A simple, nutty rice of basmati and whole brown masoor lentils, mixed with sautéed onion, capsicum and tomato and gently spiced with garam masala and turmeric, then baked so the flavours meld. Serve hot with yogurt.
A new country every day, from every cuisine on the site.
Uganda's national dish: green matoke bananas steamed in banana leaves, mashed and kept warm in the leaves, then topped with a thick, gently spiced tomato and ground peanut sauce. It's soft, savoury and very filling. The book's Handy Hints add that bananas and peanuts are both good for the heart.
Ndambé is what Dakar eats for breakfast on the way to work: a thick, peppery stew of black-eyed beans with onion and tomato, sold from pots on street corners and spooned into a split baguette (tapalapa or pain de mie) with a smear of chilli sauce. At home it is just as good with rice or bread for supper. The beans are cooked until some break down and thicken the sauce, so it holds together in the bread. Chef's tip: soak the beans and cook them separately in plain water first; adding the tomato too early keeps the skins tough.
Nazook is the slice-shaped pastry stacked in the windows of Yerevan bakeries and sold by the box at every Armenian church fair from Glendale to Marseille. A yeasted dough enriched with sour cream is rolled thin, spread with a vanilla-scented filling of flour, butter and sugar, rolled into a log and cut on the slant before baking. The result is flaky outside, with a soft, buttery swirl inside, sweet but not sticky. It is a coffee pastry, served to guests and packed for long journeys because it keeps well. Chef's tip: keep the filling cold and spread it right to the side edges; the swirl looks finished and every slice gets its share.
The rolex is Uganda's most famous street food, its name a play on 'rolled eggs': at stalls all over Kampala, and now the whole country, a vendor beats eggs with shredded cabbage, tomato and onion, fries a thin omelette, lays a fresh chapati on top and rolls the two together. It is breakfast, lunch and late-night food. Unlike the Mombasa coast egg chapati, nothing is folded inside raw pastry: the omelette and a soft, ready-cooked chapati are rolled together. Chef's tip: cook the omelette thin and wide, the size of the chapati, so every bite has egg.
Natilla is the firm, sliceable Christmas pudding of Colombia, stirred on the night of the alumbrado (7 December) and through the novenas, and always shared with buñuelos. Milk is infused with cinnamon, sweetened with panela (unrefined cane sugar), thickened with cornflour and finished with grated coconut and raisins, then poured into a dish to set. It is dark gold, caramel-scented and soft, a bit like a firm flan. Chef's tip: stir without stopping once the cornflour goes in, scraping the corners of the pan, or lumps and a scorched bottom will form.
All over Malaysia, nasi lemak is what people grab before work: a pyramid of banana leaf or brown paper from a roadside stall, opened at a desk or on a car bonnet, with fragrant rice steamed in coconut milk, a dab of sticky red sambal, crunchy peanuts and cool cucumber. Stalls usually add fried anchovies and boiled egg; our meat-free plate keeps the morning ritual but swaps the anchovies for thin batons of tempeh fried until they shatter, and the sambal is cooked without belacan, so the depth comes from slow-fried chillies, tamarind and palm sugar. Eat it for breakfast, brunch or a lazy supper. Chef's tip: give the sambal the full time on a low flame; it is ready only when a shiny red oil floats free around the edge.
Yellow rice is Indonesia's rice for good news: shaped into a tall cone called tumpeng, it's the centrepiece at birthdays, housewarmings and thanksgiving gatherings across Java, Bali and Sulawesi, and in Manado and Banjarmasin it's also a weekday breakfast wrapped in banana leaf. The grains are cooked in coconut milk with turmeric, lemongrass, salam and lime leaf, so they come out fluffy, golden and gently fragrant, rich without being heavy. Serve it with tempe orek, perkedel, sambal and cucumber for a festive platter. Chef's tip: steam the rice after its first absorption, Javanese style, or rest it covered off the heat for 10 minutes — skipping this gives sticky, uneven grains.
On the first day of Ganesh Chaturthi, kitchens all along the Konkan coast and in Pune and Mumbai fill with steam as families shape ukadiche modak, the pleated dumplings said to be Ganpati's favourite sweet. A soft, translucent shell of rice flour cooked in water (the ukad) wraps a filling of fresh coconut and jaggery scented with cardamom and nutmeg. Twenty-one modak are offered to the deity, and the rest are eaten warm with a spoon of ghee poured into a little hole poked in the top. The pleating takes practice, so make a few extra and don't worry if the first ones are lumpy. Chef's tip: knead the ukad while it is still hot, with your palm oiled and dipped in cold water; a dough left to cool turns crumbly and cracks when you pleat it.
