Chillies West End, Woodlands Road

The Time: June 17, 8pm

Booking Name: Joe Carnahan

The Pub Aforehand: The Arlington, Woodlands Road

In Attendance: Trampy, The Tramp, The Duke, The Bulldosa, The Gheezer, Rumpole Of The Balti, Sir Spicy Lover, The Birmingham Wan and flying in for one night only: Karahi … CHOP!

Decor: Formerly a liked but unremarkable-looking one-room takeaway, Chillies West End transformed a couple of years ago into a smart, expansive, modern curryhouse with nice hardwood tables, lots of exposed brickwork, abstract wall sculptures and a sophisticated atmos. One Curry Clubber claimed the bathroom was the nicest he’d seen in 18 months of troughing with TATTGOC.

Expectations: Well-reviewed online and heartily recommended by colleagues, Chillies seemed like a sure thing – although the Tramps’ typically slack advance research didn’t extend to realising it was a tapas-style joint. But what could go wrong?

The Experience:

Where’s an open-topped bus when you need one? Understandably, spirits were sky-high in advance of TATTGOC’s June meet-up. Just 48 hours earlier, Trampy and The Tramp had electrified the Scottish Curry Awards 2010 with their signature fusion of sartorial dash and dynamite chat (Frank from Kingfisher, if you’re reading – get in touch! Seriously!) before giddily steaming off into the night with the coveted Curry Lover(s) of the Year trophy. What could have been a commiseration-filled curry consumed under a cloud now felt destined to be a victory lap for the entire TATTGOC brotherhood. The Tramps proceeded up Woodlands Road toward the Arlington with the assured stride of spicy titans, thinking themselves every inch the chosen ones: dedicated, inseparable, invincible. Hell, even the sun was shining! What a great day to be alive! What a great day to love curry!

If a shadow flickered at their hearts, it was merely a twinge of regret that some of the most dedicated Curry Clubbers would be absent. Ravi Peshwari? Cleansing body and soul on a meditative retreat in Nepal. Rogan Josh Homme? Running his rigorous rule over the Edinburgh International Film Festival. And Rabbie Shankar? Going to work on an Eigg. There was also the inescapable fact that this would The Birmingham Wan’s final TATTGOC for the foreseeable as he prepared to depart for pakora pastures new. Any meaty celebration, it seemed, would be veined with silver melancholy. (On the plus side, there was the surprise appearance of Karahi … CHOP!, the man who helped christen the whole TATTGOC shooting match back in October 2008. Moving to London had precluded Karahi … CHOP! from any further involvement, bar a cameo appearance in a most honourable Foreign Curryspondence from Japan. But he wasn’t about to let the small fact that his plane had been diverted to Edinburgh stop him from making his official TATTGOC debut, promptly catching a bus west to ensure he made the rendezvous.)

With dazzling shafts of sunlight streaming into the Arlington, seven members of the Club assembled over very reasonably-priced pints of Tennent’s to toast their joint success. The weighty glass trophy was passed around carefully, partly because no-one wanted to go down in TATTGOC infamy as the goofus who dropped and broke it, and partly because its surface looked lensed enough to concentrate the sun’s rays into a lethal laser. It didn’t take that long for some tomfoolery to arise, however, with the usually statesman-like Rumpole Of The Balti bringing out his best windowlicker impersonation – only to recoil after being informed that Trampy had attempted “pink pancakes” on the very same glassy surface. The weighty trophy was also, very briefly, pressed into service as a tray, before going safely back in its cardboard box. Onwards, to Chillies West End!

The Tramps had initially settled on Chillies as an appropriate venue since it too had featured at the Scottish Curry Awards 2010, with Sam and Jamsay nominated in the Chef of the Year category. They narrowly lost out to Mahrukh Butt of new-kid-on-the-Lorne-Hotel-block Bukharah, but such accolades meant that Chillies seemed like less of an unknown quality compared to other TATTGOC targets. Brimming with confidence, the Tramps led in the troops. The Bulldosa and The Gheezer were running a bit late, but that gave the curry champions plenty of time to peruse the menu, after ordering up three jugs of sweet mango lassi.

