Vegan Indian recipes

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Idli upmaCrumbled idli stir-fry

Tamil households steam more idlis than anyone can eat, and next morning the cold leftovers become idli upma, sometimes called idli podi upma or uthiri idli. They are crumbled by hand and tossed in sesame or coconut oil with mustard seeds, two dals, curry leaves, onion and green chilli, so they turn fluffy and savoury, with crunchy bits of dal. It is ready in fifteen minutes and goes into school boxes in Chennai and Coimbatore with a spoon of coconut chutney or a sprinkle of idli podi. The common mistake is crumbling warm, freshly steamed idlis, which mash into a paste; they must be cold, ideally straight from the fridge. Chef's tip: go easy on salt, as the idlis are already seasoned.

15 min

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Mag nu shaakDry whole green moong

Wednesday is mag day in many Gujarati homes, and in Jain families this is how it is cooked: whole green moong soaked overnight, pressure-cooked until just soft, then tossed in a vaghar of mustard seed, ajwain and hing with green chilli and dry ginger powder instead of fresh ginger, and no onion or garlic at all. A pinch of jaggery and a squeeze of lemon give it the gentle sweet-sour taste Gujaratis expect. It's a dry shaak, each bean whole and coated, eaten with rotli, or with kadhi-bhaat for a light, very satisfying meal. A common mistake is overcooking the moong until it bursts and turns to mush; two whistles is enough, and the beans should still hold their shape. Chef's tip: save the cooking water; a few spoons loosen the shaak if it looks too dry, and the rest makes a lovely mag nu osaman with a little lemon and vaghar.

40 min

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Turiya nu shaakRidge gourd curry

Turiya arrives in Gujarat's markets with the monsoon, and this quick, juicy shaak is a weekday staple from Rajkot to Navsari, eaten with rotli and a dollop of ghee, or with khichdi and kadhi. It is cooked the Jain way, in a vaghar of mustard seed, ajwain and hing with green chilli and dry ginger powder instead of fresh ginger, plus tomato and a pinch of sugar. The gourd turns silky and almost melts, leaving a light, sweetish gravy. A common mistake is overcooking: ridge gourd softens in about eight minutes and turns to mush soon after. Take it off the heat as soon as the pieces are translucent but still hold their shape. Chef's tip: scrape off only the hard ridges and leave the green skin between them; it keeps the pieces together and adds flavour.

25 min

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GulguleJaggery and wheat fritters

Rainy afternoons in Lucknow, Varanasi and Patna smell of gulgule frying. These little sweet fritters are made from a thick batter of whole wheat flour and melted jaggery, studded with fennel seeds, and dropped by hand into medium-hot oil, where they puff up and roll themselves over into dark-golden balls. Outside they are thin and crisp; inside they stay soft and cakey with a deep caramel sweetness. They are also made as a prasad for Sheetla Ashtami and on Teej, and children love them warm with a glass of milk. Made with water and fried in oil, as here, they are vegan. Expect about 20 bite-sized fritters. Chef's tip: test the batter by dropping a spoonful into water; if it holds its shape and doesn't spread, it is thick enough to make round gulgule.

30 min

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Dhana jiruCoriander and cumin powder

Open the masala dabba in any Gujarati kitchen, from Rajkot to Vadodara, and next to the haldi and marchu there will be a compartment of dhana jiru. It is the spice that goes into almost every shaak, dal and kadhi, often alongside red chilli and turmeric in the same pinch-and-throw rhythm. The ratio is roughly four parts coriander to one of cumin, giving a mild, citrusy, earthy powder that thickens and rounds out a dish rather than heating it. Many families buy it ready-ground, but a fresh home batch is so much more fragrant that it changes a plain potato shaak or tuver dal. Surti and Parsi kitchens roast it darker; most Gujarati homes keep it light. Common mistake: over-roasting, which kills the fresh lemony note of the coriander. Chef's tip: roast just until warm and fragrant, grind, then sift; the coriander husks stay in the sieve and the powder comes out soft and fine.

