Red Curry

If green curry is the colour of the first monsoon leaf, red is the colour of the chilli that gave Thai food its reputation. It’s bolder, deeper and warmer — and like everything we cook, it’s built on a paste we pound ourselves, because that’s where the soul of the dish lives.

In the kitchen

Dried red chillies are soaked and pounded with lemongrass, galangal, garlic, coriander root and shrimp paste until the paste turns deep and glossy. We fry it in coconut cream until the red oil breaks to the surface — that single moment decides the whole curry — then loosen it around tender chicken and Thai spices. Kaffir lime leaf is torn through at the end to keep it bright, so the heat never reads as flat.

At the table

It comes to you a deep, burnished red, the oil glinting at the edges, smelling of chilli and lime. The first spoonful is rounded and rich; then the heat arrives, slow and honest, building with every bite until you reach for the rice and start again. Bold without being blunt — the coconut carries the fire instead of fighting it.

Spoon it over rice, and let the heat find you.