How to make the perfect chicken massaman – recipe | Felicity Cloake's How to make the perfect …

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Felicity Cloake's massaman curry.
Felicity Cloake’s perfect chicken massaman curry. Photograph: Robert Billington/The Guardian. Food styling: Natasha Piper.

Thai cuisine’s most delicious curry is also its most complex. Thankfully, our resident perfectionist is here to help you master your massaman

Bickering pleasantly over the menu in a Thai restaurant with my family recently, I realised I was unable to explain exactly what a gaeng massaman was, beyond the fact it was probably a safe bet for those concerned about the three chillies next to the green curry (a dish I first tackled for this column back in 2010). The gap in my repertoire was explained later when I opened David Thompson’s pink bible of Thai Food and learned that “a mussaman curry is the most complex, time-consuming Thai curry to make”. The fact the esteemed Australian chef also describes it as “the most delicious” is scant comfort given I’ve just promised my editor I’ll make at least six of the things … but then I remember how incredibly tasty it is, and knuckle down to my research.

Though the first recipe dates from 1899, massaman, whose name suggests an association with the country’s Muslim minority, probably dates back to the 17th century, and reflects either Persian or Malaysian influence, or perhaps that of the Indian and Middle Eastern spice traders who travelled through southern Thailand on their way to China. It’s unusual in its use of dried spices like cumin and cinnamon, bay leaves and cloves alongside more classic Thai aromatics like lemongrass and galangal to create a richly savoury gravy that cloaks the protein and potatoes like a warm hug direct from Bangkok. Straightforward enough if you have a Thai specialist nearby, it’s still more of a weekend project than a weeknight dinner, but a very worthwhile one nonetheless.

The curry paste

The time-consuming part here is the paste, which, thanks to the additional dry spices, has a longer ingredient list than, say, a red or green curry version. The basic idea is the same, however, so once you’ve assembled everything you need, there’s not much more to it. That said, “as massaman curry paste is basically red curry paste PLUS some spices”, to quote Pailin Chongchitnant, the chef and author behind Hot Thai Kitchen, you can save yourself some time by using a ready-made red curry paste, as Meera Sodha suggests in her vegan weeknight version. (According to Chongchitnant, most commercial massaman curry pastes skimp on the pricier spices, which is why she doesn’t recommend them.)

As long as you have a stick blender or a spice grinder, it’s easy enough to make your own (and, I’d argue, considerably more satisfying, unless, like me, you’re making several different versions at once). The basic ingredients will be familiar from other curry pastes: shallots, lemongrass, garlic, galangal, chillies, pepper, coriander root and shrimp paste. To briefly run through the less widely available ones, Thai shallots, or red onions, are smaller and more pungent than the varieties used in European cooking, but if you can’t find them, look for round, rather than banana shallots. Galangal is a pale, stubby rhizome with a peppery, slightly resinous flavour, which will probably be found in the fridge in south-east Asian specialists. Ginger is often mentioned as a substitute, but though there’s no harm in adding it instead, they don’t taste much alike to me – you’re better off rehydrating dried galangal if that’s all you can get.

The chillies in question are the long red dried variety that you’ll find easily in any supermarket international aisle or Asian specialist (do not substitute chilli flakes; I can’t be held responsible for the consequences). Having done a tour of London in search of coriander root, I can tell UK readers that unless you get very lucky with a delivery (Khun Ya in Bermondsey tell me they tend to receive theirs, and sell out, on a Monday morning), you’ll need to buy it online or use the stems instead; as Kay Plunkett-Hogge explains in her book Baan, “it’s not quite the same, but it will do.” I do manage to locate the makrut lime called for in Leela Punyaratabandhu’s family recipe, which is quite the thrill – it doesn’t seem to be a common addition, but if you come across one, a few strips of rind lend a very pleasing zestiness to her dish.

To this basic mixture, the recipes I try, from Plunkett-Hogge, Anglothai chef and author John Chantarasak, Punyaratabandhu’s book Bangkok, Sodha and Thompson, all add cumin. Like Hogge, Sodha also uses cinnamon (Thompson goes for cassia), and that’s it for her simple recipe. Everyone else includes coriander seeds and cloves; peppercorns (Plunkett-Hogge, Punyaratabandhu and Chantarasak); nutmeg (Plunkett-Hogge and Thompson ); mace (Thompson and Chantarasak); and cardamom (Plunkett-Hogge, Thompson and Punyaratabandhu). White cardamom is mentioned by some, which is a new one on me, and proves wellnigh impossible to track down – “very rare”, says my local Thai shopkeeper, presumably referring to their stocking policy, as I eventually manage to buy a large bag online. When they arrive, they look more like dried chickpeas than cardamom pods, and have a mildly peppery, slightly lemony flavour. As almost all of the recipes concerned suggest substituting green cardamom, this would be my advice, though if anyone would like an almost-full bag of the white sort, I’m not convinced I’m going to get through it in this lifetime.