11 min

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Vangi bathAubergine rice

In Bengaluru and Mysuru, vangi bath is weekend breakfast at a darshini and a favourite for office tiffins, and at Kannada weddings it often appears on the banana leaf. Small purple brinjals are cooked with tamarind, jaggery and a fresh vangi bath powder roasted from dals, coriander seed, byadgi chillies, cinnamon and dry coconut, then folded into cooled rice. The flavour is warm, smoky, tangy and slightly sweet, with peanuts for crunch. Serve it with plain curd or a cucumber raita and a papad. The common mistake is cooking the brinjal to mush; cut it into fingers and cook just until tender, so the pieces hold. Chef's tip: grind the powder fresh and roast each ingredient separately on low heat; burnt dal or coriander turns the whole dish bitter.

40 min

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Aloo methiPotato and fenugreek stir-fry

When winter methi floods the Punjab sabzi mandis, every family cooks aloo methi with makki di roti or plain phulka and a bowl of dal. The leaves cook right down into a dark green coating around tender potato cubes, garlicky and gently bitter, with a little sourness from amchur and heat from dried red chilli. It's a classic tiffin sabzi because it tastes just as good cold. The common mistake is covering the pan after the methi goes in, which traps steam and brings out the bitterness; cook the potatoes covered first, then finish uncovered. Chef's tip: sprinkle the chopped methi with a pinch of salt, leave it ten minutes and squeeze out the green juice to tame the bitterness, just as Punjabi grandmothers do.

30 min

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Nannari sarbathSarsaparilla and lime cooler

Walk past any sarbath kadai in Madurai, Tiruchi or Chennai's Parry's Corner in summer and you'll hear the clink of a glass being stirred with a long spoon. Nannari, the sweet, woody, vanilla-like root of Indian sarsaparilla, is cooked into a dark syrup; the vendor pours a little into a glass, squeezes in a whole lime, adds a pinch of salt and ice, and tops it with water or a fizz of soda. It is sweet, sharp and earthy all at once, and nothing like the milky jigarthanda made with the same syrup. Many shops add soaked sabja seeds for texture. The common mistake is too much syrup: the root flavour gets lost in sweetness, so start with less and let the lime lead. Chef's tip: squeeze the lime straight into the glass and drop in one squeezed half; a little oil from the peel gives that roadside freshness.

10 min

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Kulukki sarbathShaken lime cooler

Kulukki means shaken, and the show is half the fun: at roadside stalls in Kozhikode, Kochi and Thrissur, the vendor drops lime, a slit green chilli, basil seeds, syrup and ice into a tall steel tumbler, caps it with another and rattles it furiously before pouring a frothy glass. The drink became a craze across Kerala in the 2010s and is now a beach and festival favourite. It tastes sharp, sweet, salty and then hot as the chilli catches the back of your throat. Some stalls add pineapple or passion fruit. The common mistake is crushing the lime and chilli too hard or leaving them to sit, which makes the drink bitter from the peel and far too fiery; shake briefly and pour at once. Chef's tip: use a jar with a tight lid half filled with ice; the ice does the crushing and makes the foam.

10 min

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Dudhi nu shaakBottle gourd curry

When someone in a Gujarati house is unwell, or it's simply too hot to eat anything heavy, this is the shaak that appears with khichdi or thin rotli. Pale green bottle gourd cubes are cooked in a vaghar of cumin, mustard seed and hing with green chilli, a little tomato and a pinch of jaggery, and they release so much juice that almost no water is needed. With no onion, garlic or fresh ginger, it's everyday Jain food too. It ends up soft, light and gently sweet-sour, with a little thin gravy to soak into rice. The common mistake is adding water; dudhi is mostly water itself, and the shaak goes soupy and bland. Cover and let it stew in its own juice. Chef's tip: always taste a tiny raw piece first; a bottle gourd that tastes bitter can make you ill and must be thrown away.

30 min

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Panch phoronFive-seed spice mix

Every Bengali and Odia kitchen keeps a jar of panch phoron within reach of the stove, because so much of the cooking begins with a teaspoon of it crackling in hot mustard oil. The five seeds, in equal measure, are left whole and never roasted or ground ahead: bitter fenugreek, oniony nigella (kalonji), earthy cumin, sharp black mustard and sweet fennel. Together they give a layered, slightly bittersweet aroma that is the signature of tomato chutney, cholar dal, labra, chorchori and the sweet-sour vegetable dishes of a Bengali lunch. In some traditional homes radhuni, a wild celery seed, replaces the mustard. Common mistake: tempering over a high flame. The fenugreek blackens in seconds and the whole dish tastes bitter. Chef's tip: let the oil heat until it just shimmers, add the panch phoron, and the moment the mustard starts popping and the fenugreek is reddish brown, add the vegetables or dal.