Nasi kerabu comes from Kelantan on the north-east coast, and in Kota Bharu it is a breakfast and lunch staple, sold in the morning markets in mounds of startlingly blue rice. The colour comes from butterfly pea flowers. Around the rice sit 'ulam', raw herbs and vegetables sliced as fine as thread: lime leaves, lemongrass, long beans, bean sprouts, cucumber, mint and basil, with nutty toasted coconut on top. Kelantanese stalls dress it with budu, a fermented fish sauce, so this version uses a sharp tamarind, lime and chilli dressing instead. It's light, crunchy and full of perfume. Chef's tip: slice the herbs as thinly as you can with a sharp knife; the finer the shreds, the more they scent every mouthful of rice.
Every warung and night stall from Medan to Makassar has its own nasi goreng, but the starting point is always yesterday's rice, a pounded paste of shallot, garlic and chilli, and a glug of kecap manis that turns the grains glossy and caramel-brown. Indonesians eat it for breakfast as readily as for a late supper, crowned with a fried egg and served with cucumber, tomato and a heap of crackers. This vegetarian version keeps all the smoky-sweet depth without the usual shrimp paste. Chef's tip: get the wok properly hot and add the kecap manis down the side of the pan, not onto the rice, so it sizzles and caramelises before you toss it through.
Breakfast on the east coast, in Kuala Terengganu and Kota Bharu, very often means nasi dagang: soft, slightly sticky rice steamed twice with coconut milk, ginger and fenugreek seeds, wrapped in paper with a ladle of gulai ikan tongkol, a gentle tuna curry. The rice is fragrant and a little chewy from the glutinous grains mixed in, while the curry is mellow, coconutty and sour from dried tamarind slices. Stalls sell it from dawn, with hard-boiled eggs and cucumber pickle on the side. It also makes a fine weekend brunch at home. Chef's tip: soak the two kinds of rice overnight so the grains steam evenly and turn plump rather than chalky.
Narikol laru are the small, chewy coconut balls that sit next to til pitha on every Bihu plate in Assam, offered to visitors with tea and jolpan. Fresh coconut is cooked with jaggery until it binds, flavoured with cardamom and rolled warm. They are soft and moist, not dry like desiccated-coconut ladoos, and are made in big batches the night before the festival. Chef's tip: roll them while still warm with damp palms; once cold, the mixture won't hold.
Umibudo, 'sea grapes', is a seaweed farmed in the warm, clear waters around Okinawa and Miyako island. Its tiny green beads burst in the mouth with a salty, oceanic pop, which is why Okinawans also call it green caviar. It's served as a starter in island izakaya, often next to a cold Orion beer, either plain with a dish of citrus soy or piled on a simple salad. Look for it vacuum-packed in salt at Japanese grocers; it keeps for weeks unopened. Chef's tip: dress the salad, not the sea grapes. Pour the dressing on the greens and dip the sea grapes as you eat, because vinegar and soy make the beads shrivel within minutes.
The name means 'waterfall', after the juices that drip from the beef onto the coals, and this salad is what Isan drinking spots and family barbecues serve when there is good meat on the grill. Smoky slices of pink steak are tossed while still warm with lime, fish sauce, chilli flakes, shallots and mint, then dusted with toasted rice powder for crunch. The meat soaks up the dressing like a sponge, so every bite is juicy, sour and hot. Pile it on a plate with sticky rice, cabbage, cucumber and long beans. Chef's tip: choose a steak with some marbling, such as sirloin or rump; very lean cuts turn dry and chewy once sliced thin.
Every khantoke dinner in Chiang Mai sets out a bowl of this brick-red relish beside the sticky rice baskets, and morning markets sell it by the scoop in little plastic bags. It sits somewhere between a chunky meat sauce and a dip: sweet-sour from slow-cooked cherry tomatoes, savoury from shrimp paste and pork, with a gentle chilli warmth rather than a blast. Scoop it up with cucumber, blanched long beans, cabbage wedges and crisp pork crackling, or press a ball of sticky rice into it. Chef's tip: fry the pounded paste in the oil until it darkens and smells toasty before the pork goes in; that is where the deep, roasted flavour comes from.