Massaman should be warmly spiced, rather than piquant, with a peppery heat that’s balanced by the mellow sweetness of cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves (I haven’t included mace, because it’s slightly harder to get hold of and no one could pick it out in the finished dishes, but feel free to add a couple of blades). Everyone but Sodha toasts the spices before use, and everyone except Punyaratabandhu browns the fresh aromatics, too. Though clearly not mandatory, this step does seem to give the finished dishes a richer, deeper sweetness. To this end, I’m also, like Thompson, going to include ground peanuts, though you can leave this out if catering for allergies, or indeed use Sodha’s peanut butter to make life even easier

A note: if grinding the paste by hand, then soak the chillies first, but unless you have both strength and patience, I’d strongly urge you to use a spice (/coffee) grinder for the spice mix if you have one, and an immersion blender to make the paste – if you only have a mini chopper, which requires liquid to work, then add a little of the coconut cream to grease the wheels. The paste can be made well ahead of time and refrigerated.

The curry sauce

Once you have the paste under your belt, you’ve done the hard work. Most recipes then fry it* to use as a base for the curry’s gravy, but Chantarasak adds the fried paste to the pot much later in the process, an order that makes more sense when I read David Thompson’s warning that too much coconut milk “will dilute the intense flavours of the curry” … which is indeed what happens when I add his own paste to the litre of coconut milk called for by the recipe in his book. The results are still absolutely delicious, yet regrettably less pungent and aromatic than promised by the smell of the fried paste. When I watch him preparing the same dish on YouTube, however, I discover he follows much the same method as Chantarasak, adding a little of the meat-poaching liquid to the paste, rather than watering down the paste with a whole pan of poaching liquid, which I think is the key to achieving a really full-flavoured result.

Once you’re happy with the consistency of the gravy, it’s time to adjust the flavour with that triumvirate of classic Thai seasonings: palm sugar, fish sauce and tamarind water, though pineapple juice is sometimes used instead of, or alongside the last, most notably by Thompson. My judges say this reminds them slightly of a pina colada, “but not in a bad way”. Nevertheless, I’ve left it out – but perhaps start with a dash, rather than a full cup if you’d like it. Alternatively, you might prefer the orange juice and peel (ideally a bitter Seville orange) in Punyaratabandhu’s version, which has noble precedent, as it pops up in the first recorded recipe by 19th-century chef and author Lady Plean Passakornrawong. Again add it at the end, so as not to spoil its freshness of flavour.

*The paste is either fried in oil, or, as in Thompson’s recipe, in cracked coconut cream – cream that has been fried until the oil breaks free. Much room is taken up online by people bemoaning the stabilisers in much tinned coconut milk and cream, which prevent it separating – organic brands tend to be emulsifier free, but you could use coconut, or vegetable oil instead.

The curried items

I would say meat, but Sodha’s recipe using extra-firm tofu is proof that you really don’t need it here – indeed, one of my testers complains that the slow-braised short ribs in Chantarasak’s recipe are distracting him from the deliciousness of the sauce. Tofu, a culinary blank canvas, is unlikely to have this problem. Massaman is generally made, however, with beef or chicken – as it’s a dish with Muslim origins, it’s never made with pork. Plunkett-Hogge suggests swapping in goat, for which I use diced mutton shoulder, which garners strong support from my testers; though I’ve stuck with chicken, the sweetness of the sheep meat works well with the spicing.

Massaman is also unusual in that it tends to include large chunks of meat on the bone rather than bite-size pieces; Thompson hacks up chicken legs, but it’s probably easier, especially if buying pre-packed meat, to go with the bone-in thighs Punyaratabandhu recommends, piled high in a smallish pot, so they stay nice and juicy. Thompson deep fries the meat and vegetables – which “seals and firms the chicken and vegetables, as well as enriching the curry” – while Punyaratabandhu shallow fries hers, skin-side down. In a home context, I think just browning the meat before braising is sufficient. Like Chantarasak, I’m adding cinnamon and bay leaves to the coconut milk poaching liquid to perfume it – if you’re making a beef version, you might also like to include his star anise.

