Creamy Coconut Chicken Curry with Eggplant

Bowl of coconut chicken curry with eggplant over rice with cilantro and lime wedges

This past week, tragedy struck my tomato seedlings. Six weeks prior I planted several flats of heirloom tomatoes including two varieties of beefsteak and a beautiful lobed variety I couldn’t wait to see - costoluto genovese. Miraculously, every one of them escaped the seemingly inevitable fate of damping off shortly after germination and I found myself in the unexpected position of having to thin the seedlings, rather than work with what remained. Granted, I was being somewhat overly-optimistic about how early my zone 6 weather would permit me to put tomatoes into the ground. Six weeks of growth by late May is pushing it for tomatoes. Nevertheless, they were lush, dark green, growing sturdy and tall. I was scrambling to re-arrange my grow light setup to make space for them. Everything was progressing beautifully.

Flat of tomato and pepper seedlings with rubber boots

And then I spotted it. The lowermost leaves of one or two of the seedlings were drooping and lifeless. Foolishly, before identifying the exact problem, I decided to treat it as I would a late blight, which generally occurs long after tomatoes have been transplanted. I snipped off the affected branches in hopes that the disease would not spread. It is always best to google these things first. The disease did spread, and what might have cost me only one or two plants, had I disposed of those infected immediately, spread to almost all of the tomato seedlings I had painstakingly cared for from seed. My eventual google search failed to identify the disease. * But the general rule seems to be that there is no cure for plant wilt that cannot be attributed to watering problems. They must all be disposed of. And, reluctantly, that is what I did. 


Admittedly, I am being melodramatic. Yes, it was too late to restart tomatoes from seed, and I won’t be harvesting beautiful lobed tomatoes this year, but I was able to pick up new seedlings from a local nursery - including a yellow variety I wouldn’t have otherwise tried. It won’t be according to plan, but there will still be tomatoes. Once again, the garden reminds me of the importance of remaining flexible. Plan, yes. But allow that plan to shift, sometimes many times over, as the season progresses. In 5 short years of gardening, this has been an important but challenging lesson. Flexibility does not come naturally to me. I like to plan; to feel in control. Sometimes, for instance, when I am out shopping or running errands, and am unable to find just one thing on my list, I will turn around and go home, giving up on everything, abandoning all plans. But when you are gardening, no matter how detailed your site plan and planting calendar spreadsheet, unexpected, unplanned for things will happen. And the need for flexibility and improvisation is as unavoidable in the kitchen as it is in the garden.


One of my favourite ways to get inspired in the kitchen is to order cookbooks from the public library. I gravitate towards books with tons of beautiful photos - if I’m being honest, if there’s no photo, I don’t want to cook it - and those that are centred thematically around a single type of global cuisine. This is how I found myself incorporating Burmese cuisine into my culinary repertoire. First, I picked up Naomi Duguid’s Burma after seeing it featured in Food52’s 2013 piglet tournament of cookbooks, and later I picked up Desmond Tan and Kate Leahy’s Burma Superstar. Both books are beautiful and I’ve cooked several dishes from each. Still on my must-make list of Burmese food is mohinga, a noodle soup made with a whole fish, commonly sold in street stalls and eaten for breakfast, it is one of Burma’s most popular dishes with many regional variations; and Burma Superstar’s samusa soup - an ambitious dish made with both homemade samosas and homemade split pea falafel. But these recipes are “project food.” They contain long lists of ingredients and multiple sub-recipes. A tendency to gravitate towards project food is my kitchen nemesis. Most of the time, I need to cook something that won’t take all day to make.


