Spice, conquest and curiosity: Why did British made curry their national dish

Scroll through a London high street on a Friday night, and the air tells its own story, cumin, cardamom, sizzling onions, a swirl of heat that feels unmistakably Indian yet deeply British. Chicken tikka masala, balti, vindaloo, these aren’t just meals anymore; they’re part of Britain’s national identity. But how did a dish born in India become Britain’s culinary flagbearer? The answer lies in history, adaptation, and a long, simmering love affair that began with empire and ended in everyday comfort. Scroll down to read more...

Spice, conquest, and curiosity
It began in the 18th century, when the British East India Company wasn’t just trading goods, it was trading taste. Officers returning from Bengal and Madras brought back more than silks and stories; they brought back a craving for spice. At home, British food was mild and monotone - boiled meats, root vegetables, and little flavour beyond salt and butter. But in India, they discovered something thrilling: dishes layered with heat, depth, and aroma.


The word “curry” itself became a convenient umbrella term. Derived loosely from the Tamil word kari (meaning sauce or gravy), it helped the British categorize what they didn’t yet understand, the complex regional cuisines of the subcontinent. What began as an imitation soon turned into invention. By the early 1800s, “curry powder” appeared on British shelves, a colonial shortcut that bottled the idea of India into a single spice blend.

Empire on a plate

As the empire expanded, so did the appetite. Curry became a marker of sophistication, the exotic dish of officers, traders, and writers who had “seen the world.” Recipes for “Indian curry” appeared in cookbooks as early as 1747, adjusted to local ingredients and English kitchens. The British loved the spice, but not always the intensity. So they tamed it, less chilli, more cream, a hint of sweetness - shaping it into something familiar yet foreign enough to feel luxurious.

By the Victorian era, curry was mainstream. Queen Victoria herself reportedly enjoyed it, and colonial households across Britain kept a pot of mango chutney on the table as a symbol of global reach. Curry had become more than food, it was an edible empire, an assertion that Britain could consume the world and make it its own.

The postcolonial twist

Fast forward to post-World War II Britain. The empire was gone, but its flavours had stayed. Waves of South Asian immigrants, from India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh arrived to rebuild a nation in recovery. Many opened small eateries that served inexpensive, flavour-packed meals to working-class Britons. What began as “Indian restaurants” were often run by Bengali chefs who adapted their menus to local tastes - creamier sauces, boneless meats, milder spices.



And then came the now-legendary creation: chicken tikka masala. The story goes that a chef in Glasgow, responding to a British diner’s complaint that his chicken tikka was “too dry,” added a tomato-cream sauce and history was made. Whether myth or truth, it became a national obsession, often hailed as “Britain’s true national dish.”

Comfort, identity, and belonging

By the 1980s, curry was no longer exotic, it was comforting. Late-night takeaways, “curry and pint” nights, and the ritual of ordering vindaloo after the pub turned it into a social tradition. For many Britons, curry became a bridge between cultures, between past and present.

It wasn’t just about spice; it was about belonging. For South Asian immigrants, feeding Britain was a way of finding space in it. For Britons, eating curry became a way of celebrating diversity without quite realizing it. The dish had gone from colonial souvenir to shared heritage.

The modern-day legacy


Today, curry houses outnumber fish-and-chip shops in many British cities. Michelin-starred Indian restaurants redefine fine dining, while supermarket shelves are lined with ready-to-eat tikka masala, korma, and rogan josh. Yet beneath the convenience lies centuries of exchange, empire, adaptation, migration, and memory - all simmered into one pot.

Curry became Britain’s national dish not by conquest, but by connection. It represents how food evolves, how cultures blend, and how identity itself can be both borrowed and built anew.