← Home

แกงมัสมั่นMassaman curry

Beef (or chicken) in a thick, slow-simmered coconut-and-spice broth with potato, shallot, and kaffir lime leaf — the "dry spice" curry, where the flavor comes from a ground-roast of coriander, cumin, cinnamon, cardamom, and star anise rather than the fresh-aromatics paste of the other Thai curries. It's a braise in a coconut broth: long, low, and the meat is the point.

Origin: Thailand, with a Persian/Malay lineage (the name is the Thai form of "muslim")
Difficulty: 4 / 5
Servings: 4
Prep: 30 min
Cook: 45–55 min
Total: ~1 h 20 min

Technique notes

This is the "dry-spices exception" from the curry-paste article: unlike the fresh-aromatics pastes of the other Thai curries, the Massaman flavor comes from a roasted and ground mix of whole coriander, cumin, cinnamon, cardamom, and star anise, and the roasting is the first — and the most important — step. A cold, unroasted paste gives a flat, "spice-powder" note; a roasted one gives the deep, warm, slightly sweet background that the dish is known for. The long simmer in the coconut broth is a braise in all but name: the collagen in the beef breaks down over 40 minutes of a low simmer, and that's what gives the broth its thickness and the meat its pull-apart texture — the same move as a short rib in a red-wine braise, just with coconut in place of the wine. The noodle and rice articles both apply here in the "what to serve with it" sense: this dish is built to be eaten with a starch, and the ratio of the broth to the meat is what the plate is, just as with the green curry. The cut — beef in uniform 2.5 cm pieces, so they all finish at the same time — is the other half of the technique, and it's the one that decides whether the dish reads as "a braise" or as "a stew with some pieces of different doneness."

Equipment

A heavy-bottomed pot, 28 cm (11 in), with a tight-fitting lid — the braise needs to hold a steady, low simmer without a lot of evaporation
A small, dry skillet for roasting the whole spices (step 3) — a heavy pan, medium heat, and a way to keep the spices moving
A spice grinder (or a clean, dry coffee mill on a coarse setting) for the roasted spices — a mortar and pestle works, but it's a slower job
A fine sieve, if your coconut milk lumps on you (step 5: a quick pass through the sieve smooths it)

Ingredients

500 g (1 lb) boneless beef chuck or shoulder, cut in 2.5 cm pieces — a cut with enough connective tissue to hold through the 40-minute braise; a lean cut (top round, for instance) will come out dry and tough at the end of that cook
25 g (2 tbsp) oil — a neutral, high-heat oil is fine; coconut oil is a small step up in flavor if you've got it
25 g (2 tbsp) massaman curry paste — see the box below for the paste, or a good shop-bought one
400 ml (1⅔ cups) full-fat coconut milk, from a 400 ml (14 fl oz) can — the thick top part goes in first with the paste, the thin part with the broth
250 ml (1 cup) beef stock, to bring the broth to a workable level
1 (250 g) potato — a good, firm, waxy kind — cut in 3 cm pieces
50 g (3) shallots, halved lengthwise and split into their layers — the savory, slightly sweet element that carries the broth's background note
4 (from 20 ml) kaffir lime leaves, split in half — the top note of citrus, and the reason the dish isn't just "a curry" — if you can't get the kaffir kind, skip them and add a small strip of the zest of a regular lime in step 6
10 g (1 tsp) palm sugar (or a soft brown sugar)
20 ml (1½ tbsp) fish sauce — the salt and umami, adjusted at the end
2 (10 g) whole bird's eye chilies (optional) — for the heat at the table, added in the last 5 minutes so they don't cook out into a background note
25 g (a small handful) coriander leaves, for the finish

The massaman paste, from scratch (optional but recommended)

8 g (¾ tsp) coriander seed · 5 g (¼ tsp) cumin seed · 1 (a 3 cm piece) of a small cinnamon stick, broken · 2 star anise, each broken into its points · 6 g (6) cardamom pods, the seeds out · 10 g (a small handful) of dried, red chilies (the small, dark-red kind, not the big fleshy ones), deseeded if you want it less hot · 5 g (1 clove) of garlic, crushed · 3 g (a small pinch, if you've got it) of fenugreek seed, roasted with the rest. Roast the whole spices (chilies, garlic, and fenugreek excluded) for 60–90 s over a medium heat, moving them constantly, until they're fragrant and just a shade darker than they started. Grind them all, with the garlic and the chilies, to a rough paste. That's your 25 g. A good, fresh shop-bought massaman paste is the same move done by someone else, and it's the right choice if you don't have the small, whole spices on hand.