So I set out to make the coconut chicken curry from Burma Superstar. But things didn’t go as planned. It was basically a one-pot dish (plus rice) that would use up the chicken thighs I had leftover from recipe testing. But, I didn’t have nearly enough chicken, so I added some potatoes.  And, while the recipe called for paprika, all I had was smoked paprika. The smoked paprika overpowered the dish, lending it a meaty unctuousness that made the curry sauce reminiscent of a sausage gravy. Instead of giving up on the curry, abandoning all plans, I allowed the smoked paprika to steer the recipe below in an unusual direction for me: mild, smoky, cozy flavours balanced somewhat by fresh cilantro and a squeeze of lime. I’ve switched the potatoes out with roasted eggplant for this version, to cut down on the number of starches in the dish and add more vegetables. This is not the sort of bold and spicy flavour profile I normally create. Just as not every meal can be a project, not every meal can be fiery hot - trust me, the jerk chicken sandwich recipe I have coming up has that covered. And sometimes, I need to remind myself, good things can come out of unexpected deviations from the plan, if you allow yourself to just go with it.

*Only the bottom leaves were affected, and they remained green and very soft as they wilted and drooped. If you know what this is, please tell me!

Creamy Coconut Chicken Curry with Eggplant

A mild creamy curry inspired by Burmese flavours that features boneless skinless chicken thighs and Chinese eggplant, made with a rich sweet and smoky coconut curry sauce, and finished with fresh cilantro and lime juice. Serve over rice or with your favourite flatbread - or both!

Makes: 4-6 servings





  • 1 pound eggplant (about 3 long)
  • 1-2 tablespoons olive (or canola) oil
  • 1 teaspoons salt (divided)
  • 1 1/2 pounds boneless, skinless chicken thighs (about 8)
  • 1 tablespoon smoked paprika
  • 1/2 teaspoon turmeric
  • 1/3 cup canola oil
  • 3 cups diced onion
  • 2 tablespoons minced garlic (3-4 large cloves)
  • 1 (13 1/2 ounces) can coconut milk
  • 1 tablespoon fish sauce
  • 2 cups water
  • 1 teaspoon curry powder
  • 1/2 cup cream, room temperature
  • 1 cup cilantro, roughly chopped, for serving
  • 1 lime, cut into wedges, for serving


  1. To Roast the Eggplant: Preheat oven to 400F. Cut eggplants on the diagonal into 1/2-inch slices. Drizzle slices with olive oil and sprinkle 1/2 teaspoon of the salt on top. Toss to coat. Spread slices evenly across two parchment-paper-lined rimmed baking sheets. Roast until eggplant begins to brown on bottom, about 15 minutes. Using a spatula, flip the slices over and continue to roast about until eggplant is soft and has browned on both sides, about 10 more minutes. Remove eggplant from the oven and set aside.
  2. Meanwhile, trim the excess fat from the chicken thighs (optional - I don’t bother), cut into 1/2-inch pieces. Place chicken in a medium-sized bowl and, mixing with your hands, coat with the smoked paprika, turmeric and 1/2 teaspoon of the salt. Let the chicken thighs marinate in the spices either at room temperature while you prepare the rest of the curry ingredients, or up to overnight. It is important to refrigerate the chicken if you will be marinating it for longer than 2 hours.
  3. In a large pot or dutch oven, heat canola oil over medium-high heat. Add the onions, lower heat to medium-low and cook, stirring frequently until the onions become translucent and soft, about 10 minutes. Stir in the garlic. Continue to cook for 5 more minutes.
  4. Add the chicken to the pot and stir the chicken and onions together to coat evenly with the spices. Add the coconut milk and bring to a boil. Simmer for about 5 minutes and lower the heat to medium-low. Add the fish sauce and water and bring the mixture back up to a boil.
  5. Adjust the heat so that the curry maintains a gentle simmer. Cook, stirring occasionally, for about 25 minutes. Add the reserved eggplant slices, stir to combine and continue cooking, stirring occasionally, until chicken is cooked through and the eggplant begins to break down, about 25-30 more minutes. Stir in the curry powder.
  6. Temper the cream to avoid curdling as you add it to the sauce: pour the room-temperature cream into a glass measuring cup. Adding some of the curry sauce into the cream, a few tablespoons at a time, stirring to combine. Continue adding curry into the cream until the cream mixture is very warm, and stir it back into the curry. Taste the curry and add more salt or fish sauce, if necessary, to taste.
  7. Garnish each serving with cilantro and lime wedges and serve with rice and/or flatbreads. Allow leftovers to cool and store in the refridgerator for up to 3 days.

