I’ve decided on a hybrid system of nomenclature as you can see. I did think of being purist and giving this sweet, mellow curry its proper name of Murgh Mughlai, but I wanted the kind of curry it was to be immediately apparent to readers, skimming through deciding what to cook. “Mogul Chicken” seemed to lack exoticism and romance, so I took the usual crass Colonial route, taking over what I wanted and discarding the rest.

Besides, what’s in a name? The curry’s the thing. Though I usually go for the most fiery and shockingly fierce of curries, there is an elegance and depth of flavor in this pale, mild, creamy braise that bowls me over every time.

I feel very strongly that you should use the moister brown meat, from the thigh, for this, but if you prefer breast meat, and it’s a common preference, that’s your choice. I can’t pretend to understand it though.

There is a long list of ingredients below – and for all of these recipes – and I am not going to pretend this is the sort of food you can bang out in a moment. As with other examples of exuberant and traditional festive eating throughout the book, it has its roots in a culture in which, by tradition, women have gathered together for days, stuffing and rolling and grinding and stirring, to usher forth dishes; so, the cooking, the preparation, was part of the ritual. Some people might want to reject the food for the domestic imprisonment it engendered, but I am not one of those. I don’t see where it gets you. I cook this gladly, and out of choice; obligation, I do see, would not make it a pleasure.

One ease-making factor to be borne in mind with all three curries: not only can they be made in advance, they need to be; only if you let them steep in their pan, overnight in the fridge, do they have the full depth and resonance of flavor.