Warm-Up Merchants: The Curry House Starter That Actually Wins the Night
There is a moment, roughly ninety seconds after the takeaway bag lands on the kitchen counter, when the whole night hangs in the balance. The mains are still wrapped. The naan is steaming itself into a soft frenzy. And the starter is sitting there, quietly auditioning for the role of Best Thing I Eat Tonight.
Welcome to the 2026 Spice Boyz Starter Bracket: a ruthless, mildly greasy, entirely unscientific tournament to find the curry house warm-up that actually earns its place. Not the fanciest. Not the most Instagrammable. The one that gets you properly revved up without ruining the main event.
The Judging Panel (Of One, Very Hungry)
Every contender is scored on five things, because five is a nice round number and I have a takeaway to eat.
Crunch. Does it snap, shatter or squelch? A starter needs texture. If it arrives sounding like a damp flannel, we have a problem.
Spice. Not heat for heat's sake. A starter should tap you on the shoulder, not headbutt you before the lamb rogan has even said hello.
Dip compatibility. Mint sauce, mango chutney, a little red onion salad. The starter is only as good as its ability to carry a condiment. This is a hill I will happily die on.
Travel resilience. The curry house starter has to survive a bag, a car, a bus, a bike or a brisk walk in the rain. If it turns to mush before it hits your plate, it is not a champion. It is a tragedy in foil.
Appetite-whetting power. The X-factor. Does it make you more excited for the main, or does it fill you up like a rookie mistake?
Round One: The Seeded Sixteen
The draw was made in my kitchen, using a pen and a deep sense of justice. Onion bhaji drew vegetable samosa in the tie of the round. Chicken pakora got chicken tikka, which felt unfair on the tikka but life is not always kind. Sheek kebab met lamb chops in a proper char-off. The mixed platter, that committee of snacks with no obvious leader, faced paneer tikka. Aloo tikki took on fish pakora. Mushroom pakora drew prawn puri.
The bhaji versus samosa clash was closer than the scoreline suggests. The samosa is a lovely thing, but it is a pastry parcel with a chip on its shoulder. The bhaji is a crunch machine with a built-in dip shelf. Bhaji advanced.
Chicken pakora beat chicken tikka on travel resilience alone. Tikka is brilliant, but it can dry out in transit like a sunbather who forgot the factor fifty. Pakora keeps its crunch and its attitude.
Sheek kebab versus lamb chops was the heavyweight bout. Chops are dramatic, but they are also expensive, awkward to eat from a paper box and prone to leaving you with a bone and a regret. Sheek won on sheer scoopability.
The mixed platter beat paneer tikka, but only because paneer tikka is too polite for a bracket. The mixed platter is not a starter. It is a group project. We will come back to that.
The Quarter Finals: Where Grease Becomes Glory
Bhaji versus chicken pakora was the people's quarter final. Both are crunchy. Both are dip-friendly. Both survive a journey. The pakora is spiced a little more aggressively, which is a plus, but the bhaji has a better relationship with mint sauce. It is the friend who brings the right snack to the party. Bhaji through.
Sheek kebab versus mixed platter was less of a contest and more of an intervention. The mixed platter is generous, sure, but it is also a hedge. It is what you order when you cannot make a decision and you want everyone at the table to be mildly disappointed. The sheek kebab is a clear, salty, charred statement of intent. Sheek through.
The Semi-Finals: Crunch vs Char
Onion bhaji versus sheek kebab. The classic. The starter equivalent of a six-yard box scramble. The bhaji brings crunch, dip compatibility and a genuinely excellent travel record. The sheek brings spice, protein and the sort of charred edges that make you close your eyes for a second.
Here is the thing: the sheek kebab is the better starter in the restaurant. It arrives sizzling, it smells like a bonfire in a good way, and it demands to be eaten immediately. But this is a takeaway bracket. The bhaji is the one that turns up at your door still doing its job. It has not given up. It has not gone sweaty. It is ready to party.
Sheek wins the appetite-whetting round. Bhaji wins travel resilience and dip compatibility. It is a split decision, and the bhaji edges it on consistency. The final is set.
The Final: Bhaji Business
Onion bhaji versus chicken pakora. A proper crunch-off. The pakora is the dark horse of the whole bracket: moreish, spiced, and dangerously easy to eat three of before the mains are even unwrapped. But the bhaji has the range. It works with mint sauce, mango chutney, a bit of yoghurt, or even a rogue splash of chilli sauce. It holds its shape. It holds its heat. It holds the entire concept of the starter together.
The 2026 Spice Boyz Starter Champion is the onion bhaji. Not because it is flashy. Because it is reliable, crunchy, dip-ready and built for the journey. It is the warm-up act that occasionally upstages the headliner, and it does it without making a fuss.
The sheek kebab is a worthy runner-up and the people's choice for anyone eating in. The chicken pakora is the one to watch in 2026. The mixed platter remains a committee of snacks with no leader, and I will not be taking questions.
The Champion's Speech (Delivered Through a Paper Bag)
Order the bhaji. Order the sheek as well if you are hungry. Get extra mint sauce, because the little tub is never enough and we all know it. And do not, under any circumstances, let the starter sit in the bag while you faff about with plates. The main event is coming. The warm-up deserves respect.
In 2026, the starter bracket is not about fancy presentation. It is about the first bite that tells you the night is going to be alright. Onion bhaji, you have done it again. Now pass the chutney.