Heavily adapted from: Burma Superstar

Peanut Noodles with Sichuan Chili Oil

Peanut Noodles with Sichuan Chili Oil - The Maker Makes

I was 6 or 7 the first time I ate Chinese food. It was the sort of Chinese-Canadian restaurant found in any small Canadian town. Décor reminiscent of a hotel conference room mixed with accent pieces that signal Western notions of “the orient” - painted fans, sprawling dragons, vibrant reds and golds. A menu divided between the ostensibly Chinese cuisine of combo plates, fried rice and egg rolls, each coated in a glistening sauce - soy, plum, or a bright magenta sweet and sour - and a Canadian cuisine of burgers, fries and hot sandwiches. For dinner I received a combo-plate of fried rice and sweet and sour chicken balls. For dessert, vanilla ice-cream. It arrived at the table, three round scoops in a martini-like dessert glass, with a single green mint leaf sitting on top. To the amusement of the adults, I began consuming my dessert by plucking the leaf off of the ice cream and eating it - not realizing, of course, that it was meant as a garnish. Eating leaves was not a habit of mine, the odd iceberg lettuce aside, but I was excited by the experience of difference we were consuming. The bright colours, the shiny figurines, the intricate patterns on the blue and white china; it was an ornamental abundance unlike anything I’d seen before. Perhaps I assumed that this was how Chinese people ate their desserts, with a tiny leaf on top, and I was willing to give it a try. 

Peanut Sauce - The Maker Makes

My willingness to “give other people’s food a try” has grown enormously since that time and I’m not alone. It used to be that fine food in North America was narrowly defined as classical French cuisine. But, today, to have "sophisticated" food tastes almost requires developing a palate for a wide range of the world’s cuisines. This, what some sociologists refer to as "cultural omnivorousness," has changed my everyday cooking. Sometimes, I attempt to cook relatively authentic traditional recipes from cuisines around the world, but more often I engage in a less formal piecemeal incorporation of the flavours and ingredients of other people’s food. Chief among the additions that I have made to my culinary arsenal in recent years are noodles. When I am too tired or busy to plan and cook a meal, I’ll make noodles. They are fast, can be paired with any combination of vegetables and topped with an endless variety of sauces. But, beyond their convenience, they have become, for me, a comfort food. I don’t make them only when I am short on time and need something to eat, I’ve been known to make a bowl of noodles even when my fridge is stocked with leftovers, I make them when I am feeling sad or stressed or overwhelmed and just want to curl up on the couch with something tasty. 

Sichuan Peppercorns - The Maker Makes

Comfort food, though, is usually defined by its status as “your food.” It is the food that you grew up eating, especially that which you ate on rare or special occasions. The familiarity and association with important moments in your life and the people you shared them with are essential to the feeling of comfort you get when you eat it. For many who grew up in a world of processed foods, this means that comfort food is not always the most interesting or flavourful or healthy or even the most food-like. Kraft dinner, hot dogs with a rainbow of condiments, kraft singles, taco kits, and McDonalds may all qualify. Fast food is particularly suited to the comfort food genre because it is, by definition, standardized. Every time you eat it, it tastes exactly the same as you remember it tasting. Comfort food doesn’t need to taste good, objectively speaking, it just needs to remind you of something good. Noodles, however, are not my food. To me, noodles are “other people’s food” - a phrasing I first encountered on Sporkful’s podcast series about food and cultural appropriation. How can other people’s food come to function as “your” comfort food? And, what are the implications of Anglo-North Americans adopting other people’s food in this way? 

