Ask ten cooks from Sylhet how hot a curry should be and you will get ten different answers. Heat is not a single dial you turn up or down; it is a layered thing, built from the type of chilli, how it is prepared, when it goes into the pan and what you cook alongside it. The compound responsible, capsaicin, sits mainly in the pale pith that holds the seeds, not in the seeds themselves. It is fat-soluble, which is why a spoonful of yoghurt or ghee calms a mouthful far better than a glass of water. Once you understand that, adjusting a curry for your household becomes a practical skill rather than guesswork.
Scoville ratings are approximations at best, and the same variety can vary wildly depending on the season, the grower and how ripe it is. Use these as a rough map rather than gospel.
In a Sylheti kitchen, heat rarely comes from one source. A typical fish curry might have slit green chillies dropped in late for aroma, a baghar of dried red chillies and panch phoron at the start for depth, and a spoon of achar at the table for anyone who wants more. Bhortas take a different route altogether — dried chillies are toasted and ground with mustard oil, which gives a smoky, almost nutty heat rather than a sharp one. Notice too that naga is often used sparingly and deliberately, in small amounts or in pickles, rather than dumped into every pot. That restraint is a technique, not a compromise.
The variety you buy matters, but how you handle it matters just as much.
Be aware that long cooking does not destroy capsaicin. A curry simmered for two hours will still be hot, just better integrated.
The most reliable trick in any family kitchen is to cook the base mild and add heat at the end. Simmer your curry to the point just before the chillies go in, then ladle out a portion for the children or the heat-shy, and only then finish the rest. If you have already gone too far, stir through a few spoons of plain yoghurt or a splash of single cream, and serve with a cooling raita or a bowl of plain rice rather than more bread. Keeping a jar of achar on the table lets everyone take their own heat into their own hands, which is exactly how it is done at home in Sylhet.
Taste every batch of chillies before you cook with them, keep a note of which shop or market stall gives you the ones you like, and label your frozen and dried supplies with the variety and rough heat. After a few months you will know instinctively that two of your usual green chillies equal one bird's eye, or that a quarter of a naga is perfect for a Sunday beef curry. That personal knowledge is worth more than any chart.
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