As a reflection of local tastes and evolving dishes, curry powders can employ all sorts of spices, including those used to make Golden Curry Powder: Top row, left to right: coriander seeds, black peppercorns and cayenne pepper. Middle row: cloves, fennel seeds and fenugreek seeds. Bottom row: cumin seeds, ground turmeric and cinnamon sticks.

LIKE MOST PEOPLE in the English-speaking world, I grew up believing that curry was a single thing, a stew made with curry powder. My mother's curry — a savory dish that filled the house with a wonderful smell — was always more or less the same. In fact, sameness was, as far as I was concerned, one of its virtues. I had the notion then (and still in fact occasionally find my mind curling back into its old comfortable position) that every dish has a standard form somewhere out there in the ether and that we as cooks strive to make our ingredients conform to that cosmic standard.

That is, of course, a lot of hooey. All dishes evolve and morph regularly into new dishes, and no family of dishes has done more of this ephemeral evolution than curries. As the editors of Cook's Illustrated magazine put it, "Almost any Indian stew can be called a curry."

But it came as quite a surprise to me, at age 10 or 12, to learn that curry powder was in fact a blend of spices. I had imagined that curry powder was a thing in itself, and the discovery that it could be "made" prompted me to try my hand. With the help of a friend's mother, I experimented with toasting some whole spices and grinding them into a powder. Measured portions of coriander, cumin, turmeric and fenugreek, mustard seeds and peppercorns went into a dry pan for toasting and then into a blender for grinding. Oh, the heavenly aromas!

A golden curry powder

Naturally, I strove to make my powder taste and smell as much like the standard blend as I could. But the irony of what I was doing went right past me. Why seek out fresh, individual spices and then try to make them taste exactly like a stale generic blend? In any event, I managed to make a curry powder that tasted "just like the stuff in the can."

The whole notion of a standardized curry powder is completely alien to the great cuisine of India from which curry emerged. Attempts to reproduce and regulate the spice blends of the Indian kitchen came from Anglo-Indians who sought to translate the unique flavors of India for the British cook. And in that way peculiar to the English, the notion of a correct curry emerged. According to Alan Davidson, commercial curry powders have been available in England since the late 18th century. But recognizing the disparity between the way curry powder is used in the west and curry as it endures in India, Davidson concludes, "The whole curry powder scene is always going to be irreconcilable with its origins."

Meanwhile, cooks in the western world have become somewhat more aware of the kaleidoscopic way in which spices can merge into any number of curry forms. Madhur Jaffrey, something like a Catherine de Medici of Indian cooking, helped open my eyes at a cooking demonstration she gave a few years ago in Portland. As she described the myriad blends of spices that can be used to season vegetables, stews and grilled meats, Jaffrey talked about the properties of spices that transcend the mere flavoring of food.

"In India," she explained, "we use spices almost like medicine." She rubbed a piece of turmeric between her fingers and invited us to do the same. "For example, turmeric has certain antiseptic properties, and it is traditionally rubbed onto fish before the fish is cooked. But there are other, more elusive ways that spices are used medicinally. We practice something called Ayurvedic medicine, which places a great deal of emphasis on hot and cold in the body. I remember that my grandmother would use a lot of ginger to warm herself."

Then she explained how an Indian cook might select from a range of potential spice blends based not necessarily on some standard for what spices go with what foods, but on what spices seemed appropriate to the way one was feeling. I filed this bit of information away and went about my business, but started thinking again about a year ago when I came across a book by Jennifer Workman, "Stop Your Cravings: A Balanced Approach to Burning Fat, Increasing Energy, and Reducing Stress."

A registered dietician and sports therapist, Workman uses the principles of Ayurvedic medicine to show "how eating the right combination of foods and flavors can diminish cravings to the point that food is no longer an issue of stress and worry." She created a formula based on three basic body types and six basic flavors to help readers shape a diet that matches their needs. I didn't have the patience to actually craft a formula for myself, but I did pick up this useful scrap of knowledge: full, bright flavors like the ones found in a good curry can satisfy our hunger in ways that high fat and not particularly nourishing foods never can.

So, with nods to both Jaffrey and Workman, I offer my own not necessarily standard blend of spices for concocting curry powder.