Last week, I had a pretty good time waxing theoretic about small exotic food joints and their heightened potential to give you a more authentic food experience. I’m holding strong to that; one of the best measurements of the creative health of a city is gauged by how many vastly different and culturally accurate experiences one can have while dining there. Consistent inspiration leads to experimentation, leads to presentation, leads to the hottest new bistro in town, leads to countrywide popularity, leads to dilution of the idea, and then the whole concept collapses and is reborn again in a different form (see Asian-American "Fusion" dining circa 1990 — foie gras maki rolls? Sounds like a bad idea in the first place).

But despite the ebb and flow of countries that make it on and off the cover of food magazines, the ideas that catch on for the long haul are the ones that have the most appeal to Average Joe, not Foodie Francis. Chinese, Italian, Mexican, all of these options (there are several right here in the Portland area!) lose significant amounts, if not all, of their authenticity in favor of big sales, and they keep the prices down to practical pocket change. Ninety percent of the time, they don’t admit that there has been any change from the "original" recipes; in fact, many use that as a marketing ploy unto itself. But just because you’ve been cooking the same red sauce since 1950 doesn’t mean it didn’t suck back then, too.

So, after all that, it’s almost bizarre to find an entire genre of cooking that holds true to its roots while embracing the tempering that must occur when gaining popularity within a large demographic. What’s not so surprising is that it didn’t occur in America, but in the United Kingdom, and merges two cuisines that are on seemingly opposite ends of the dining spectrum: British and Indian. But, according to Haggarty’s, Maine’s first Brit-Indi restaurant, on Forest Avenue in Portland, it is the number one food in the UK, dating back to the first Indian restaurant, the Hindostanee Coffee House, which opened in 1809.

An immigration boom in the 1950s and ’60s precipitated a correlated boom in the Indian restaurant industry, and today it is still one of the fastest growing food trends in the UK.

I have a feeling, however, that most here won’t really be able to tell the difference between Indian and Brit-Indi. Haggarty’s has a limited menu, but each choice has a crazy name and is densely spiced with blends that defy analysis. Don’t get me wrong; I’m sure there are a lot of you out there that really know your Indian food after years of Tandoor and the India Palace. But I’m willing to put money down that you couldn’t ID exactly what part of the ginger- and garlic-laced Karahi Bhoona is Brit, and which is Indi. Maybe you’d know that the spinach Malaider, Indian for "creamy," is authentic Indian, and the smooth, mild coconut sauce that makes up the Ceylonese Korma is one of the most popular in the UK. Maybe.

The most popular dish in the British Isles is one that has no recipe, consistent preparation, or traceable history. According to Peter and Colleen Grove’s Curry, Spice, and All Things Nice (www.menumagazine.co.uk) Chicken Tikka Masala is made up of two parts: Chicken Tikka — marinated and grilled (traditionally cooked in a tandoor) boneless chicken with onions and peppers — and Masala sauce. Here’s the catch: Masala sauce can be almost any color, from red to green, mild to fiery hot, creamy to tomatoey. And while every Indian chef knows how to make it, no one really knows where it came from. Legends abound, but it is such a non-recipe that the Oxford Companion to Food doesn’t list it as a legitimate foodstuff.

What is not disputed is that it makes up the bulk of orders in all of the Indian restaurants in the UK, and that it is a booming industry that has spawned everything from CTM pizzas to CTM pasta sauce.

So, Haggarty’s serves Chicken Tikka Masala. This version has tomatoes, yogurt instead of cream, and is pretty damn good. So is the sweet and sour South Indian Garlic Chili — notably the only recipe with an English name, which might be why it’s one of the restaurant’s most popular — despite the fact that it has a bit of heat to it. Each of the Pakora appetizers are good, each one is deep-fried in spiced chick-pea batter, but get the vegetable version if you must choose one.

So, confusing history and culinary trend-talk aside, here’s why I’ll order from Haggarty’s (take-out and delivery only) again: 1: Each dish is cooked to order, and is packed hot and fresh. It takes a bit longer, but after the drive home and 15 minutes of eating, I still burnt my tongue on the Korma. 2: Each component, veggie and meat alike, is distinctive and cooked well (a nice crunch for the former, beautifully tender chunks of the latter). Absent is the unidentifiable mass of mushy peppers and onions. 3: The servings are huge, enough for a couple of meals, and come in freezable and stackable plastic containers, making tomorrow’s lunch a two-minute microwave endeavor. And any place that is still with its customers two days down the road, no matter how humble the operation, has a good chance of getting customers for life.

Andy King can be reached at dinnerwithandy@yahoo.com