It was at this point that the squad dimly realised that Chillies was a tapas-style curry restaurant, along the lines of Mother India’s Café. Brotherhood or not, the Curry Club could sometimes be cagey about sharing their food, so how would they cope with a full-on pic’n’mix spread? Emboldened by their newly-bestowed title, the Tramps were confident they could steamroller the rest of the boys into doing their bidding, foregoing starters to get a one-course bonanza of cute wee dishes. But that was to overlook the constellation of forceful personalities that blazes within the Club, and there followed a prolonged, boisterous and increasingly fractious debate about how best to proceed.

It would be inappropraite to compare these roundabout negotiations to Middle East peace talks – perhaps they were more like the current BA trade dispute – but Lord knows some sort of road map would have helped. At one vital juncture, when a tentative détente had been reached regarding how many tapas dishes each Clubber should order, the process was entirely reset upon the discovery that you could simply order a regular portion instead. Schisms loomed, with a starter-focused bloc coalescing at one end of the table while other rogue Clubbers suggested going it alone. When The Bulldosa and The Gheezer arrived, it was to witness TATTGOC riven by civil war. Could the curry coalition survive?

In the end, the best way forward seemed to be try and panel-beat the Chillies menu into standard TATTGOC operating procedure: mixed starters shared by all and a main, regular-sized dish each. Our waiter, who had patiently watched from the sidelines as the various factions knocked things back and forth over mini poppadoms and delicious dips, logged the order, and after that tense beginning, the Club settled into their usual social groove, tanning lassi and marvelling at the sunniness outside (for those so inclined, there was also France-Mexico playing mutely on a TV screen, while the laidback sounds of Acker Bilk were piped through the bustling restaurant).

The Tramps had settled on sharing four chef’s platters to start, and with it being a celebration of the awesomeness of TATTGOC, they had pushed the boat out to go for the premium Feast option. These massive, gondola-style plates descended on the table to involuntary “oohs” and “aahs” – big fans though the squad are of the standard mixed pakora, this was starters raised to a science: eight lamb chops, moist but firm salmon tikka, hefty king prawn kalonji, chouza pakora, chunky brie pakora, tangri chicken kebab, alloo ki tikki the size of ice hockey pucks and startlingly red prawn chaat. These dishes totally lived up to their bounteous billing, and as the nine fell upon the feast, marvelling and comparing what they discovered, it felt like this was genuinely a twenty-four carat Curry Club outing.

The fact that the last tangri chicken leg was passed up and down the table past groaning men should have been a clue that someone, Curry Lover or not, had perhaps miscalculated the amount of food. Soon after, the main courses arrived, with an added dal makhani and tarka daal for good measure. Trampy had blithely ordered up a whopping rice/naan equation of two boiled, three pilau, two garlic and two peshwari, having not stopped booming long enough to realise that Karahi … CHOP! had ordered a chooza biryani, reducing the need for so much rice. As the dishes kept coming, filling up the table like a spicy minefield, it suddenly became clear that in the same week that TATTGOC had won, it might also be defeated. Trampy could suddenly taste something, and it wasn’t his tangy chooza achari. It was something he hadn’t felt since the The Village. It was fear.

Tanked up on such substantial starters and creamy lassi, most men would have given up. But not Curry Club. While Trampy quavered, they seemed to take the lavish spread as a direct challenge. Rumpole Of The Balti and The Birmingham Wan had both gone for kofta anda curry, a staff favourite featuring lamb balls and an entire boiled egg, and set aboot it with enthusiasm. Karahi … CHOP! fired into his delicious-looking biryani, and the tangy dhals were passed up and down the table. And so, through dogged determination, the brotherhood overcame the slipshod ordering that could have spelled their doom by digging in for victory. The verdict was unanimous – this was some of the best curry TATTGOC had experienced, and Chefs Sam and Jamsay would always be winners in our book. But when it became clear that there would still be a slightly embarrassing surfeit of food, the Tramps were relieved when the waiter quietly suggested we take some doggy bags with us. (It turned out to be one quite big one.)

