When I lived in Malekhu—a small town in Nepal famous for its fish—I often saw Indian buses stop near a wild-looking tree. Men would get off, snap off stems, and drive away. I found it odd. Curious, I asked a local elder, Barakoti Krishna Mama. He chuckled, “Even goats won’t eat that grass. Indians use it as a traveling toothbrush.”
I forgot about it. Years later, in the UK, I opened a packet of curry leaves. The smell hit me hard. It was sharp, familiar, nostalgic. I couldn’t place it. The memory tugged at me for years.
Then, during a jungle safari in Sauraha, I saw the same plant from Malekhu. I crushed a leaf in my hand and there it was: That same unforgettable smell. This wasn’t just any plant. It was curry leaf—something I once overlooked, now the hero of my kitchen abroad.
What shocked me even more was that wild organic curry leaves in the UK sell for up to £800 a kilo. This leaf, dismissed back home, is a premium herb abroad. I’ve used it in Qatar during FIFA 2022, and even while cooking for the Ambani family in Las Vegas. And every time, it took me back to Nepal.
Now, I store curry leaves in every form—fresh, dried, frozen, powdered. It’s my favorite spice. Not native to Nepal, perhaps, but deeply tied to my story. And I believe it’s time Nepal recognises this forgotten gem.
What are curry leaves?
Curry leaves come from the Murraya koenigii tree, native to South Asia. The leaves are glossy, deep green, and aromatic. They are not related to curry powder, but they bring a distinct, citrusy flavor to food. In many Indian and Sri Lankan dishes, they are essential—especially for a process called tadka, where spices are briefly fried in oil to release flavor.
In Ayurveda, curry leaves are praised for healing benefits, from easing digestion to managing diabetes and improving hair health. Communities in southern India even plant them near temples, believing in their purifying powers.
Science now confirms what traditional healers long knew. Curry leaves can control blood sugar, help digestion, reduce hair fall, protect the liver, fight infections, lower cholesterol and aid in weight loss. This little leaf is a health powerhouse.
Strangely, the plant grows wild in parts of Nepal but nobody pays attention. We ignore what other countries pay high prices to import. There’s no system in Nepal to cultivate, process, or sell this plant. But the demand is real.
Nepal could export curry leaves in different forms: fresh, dried, powdered, or even freeze-dried. We already do this for timur (Sichuan pepper) and cardamom. Why not the curry leaf too?
Curry leaves are gaining attention in organic markets, gourmet kitchens, and even beauty products. Chefs use them in fusion dishes. Health lovers drink curry leaf tea. Cosmetic companies experiment with curry leaf oil.
It’s not just a spice. It’s a functional ingredient, one with a story and value.
In many Nepali homes, curry leaves are already used in cooking. Known locally as ‘meetho neem,’ this plant adds flavor to dals, curries, and pickles. But we don’t often grow it ourselves.
What if every household had one curry leaf tree? It’s simple, affordable, and powerful.
The tree is hardy and evergreen. It thrives in warm climates. It grows in pots, backyards, and fields. You can grow it from seeds or cuttings. It needs sunlight, compost-rich soil, and a little care. One tree can provide all the leaves a family needs and more.
I’ve traveled the world carrying my spice kit, especially fried curry leaves. In Mexico, during a Formula One race, I ran out. I called the Indian Embassy. To my surprise, a kind man invited me to his home to pick some. That’s the power of shared food traditions.
In Nepal, we could take this further. Encourage every family to grow a tree. In villages, urban homes, schoolyards. Teach how to grow it. Use it in food and medicine. Dry it. Sell it.
On a bigger scale, the tree grows well in farms too. Space them out one and a half to two meters. Use compost. Harvest leaves every few months. One mature tree gives one to two kilos a year.
It can be a good source of income. Farmers could supply local markets, or export dried or powdered leaves.
Curry leaves clean the air. Their roots prevent soil erosion. Bees love them. They don’t need much water. They cool the surroundings. Growing more of them helps the environment. Medicinally, they support the liver, aid digestion, reduce fat, and boost immunity. They’re rich in iron and vitamin A, good for eyes and blood.
Nepal can lead this, but others can follow. From the southern USA to Israel, curry leaf trees can grow in many climates. They can be grown in gardens, on balconies, or using new techniques like hydroponics.
We need awareness. Schools and communities could distribute grow kits. Chefs can promote the leaf in recipes. Governments and NGOs can support it with training and small grants.
Even small entrepreneurs can build businesses making dried leaves, curry leaf teas, oils, or extracts.
To me, curry leaves are more than just a flavor. They are memory, identity, and health. From the roadside of Malekhu to kitchens in Qatar and Mexico, they’ve been part of my journey.
It’s time we give this leaf the respect it deserves. Let’s stop calling it grass. And let’s plant one tree in every home. Because with every leaf we grow, we bring back something valuable—to our plates, to our health, and to Mother Earth.
The author is a London-based R&D chef
