Thai green curry (Gaeng Keow Wan)

The most fragrant curry on earth: its green comes entirely from coriander root and leaf, ground by hand into a paste of extraordinary complexity.

Origin: Bangkok, Thailand

From the journey of Coriander/Cilantro.

Thai green curry is one of the world's great dishes, and the green is coriander. Thai cooks use the coriander root (which Western cooks routinely discard) as the primary aromatic base of the paste alongside fresh green chillies, lemongrass, galangal, kaffir lime, and shrimp paste. The root has a deeper, earthier, more concentrated flavour than the leaves, and is considered a distinct ingredient in Thai cooking. A single green curry paste may contain 12–15 fresh ingredients, all traditionally ground by hand in a granite mortar, the physical breaking of cell walls releases different aromatic oils than a blender can achieve. The paste is fried in the thick, separated fat of coconut cream until profoundly fragrant, then simmered with chicken or fish or vegetables and the thinner coconut milk. Fresh coriander leaves appear again as a garnish, completing the plant's journey from root to leaf across the entire dish. Gaeng Keow Wan (literally 'sweet green curry') has become one of the most recognised and replicated dishes in international cuisine, yet the scratch-made paste version bears little resemblance to the mild, homogenised versions common abroad.

Ingredients

green curry paste

  • 6 whole fresh green bird's eye chillies (or 4 larger green chillies for less heat), roughly chopped
  • 4 whole coriander roots (scraped clean) with the lowest 5cm of stems, from 1 large bunch of coriander
  • 2 stalks lemongrass, outer leaves removed, lower 10cm thinly sliced
  • 3 cm fresh galangal (or ginger as a substitute), peeled and roughly chopped
  • 4 cloves garlic, peeled
  • 3 whole shallots, roughly chopped
  • 4 leaves kaffir lime leaves, stems removed, leaves roughly torn
  • 1 tsp kaffir lime zest (or regular lime zest)
  • 1 tsp ground coriander seed
  • 0.5 tsp ground cumin
  • 1 tsp shrimp paste (kapi), omit for vegetarian
  • 0.5 tsp fine sea salt
  • 1 tbsp neutral oil (if using a blender)

curry

  • 400 ml full-fat coconut milk (1 can), do not shake; the thick cream will be on top
  • 400 ml full-fat coconut milk (1 additional can)
  • 600 g boneless skinless chicken thighs, sliced into bite-sized pieces
  • 150 g Thai aubergine (small round green variety) or regular aubergine cut into 3cm chunks
  • 2 tbsp fish sauce (nam pla), or to taste
  • 1 tsp palm sugar or light brown sugar
  • 6 leaves kaffir lime leaves, torn in half (central stem removed)
  • 1 large handful Thai basil leaves (horapa), added at the end

to serve

  • 1 large handful fresh coriander leaves, for garnish
  • 2 whole red bird's eye chillies, thinly sliced, for garnish
  • 4 portions steamed jasmine rice

Method

  1. Make the paste: if using a granite mortar and pestle (the traditional method), begin with the hardest ingredients. Pound the lemongrass, galangal, and chillies to a rough paste, then add the coriander roots and stems and pound until broken down. Add the shallots, garlic, kaffir lime leaves and zest, and continue pounding. Finally add the shrimp paste, ground coriander, ground cumin, and salt. Pound to as smooth a paste as you can: 15–20 minutes of active work.
  2. If using a blender or food processor: combine all paste ingredients with the tablespoon of oil and blend to a smooth paste, scraping down the sides frequently. Add a splash more oil or a tablespoon of water if needed to get the blades moving.
  3. Open the first can of coconut milk without shaking it. Scoop the thick, solid cream from the top (roughly half the can) into a wok or large, deep frying pan. Discard nothing: add the thinner liquid to the second full can and set aside.
  4. Place the wok over medium-high heat. Bring the coconut cream to a vigorous simmer, stirring often. Continue cooking, stirring, until the cream splits and you can see clear coconut oil pooling with white solids: about 5–8 minutes. The cream will look broken and slightly oily. This is correct.
  5. Add all of the green curry paste to the cracked coconut cream. Fry, stirring constantly, for 3–5 minutes until the paste is very fragrant and darkened slightly in colour. The raw harshness of the garlic and shallots should be cooked out.
  6. Add the sliced chicken to the wok. Stir to coat every piece in the paste and cook for 2 minutes until the outside of the chicken turns opaque.
  7. Pour in the remaining coconut milk (the thin liquid from the first can plus the full second can). Add the kaffir lime leaves, aubergine, fish sauce, and palm sugar. Stir well and bring to a gentle simmer.
  8. Simmer over medium-low heat for 12–15 minutes until the chicken is cooked through and the aubergine is tender. Taste and adjust seasoning: more fish sauce for salt, more sugar if needed, more lime juice for brightness.
  9. Remove from heat. Stir in the Thai basil leaves: they will wilt immediately in the residual heat. Ladle into bowls over jasmine rice. Garnish generously with fresh coriander leaves and sliced red chilli.