5 min

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Kokum sharbatKokum cordial

Along the Konkan coast, from Ratnagiri down to Goa, the purple kokum fruit is split and dried in the sun every summer, and the leathery rinds go into curries, sol kadhi and this sharbat. Unlike sol kadhi, there is no coconut milk here: just a clear, deep-red syrup that is fruity, tart and faintly salty, diluted with cold water and drunk after a fish lunch or on a hot afternoon to cool the stomach. Families in Malvan and Sawantwadi still make the concentrate by layering fresh fruit with sugar in jars; this quicker version uses the dried rinds you can buy anywhere. The common mistake is boiling the kokum hard for a long time, which makes the syrup taste stewed and murky; simmer gently just until the colour floods out. Chef's tip: a pinch of roasted cumin and black salt in the glass turns a simple sweet drink into the proper coastal version.

15 min

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Bel sharbatWood apple drink

Bael trees grow beside temples across Uttar Pradesh and Bihar, and in May the hard golden fruits are cracked open on the doorstep with a pestle. The orange pulp smells of tamarind, marmalade and rose, and mashed into water it makes a thick, pulpy sharbat that people in Patna, Prayagraj and Gorakhpur drink mid-morning to keep the heat at bay; it is also famously kind to the stomach. Rickshaw stalls sell it from big steel pots. Ripe fruit is essential: it should sound hollow when tapped and smell sweet. The common mistake is blending the pulp in a mixer, which crushes the seeds and sticky fibres and makes the drink bitter and gluey; soak it and mash by hand instead. Chef's tip: let the pulp soak a full 15 minutes before mashing, and it practically falls off the fibres.

20 min

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Jeera alooCumin potatoes

Jeera aloo is what North Indian mothers pack with puri for a train ride, serve with dal and rice on a weeknight, and cook in bulk for Navratri kanjak lunches alongside halwa and chana. Boiled potatoes are cubed and tossed in plenty of cumin that has sizzled until dark and nutty, with green chilli, ginger, a little turmeric and chilli, then soured with amchur. The edges catch and turn golden while the insides stay soft and fluffy. The common mistake is tossing potatoes that are still hot from boiling; they crumble. Cool them completely, ideally in the fridge, so the cubes hold their shape. Chef's tip: let the cumin turn a shade darker before the potatoes go in; pale cumin gives a raw, dusty taste.

25 min

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Methi dana ki sabziSweet-sour fenugreek seed curry

Marwari wedding and festival thalis in Jaipur, Bikaner and the Marwari homes of Kolkata always carry a small bowl of this: fenugreek seeds soaked overnight, boiled to tame their bitterness, then cooked down with jaggery, raisins, amchur and warm spices until sticky and glossy. It is eaten in small spoonfuls with puri, bajra roti or dal-baati, more like a relish than a vegetable, and it's especially loved after childbirth and in winter as a warming food. With no onion, garlic or root vegetables, it suits Jain homes as is. The common mistake is skipping the boil-and-drain; seeds that are only soaked stay unpleasantly bitter. Chef's tip: the sabzi keeps for a week in the fridge and tastes better on day two, so make it a day before a festive meal.

35 min

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Kashmiri ver masalaKashmiri spice cakes

In Srinagar's old city, ver is still made at the end of summer and strung up to dry in kitchens: flat, ring-shaped cakes of ground spices bound with shallot paste and pungent mustard oil, dark red and rock hard. It was a way to store flavour for the long winter, when fresh ingredients were scarce. A piece grated into the pot gives Kashmiri food its typical deep red colour and its warm, sweet-hot fennel and dry ginger flavour, without tomatoes or onions: think dum aloo, nadru yakhni (lotus stem), haak (collard greens), chaman (paneer) and rogan josh. Kashmiri Muslim kitchens often add garlic; Pandit homes may leave the shallots out altogether. Common mistake: drying the cakes in a damp or closed spot; they stay soft inside and grow mould. Chef's tip: heat the mustard oil until it smokes and then cool it before mixing, to take away its raw, sharp bite.