Nam prik noom is the relish Chiang Mai is proud of: long green chillies, shallots and garlic charred over coals until blistered and soft, then pounded into a rough, smoky, gently hot dip. At Warorot Market and the morning markets of the north it is sold by the bagful next to crunchy pork rinds and baskets of steamed vegetables, and it sits on almost every Lanna family table with sticky rice. Most versions are salted with fish sauce or pla ra; this one uses salt and a dash of soy, and the smokiness carries it just as well. Eat it with blanched cabbage, long beans, cucumber and sticky rice. Chef's tip: roast the vegetables until their skins are black in patches and they collapse when pressed; undercooked chillies taste raw and sharp.
Unniyappam are small, round sweet dumplings that Kerala families make for Vishu and Karthika, and they are a well-known temple offering at Guruvayur and Sabarimala. A batter of ground rice, ripe banana and jaggery, studded with ghee-fried coconut bits and sesame, is fried in the round hollows of an unniyappa chatti until crisp and dark brown outside and soft and spongy in the middle. They keep for a couple of days in a tin and are perfect with tea. Chef's tip: let the batter rest for an hour; it softens and puffs a little, giving lighter unniyappam.
Champon belongs to Nagasaki, the port that stayed open to Chinese and Dutch traders for centuries. It was created there at the end of the 19th century by a Chinese restaurant owner who wanted a cheap, filling meal for Chinese students, and the city's Chinatown still serves it in huge bowls. Pork, squid, prawns, fishcake and a pile of cabbage are fried in one wok, then the stock goes in and the thick noodles cook right in the soup. Restaurants make the cloudy broth from long-boiled pork and chicken bones; at home a little milk gives the same mellow, creamy look. Chef's tip: fry everything over the highest heat in small batches; the slight scorch on the cabbage and pork is what flavours the soup.
Castella arrived in Nagasaki with Portuguese traders in the 16th century, when the port was Japan's only window to Europe, and the name probably comes from 'pão de Castela', bread from Castile. Over 400 years Nagasaki's bakers turned it into something their own: a tall, fine-crumbed sponge made only of eggs, sugar, flour and honey, with a dark, sticky top and a layer of crunchy zarame sugar crystals at the bottom. It's still sold in long wooden boxes at old shops near the harbour and given as a formal gift. Cut it into neat slices and serve with green tea. Chef's tip: wrap the cake in cling film while still warm and rest it overnight. Its moist, springy texture develops as it rests.
Nacatamales are the Saturday and Sunday breakfast of Nicaragua, bought from neighbours who make them on Friday nights or steamed at home for Christmas: a large, soft masa dough enriched with lard and sour orange, wrapped round marinated pork, rice, potato, tomato, onion, sweet pepper and mint, then tied in banana leaves and steamed for hours. This dish contains pork. They are eaten with bread and black coffee. The mistake is a dry masa: it should be soft and spreadable, almost like thick mashed potato, or the tamal turns hard. Chef's tip: wipe the banana leaves and pass them briefly over a flame so they become supple and don't split.
Zupa ogórkowa is the soup Polish families make when the crock of brine-fermented cucumbers from summer starts to run low in late autumn: grated sour pickles and their cloudy brine simmered with potatoes, carrot and root vegetables, then softened with soured cream and a fistful of dill. It is a staple of canteen lunches and Sunday-in-the-country cooking, from Mazovia to Silesia, and it tastes tangy, garlicky and comforting all at once. Traditionally it is made on meat stock; here a good vegetable stock does the job. Use real ogórki kiszone (fermented in salt water), not sweet vinegar gherkins. Chef's tip: stir the cucumbers in only after the potatoes are soft; acid stops potatoes from softening, so if they go in together the potatoes stay hard.
In spring, when globe artichokes pile up on stalls in İzmir and Urla, market sellers trim them on the spot into pale hearts kept in lemon water, and families take them home to make zeytinyağlı enginar. The hearts are braised cup-side up with small onions, carrots, potato and peas in olive oil and lemon, then served cold with a shower of dill, often as the first course of a spring dinner. The classic mistake is leaving trimmed artichokes in the air: they turn grey within minutes. Chef's tip: rub every cut surface with lemon as you go and drop the hearts straight into water with lemon juice and a spoonful of flour, which keeps them pale and cream-coloured.