Since the brotherhood weren’t going anywhere for a while after taking on so much food, there was a short presentational part to the evening. TATTGOC’s baby-faced Machiavellian trickster had recently turned 30, and to mark the occasion, he was gifted a copy of the venerated Shish Mahal Cook Book, long hymned in these very pages. And since this was to be The Birmingham Wan’s last TATTGOC for a while, he received a token of the Curry Club’s heartfelt respect and appreciation in the form of a T-shirt emblazoned with I [HEART] SHALIMAR, a reference to the departed Gibson Street curryhouse where Wan regularly used to enjoy a New Year’s Day curry under an amusing pseudonym (check out his Pilau Talk questionnaire for more Shalimar love).

With daylight receding, the squad adopted their best Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue poses outside Chillies, passing the Curry Lover trophy around, gleeful and triumphant but also chastened by their Chillies experience. There was a lesson to be learned: know your limits. And as the shiny-faced crew shook hands and went their separate ways, there was one strange postcript. The Tramps and The Duke hefted their doggy bag into the Doublet for a final pint, only to be told by a bemused barlady that an identical Chillies carrier bag – containing curry and sundries – had that very evening been abandoned and then discovered in the ladies bathroom. What could it mean? Take two baltis into the shower with you?

Range Of Drinks: Unlicensed, but plenty of softs and jugs of lassi.

Highlights: Spectacular starters, mountains of food, a prompt and discrete doggybagging service.

Lowlights: Too much food! But that wasn’t Chillies’ fault …

The Verdict: A humbling experience!

The Damage: £216.55 (tip: £18.95)

"And the winner is ..."

There are certain stressful moments when time slows down.

It doesn't stop, per se, but it can seem to glitch, like a temporal needle snagging on a cosmic groove.

"And the winner is ..."

These are the times when your body chemistry is so altered – from adrenaline, outside intoxicants or possibly just a massive dollop of spicy food – that you actually do travel back in time, instinctively regressing to an earlier genetic incarnation of yourself: primal, atavistic, pretty much preliterate.

"And the winner is ..."

It can be confusing and a wee bit scary, especially if you're in the same room as a genuine Scottish legend called Cameron.

"And the winner is ..."

Earlier this week, the Tramps found themselves trapped in just that sort of time loop when, after three hours – three hours packed with entertainment and spicy hi-jinks, sure, but mostly just ratcheting up suspense to near-unbearable levels – the Scottish Curry Awards 2010 got properly underway with the presentation of the Curry Lover Of The Year category ...

The Tramps had prepared themselves for the big night with their usual Spartan discipline – absorbing an inordinate amount of UFC scrapping the evening before, then burning through the afternoon with a prolonged, often hilariously haphazard online team-up on Red Dead Redemption, skirmishing with Italian and French cowboys with fitfully satisfying results.

If you were following The Tramp's Tweeta Masala of blow-by-blow reports of the evening, you'll know they eventually made their real-life rendezvous in the Universal pub tucked in the oxter alley of Watt Brothers department store, taking a comforting pint of Guinness on board to prepare for the evening ahead. Trampy was rocking a suit, and hoping that no-one would notice it was the same one he wore to the Scottish Curry Awards 2009, albeit partnered with a tie of notably superior warp and weave. For his part, The Tramp was stomping down the traditional route in a fearsome kilt, though his trusty skean dhu had wisely been left at home.

This year, the Scottish Curry Awards were taking place at the Thistle Hotel, a city centre venue with such impressive gym facilities that it is literally impossible to walk through its corridors without feeling a waft of chlorine from the pool. By the time you make your way to the main ballroom and bar, however, the chemical tang has receded, and so the Tramps could enjoy their complimentary orange juices on arrival at 6.45pm without reliving childhood memories of swimming practice. The joint was already bustling with various nominees, dignitaries and invited guests, including representatives of the press, easily identifiable as they lunged for the canapes. The Sunday Post were the official media sponsor of the awards, but there was also a contingent of Herald staffers determined to have a good time, cheerfully wishing the Tramps the best of luck. Having snagged some impressive lamb seekh kebabs and cocktail-sized aloo tiki, our heroes were relaxing into the evening, although things were always going to get sweaty.