Notes

Store-bought green curry paste shortcut: use 2–3 tablespoons of a good-quality Thai brand (Mae Ploy or Maesri are widely considered the best commercial options). Fry in coconut cream as described (the frying step is non-negotiable even with store-bought paste. The scratch-made paste in this recipe produces a significantly more fragrant, complex result. Coriander roots: buy bunches of coriander with roots intact from Asian supermarkets. If unavailable, use the lower, thicker stems) the flavour will be slightly less intense. Vegetarian version: substitute fish sauce with light soy sauce or vegetarian fish sauce, and omit shrimp paste or replace with a teaspoon of soy-based fermented bean paste. Leftovers keep refrigerated for 3 days. The curry typically thickens and deepens in flavour overnight.

The Gastrographer

The Gastrographer

Mapping Culinary History

To explore — select an ingredient below.

Journey Point Map Key

Ingredient originTrade or transit route
Became a culinary stapleColonial / trade control
c. 1900 CE
Drag to explore journey
14 of 14 stops
1900 CE
5000 BCE100 BCE1300 CE1900 CE
Coriander/Cilantro

Coriander/Cilantro

Coriandrum sativum

Spices & AromaticsHerbsApiaceae

🌍Origin

Fertile Crescent, Levant — c. 5000 BCE

🌱Domestication

Coriander is one of the very oldest of all cultivated plants, and one of the strangest, for it is in truth two ingredients housed within a single species. Coriandrum sativum, a slender annual of the carrot and celery family, the Apiaceae, yields both the warm, citrus-scented dried seed that the English-speaking world calls coriander and the pungent, polarising fresh leaf that the Americas call cilantro, and these two forms, drawn from one plant, have such utterly different flavours that they belong to entirely separate culinary traditions and are seldom thought of as the same thing at all. The whole plant is edible, from the aromatic root that the Thai kitchen pounds into curry pastes, through the lacy fresh leaves, to the round ripe seeds, and this versatility has carried it into the cooking of almost every inhabited region of the earth. The plant's antiquity in human hands is documented across the ancient Near East. Seeds of C. sativum have been recovered from Neolithic deposits in the Levant dating to around 6000 BCE, amongst them the celebrated finds from the Nahal Hemar cave in the Judean Desert, and the plant is named in the ancient Egyptian Ebers Papyrus of around 1550 BCE, the oldest surviving medical compendium of the world. Coriander seeds were even laid in the tomb of Tutankhamun amongst the provisions intended to sustain the pharaoh through eternity, a mark of the value placed upon a plant that was at once food, medicine, and fragrance. Because the plant grows readily from seed and the dried fruits store and travel well, coriander spread early and far, and unlike many spices it was domesticated not in a single remote place but across the broad arc of the Fertile Crescent, where its wild ancestors grew. The dual use of the plant was present from the very beginning of its cultivation, and it is this that sets coriander apart from almost every other ancient culinary herb. In the Levantine cradle the seeds were ground into spice mixtures and steeped into medicinal and fermented drinks, whilst the fresh leaves were gathered as a green herb for the table, so that a single sowing yielded both a warm baking spice and a sharp, fresh garnish. That doubleness has shaped its entire history: the seed travelled west into Europe as a spice of bread and brewing and a medicine for the digestion, whilst the leaf travelled into the kitchens of Mexico, Vietnam, Thailand, India, and North Africa as one of the most essential, and most divisive, of all fresh herbs.