Mysore pak was first made in the kitchens of the Mysuru palace in Karnataka, and it's still the sweet that every Mysuru sweet shop is judged by. Roasted gram flour is cooked in a sugar syrup while hot ghee is poured in a spoonful at a time, until the mixture froths up and sets into a golden, honeycombed block. This home version is the softer, melt-in-the-mouth style, with a fine porous crumb; cook it a minute or two longer for the harder, crunchier traditional slab. It keeps for a week and is made for Diwali, weddings and Dasara. Chef's tip: keep the ghee hot on a second burner the whole time; hot ghee hitting the batter is what makes it froth and form those little air holes, and cold ghee gives a dense, greasy fudge.
In Tashkent, chuchvara is the little cousin of manti: dumplings no bigger than a thumbnail, folded around a peppery lamb-and-beef filling and dropped into clear meat broth. Families make them in big batches on a slow weekend, freeze trays of them, and eat bowls through the winter with a spoonful of suzma (strained yogurt) or sour cream and lots of dill. The dough is thin and firm, the filling juicy with grated onion, and the broth light enough to drink. Many home cooks roll the dough too thick, which turns the dumplings stodgy; aim for a sheet you can just see the board through. Chef's tip: freeze the shaped dumplings on a floured tray before bagging them, so they stay separate and cook straight from frozen.
Uzvar is the dark, smoky-sweet drink brewed from dried apples, pears and plums that closes the Holy Supper on Ukrainian Christmas Eve, Sviat Vechir, where it is one of the twelve meatless dishes alongside kutia. In villages across Podillia and the Carpathians the fruit is dried in the oven or over smoke in autumn, which gives uzvar its distinctive campfire note; market stalls sell ready-mixed bags in December. It is drunk warm in winter and chilled in summer, and is naturally vegan when sweetened with sugar instead of honey. Chef's tip: simmer gently, then let it steep for several hours; common mistake is boiling it hard, which turns the fruit to mush and the drink cloudy.
In Poland, zupa pomidorowa is famously Monday's soup: on Sunday the family drinks rosół, and the next day the leftover broth becomes tomato soup with rice or thin noodles and a swirl of soured cream. Children across the country rank it as their favourite school-canteen dish. It is creamy, mild and a little sweet, nothing like a spicy Mediterranean tomato soup. This version starts from vegetable stock (the traditional base is chicken broth) and builds the flavour with carrot, celery root and tomato paste fried in butter. Serve it with rice cooked in the pot or with makaron (fine noodles). Chef's tip: fry the tomato paste in butter until it darkens one shade; raw paste tastes tinny and that one minute makes the soup taste like it simmered for hours.
Mysuru in Karnataka gave its name to this bolder dosa: a slightly thicker, golden crêpe that is crisp outside and soft inside, painted with a hot red chutney of dried chillies, garlic and roasted chana dal before the potato palya goes in. The chutney melts into the dosa as it cooks, so every bite has a sweet-spicy, garlicky kick. In Mysuru's old cafés it's served flat and folded, with coconut chutney to cool things down. Chef's tip: use Byadagi or Kashmiri chillies for the chutney; they give a deep red colour without blowing your head off, so you can spread it generously.
Lotus stem, called nadru in Kashmiri, is pulled from the shallow waters of the Dal and Anchar lakes around Srinagar, and Kashmiri Pandit families treat it as something close to a festive vegetable. Yakhni is their pale, onion-free yogurt gravy, scented with fennel, dry ginger and black cardamom instead of tomato or chilli. The lotus slices stay faintly crunchy and show their lacy holes in a creamy, ivory sauce. It turns up at Herath (Shivratri) meals and at Sunday lunches, always with a mound of plain steamed rice. Chef's tip: pick firm, pale stems with closed ends; the ends keep mud out of the hollow channels, so you rinse far less.
Muya awandru is a classic of the Tripuri (Kokborok-speaking) kitchen around Agartala: tender bamboo shoot is cooked with green chilli and a rice-flour paste (awandru) until it thickens into a soft, savoury mass, a little like a porridge. Traditionally a piece of berma (fermented dried fish) goes in; this vegetarian version drops it and adds roasted garlic and a little fermented soybean for depth, as vegetarian Tripuri cooks do. It is eaten with rice, often at village feasts. Chef's tip: mix the rice flour with cold water before adding it, or it lumps.
In late July and August, Finns head into the forests with buckets and come home with purple fingers, and the first thing many make is mustikkapiirakka. Finnish wild blueberries (mustikka) are small and blue right through, far more intense than cultivated ones. This is the version from Savo and central Finland: a soft, cakey shortcrust pressed into a tin, a deep layer of berries and a just-set topping of sour cream, egg and sugar. It is eaten at summer cottages (mökki) with coffee, warm or cool, often with vanilla sauce. Frozen wild blueberries from the freezer aisle work all year. Chef's tip: toss the berries with potato starch before they go into the crust; it catches the juice so the slices hold together instead of running purple.