50 min

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Kanda lasun masalaOnion and garlic spice blend

Kolhapuri women still make kanda lasun masala once a year, in the hot months, in a day-long session of frying, roasting and pounding, and the jar lasts until the next summer. The masala is a deep brick-red, oily paste-powder that smells of browned onion and garlic and sets your mouth on fire, thanks to plenty of hot chilli powder, traditionally from Sankeshwari or Lavangi chillies, plus milder Kashmiri for colour. A spoon or two transforms misal, kat (the spicy gravy for pav), batata bhaji, anda curry or the famous tambda rassa of mutton. Common mistake: frying the onions only until golden. They must be deep brown and crisp, with no moisture left, or the masala will turn mouldy within weeks. Chef's tip: dry the fried onion and garlic on paper for an hour before grinding, and keep the finished jar in the fridge if your kitchen is humid.

60 min

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Goda masalaMaharashtrian spice blend

Goda means sweet in Marathi, and the word describes not sugar but the warm, rounded fragrance of this masala, which every Pune and Satara household roasts in small batches. It is the soul of Brahmin Maharashtrian cooking: masale bhaat at weddings, a spoonful in amti (tangy toor dal), bharli vangi (stuffed brinjal), and usal for misal. It is dark and aromatic rather than hot, built on coriander, dry coconut (kopra) and sesame, perfumed with cinnamon, cloves and cardamom, and given its earthy, slightly musky depth by dagad phool (stone flower, a lichen), with nagkesar and maratha moggu if you can find them at a Marathi grocer. Common mistake: roasting the coconut and sesame with the hard spices on a high flame; the coconut burns before the coriander is done and the whole batch tastes bitter. Chef's tip: roast each spice in a drop of oil until a shade darker, because that slow roasting is what gives goda masala its colour.

30 min

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Rasam powderRasam spice powder

A spoon of rasam podi, a lime-sized ball of tamarind, a tomato and a ladle of cooked toor dal: that is lunch in countless Tamil homes, from Thanjavur to Tirunelveli, and the podi is what makes one family's rasam taste unlike the neighbour's. This version is peppery and cumin-forward, as rasam should be, with roasted coriander for body and a little toor dal that thickens the broth slightly and gives it a rounded, nutty base. It is meant for clear, thin rasams: tomato rasam, pepper rasam, lemon rasam, and the one you sip as a soup when you have a cold. Make a small batch, since the aroma fades after a couple of months. Common mistake: roasting the coriander seeds until dark brown; they turn bitter and the rasam tastes burnt. Chef's tip: add rasam powder at the end, when the tamarind water is already boiling, and switch off the heat as soon as the rasam froths; boiling it hard kills the pepper aroma.

20 min

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KuzhalappamFried rice flour tubes

Kuzhal means tube, and that is exactly what these are: thin rounds of rice dough flavoured with ground coconut, shallots, garlic, cumin and black sesame, wrapped round a wooden stick or the handle of a spoon and fried until crisp and blistered. In Syrian Christian kitchens of central Kerala, from Kottayam to Kozhencherry, mothers and aunts make tins of them before Christmas and weddings, along with achappam and avalose unda. They are crunchy, light and savoury, with a gentle hit of garlic. Some families fill the tubes with sweetened coconut, or dip them in thin jaggery syrup for a sweet version. Serve them as a tea-time snack; they keep for weeks in an airtight tin. The common mistake is rolling the dough too thick: the tubes then stay chewy instead of shattering. Chef's tip: roll each round between two sheets of plastic until almost see-through, and slide the dough off the stick while it is still hot so it holds its shape.

75 min

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Khichiya papadRice flour crisps

Every Gujarati kitchen knows khichu, the soft, steaming rice-flour dough cooked with cumin, green chilli and papad khar and eaten hot with a drizzle of groundnut oil and methia masala. Khichiya papad is what happens when the same dough is pressed paper-thin and dried on the terrace through April and May, a job that once filled whole lanes in Surat and Ahmedabad with women working in groups. Fried or roasted, khichiya puffs into a light, crunchy, faintly salty disc with flecks of cumin and a mild chilli warmth. It is eaten with Gujarati dal-bhaat-shaak, crumbled over khichdi, or turned into masala khichiya at the farsan shop: brushed with oil and topped with chilli powder, chaat masala, onion and sev. Chef's tip: press the khichu while it is still warm and soft. Once it cools, it firms up and cracks at the edges, so work in small batches and keep the rest covered in the pan.