Sichuan Chili Oil - The Maker Makes

These are questions that I have been thinking through a lot. To answer them, I need to listen to the voices of those “other people” to whom this food belongs. As one part of this effort, I have been binge-listening to the fantastic podcast Racist Sandwich. One thing that stands out about its interviews, is the frequency with which guests of Asian descent speak about the ways in which, as children, they were made to feel embarrassed, alienated or ashamed by their white friend’s reactions to their food, and the complex feelings that arose when, some time after those early experiences, white people began to realize that Asian foods taste good (don’t take my word for it, listen to the podcast!). The history of Western encounters with Chinese food echoes these experiences. Early 18th century European and American traders visiting China, some of the first Westerners to sample its food, approached it with disgust and a strong sense of their own culinary superiority. Like the white American school children in the stories of Racist Sandwich, they complained about the strong smells of Chinese food and the unfamiliar form it took, of many small dishes with finely chopped ingredients; a stark contrast with the giant slabs of meat and relatively subtle flavours and smells that characterize most Western European cuisines. For these early encounters, the feelings were likely mutual. But they occurred on a relatively level playing field of power and the same cannot be said about the Western encounters with Chinese food that would occur later on Western Soil. 

Peanut Noodles with Sichuan Chili Oil - The Maker Makes

The history of immigration to the settler colonies of Canada and the United States, can be viewed as a succession of additions to the bottom of a racial hierarchy. Each new immigrant group taking its place at the bottom, performing the most difficult labour, inhabiting the worst living conditions, and experiencing the most discrimination and racism. And if you compare the history of North American food culture with this history of immigration, you will see that mainstream Anglo-North American culture tends to appreciate other people’s food, only as discrimination wanes for the group to whom that food belongs, as another group takes its place at the bottom, or as overt racist treatment of that group becomes less socially acceptable. It’s not a coincidence that only as an adult did I learn that sweet and sour chicken balls are not really "Chinese food." Patterns of familiarity with and appreciation of “other people’s food,” are connected in important ways to shifting forms of racial inequality.

Peanut Noodles with Sichuan Chili Oil - The Maker Makes

I heard someone say recently that being an ally is a process, not an identity. Which means, I suppose, that a commitment to allyship requires becoming comfortable with a permanent state of “in process.” In some ways this is similar to performing a creative skill like writing; the messy and uncomfortable feeling of being-in-progress, of not knowing exactly how your efforts will turn out, or if you are doing it right, then doing it not-quite-right and attempting to do it better. This is how you know you’re on the right track. In a former recipe post I wrote flippantly of noodles, “where have they been all my life.” Well, former me, they were in the bowls of many, many, other people - for centuries. I didn’t invent the noodle, and if I had encountered this dish as a child in the 90s, I might have turned up my nose, like the white school children in so many stories on Racist Sandwich. I'd like to think not, but it’s not possible to say with certainty. I think the important thing when we are encountering, eating and cooking other people’s food is to engage in that mindful process of listening, thinking, and adjusting - so that we can be alert for those times when the way that we react to and consume the cultural products of others, an inevitability in a world where difference exists, might contribute to the reproduction of oppression, racism and inequality. 

Further reading (and listening):

Peanut Noodles with Sichuan Chili Oil


    Sichuan Chili oil
  • 1 cup vegetable oil
  • 3 tsp red Sichuan peppercorns
  • 5 tb red chili flakes
  • 4 cloves of garlic, minced
  • 3 chives, chopped
  • 2 star anise
  • 1 bay leaf
  • 1 inch slice of ginger
  • 1 cinnamon stick
  • 3 tsp low sodium soy sauce

  • Peanut Sauce
  • ¼ cup peanut butter
  • 3 tablespoons miso
  • 2 tablespoons maple syrup
  • ½ cup + 1 tablespoon water
  • 1 tablespoon low-sodium soy sauce
  • 1 clove garlic, minced
  • 2 green onions, chopped
  • 1 teaspoon Sichuan chili oil

