Sheffield’s best curries — a not-so definitive list

Twenty-five years ago, foreign secretary Robin Cook declared chicken tikka masala Britain’s national dish — “not only because it is the most popular, but because it is a perfect illustration of the way Britain absorbs and adapts external influences”. He went on to claim that chicken tikka is an Indian dish and that the masala sauce was added “to satisfy the desire of British people to have their meat served in gravy”.

It’s a nice line, although the actual origins of the dish are a little more complex. Still, there’s no doubting our love of both lashings of gravy and a good curry in Sheffield, even if we can’t boast the same reputation for the spicy stuff as places like Birmingham, Bradford, or Leicester, or a dedicated ‘curry mile’ like Manchester. Sheffield has been home to South Asian immigrants since as early as the end of the First World War, with larger waves of migration in the 1950s, when many sought jobs in the steel and coal mining industries. Luckily for the rest of us, some of them also started opening restaurants.

The earliest local curry house is thought to be Ajanta Restaurant, which opened on Carver Street in 1963, while the oldest still serving is Ashoka on Ecclesall Road, which first started trading just four years later. Today, TripAdvisor throws up 130 results for ‘curry in Sheffield’, ranging from cavernous traditional offerings to smaller, newer spots serving everything from street food to Ayurvedic home-cooking.

For obvious reasons, including not wanting to pile on too many paratha pounds, I cannot claim to have completed a comprehensive survey. But the following are six curry houses that give a fragrant whiff of the city’s scene, from old classics to neighbourhood joints and more elevated establishments. From those I spoke to along the way, I also heard praise for Apna Style, Urban Choola, 400°C, Rajdhani, Prithiraj, The Chakra Lounge, and Café Indus – but do get stuck in in the comments and tell me which of our favourites I’ve missed… I’m already hungry for more.

Flame Fusion

Tom Wolfenden heads up the Leah’s Yard development where The Tribune has its offices – but he’s also a man on a mission: to eat a curry in every postcode in Sheffield. News of this project helped inspire this very article, so I got Tom to give me a few pointers.

He thinks how we eat curry has shifted in the city. “It’s a changing market,” he says, pointing out that while “the traditional place, where you stagger in after ten pints on a Friday night” does still exist, many diners are looking for a more curated restaurant experience. “There’s a delicacy of flavours that’s coming through now.”

One of his favourites is Flame Fusion, a bijou spot on an unpromising stretch of Shoreham Road by the Sheffield United stadium. I take Tom along for the ride and, as soon as the garrulous owner Nad Khan hears about our respective curry odysseys, he insists on serving us only the classics: lamb bhuna for Tom and a veg tikka masala for me. Though I’m tempted by some of the fancier monkfish offerings on the menu, these will clearly have to wait for another visit. “Every restaurant does a bhuna and a tikka masala – it’s the best way to see their quality,” Nad argues. “A bhuna is very simple, but the simplicity is very tasty; a tikka masala has a lot of high notes and low notes.”

While waiting for the food, which is cooked in a tiny kitchen at the back by Nad’s mum, I ask for his take on Sheffield’s curry scene, quickly discovering he’s the perfect person to give a view. He seems to have worked everywhere: starting at Balti King at just 13, moving to Ashoka at 16, then to Butlers, before finally opening his own restaurants. He’s not shy about sharing his opinions on the local competition. Too many places just serve generic brown sauces, he insists: “slop dash curry”, as he calls it. “I don’t know why people cheat with the food – how do you sleep at night?”

Nad’s confidence in the food he serves turns out to be well-placed, however: the bhuna has “a real depth of flavour, a bit of heat, and it’s quite light as well” Tom reports, while my tikka masala has a beautiful creaminess and subtleness that belies it garish red hue. The naan has the perfect texture: the slightest crustiness to sink your teeth into and a yielding middle. I also make a point of trying poppadoms and dips everywhere I go, but Nad’s are the only ones worth the write up: big crumpled things glistening with oil and speckled with cumin, served with a trio of herby, tangy chutneys. Slop, this is not.

Ashoka

I obviously have to visit the oldest curry house in Sheffield, not only to pay tribute to its longevity, but also because long-standing residents are often extremely loyal to its charms. Even on a mid-week visit, we are surrounded by several dates and a birthday party; you can almost feel the decades of memories, layering up sweetly like a peshwari naan. 

Commitment to journalism compels me to order the ‘Reyt Spiceh Curreh’ – a dish the menu assures me was popular with “late night revelers in the 60s / 70s / 80s & 90s” – despite the waiter literally trying to talk me out of it. It is “reyt hot,” he warns, eyeing my pale complexion with visible concern. Reader: he was not exaggerating, a powerful chilli powder heat swiftly overwhelms the prawns within. However, it makes a happy union with a cheddar cheese naan, an English-Indian fusion I’d happily see in more places (such as in my hands, the next time I have a hangover).

There’s more pandering to Sheffield’s shaky sense of identity on the menu, such as a ‘Henderson’s House Puri’, although I struggle to detect much of the relish in the potato filling. The real highlight arrives with the Kardashianly named ‘Karamelised Kashmiri’, a dryish curry with a slow-cooked onion base that imparts a wonderfully earthy flavour. It’s their most popular dish, and no wonder. A saag paneer is made with brighter, fresh spinach than your average, but is under-seasoned, and my meat-loving compatriots tell me that the lamb methi special is rather tough. Maybe Ashoka is coasting, somewhat, on Sheffielders’ fond memories – or maybe I just shouldn’t have gone so reyt spiceh.