Global Voyage

From its Levantine cradle coriander travelled outward in every direction at once, for the Fertile Crescent sat at the crossroads of three continents, and the dried seed, light, durable, and easily carried, moved along every trade route that left the region. The southwestern path led into Egypt, where the plant was cultivated throughout the Nile Delta within centuries of its domestication and recorded in the Ebers Papyrus as both medicine and flavouring; from Egypt it passed westward along the North African shore and, in time, far south across the Sahara into West Africa, carried on the same caravan routes that bore gold and salt. The eastern path was the longest and the most consequential. Coriander moved along the Silk Road and the Indian Ocean trade into Persia, where it entered the great herb stews of the Iranian kitchen, and into India, where it became, in seed and leaf alike, the single most widely used flavouring of the subcontinent, the backbone of garam masala and the green finish of almost every dish. From India and Persia the plant continued eastward into China, reaching the Han court by way of the Silk Road and the diplomatic missions to Central Asia, where it became the fragrant herb xiangcai of the northern and Muslim kitchens. The western and northern path carried coriander into the classical Mediterranean. The Greeks received it through their trade with Egypt and the Levant and set down its medicinal virtues in the writings of Hippocrates and Dioscorides; the Romans cooked with it lavishly, Apicius calling for it in scores of recipes, and the Roman legions then carried the seed across the whole of the empire, planting it in the cold soils of Gaul, Britain, and the Rhine and Danube frontiers where it had never grown before. Archaeobotanists have recovered Roman-period coriander from sites as far apart as Wales and the Danube, and the Carolingian emperor Charlemagne ordered it grown on every royal estate, ensuring its unbroken survival through the early medieval centuries into the permanent repertoire of the European kitchen. The Arab expansion then carried coriander deep into the Maghreb, where it fused with the indigenous Berber herb traditions of Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia to produce the chermoula and the spice blends of the North African table. In Southeast Asia, reached by the maritime spice routes and the spread of Indian culinary influence, coriander took a wholly distinct path, for there it was the root rather than the seed or leaf that became prized, pounded into the curry pastes of Thailand and the broths of Vietnam. The final great dispersal came with the Spanish conquest of the Americas in the sixteenth century: Spanish colonisers carried the seed across the Atlantic, and the fresh leaf integrated so swiftly and so completely into the indigenous cooking of Mexico, already built upon chillies, tomatoes, tomatillos, and avocado, that within a single generation cilantro had become inseparable from Mexican food, and from there it spread down the Pacific coast of South America into the ceviche of Peru and northward, in the twentieth century, into the everyday cooking of the United States. No other plant has achieved so nearly universal a culinary adoption across every inhabited continent.

🍽Modern Culinary Role

Coriander is at once the most widely consumed fresh herb in the world and one of its most widely used spices, a double distinction that no other plant can claim, and it owes that reach to the fact that its seed and its leaf are, in flavour and in use, two separate ingredients drawn from a single plant. The dried seed, warm, citrus-scented, and gently sweet, is foundational to the spice blends of an entire hemisphere: it is a leading note in the garam masala and curry powders of India, in the dukkah and baharat of the Arab world, in the ras el hanout and chermoula of North Africa, and in the recados and adobos of Latin America, and it flavours the breads, sausages, pickles, and brewed drinks of Europe besides. The fresh leaf, pungent and bright and unmistakable, is essential to the cooking of Mexico, where it finishes nearly every salsa, taco, and pot of beans; to Vietnam and Thailand, where it crowns the herb plate and the noodle bowl; to India, where chopped dhania patta finishes almost every dish; and to the soups and stews of West Africa. Yet coriander is also the most divisive of all common herbs, for a significant minority of people, the proportion varying by population, perceive the fresh leaf not as fragrant but as harshly soapy or metallic, an aversion now traced to inherited variants of an olfactory receptor gene that change how its aldehydes are smelled. This genuine genetic divide gives coriander a notoriety no other herb shares, dividing tables and even whole regions, as in China, where the north embraces it and much of the Cantonese south avoids it. For all that, the plant remains indispensable across the greater part of the world, the rare ingredient that supplies both a warm baking spice and a sharp green garnish, and that finishes the everyday food of more people, on more continents, than almost any other plant in the kitchen.

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