  • Noodles & Toppings
  • 2 Servings Farkay (pictured), Udon or Rice Noodles
  • 1/3 Cucumber, julienned
  • 1/2 Bell Pepper, julienned
  • 2 Baby bok choi, washed and sliced into strips
  • Handful of Peanuts, chopped
  • Sesame Seeds

  1. To make the Chili Oil: Add 2 tablespoons of the red chili flakes to a small bowl. Set aside.
  2. In a small pot over medium heat, add the vegetable oil, garlic, chives, star anise, bay leaf, ginger and the remaining 3 tablespoons of red chili flakes. Add the Sichuan peppercorns separately, in a way that allows them to be easily removable,* [I use a tea diffuser, placed inside the pot, you could also use something like a cheesecloth or spice bag]. Bring the oil to a simmer, stirring frequently, cook for 1-2 minutes, until the garlic begins to brown. Remove from heat and stir in the soy sauce.
  3. Transfer the Sichuan peppercorns to the bowl with the chili flakes and pour in the oil mixture. Allow to sit at room temperature for at least 2-3 hours. Remove the Sichuan peppercorns, star anise, bay leaf, ginger and cinnamon stick and store remaining ingredients in the refrigerator.
  4. To make the peanut Sauce: combine all ingredients in a small bowl. Whisk together until blended.
  5. Cook noodles according to package instructions.
  6. To Serve: coat the noodles in the sauce and add desired toppings. Mix together.

*You don’t absolutely have to strain out the Sichuan peppercorns, but I find the sauce tastes gritty if they are left in, like eating dirt. If that texture doesn't bother you, grind the peppercorns in a spice grinder and add to the oil. 

Sources: Peanut Sauce adapted from Pinch of Yum; Sichuan chili oil adapted from Lady and Pups.

Drunken Noodles (Pad Kee Mao)

Noodles, particularly rice udon and egg, have taken over my kitchen, and my diet, as of late. It began with an attempt to re-create some of the dishes from our favourite Thai place, mainly Pad Thai and these Drunken Noodles (Pad Kee Mao); then I moved on to cold sesame Sichuan skinny egg noodles inspired by the memory of a fantastic trip to an authentic Sichuan restaurant in Montreal over a decade ago, at least, it seemed authentic to me at the time, given that, up until that point in my life, my frame of reference for Chinese food was a chicken ball combo plate; and finally, for times when I was not in the mood for spicy, Japanese inspired miso udon noodle dishes. The evenings that I have found myself lying on the couch watching a good show with a bowl of saucy noodles perched on my chest have been many.

Just as a side note, there is something about mentioning TV watching in the context of food writing that strikes me as amusingly, if not somewhat embarrassingly, unsophisticated. If the daily activities described in much popular food writing were any indication, I should be spending my afternoons stepping outside onto cobblestone streets to explore some medieval European city, or driving a pastel bicycle along a dirt road flanked by fields of wildflowers with a basket of fresh produce flung over the handlebars, or reminiscing about that summer I spent in some seaside town in the mediterranean, soaking in the foodways of the locals. But no, in my real-life downtime I am lying on the couch slurping noodles while watching prison break on Netflix. I'm just going to own it. It is the “golden age” of television, as they say, and saucy spicy noodles are everything.

At the risk of putting a damper on the excitement that should surround these drunken noodles (Pad Kee Mao), I want to segue into a few thoughts related to their sodium content*. On the one hand, this is a relatively healthy dish. Thai food, like many Asian cuisines, is primarily plant-based. The ingredients are whole-foods or minimally processed and contain none of the "bad fats". On the other hand, anything that contains even the smallest amount of soy sauce and/or fish sauce is relatively high in sodium. 

As a general rule, I try not to focus too much on individual nutrients, or "good" and "bad" foods (you know, like I am doing right now). However, a recent post from Marion Nestle's blog about the sodium content of restaurant food has stuck with me and left me more vigilant about my sodium intake than I otherwise am. The infographic she references from a VOX article really needs to be seen to be believed. It features a number of commonly ordered selections from popular (American) restaurant chains, and measures their sodium content against a McDonalds small fry. For instance, they claim that TGI Friday's pecan-crusted chicken salad contains an amount of sodium equivalent to 12 1/2 orders of small McDonalds fries. Twelve and a half! 

