How familiar does this sound – butter chicken, sickeningly sweeter than caramel sauce made from a slow heated can of condensed milk; garlic naan leathery as roohide; aloo mattar with frozen peas and dry potatoes in a gravy oily and brown as the waters of the Yarra under Princess Bridge; and onion pakoras that could as easily pass for cow pats and are generally as combustible. Go to any Indian take away/restaurants in any suburb of any city in Australia and you’ll find this depressingly uniform regurgitation of someone’s idea of Indian food dished up by platoons of cooks all claiming to be graduates of the Taj Hotel cooking school.