Kartoplyani zrazy are a thrifty Ukrainian classic, made in kitchens across Chernihiv and the forested Polissia region where mushrooms are gathered every autumn: mashed potato is wrapped around a filling of fried mushrooms and onion, shaped into ovals, rolled in breadcrumbs and fried until crisp. They are a good home for yesterday's mash, and appear on the Lenten table and at casual family dinners with sour cream and pickles. Chef's tip: use cold mashed potato; common mistake is shaping the zrazy from warm, soft mash, which sticks to your hands and splits in the pan.
Tibs means pieces of food quickly seared in a hot pan, and in Addis Ababa it is usually beef or lamb sizzling in a clay dish. In the last decade the city's busy vegan restaurants, especially during the long fasts, have made mushroom tibs a favourite in its own right: big chunks of mushroom fried hard with red onion, peppers, garlic, rosemary and a little berbere, so they come out browned and meaty. Serve straight from the pan with injera or rice. Chef's tip: cook the mushrooms in a single layer in a very hot pan and don't stir for the first two minutes; crowded mushrooms steam and go soggy.
Winter in Istanbul brings fat leeks to every neighbourhood market, and zeytinyağlı pırasa is how many households use them: chunks of leek and carrot stewed gently in olive oil with a handful of rice to thicken the juices, finished with lemon. It is served at room temperature on the side of a winter table, or as a light lunch with bread and white cheese, and grandmothers often say it is better the second day. The usual mistake is skipping a proper wash: grit hides between the layers and ruins the whole pot. Chef's tip: cut the leeks on a slant into thick pieces and keep them whole rather than separating the rings, so they hold their shape through the slow braise.
Tacos al pastor are the night-time taco of Mexico City, born when Lebanese immigrants' spit-roasted shawarma met Mexican dried chillies: meat marinated in guajillo and achiote is stacked on a vertical spit (the trompo), shaved into small corn tortillas and finished with pineapple, onion and coriander. This vegetarian version, tacos al pastor de hongos, uses torn oyster mushrooms in the same brick-red adobo, seared hard in a hot pan until the edges crisp and char like meat cut from the trompo. Expect smoky, tangy, gently hot tacos with bursts of sweet, caramelised pineapple; serve them with salsa verde and lime wedges. Chef's tip: press the mushrooms flat with a spatula and leave them alone in a very hot pan; moving them around makes them steam and go soft instead of crisp.
Khinkali come from the mountain villages of Pshavi, Khevsureti and Tusheti in Georgia's north-east, and the roadside khinkali houses of Pasanauri on the Georgian Military Road are where many Tbilisi families stop for them. The classic filling is meat, but mushroom khinkali (sokos khinkali) are made all through Orthodox Lent and are on most menus. You hold each one upside down by its twisted topknot, bite a small hole, sip the hot juices, then eat the rest and leave the doughy knot on the plate to count how many you have eaten. The common mistake is rolling the wrappers too thin or the dough too soft, so they tear in the pot and lose their juice. Chef's tip: grind black pepper over them generously at the table, as Georgians do; it wakes up the mushrooms.
In late June, when the sour-cherry trees in every yard from Vinnytsia to Cherkasy turn red, Ukrainian families sit around the kitchen table pitting cherries for varenyky. These sweet dumplings are boiled, piled into a bowl and drenched in a syrup made from the cherry juice, a taste of summer holidays at grandmother's. The dough here is the simple water and oil kind, so the recipe is vegan; most Ukrainians also add a spoon of sour cream, which you are welcome to do if you are not cooking vegan. Chef's tip: sugar the cherries in a sieve and let the juice drain before filling, then put a pinch of sugar on each portion only as you seal it, so the dough stays dry at the edges.
Varenyky with potato are the everyday dumplings of central Ukraine, the ones Gogol's Poltava characters dream about and the ones that fill freezers in Kyiv flats before every holiday. Unlike Polish pierogi ruskie, these have no curd cheese: the filling is simply mashed potato beaten with plenty of onion fried in sunflower oil, so they are vegan and appear on the meatless Holy Supper table on Christmas Eve. They are boiled, then tossed in more golden onion and eaten with dill. Chef's tip: let the filling cool completely before you fill the dough; warm mash steams the dough from inside and the dumplings tear in the pot.