After half an hour or so, the hundreds of guests were encouraged to take their seats in the expansive main ballroom, handsomely stage-dressed with sumptuous crimson drapes and red bows. It was at this point the Tramps discovered that the awards were to be hosted by Andy Cameron, comic hero to generations of Scots and an effortless patter merchant. He launched into his first routine: "Would the owners of a Ford and a Peugeot parked directly outside the hotel ..." Hang on! This wasn't actually a joke, more of a public service announcement. But with the housekeeping out of the way, Cameron fired up the crowd with some classic banter, striking the right note between winningly old-school jokes and encouraging the crowd to support the Scottish Spina Bifida Association, with an attendant video and raffle.

The atmosphere at the Tramps' table was fairly buoyant in these early stages, particularly because a couple of the guests were employed by one of the largest piemakers in the country, which made for some interesting crusty chat. The Tramps were also sitting in very close proximity to Ian Cowie – aka Mr Snax – the official Scottish Curry Lover Of The Year 2008. After introducing themselves, the Tramps bonded with the great man over the Shish Mahal Cook Book, the awesome Village in Tradeston and the late, much-lamented Shalimar (formerly on Gibson Street). They were also suitably humbled to hear from their new friend Rajak about the work of the Ucare Foundation, building sustainable hospitals in Pakistan and ensuring that the entire community benefits through genuinely useful education and training.

You might be wondering: who would be brave enough to cater the Scottish Curry Awards, a place where the cream of the curry scene are assembled en masse? That responsibility fell to Saffron Events UK, who rose to the challenge of catering to 700 or so discerning diners by keeping things moving: the starters were ferried around on trays by waiting staff, delivering dhaka chicken and mixed pakora straight to your plate. For the main courses, there was an impressive rotating curry stand in the middle of each table. With its steampunk styling, hooked candle-holders and spinning central mechanism, it looked a little bit like it came from a proposed Victorian Curry Zone in The Crystal Maze. At the Tramps' table there was initially some confusion over exactly which copper pot went where. Once assembled, however, this elegant buffet provider offered jeera rice, lamb pasanda, garlic chilli chicken, tawa sabji, shahi turka dhal and – the discovery of the evening – delicious malai kofta balls, all accompanied by a variety of naan, paratha, roti and raita, as well as a "decorative salad", which sounds like pretty much like the perfect TATTGOC salad. It was certainly an impressive-looking spread.

With the award announcement looming, though, Trampy and The Tramp felt an unusual lack of appetite, especially when confronted with such a formidable buffet. Blame it on butterflies or too much caffeine but our usually hearty heroes limited themselves to just one plateful of curry each, which seemed almost wasteful in the presence of such an abundant feast. And that was even before the mango kulfi and shaki kheer dessert! The Tramp's coping mechanism appeared to be tweeting suitably gallus updates of what was happening to a rapidly expanding band of online followers. You can relive the whole raucous tale by following @buggenhagen on Twitter and scrolling back the years, but some of the sweeter tweets included:

"Andy C rocking some amazing old school specs - Two Ronnies style. Might have to ask him where he got them."

"Dance troupe called 'Miss Punjabeez' on stage giving us a show ... Trampy mesmerised."

"Music accompanying dinner is a touch James Cameron/Avatar though - not so good."

"Punjabi No 1, a fusion traditional/hip-hop dance act now on. Trampy looking hot under the collar."

... and so on.