Also unusual in a Thai context are the potatoes, though chef Bongkoch “Bee” Satongun of the Michelin-starred Paste Bangkok told National Geographic Traveller magazine that her mother favoured chunks of pineapple, and Chantarasak mentions daikon and sweet potato as potential alternatives. Don’t skip the whole shallots, though – as with Plunkett-Hogge’s raisins and Chantarasak’s golden sultanas, their sweetness echoes that of the curry, while roasted peanuts give the dish a finishing crunch.

To finish, Sodha tops her curry with sauteed chard and fresh red chilli, which looks attractive, and Chantarasak a drizzle of coconut cream, which is a nice idea if you happen to have some leftove but isn’t worth cracking open a fresh tin for, plus a few caramelised shallots – again, if you have a pot open, by all means sprinkle them over the top, but I think it looks perfectly delicious without any garnish whatsoever.

This can be made up until the addition of the potatoes, then reheated as required; indeed, Punyaratabandhu recommends making it a day ahead. Serve with steamed Thai rice and something fresh – Plunkett-Hogge’s snappy, zippy pounded cucumber salad proves a popular pairing with my guests.

Perfect massaman

Serves 4-6
Prep 30 min
Cook 50 min

For the paste (or use 6 tbsp red curry paste and the * ingredients)
1½ tsp cumin seeds*
2 tsp coriander seeds*
2 cloves*
4 cardamom pods*
½ nutmeg, grated*
1 cinnamon stick, roughly broken
¼ tsp white or black peppercorns
6 long dried chillies, seeded and roughly crushed (soaked in water for 20 minutes if using a pestle and mortar)
4 Thai shallots or 2 round shallots, peeled and chopped
5 plump garlic cloves, peeled and chopped
2 lemongrass stems, trimmed and purplish section only chopped (save the trimmings)
2 tbsp finely chopped galangal
2 tbsp finely chopped coriander root or stems
1 tsp Thai shrimp paste (kapi)
25g unsalted roasted peanuts*, roughly chopped

For the curry
8 Thai shallots or 4 round ones, peeled and halved or quartered
Neutral oil, to fry
6 chicken thighs, bone in
Salt
1 cinnamon stick
3 cardamom pods, lightly crushed
3 bay leaves
800ml coconut milk
4 smallish waxy potatoes, peeled and cut into halves or quarters
Salt
180ml coconut cream (brands without emulsifiers work best)
Palm sugar, to taste
Fish sauce, to taste
Tamarind water or puree, to taste
30g roasted peanuts

To make the paste, toast the dry spices in a hot wok or frying pan for a couple of minutes until aromatic, then allow to cool slightly before grinding to a powder. If using a pestle and mortar for this, a pinch of coarse salt will make this easier.

Add the chopped shallots, garlic, lemongrass and galangal (and chillies if soaked) to the pan with a splash of water and fry, stirring, until beginning to colour. Add the coriander root or stems and then use an immersion blender or wet spice grinder to puree (if you only have a food processor, add a little coconut cream or oil to help). Blend in the peanuts and whiz until smooth, then add the shrimp paste and ground spices and whiz again. Set aside, in the fridge if making in advance.

Coat the bottom of a large frying pan generously with neutral oil and put on to a high heat. Fry the shallots until beginning to turn golden, then set aside. Season the chicken with salt, then fry in batches until golden brown but not cooked through.

Put the chicken in a saucepan or casserole dish just large enough to hold it comfortably in several layers and tuck the shallots, cinnamon stick, cardamom and the ends and husks of the lemongrass in among it. Scooping out any cream at the top, pour over just enough coconut milk to almost but not quite cover it. Bring to a simmer, then turn down the heat, cover and simmer for 30-40 minutes until cooked through.

Meanwhile, cook the potatoes in boiling, lightly salted water until just tender then set aside.

Once the chicken is almost cooked, put the coconut cream, plus any extra from the milk, in a frying pan over a fairly high heat. Fry until the fat begins to seep out of the sides, then add the curry paste. Cook until it sizzles and begins to darken.

Stir in just enough of the coconut milk from the chicken to make a medium thick gravy and then add sugar, fish sauce and tamarind to taste, starting with a tablespoon of each. Add the cooked potatoes, chicken and peanuts (you can make it ahead up to this point) before cooking for another 10 minutes. Allow to cool slightly before serving with rice.