Musakhan is the dish Palestinian families in the villages around Jenin and Tulkarem make in late autumn, when the olives have been pressed and the first green, peppery oil comes home from the mill. Mounds of onion are cooked slowly in that oil with plenty of sumac, piled onto taboon bread with roast chicken and baked until the bread's edges crisp and its middle soaks up the purple-red juices. It is eaten with your hands, shared from one big tray, with yogurt and a chopped salad. Chef's tip: use more oil than feels right; the bread is meant to drink it, and a dry musakhan misses the point.
Luwombo is a royal dish of the Buganda kingdom in central Uganda, served at weddings, introduction ceremonies and Christmas: a stew wrapped and tied in softened banana leaves and steamed for hours so the leaf perfumes everything. Chicken, beef or smoked fish are traditional, but mushroom luwombo in a groundnut (peanut) sauce is a well-loved meat-free version, especially with the large wild mushrooms sold in Kampala markets. Serve with matoke. Chef's tip: wilt the banana leaves over a flame until they turn glossy and bendy; stiff leaves split and the sauce runs out.
Mamak shops stay open late across Malaysia, and the man at the big flat griddle swinging dough into a translucent sheet is half the show. Murtabak is that dough wrapped around a filling of curried minced meat, onion and beaten egg, folded into a fat square parcel and fried until blistered and crisp outside, soft and steamy within. Ramadan bazaars sell piles of it at dusk for breaking the fast. Cut into squares and serve with a ladle of dhal or curry gravy and pickled red onion. Chef's tip: oil your hands and the work surface generously; murtabak dough wants to be stretched, never rolled, and the oil lets it glide.
Muriwo une dovi, greens with peanut butter, is a daily relish in Zimbabwean homes, eaten with sadza at lunch and supper. Collard greens, rape or pumpkin leaves are cooked with onion and tomato, then stirred into a creamy peanut sauce. Zambia's ifisashi is the same idea, usually without tomato and often made with pumpkin leaves or spinach and eaten with nshima. Chef's tip: add the peanut butter at the end and cook just long enough to thicken; long boiling makes it gluey.
A mumu is the earth oven of the Papua New Guinea highlands, around Mount Hagen and Goroka, made for feasts, bride-price ceremonies and Christmas: pork, kaukau (sweet potato), bananas and greens are wrapped in banana leaves and steamed over hot stones for hours. This dish contains pork. This home version packs the same ingredients, with coconut milk, into a covered roasting tin and cooks them slowly until the pork is soft. The mistake is cooking the pork fast and hot; it needs long, gentle heat to become tender. Chef's tip: add the greens only for the last 30 minutes so they stay bright.
Ayran is what Turks drink with lunch: a chilled, foamy blend of yogurt, water and a pinch of salt, poured from copper jugs alongside cheese pide, börek, lentil soup and bean stews. In the Susurluk area of Balıkesir it is whisked so hard that it arrives under a thick head of foam, and roadside cafés all over Anatolia serve it in tin cups on hot summer days. It is tangy, refreshing and cooling with spicy food. Make it just before you sit down and drink it ice-cold. Chef's tip: whisk the yogurt alone with the salt until smooth before adding any water, and you'll get a silky drink with no lumps.
Sev puri is the snack Mumbaikars eat standing up at Juhu and Girgaum Chowpatty, or at the chaat stall outside the office in the evening. Flat, crisp papdi are laid out on a plate, topped with potato, onion and raw mango, splashed with green, sweet tamarind and red garlic chutneys, then buried under a snowfall of fine sev. It must be eaten within a couple of minutes, before the papdi soften. Here the papdi are made at home, but good shop-bought ones work fine on a busy day. Chef's tip: assemble each plate just before it's eaten, in the order given; chutney on bare papdi makes them soggy, so the potato always goes down first.
Vatha kuzhambu is what a Tamil kitchen cooks when the vegetable basket is empty: tamarind, sambar powder and a handful of sun-dried sundakkai or manathakkali berries fried crisp in sesame oil. It simmers down to a glossy, almost black gravy that is sour, a little bitter, hot and faintly sweet, and it keeps for days, so it travels in tiffin carriers and turns up at Brahmin home lunches all over Thanjavur and Chennai. Mix a spoonful into hot rice with a little sesame oil, and eat it with a plain poriyal or appalam to calm the heat. Chef's tip: fry the dried berries in the oil first and lift them out the moment they puff and darken; added at the end they stay crisp and bitter-nutty instead of turning leathery.
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