Trampy, meanwhile, busied himself with a complimentary copy of Love Curry magazine, which coincidentally carried a double-page spread interview with TATTGOC's committed co-founders (insert your own joke about how they needed a double-page spread just for the pictures). Then, finally, inalterably, it was time for the awards to begin, and since the Curry Lover Of The Year was the very first award to be announced, when Andy Cameron read out the names of the nominees it suddenly felt to the Tramps like the famous dolly zoom in Jaws. And while the TATTGOC promo video appeared to go down well with the audience, it was still a complete and utter shock when Angie Bennett of Oceanic Consulting announced to the assembled:

"And the winner is ... Trampy and The Tramp!"

Just as there are some moments when time slows down, there are others when it speeds and smears. The next 90 seconds are indistinct. The Tramps obviously leapt to their feet in tandem to manfully embrace, any bellicose bellowing thankfully masked by applause. They then skipped lightly down toward the main stage, to accept their weighty trophy from Sarah Findlay – aka Miss Earth (Scotland) – and delivered a stumbling, stunned acceptance speech.

Details are sketchy, but the Tramps apparently managed to introduce themselves the right way round, and there was a heartfelt shout-out for everyone involved in the blog and all the other nominees at the awards. It helped that under the bright lights, the hundreds of audience members remained indistinct. And as the burly champions left the stage in a daze, Andy Cameron remarked on the quality of The Tramp's luxuriant beard, which was almost like winning the award all over again.

The roll-call of award nominees and winners continued, but for the Tramps there was media scutiny to undergo. First up: some photos with Miss Earth, who smiled like a pro while flanked by two Mr Girths. The Tramps were also interviewed for Bangladeshi TV, and hopefully managed to string a few sentences together while clutching their Curry Lover plate. By the time they returned to their table, still reeling from the news, they'd missed half of the other results and had to be quickly caught up by the other guests. Apparently there had been a run on winners from the west, with TATTGOC favourite the Banana Leaf winning Takeaway of the Year while Mahrukh Butt of the Bukharah had claimed Chef of the Year. The Tramps resettled themselves in time to hear that the coveted Restaurant of the Year award had also gone to Bukharah, the self-proclaimed home of "Healthy Indian Cuisine". It certainly came recommended by one of our new piemaking friends, who stressed that as well as a decent plate of curry there was also a fantastic, if pricey, cocktail bar in the same building.

By the time the awards wrapped up, with Dr Wali Uddin – noted philanthropist and co-founder of Britannia Spice, one of the highest rated curry restaurants in Edinburgh – delivering a wry, modest acceptance speech on being annointed Curry King 2010, the Tramps had begun to adjust to the brave new world in which they found themselves. After discharging some further media duties, unsuccessfully pursuing Andy Cameron for a quick additional photoshoot and enjoying a nourishing chat with a senior representative from Kingfisher Lager, the Tramps eventually stumbled off in search of a celebratory cocktail or two, finding a suitable berth in a Bath Street hostelry so dramatically lit that they spent a fair bit of time attempting to recreate the stylised alienation of Edward Hopper paintings, while simultaneously tanning half-price White Russians, Berry Mojitos and Whisky Sours. But never mind that: would you like to know those results in full? Here we go:

THOSE RESULTS IN FULL

Best Supermarket Curry of the Year: Asda (making it two years in a row)
Team of the Year: Ashoka Johnstone
Chef of the Year: Mahrukh Butt of Bukharah, Glasgow
Takeaway of the Year: Banana Leaf, Glasgow
Lifetime Achievement Award 2010: Sohan Singh
Restaurant of the Year: Bukharah, Glasgow
Curry King 2010 Award: Dr Wali Uddin

and ...

Curry Lover(s) of the Year: Trampy and The Tramp's Glasgow of Curry

Aye lucky!

As you may have heard, Trampy and The Tramp (and, by extension, the entire TATTGOC brotherhood) were crowned Curry Lovers Of The Year 2010 at the Scottish Curry Awards in Glasgow last night. We'll bring you a traditional TATTGOC-style report of the emotional evening in due course, but rest assured the Tramps were honoured and elated to take the title, and have managed to not break the hefty crystal trophy plate (so far).