110 min

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Madras mixtureCrunchy savoury snack mix

In Chennai sweet shops the glass jars of mixture sit beside the murukku, and at Deepavali most Tamil families make their own. It is built from separately fried parts: thin besan omapodi-style sev, little spiced kara boondi pearls, thick poha fried to a crunch, fried gram, peanuts and a big handful of curry leaves, all tossed with chilli and asafoetida while warm. The flavour is salty, peppery and savoury, with no sugar and no raisins, which is what sets it apart from Gujarati chevdo. Each part has a different crunch, so every handful is different. Serve it with filter coffee or tea. Use gluten-free asafoetida if you need it gluten-free. Chef's tip: fry everything in the same oil in order, from lightest to heaviest flavour: poha and peanuts first, then boondi, then sev; that keeps the oil clean and every part tastes fresh.

75 min

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Bhogichi bhajiWinter vegetable and peanut stew

Bhogi, the day before Makar Sankranti, is a day of plenty in Maharashtra, and the lunch to match is this thick mixed bhaji made from everything the winter market offers: green chickpeas (harbhara), fresh field beans (pavta and ghevda), carrots, small brinjals, green peas, ber and sugarcane pieces in some homes. Peanuts and sesame are crushed into it for richness, and the spice is goda masala, the sweet-smoky Maharashtrian blend. It is served with bajra bhakri spread with white butter or sesame, a lump of jaggery and a piece of radish. The taste is earthy, slightly sweet and warming. The mistake is using too much water: it should be a thick, almost dry curry that coats the vegetables. Gluten-free if your goda masala has no wheat-cut asafoetida in it; check the label. Chef's tip: add a spoon of jaggery and a little tamarind at the end; that sweet-sour finish is what makes it taste like Bhogi.

50 min

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AnnakutWinter vegetable shaak

The day after Diwali, Pushtimarg havelis from Nathdwara to Ahmedabad build the annakut, literally a mountain of food, piled before Shrinathji to remember Krishna lifting Govardhan hill. Among dozens of sweets and farsan, there is always a shaak cooked from every vegetable of the new season, and many Gujarati and Rajasthani homes make their own version for the New Year meal. In the haveli tradition there is no onion or garlic, and many families leave out tomato too; the flavour comes from ajwain, ginger, green chilli, a little jaggery and lemon. It is lightly spiced, sweet-sour and full of different textures, from creamy raw banana to crunchy beans. Serve with puri, kadhi and rice. This version uses groundnut oil, so it is vegan; havelis cook it in ghee. Chef's tip: cut every vegetable to roughly the same size and add them in order of how long they take, so the shaak ends up tender, not mushy.

60 min

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ChhundoSweet grated mango preserve

Every May, when rajapuri mangoes arrive hard and green, Gujarati terraces fill with muslin-covered jars of chhundo slowly cooking in the sun. Grated raw mango is salted, mixed with sugar and left out for a week or more, stirred each day, until the sugar melts into a clear, glossy syrup and the shreds turn translucent. Red chilli and roasted cumin go in at the end, so it is sweet first and then warm. It is what children spread inside a thepla or a rotli for the school dabba, and it sits beside khakhra, puri and dal-bhaat all year round. No terrace or no sun? It cooks just as well on the stove in 25 minutes; both methods are below. Use rajapuri (or another firm, sour, fibre-free raw mango) and grate it on the large holes so the shreds hold. Common mistake: cooking past one-string; the syrup keeps thickening as it cools and the chhundo sets hard like candy. Store it in a dry, sterilised jar and always use a clean, dry spoon; discard it if you ever see mould or it smells fermented. Chef's tip: mix part Kashmiri chilli for colour and part hot chilli for heat, and add the chilli only after the syrup is ready so it stays bright red.

55 min

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Aam papadMango fruit leather

Children in Lucknow, Varanasi and across Uttar Pradesh grew up tearing strips off aam papad from the corner shop, but the homemade kind, made when Dussehri and Langra mangoes are cheap and overripe in June, is in another league: thick, glossy, chewy, deep orange and properly mango-tasting, with a sour edge. Ripe pulp is cooked down with a little sugar and lemon until thick, then spread thinly on greased thalis and left on the terrace. Many families add a new layer every day for a week to build up a thick slab. Eat it as a sweet snack, cut into squares or rolls, or tuck it into a lunchbox. Common mistake: spreading the pulp in one thick layer to save time; the outside dries while the centre stays sticky and can turn mouldy. Chef's tip: no sun? Spread it on a lined tray and dry it in the oven at 60–70 °C, door slightly ajar, for 6–8 hours.

