” is used internationally, the dishes are more accurately called gaeng, meaning stew or soup, in Thailand. Thai curries are built around fresh herb pastes, such as lemongrass, galangal and kaffir lime combined with chillies. Green curry, red curry and yellow curry all share the coconut milk base but differ in chilli type and paste ingredients. Thai curry is a balance of spice, sweetness and brightness—a dance between heat and fragrant complexity.
How Malaysia and Singapore take a multi-cultural curry route
Curry in the Malay world is a multicultural affair: Indian migrants brought spice blends, Chinese cooks added textural magic and local ingredients like belacan, or fermented shrimp paste, made it deeply regional. You’ll find dry rendang in Malay homes, fiery laksa in hawker stalls and creamy chicken curries in Indian Muslim eateries. In Singapore, curry reflects the country’s complex ethnic fabric. Here, you can enjoy Peranakan kari ayam with coconut and turmeric, Chinese-style fish head curry and more.
How Indonesia does not apologise for their curry spices
Indonesian curries are thick, earthy and usually loaded with galangal, lemongrass, candlenuts and coriander. The most iconic is rendang, a slow-cooked beef dish from West Sumatra that’s technically a dry curry. But there’s also gulai, known as wet curries, opor ayam, or chicken in coconut milk, and kari kambing, known as goat curry, each showing off how the archipelago’s islands interpreted Indian and Arab influences with their ingredients and cooking techniques.
How Sri Lanka ups the heat in its curry
Curry here means a rainbow of dishes: dry-fried meats, soupy lentils, known as parippu, and anything cooked in coconut milk and spiced with cinnamon, pandan, curry leaves and dried chilli. Sri Lankan curries are extreme, often spicier than their Indian counterparts. A standard meal might include three or more types of curry, all meant to be eaten together with rice and sambol, which is a spicy coconut relish. Despite similarities with South Indian cuisine, Sri Lankan curries are defined by bold chilli and roasted spice profiles.
How Pakistan takes minimalist approach for high-impact results
Pakistani curries often use fewer ingredients than Indian versions, but the former goes longer on flavour extraction. Think nihari, which is slow-braised beef shin, korma, which is rich with yoghurt and nuts, and karahi, which is tomato-based with green chillies and cooked in a wok-like vessel. The meat is king, the spices intense and the garnishes, such as ginger slivers, green chilli and fresh coriander, are non-negotiable. Unlike India’s heavy vegetarian regions, meat is central to most Pakistani curries.
How the Caribbean’s reinvented curry
Curry arrived in the Caribbean with Indian indentured labourers in the 19th century, but it didn’t stay the same for long. In Trinidad, Jamaica and Guyana, local cooks took Indian spice logic and layered it with island swag and sensibilities. Caribbean curries tend to be turmeric-forward, often paired with fluffy roti, coconut-rich rice and peas or stuffed inside doubles—fried flatbread sandwiches that are a street food staple in Trinidad. In Jamaica, goat curry is king, typically slow-cooked and infused with fiery Scotch bonnet peppers and thyme. Mango chutneys, green seasoning and coconut milk are common flourishes. These are curries of diaspora memory and local invention.
How curry became a United Kingdom stronghold
Britain didn’t just import curry; it transformed it. The now-iconic chicken tikka masala, a creamy, tomato-based dish with just enough spice to raise eyebrows, was likely born in a Glasgow curry house, cobbled together to suit local tastes. In London’s Brick Lane, generations of Bangladeshi restaurateurs turned curry into an institution, while Birmingham’s balti scene brought its own flair: fast-cooked curries served sizzling in thin steel woks, often delivered straight to the table. British curries tend to go big on sauce and cream, dialling down the heat in favour of cosy familiarity. They’re a product of colonial entanglements, yes, but also of craving, adaptation and second-generation chefs who knew exactly how to serve spice to a nation that once oversaw the spice trade.
How South Africa has curry capital
Durban, a city on the east coast of South Africa, has deep ties to India. Home to the largest Indian population outside of India, it became a curry capital not by accident but through a long history of resilience and adaptation. Out of this fusion came bunny chow, a no-frills but genius invention made of spicy mutton, bean or seafood curry served in a hollowed-out loaf of white bread. Locals enjoy it with their hands. What began as a practical lunch for workers is now a beloved South African street food staple. The curries themselves are distinct, often built on robust masala blends layered with fennel, cinnamon and fenugreek. It’s more earthy than floral, more heat than sweet. Durban’s curry isn’t just a transplant from the subcontinent; it’s a product of reinvention in postcolonial South Africa.
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