As part of the nomination process, they were asked to submit a one-minute video that explained what the blog was about. After a brainstorm with Bulldosa, this is what they came up with (watch out - the volume's turned up to 11):

Pressed suit? Check. Nice tie? Check. Sparkly unicorn lucky mascot? Check. Preparations are almost complete for the biggest night of the year in the world of Caledonian spiciness, the Scottish Curry Awards 2010. And the Tramps have got a ringside seat, as well as a nice poster confirming that TATTGOC has been nominated as a finalist in the Curry Lover Of The Year category. Later tonight, we'll find out first-hand who will walk away with some of the most coveted awards – could the Banana Leaf be crowned Takeaway Of The Year? Will Cinnamon in Aberdeen make it two-in-a-row as Restaurant Of The Year? Might the Bulldosa be the surprise recipient of the Lifetime Achievement Award? – and also enjoy some fine curry in glitzy surroundings, mingling among the taste titans of the Scottish curry scene. Exciting!

Whatever happens, the blog will be carrying a full report on Thursday but if you can't wait until then, you can get updates from The Tramp live on Twitter from the ceremony. All you have to do to experience The Tramp's Tweeta Masala is to follow @buggenhagen (why another alias? You'd have to ask Interpol). Things kick off at 6.30pm, so feel free to cross everything from around then.

Aye ready!

Some like it hot, but some like it hotter. While it seems society has mostly moved on from boorish drunks attempting to assert their masculinity by ordering the hottest curry on the menu, there's still a certain fiery frisson that comes with pitting your weathered, leathered tongue against the picante might of Mother Nature's most volcanic chillies. Last year, the Kismot in Edinburgh made headlines across the world when they launched their "Kismot Killer", a curry so potentially incendiary that waiting staff straightfacedly demand customers sign a legal disclaimer before taking a fork to it. (We especially liked this wily clause: If you die whilst eating or as a direct result of eating the curry, members of the table will share the cost of your Kismot Killer.)

If you finish the Killer, you get it for free, plus a signed certificate proving your durability. If it finishes you, well ... your fellow diners will just have to cough up. You signed a contract! So what is it like to experience with Scotland's hottest curry? Friend of TATTGOC Scott Shaw danced with the Kismot Killer for BBC Radio Scotland in December last year, and kindly agreed to tell us what happened that fateful morning live on air – and the vengeful aftermath. At least we can assume that he survived the experience ...

(The pictures come from the Kismot Killer Hall of Shame – check out the Kismot's awesome website for some portraits of those who beat the Killer, and also a nice picture of Lionel Blair too.)

So Scott ... you brave, impulsive, foolish man. How did you first come in contact with the Killer? A producer friend from Radio Scotland phoned and asked if I would help them with a radio broadcast about curry. They wanted to do a live uplink from the Kismot restaurant on St Leonard's Street so I thought at first it was going to be a technical job, setting up the satellite or holding the microphone. It was only because I got down there ten minutes early to scope things out that I realised I was going to be the one actually eating it …

Was there a particular reason they rang you? I’d been talking to the producer many moons ago about how I used to love a hot curry, a proper vindaloo or even a phaal. I think that stuck in his head, so when the news story came up about this super-hot curry he thought: who do I know who would be stupid enough to try this? The irony being that since our initial discussion, I’d done myself some damage – it wasn’t curry-related but it meant that I’d lain off the super-hot curries for a while. A jalfrezi was more my style.

Where did you used to eat these super-hot curries? These were Highland curries, the kind you get up in Inverness. I have a theory – and perhaps this should be a discussion for a later date – that the further north you go, the hotter, and better, the curries get. It’s so cold up there that anything that generates heat is most welcome, and the curries are amazing.