55 min

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Urad dal papadPeppery lentil crisps

Bikaner and the old Punjabi bazaars of Amritsar have made black-pepper urad papads for generations, and summer is when home kitchens still roll them: the dry heat crisps a whole tray on the terrace in a day or two. The dough is unlike any bread dough. It is stiff, grey-cream, seasoned hard with crushed pepper, cumin and asafoetida, and given its snap by papad khar (an alkaline salt sold at Indian grocers), then pounded until it turns smooth and stretchy. Rolled thinner than a chapati and sun-dried, the discs keep for months. Roast one over a gas flame and it blisters and curls in seconds, ready to eat beside dal-chawal, kadhi or a Rajasthani thali, or to crush into papad churi and papad ki sabzi. These are large, spicy and meant to be roasted; for the small, plain, coconut-oil-fried kind from Kerala, see pappadam. Chef's tip: dry the papads in light shade for the first hour before moving them into full sun; straight into harsh sun, the edges dry before the middle and they crack and curl.

135 min

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Bharwa lal mirch ka acharStuffed red chilli pickle

In winter, when the fat, fleshy red chillies of Banaras and Rajasthan come to market, families in Varanasi, Lucknow and Jaipur set aside a day to make bharwa lal mirch. The chillies are large and only mildly hot, more like a long pepper, so they are emptied, packed with a sharp masala of coarse yellow mustard, fennel, fenugreek, nigella and amchur (dried mango powder), and cured under smoked mustard oil in the sun. After a week the skins soften and the filling turns tangy and pungent, almost a meal in itself; one chilli sliced beside dal-chawal, puri-sabzi or a plain paratha is plenty. Wear gloves for the cutting, and make sure the chillies are fresh, glossy and firm. Common mistake: stuffing chillies that are still damp inside after washing; dry them for a few hours, cut side down, or the jar will spoil. Keep them under oil, use only a dry spoon or tongs and discard if mould appears. Chef's tip: a spoon of lemon juice in the filling helps it cling and gives a brighter tang.

60 min

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Idli podiLentil and chilli powder

Pack idlis for a train journey out of Chennai Central and they travel already smeared in milagai podi and gingelly oil, which is why Tamilians call this the travel chutney. At home, a small mound sits on the side of every breakfast plate: you make a well in it, pour in sesame oil and drag hot idli or crisp dosa through the paste. A good podi is coarse and sandy rather than floury, nutty from slow-roasted urad and chana dal, toasty from sesame, smoky from the chillies and lifted by curry leaves and asafoetida. Mix byadgi chillies for colour with a few hotter ones for bite. Common mistake: grinding the dals while still warm; the steam turns the podi damp and lumpy and it loses its crunch in a week. Chef's tip: roast each ingredient separately on a low flame, because the dals, chillies and sesame all brown at different speeds.

25 min

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PanchakhadyaCoconut, jaggery and poppy seed offering

Walk into a Maharashtrian home during the ten days of Ganeshotsav and the evening aarti ends with a spoonful of panchakhadya pressed into your palm. Pancha means five and khadya means things to eat: dry coconut (khobra), jaggery, poppy seeds, dry dates (kharik) and dry ginger (sunth) powder, all toasted and pounded together into a loose, sweet crumble. Some families add a few raisins or almonds, but the five are the heart of it. It is warming, chewy and gently spicy from the sunth, and it keeps for weeks, which is why it is made in a big tin at the start of the festival. Eat it by the spoon, or sprinkle over hot milk. The common mistake is grinding everything together into a sticky paste; the jaggery should be grated and stirred in at the end so the mixture stays crumbly. Chef's tip: dry kharik are rock hard; soak them for 10 minutes in hot water, then pat dry and chop, or buy ready kharik powder.

15 min

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Ellu bellaSesame and jaggery mix

'Ellu bella thindu olle maathadi': eat sesame and jaggery and speak only good words. On Sankranti morning, girls in Bengaluru and Mysuru dress in new silk and carry small steel plates of ellu bella, a sugarcane stick, a banana and a sugar figure (sakkare acchu) from house to house, a custom called ellu birodhu. The mix itself is uncooked once its parts are roasted: white sesame, tiny cubes of dry coconut and jaggery, peanuts and putani (roasted gram), sometimes with a few fried gram-dal sugar beads. It is crunchy, nutty and sweet in small bursts. Families make a kilo at a time to give away. The common mistake is mixing it while the sesame is still warm, which melts the jaggery and turns everything into a lump. Chef's tip: cut the copra and jaggery to the same small size as the peanuts so every spoonful has a bit of everything.

