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Few dishes better capture the story of Britain’s relationship with “foreign” food than chicken tikka masala. Ask 10 people where it came from and you may get 10 different answers – an Indian original refined in the UK, a British invention wearing Indian spices, or something in between. In the texture of its sauce and the softness of its cream, it tells a story not just of flavour, but of adaptation, belonging and evolving identity.
Its roots lie in northern India, where pieces of chicken were marinated in yoghurt, spices and acid, then cooked in a blazing tandoor. Served as dry tikka, it was a direct, uncompromising bite: char, tang, heat. But when Indian and South Asian chefs began opening restaurants in postwar Britain, they met a more cautious palate, one that preferred sauce over scorch, comfort over challenge. Thus began the slow alchemy that turned tikka into tikka masala – the chicken in sauce – a bridge between two gastronomic worlds.
Legend ties its birth to a Glasgow curry house in the 1970s, where a dissatisfied customer found his chicken tikka too dry. The chef, Ali Ahmed Aslam, responded by mixing a tin of tomato soup, cream and spices, and ladling it over the meat. The gamble worked: the dish quickly became a bestseller. In that moment, a recipe – or perhaps a myth – was born. By the 1980s, chicken tikka masala had entered the national menu, appearing not just in curry houses but in supermarket freezers, cookbooks and even political speeches. Robin Cook once called it “a true British national dish,” a claim that felt provocative yet apt.
This is not just a curry’s origin story, though. It is a chapter in the much longer tale of how Britain has digested foreign tastes and turned them, sometimes tentatively, into something its own. The Victorians were already sprinkling nutmeg from Java into puddings; the postwar years saw the arrival of Italian pasta, Chinese takeaways and Caribbean patties. Food has always been one of the softest, most palatable forms of cultural exchange – a way for strangers to sit side by side, to offer and sample.
In this light, a recent UK study takes on extra resonance. Researchers from the University of Birmingham and the University of Munich measured how often white British adults ate international foods – Indian, Turkish, Chinese, Thai, Caribbean and Spanish – and how that correlated with their attitudes toward immigration and minority communities. They found that people who more frequently consumed a wider variety of international cuisines were less likely to view immigrants as “cultural or economic threats.” In fact, enjoyment of diverse foods was associated with a drop in support for anti-immigrant policies.
Crucially, the authors argue the link is not simply that open-minded people eat foreign food, but that eating foreign food can help cultivate more tolerant attitudes. Restaurants, food stalls and communal meals offer low-stakes ways to engage with other cultures. Food is accessible, sensory, shared – unlike museums or lectures, it requires no expertise, only appetite.
That study arrives at a politically charged moment. In recent years, debates around migration have become louder, more polarised, and often reduced to statistics and identity politics. Protests against immigration, securitisation of borders and growing anti-immigrant sentiment cast a long shadow over public discourse. In that context, the simple act of eating – choosing to taste another culture’s food – feels quietly subversive. It’s not a cure for systemic inequalities, but it is one of the few everyday gestures that can soften suspicion, broaden curiosity and humanise “the other”.
Chicken tikka masala sits at the intersection of all this: an immigrant dish shaped by the host culture, a flavour hybrid that’s neither wholly Indian nor wholly British, but indisputably both. It represents not just how Britain eats, but how Britain negotiates identity – embracing difference, adapting tradition, redefining “home”.
For National Curry Week, chef Nikhil Mahale of Farzi offers his version of this modern classic – one that bridges his memories of India with the dish Britain made its own, and perhaps hints at how food can still be a pathway, however small, toward connection.
Top chef tips for the best chicken tikka masala
Charcoal infusion
For that restaurant-style smokiness, drop a small piece of red-hot coal into a bowl of ghee, cover it and let the curry absorb the aroma for two-to-three minutes before serving. It’s a game-changer.
Double marination
Don’t rush the marination process. First, coat chicken pieces in salt and lime juice for 15 minutes. Then marinate again with yoghurt and spices. This layering ensures deep flavour and tender, juicy bites.
Cashew-cream balance
Rather than relying solely on cream, blend soaked cashews into the sauce. It adds a natural richness without the heaviness of excessive dairy.
Common mistakes to avoid
Skipping spice roasting: raw spice powders make the curry taste flat. Always toast them in ghee or oil to release their essential oils.
Overcooking chicken: chicken should be grilled or pan-seared before it hits the sauce – never boiled in it.
Overdoing the cream: too much cream can dull the bright spice notes and the tang of the tomatoes.
How to make a chicken tikka masala at home
Serves: 4
Prep time: 20 minutes (plus marination) | Cook time: 35 minutes
Ingredients:
For the chicken:
500g boneless chicken thighs, cut into chunks
1 tbsp lime juice
Salt, to taste
200g Greek yoghurt
1 tbsp ginger-garlic paste
1 tsp turmeric powder
1 tsp red chilli powder
1 tsp cumin powder
1 tbsp mustard oil
For the sauce:
2 tbsp ghee or oil
2 medium onions, finely chopped
2 green chillies, slit
1 tbsp ginger-garlic paste
5 ripe tomatoes, slow-roasted or tinned plum tomatoes
1 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp ground coriander
½ tsp turmeric powder
1 tsp Kashmiri chilli powder
1 tbsp kasoori methi (dried fenugreek leaves)
50ml fresh cream
8-10 soaked cashews, blended into a paste
Salt, to taste
Fresh coriander leaves
Lemon wedges
Method:
1. Marinate the chicken: in a bowl, mix the chicken with salt and lime juice. Rest for 15 minutes. In another bowl, whisk together yoghurt, ginger-garlic paste, turmeric, chilli powder, cumin, and mustard oil. Coat the chicken thoroughly and marinate for at least 2-3 hours, or overnight for best results.
2. Cook the chicken: grill or pan-sear the marinated chicken until smoky and just cooked through. Set aside.
3. Prepare the sauce: heat ghee in a heavy-bottomed pan. Add the onions and sauté until they are golden brown. Stir in the green chillies and ginger-garlic paste, cooking until fragrant. Add roasted tomatoes and the powdered spices – cumin, coriander, turmeric and chilli. Cook until the oil begins to separate. For a smoother texture, blend the sauce, then return it to the pan. Stir in the cashew paste and simmer gently for five minutes.
4. Bring it together: add the grilled chicken pieces to the sauce, along with kasoori methi and cream. Simmer for 4-5 minutes on low heat, adjusting seasoning as needed.
5: Finish and serve: garnish with fresh coriander and a squeeze of lemon juice. Serve hot with naan, paratha or fragrant jeera rice.