But back to the Killer. This live radio broadcast was in the morning, right? It was for the Fred MacAulay show at 10.30am in the morning. So I’d had a coffee but the next thing to hit my stomach was going to be this curry. There were some alarm bells. But even then it didn’t really register. Because I was into the curry thing, you know? I know how to deal with a hot curry, there is an almost nirvana-like state one must get into, you open up those nasal passages, you experience the spices, you don’t just focus on the heat. And even though I’d been told this was going to be the world’s hottest curry, I didn’t actually believe it was going to be the world’s hottest curry – this is Edinburgh, for chrissakes!

How was it presented to you? I got talking to Akbar Ali, the manager, and he lives to talk about this curry. The Kismot is just opposite St Leonard’s Police Station and he tells me the local cops are convinced that their pepper spray isn’t as strong as the spices in the Kismot Killer. He tells me that the only people who finish it either have no sense of taste or that they’re junkies who do methadone so they can eat the curry and get it for free. It’s fantastic patter. He’s an amazing guy, with a great spiel and sales pitch, but I admit I was getting a little nervous.

We were just getting ready to go live on air, and I was eating in the kitchen because we had to put the satellite link-up out the back door, so the table setting was beside the oven where the Kismot Killer was emerging, and they brought it out just as we were going to go live. And the moment it came out of the oven, it felt as though someone had set off tear gas. I felt it on my eyes before I felt it on my nose. That’s what was going through my head: I’ve never felt food through my eyes before and we’re seconds away from going live on national radio.

But you were a professional … you soldiered on? The segment started and I was setting the scene for Fred, introducing Akbar and talking about how this was the hottest curry in Scotland and if you finished it you got it for free and got a certificate but the whole time, I’m staring at this curry. It’s a chicken curry but there isn’t even an aroma because it’s so strong – this curry is hotter than smell. And I’m starting to readjust how I’m going to do this, because I’m pretty sure it’s not going to work in terms of me talking while eating it, and I’m certainly not going to finish the whole dish in an 11-minute segment. So even though I know it’s not the right thing to do, I’m thinking I’ll put as much curry in my mouth as possible – the mistake an amateur usually makes, but I’m hoping that by bypassing the tastebuds. I’ll still be able to talk.

What about sundries? I’ve opted for rice over bread because I think bread might soak up too much of the fiery sauce, while rice might help to insulate against the heat and I definitely want to mix it with something.

And what did it taste like? Those first two mouthfuls – I felt nothing, absolutely nothing, they went in my mouth and straight down the gullet. So I said, “I feel a bit of a tingle, Fred” … and then suddenly my tongue just became too big for my mouth. It might only have been a tiny increase in size but it made a massive difference, I could feel my tongue pressing against the back of my teeth … and now the heat’s coming.

I think perhaps my body just shut down at first – it decided, you can’t handle that amount of pain, so we’ll go straight to numbness. Then the heat! The heat came directly from the stomach and it has that feeling … if you rub Deep Heat or Vicks on your chest, the heat comes from your body and you’re not quite sure when it’s going to stop. And I’m still trying to talk live on air but now I can’t speak, which everyone seems to find hilarious. I was sweating so much it was dripping off me and into the curry – and when your sweat is dripping into your curry, you know it’s probably too hot.

How much did you eat? I managed seven mouthfuls of the Kismot Killer, while trying to narrate my own meltdown, and then called it a day. I could feel my pulse was quicker and my heart was beating quicker and the sweat just woud not stop. I was drinking glasses of fruity lassi but I was still sweating. We were thankfully off air by then so I said my goodbyes and wandered off in a daze.

How were you feeling? It was as if my internal core has increased in temperature a couple of notches. I just couldn’t stop sweating – it was the changing-T-shirt type of sweat. This was December, remember, and I could have happily walked down Lothian Road naked. I got back to the office I was working in at the time and everyone was giving me high fives because they’d heard me on the radio. They were asking questions: Was it really as hot as you said? Then: Why are you still sweating? And Akbar had told me I was going to keep sweating until the curry was out of my system.

How long did that take? At least two hours, sweating continuously. I had to go down to the basement where it was coolest, turn off all the lights and lie down on the cold floor. And my sweat smelled like a vindaloo – this curry had been all the way through my system and yet was still hot enough to generate a proper curry aroma. I didn’t do any work at all that day.