Method

Roast the spices, if you're making the paste yourself. In a dry skillet over a medium heat, add the coriander seed, the cumin, the broken cinnamon, the star anise, and the cardamom seed. Move them constantly, and roast for 60–90 s — the cue is smell, not time: the moment they go from "a faint, dry note" to "a deep, warm, slightly sweet," they're done, and another 10 seconds takes them from fragrant to bitter. Tip them out into a cool bowl immediately — the residual heat in the pan will keep them going, and you want to stop the roast exactly at the moment they're at their peak. Grind them, with the chilies, the garlic, and the fenugreek if you've got it, to a rough paste. The curry-paste article covers this whole move in more detail — the roasting is the step that's in this recipe and not in most of the others on this site, and the "smell, not time" cue is the one that separates a deep, warm background note from a flat, raw "spice-powder" one.
Split the coconut milk. Open the can and pour it into two separate containers: the thick, cream-like top in one, the thinner pour in the other. If they're all one consistency, stand the can cold for 30 minutes and pour again. The fat in the thick part is the frying medium for the paste (step 3); the thin part goes into the broth at step 5, and the two of them working separately is what gives the broth its body and the paste its depth. The fry-the-paste principle applies here, just with a drier paste than the fresh-aromatics kind — the fat still does the work of releasing the flavor out of the ground spices.
Fry the paste. Heat the heavy pot over a medium-high flame, and pour in the thick coconut. When it begins to bubble and the fat starts to separate along the surface, add the massaman paste and fry it, moving it constantly, for 2–3 min. The cue is the smell: the raw, "just-ground-spice" note should turn into something deep, warm, and slightly sweet, and the fat in the pot should be a rich, golden color and pooling a little around the edges of the paste. A paste that's under-fried here will taste of raw spice and will never quite find its depth in the long simmer; a paste that's over-fried is bitter, and the bitterness carries through the whole braise. The window is a minute or two, and it's the one move in this recipe that's the difference between "a good massaman" and "a curry with some ground spices in it."
The beef, and the first set of liquid. Tip in the beef pieces and stir-fry, 2–3 min, until they're brown on the outside on most of their surface. You're browning the beef, not cooking it through — the long simmer in step 5 is what will finish the inside, and the browning at this stage is what gives the broth its depth and color. The beef should be a deep, even brown, not a pale, grey-brown, because a pale, grey-brown means the pan wasn't hot enough and the beef is steaming in its own moisture instead of browning in the fat. The fat in the pot will have darkened and the smell of the fried paste will be deep and warm — that's the "braise base" and it's the reason the broth has a depth that a thin, pale pot of coconut and stock doesn't.
Build the broth and start the braise. Pour in the thin coconut and the beef stock, and bring the whole thing to a gentle, steady simmer — a shiver, not a rolling boil, because a rolling boil will tighten the beef's muscle fibers and give you a dry, chewy piece of meat at the end. Simmer, with the lid on, for 20 min. The collagen in the beef (step 1) is starting to break down now, and the broth will take on a slight thickness and a deeper color as it does. This is the braise in its coconut form: the collagen is the thickness, the fat in the coconut is the body, and the long, low simmer is what turns the two of them into a broth that coats the back of a spoon and carries the flavor of the fried paste through every piece of beef and potato.
The potato, the shallot, and the second half of the simmer. Add the potato pieces, the halved shallots, the split kaffir lime leaves, and the palm sugar, and return the pot to its gentle simmer. Simmer for another 20 min, until the beef is pulling apart and the potato is tender all the way through. The shallot is giving up its sweet, savory note into the broth, the kaffir lime leaf is giving up its top note of citrus, and the coconut is emulsifying into the broth and giving it a slightly creamy, thick body. The broth should be moving slowly, with a few bubbles breaking the surface, and the level should be just above the top of the beef — enough to swim it, not so much that it's a thin soup. The "collagen and time" logic is what's happening in the pot right now: 40 minutes total of a low, steady simmer is what turns a 2.5 cm piece of chuck into a piece of beef that pulls apart with a spoon and gives up its collagen to the broth.
The balance, and the finish. Switch the heat off. Taste the broth, and work through the fish sauce and the two chilies, in small measures: the fish sauce, first — a 5 ml (1 tsp) pour at a time, stir, and taste — until it's properly salty and the savory background is there; then the two whole chilies, for the heat at the table, and a few more seconds of the residual heat to release their oil. The balance of salt, sweet (the palm sugar is already in), and heat is the same three-seasoning order as the other curries on this site — salt, sweet, heat, each in a small measure, at the end, in the pot. Stir in the coriander, and let the pot sit, uncovered, for 5 min before serving, so the flavors settle and the broth thickens slightly on the surface as the fat emulsifies into the coconut. Serve it over a plate of rice — the rice is the other half of the plate, and the broth is what ties the two together, just as with the green curry.

