rick stein's chicken chettinad

What do you get if you mix too much too much alcohol, rugby, over-tiredness, background stress, low-level guilt about not doing any school marking, high-horsing about having to man-manage your (shared) son all day, and the fact your neighbours didn’t have any food in so your aforementioned son didn’t eat until 21.00-ish?

The obvious and correct answer is the mother or all arguments – although this manifested itself in muttered imprecations and oaths against each other, and me going to bed early. Which was probably for the best as we’d split up twice by that point.

It also resulted in chicken chettinad of HATRED: It looks the same, it smells the same, but it turns to ashes in your mouth and leaves you feeling slightly ashamed and guilty afterwards. I suspect we won’t be having it again for a while. Looks good though:

sources
chicken chettinad - Rick Stein, Rick Stein's India, p216