What was the final result? I’m not one for toilet tales so I don’t want to go into details, but in its defence, the Kismot Killer leaves you very quickly. The human body is an amazing thing – it rejects things that it knows you can’t take. So everything left me after two hours.

And what was the aftermath? I didn’t have another curry until March 2010, and it was something pretty pathetic in terms of spiciness.

So would you recommend the experience? If you want to show off to your mates or – more importantly – if you have a mate who’s a show-off then yeah, you should definitely suggest he tries the Kismot Killer, especially if you want to shut him up. Introduce him to the Killer and he won’t talk for the rest of the night … [some YouTube evidence below]



Have you returned to the scene of the crime? I haven’t actually been back yet, which is my loss. They’re really nice guys at the Kismot and they have a really fun attitude towards curry. It’s a family vibe. I should go back soon.

So were you upset you didn’t get a Killer Kismot certificate? I actually did get a certificate! I think they felt a bit sorry for me, so the chef signed one saying that I’d finished the Killer. Although Akbar did score out part of it and wrote “nearly finished”.

Wow. Thanks to Scott for sharing details of his morning of hot passion with the Kismot Killer. So should TATTGOC go wagons east again to test their mettle? And didn't they used to do some famously fiery curry at Bombay Blues on Hope St or is Trampy just imagining it?

After the news broke that TATTGOC had been nominated in the Scottish Curry Awards 2010, we were flooded with questions about who else was in the running. So let's take a moment to look at all the nominees gearing up for the ceremony on June 15 (bearing in mind that two of the most prestigious categories – Curry King/Queen 2010 and the Lifetime Achievement Award – are announced on the night).

Last year, of course, the Restaurant Of the Year was Cinnamon in Aberdeen while the coveted Takeaway Of The Year gong went to Kebab Mahal in Edinburgh (an establishment that comes highly recommended by one of TATTGOC's elite cadre of capital-based acolytes). So can Cinnamon mibbe make it two years in a row? Or will Glasgow newcomer Bukharah muscle in? Let's have a swatch at all the hopefuls in the various categories:


RESTAURANT OF THE YEAR
Taj Mahal, Biggar
Cinnamon, Aberdeen
Kebabish Original, Edinburgh
Bukharah, Glasgow
Spice, East Kilbride

TAKEAWAY OF THE YEAR
Banana Leaf, Glasgow - (gets the thumbs up from us)
Eastern Spices, Edinburgh
Balti Club, Glasgow
Cafe India, Glasgow
The Blue Elephant, Aberdeen

TEAM OF THE YEAR
Bombay Joe's, Broughty Ferry
Ashoka, Johnstone
Amani, Edinburgh
Taza, Dundee - (love their Mumbai v Dundee weather comparison)
The Light Of Bengal, Aberdeen

CHEF OF THE YEAR
Bukharah, Glasgow
Taj Mahal, Biggar
Balbir’s Route 77, Symington
Chillies West End, Glasgow
Britannia Spice, Edinburgh - (won Restaurant Of The Year in 2008)

BEST SUPERMARKET CURRY OF THE YEAR
Tesco
Asda
Sainsbury’s - (Mrs Lime Pickle turned Trampy onto these)

CURRY LOVER OF THE YEAR
Ian McAllister
Trampy And The Tramp’s Glasgow Of Curry

Flicking back through the Scottish Curry Award archives, it turns out the Curry Lover Of The Year 2008 was Ian Cowie – also known as Mr Snax – a fellow with a deep and abiding love of curry from all over Scotland, with a particular fondness for The Village and Yadgar in Glasgow. You can see him in action, here:



And here's a pretty awesome video from Curry Lover Of The Year 2009, Alex Salmond, even if it's clearly just been taped from the BBC iPlayer:



Trampy and The Tramp usually sign off with "Aye Ready!" ... but this time, we'll take a cue from Oor Wullie and say "Good Luck, A'Body!"