This must be a deliberately deceptive move on the part of the restaurant industry. That sodium is in there because it is an easy, and cheap, way to make food taste better so that people will buy more of it. But surely those in the restaurant industry, and those who regulate it, know that the average customer probably has no idea that it is even possible for a salad to contain so much salt; that if they are choosing to eat at a restaurant, and not a fast food joint, they expect the food to be relatively healthier; that if they are choosing a salad, they believe they are making a healthy choice. This hidden salt (to say nothing of added sugars) is just one of many examples of how our food environment works against people's best efforts to make good food choices - a topic I intend to write about at length elsewhere.

In any case, the takeaway here should be to proceed with caution when eating at restaurants, not to cut salt out of your diet entirely - especially if that would mean missing out on these drunken noodles. Most of the salt that we consume comes from processed and ultra-processed foods, fast food, and restaurant meals, not our salt shakers. Brazil's recent groundbreaking food guide contains some of the best advice, in my opinion, for eating a healthy diet. Among other things it suggests that we cook as much as we can, from scratch, at home. If we do that, sodium intake should take care of itself.

*Although nutritional science is relevant to my work on the cultural politics of food, I am not a nutritionist. My knowledge of what is healthy, nutritionally, is partial and approached and interpreted through a social science perspective and skill set.

Drunken Noodles (Pad Kee Mao)

Serves: 3-4

Two bowls of drunken noodles (pad kee mao) with a small bowl of peanuts and two water glasses

  • ¼ cup low sodium soy sauce
  • ¼ cup fish sauce
  • 1/3 cup white sugar
  • 1 tablespoon sesame oil

  • Noodles
  • 225 grams Thai rice noodles,
  • 4 birds-eye chilies, very finely chopped
  • 6 cloves garlic, finely diced
  • ½ red bell pepper, cut into strips
  • ¼ large eggplant, cut into 1/2 inch cubes
  • 2 baby bok choy, sliced into strips, washed and dried
  • 1 small roma tomato, chopped
  • ½ cup holy or Thai basil*, roughly chopped

  • 2 scallions, finely chopped
  • 1/3 cup peanuts, roughly chopped

  1. PREPARE NOODLES: Fill a large bowl with very hot water, soak the noodles until they begin to soften, but are still too hard to eat, they will continue to cook in the wok or skillet.**
  2. In a large skillet or cast iron, heat a thin layer of oil over medium-high heat. Add garlic and thai chilies and sauté until they begin to brown, 1-2 minutes.
  3. Add tomato, bell pepper and eggplant and sauté, stirring frequently, until the eggplant softens and browns, about 5 minutes (add a bit of the sauce if the vegetables begin to burn before they cook).
  4. PREPARE SAUCE: Meanwhile, wisk together soy sauce, fish sauce, white sugar, and sesmae oil in a small bowl. Set aside.
  5. Add the noodles. Pour enough sauce over the noodles to coat. Cook until noodles are just about at your desired texture, stirring constantly
  6. Add the bok choy and basil, stirring for another minute, until they begin to wilt
  7. Remove skillet from the heat, transfer the noodles into bowls, and top with chopped peanuts and scallions. Serve immediately.

* Italian Basil will work too, but won't taste the same. Holy basil is worth tracking down, if at all possible. 

** This may be obvious to some, but for the uninitiated (as I was a few months ago) cooking rice noodles can be tricky, and I have found that the best technique for getting the right texture -soft but not mushy- tends to vary by the size and brand of the noodle, and the package instructions don't always seem to produce the right consistency. I've found trial and error to be the best way to figure it out.

This is a meatless version (sprinkling 1/4 cup of peanuts over each bowl gives them one serving of protein), but the noodles taste great with chicken, beef, or shrimp. Add and stir-fry any meat or fish before adding the noodles.