🍁 autumn beef curry is the way to a college student's heart.

In Southern California, there is no Fall. Going back to school means excavating oneself out of bed, then beginning the sudoriferous trek across campus each day in the name of knowledge.

It’s hot. You’re clammy. You’re trying to get your homework together, pay attention in class, and earn all the gold stars - but the perennial humidity so signature to Orange County’s harvest season leaves you numb, both mentally and emotionally. Perhaps but to the searing sensation of SPF on the body’s integument.

Then overnight, it all changes.

It's practically snowing (as far as this cactus-hugger is concerned).

The first days of November -

I've pent up myself in my room like Björk in "Violently Happy." The only source of light is my desk lamp. The light is warm, like a lonely northwest-u dorm. I've taken to this intellectual hibernation with a gallon of Crystal Geyser as my only sustenance. Lined paper lines the floor, and a set of highlighters has dabbed up here and there like reflectors, and I am the automobile. Leop, my baby cat, is my only company, having found a tidy corner of mattress to lay and contemplate floating lint.

Go Ticonderoga! Hole-punch some papers and staple. Scribal typing. I'm trying to maintain an A, or bring up a B, do the busy work for a C, or scroll through whatever class is a D.

When my studies for the night are done, I still have one question. A question stemming from a bit of unknown cerebral gray matter somewhere between the midbrain and the PONS... would I give myself an A?

The question alludes to a lot of criticism, self-doubt, and guilt that builds up in every other college student like winter snow against a brick wall.

I'll 'try' to articulate: If I ever lift my head up from my notebook, it's like a sorely rated, silent Criterion flick where the theme is 'everything.' I look at my phone and check my student loan page, then update emails (nothing new), then close browser tabs like the pages of a world encyclopedia, wondering why I'm so sporadic. I check my texts, I miss some old friends. I look at the popcorn wall, pull my lower eyelids and wonder if that other person thinks I'm stupid. Behind the wall, I hear sweet whistling and curse myself for not I taking care of her (mom) more.

I wish things were better at school. I wish things were better at work. I wish things were better outside in town. I wish it were all better right here, in this bedroom.

I take my exit, shivering with goosebumps. It's usually past midnight. Mom is asleep so the house is vacant and quiet except for the hum of the fridge, which I'm approaching. But before I get there, I'm tripped up by a sight -

Warm dinner on the stove. Multiple pots. The rice cooker still has hot condensation. The decadent scent coats my empty stomach.

Mom has made a beef curry, the type you would expect on an autumn night. No fresh summer chilis, a dry roast spice blend instead. But no winter's dairy cream - coconut milk because it's not that cold yet. The meat is chuck roast, a cut just rich enough.

Last year, the pret-a-manger choked me up inside because I just couldn't think that I was worth such a kind meal. Thank you, mom.

I'll be honest, the first time I tried this autumn beef curry, I dunked the leftovers into the rice cooker and ate walloping spoonfuls straight from the machine's pot - it's an old university tradition. A toasty, quality meal says something deep and irrefutable to the person you serve. It's one of the highest forms of consolation, and it can only be experienced and expressed through the taste buds - "Yum."

I slept quite well that chilly, fall night. ❤️

[view the recipe below]

note: this is a Lankan dish. In our lexicon, a curry (“kari”) simply refers to a braised meat dish, with some non flavor sacrificing brevity. It might be a little out there, but don’t worry. Soon enough you’ll be measuring spices out of the palm of your hand, just like grandma did.

INGREDIENTS

• 1 pound chuck roast
• 1 tbsp rice wine vinegar
• 2 shallots, sliced
• 3 garlic cloves, minced
• 2 sprigs of karapincha [curry leaves], julienned

spices

• 1 tbsp dry roasted red chili powder
• 1 tbsp raw curry powder
• 1/2 tsp turmeric
• 1 tsp black pepper
• 1/4 tsp cumin seeds
• 1 cm piece of cinnamon
• 1 tsp salt

liquids

• 1 C water
• 1/2 C coconut milk

serve with:

• basmati rice

LET'S HELP MOM COOK!

1. Cut chuck roast into 1/4 inch cubes.

2. Marinate beef with rice wine vinegar. Leave for 10-15 minutes, meat will tenderize.

3. Prep aromatics and spices.

The raw curry powder and roasted red chili powder dominate this curry's palette. Both ingredients are unique to Lankan cuisine and your regular supermarket substitutes won't cut it. With its cloves, ginger, mustard, etc - commercial British Indian curry powder is much more dynamic, fruity, and fragrant. You'll find that Lankan village curry powder is simpler, very earthy, with a deep 'roasted' flavor that suggests meat even if it's a raw mix. The typical grind is composed of coriander, fennel, karapincha, and red rice powder.

You can invest and purchase a packet here OR, here's what mom says you can do: substitute the tablespoon of raw curry powder with a mixture of 1/2 tsp ground coriander and 1/2 tsp fennel. Add an extra sprig of karapincha as well.

As far as the chili powder goes, you have three options.

1. Invest in a QUALITY brand chili powder.
2. Purchase Lankan chili.
3. Purchase some dried Arbol or California chili peppers from your Mexican supermarket, OPEN UP THE WINDOWS, and toast a handful over low heat. Grind and enjoy! *cough cough*

4. Heat a pot with olive or coconut oil over medium heat. Add garlic first to flavor the oil (about 30 seconds), then the rest of the aromatics. Temper for 2 min.

5. Add the turmeric, black pepper, cumin, and cinnamon (will not be able to taste the cinnamon in the final product, adds body to the meat). Temper for 1 min.

6. Add raw curry powder, chili powder, and salt. Mix and temper for 1 1/2 min.

*adding the aromatics and spices staggered helps build flavor! don't just dump it all in at once ;)

7. Add beef and stir to coat with curry base. Add 1 C water.

8. Bring to a boil. Lower heat to a low simmer. Cover and let braise for 1 hour.

story line b: mom was making a squash and kale curry too. Also perfect for the season.

You can simply sauté or steam up some squash, kale, or other seasonal produce likewise; or make another vegetable coconut milk curry.

9. Add 1/2 C coconut milk. Simmer for 5-8 min until coconut is homogenized.

note: as you can see, this particular night I forgot to add oil paper to the curry's surface during the braising phase - this gets rid of the meat's residual fat. I'd totally recommend doing so because it purifies the flavor, or you could always manually skim the fat before adding in the coconut milk. Or, leave it all in and run up a couple of hills.

It done.

It as in curry.

Curry as in "I care."

Serve with basmati rice and enjoy!

Before you dig in and become a spoonfool with spoonfuls of curry and squash and rice and kale, repeat after me - especially if you're a student:

"I am weak so that I can be strong, and I am strong so that I can be weak." If you're like me, I hope you realize your old contradiction. Now, no more vying for nervous esteem or the more likely culprit, self-criticism. Let patience, curiosity, understanding, and laughter take place. Believe in yourself. And don't forget, help yourself to a second serving. 🍛