Common failures

The beef is dry and chewy. The cut was too lean (step 1: a cut with connective tissue, not a lean cut), or the simmer went to a rolling boil at some point (step 5 and 6: a gentle, steady simmer, not a rolling boil), or the beef was in the pot for only 10 minutes. The 40-minute, low simmer is the technique — a shorter cook gives you a piece of beef that's cooked through but not tender, and the collagen hasn't had time to give up its gelatin to the broth. The fix for a pot that's already done is to serve it with a little more of the broth poured over the top, and to make sure the next batch gets the full time at a low simmer.
The flavor is flat, "a curry with some spices in it." The paste wasn't fried (step 3), or the spices weren't roasted (step 1, if you made the paste yourself). Both of those moves are what give the dish its deep, warm background note; a paste that's just simmered in the coconut will taste of raw spice and a flat, one-note heat. The roasting and the frying are the two non-negotiable moves in this recipe, and the "smell, not time" cue on both of them is the one that keeps you on the right side of the window.
The broth is thin and watery. Too much of the thin coconut or the stock went in (step 5), or the beef was lean and didn't give up enough collagen. A quick reduction — a few minutes of an uncovered, medium simmer at the end, until the broth coats the back of a spoon — will bring the level back, and a lean cut next time is the thing to avoid at the start. A massaman broth should coat the back of a spoon and carry the flavor of the fried paste through every piece of beef and potato on the plate.
The potato is falling apart, or it's still hard in the center. The potato went in at step 5 with the beef, and simmered the full 40 minutes (falling apart), or it went in too late and didn't have time to soften (still hard). Step 6 is the window: it goes in with 20 minutes to go, and the point of "tender all the way through" is the difference between a massaman that reads as a braise and one that reads as a stew with a few different donenesses in it.

Variations & substitutions

Chicken. The same method, the same paste, the same coconut and stock — but the cut is a boneless thigh (step 1), and the simmer is shorter: 15–20 min total, not 40. Chicken doesn't need the collagen time that beef does, and a 40-minute simmer will dry it out. The broth will be a little lighter and the flavor a touch sharper, because there's no beef's own depth in it to round the paste out. It's a good, faster version, and it's the one most home cooks run when they don't have time for the full braise.
Lamb. A very good, more "stew-like" version: use a boneless shoulder, the same 2.5 cm cut as the beef, and push the simmer to the full 40 minutes. The lamb brings its own sweet, slightly gamey note, and the roasted spices in the paste (cinnamon, cardamom, star anise) are a natural match for it — the whole "dry-spices" profile of the massaman was, according to the curry-paste article, a Persian/Malay influence, and a lamb version is a step closer to that lineage than the beef or chicken.
Mushroom and potato. A fully vegetarian version: drop the beef and use 300 g of a firm, meaty mushroom (a king oyster, sliced into 2.5 cm pieces, or a good cremini) in its place, and keep the potato in step 6. The mushroom will give up its own savory, slightly sweet note into the broth, and the coconut's fat will carry the body that the meat's collagen was giving in the beef version. You lose the depth of the meat, but the whole "fry the paste, build the broth, long simmer" sequence is still there, and the balance of the three seasonings is the same move.

What to serve with it

Rice, first and always — a plate of rice and a bowlful of the massaman, with a good pour of the broth over the top. The rice is the other half of the plate, and the broth is what ties the two together. A som tum on the side works well as a counterpoint: the massaman is rich, warm, and spicy in a deep, background way, and the salad is bright, raw, and cutting, and the two of them on the same table cover the whole range. A green curry is the lighter, more fresh-aromatics version of the same family; the massaman is the one that's a proper braise, and the two of them side by side on a menu at a good Thai restaurant is the whole "Thai curry" story in two dishes.

Back to Thai · Techniques (curry pastes, braising, noodles, rice, knife skills, sauces 101)