20 min

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PatraSteamed colocasia leaf rolls

Arbi leaves (colocasia, sold as patra or alu leaves in Indian shops) are on every farsan counter from Surat to Ahmedabad, and steamed patra is the one Gujarati mothers make on a Sunday when the leaves look good at the market. Several leaves are glued together with a thick besan paste that is sour with tamarind, sweet with jaggery and warm with ginger and chilli, then rolled, steamed, cooled and cut into spirals. A final vaghar of mustard, sesame and curry leaves gives a crisp edge. The same dish in Maharashtra is alu vadi, where the slices are usually fried. Patra is a must on a wedding or Diwali farsan plate and is good cold in a dabba too, with green chutney or nothing at all. Tamarind matters for more than taste: raw colocasia makes the throat itch, and the acid in the paste stops it, so never skip it. Common mistake: slicing the rolls while hot, when they crumble; let them cool completely first. Chef's tip: choose medium leaves without holes, and shave the thick back veins flat with a knife so the leaves lie flat and roll tight.

70 min

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Athela marchaQuick pickled green chillies

On a Gujarati table there is nearly always a small steel bowl of athela marcha beside the thali, the quick daily pickle that makes plain khichdi, dal-bhaat, thepla or a plate of fafda taste complete. Thick, mild chillies (Bhavnagri or the pale green ones sold for bhajia) are slit, tossed with rai kuria (split mustard), salt, turmeric and hing, and soused with lemon juice. Within a few hours the mustard blooms and turns pleasantly pungent, the lemon softens the chillies and the colour turns olive green. They stay crunchy for about a week in the fridge, so most homes make a small batch every few days. Use thin, hot chillies if your family likes the heat. Common mistake: washing the chillies and using them damp, which waters down the masala and turns the pickle slimy; dry them completely before slitting. Always serve with a clean, dry spoon and throw the jar out if it turns cloudy, mouldy or smells off. Chef's tip: a pinch of methi kuria and half a teaspoon of sugar round out the sharpness if the lemons are very sour.

17 min

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KurdaiSun-dried wheat starch spirals

Kurdai is one of the great Marathi summer projects, the kind that takes the whole family and most of the week. In Marathwada and Khandesh, whole wheat grains are soaked for three days, ground, and strained to collect the fine starch (chik), which settles and slightly ferments. That starch is cooked into a glossy paste and pressed through a kurdai press into flat spirals that dry hard and translucent in the April sun. Fried, they swell into airy, rippled curls, crisp and almost melting, with a faint tang from the fermentation. Kurdai turns up on the side of a Maharashtrian thali with varan-bhaat, at festivals, and as a tea-time crunch. Note that it is made from wheat, so it is not gluten-free. Chef's tip: change the soaking water morning and evening without fail. Skip it and the wheat starts to smell sour and musty instead of clean and yeasty, and the kurdai will taste of it.

120 min

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Arisi vadamSun-dried rice crisps

Chithirai and Vaikasi, the blazing months of a Tamil summer, are vadam season. In Madurai and the older Chennai neighbourhoods, terraces are covered with white sheets and rows of pressed rice-dough spirals, ribbons and stars, guarded from crows by whoever is on duty. Fried, the vadams puff into light, crunchy curls with a hint of chilli, cumin and lime. They come out on the side of a lunch of vatha kuzhambu, mor kuzhambu or rasam with rice, where they do the job a papad does in the north. The dough is a cooked rice-flour koozh, and it has to be pressed through the vadam (murukku) press while warm. Common mistake: making the koozh too thick; the press becomes impossible to turn and the strands break. It should feel like soft, sticky mashed potato. Chef's tip: lime juice is not just for flavour, it keeps the vadams bright white as they dry.

80 min

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Payar mezhukkupurattiStir-fried long beans

The name says it all: mezhukku means oil and puratti means smeared, so this is a dry stir-fry that leaves every bean slick and shiny with coconut oil. Vanpayar, the yard-long beans that climb over every Kerala garden fence, are cut short and cooked with crushed shallots, garlic and dried chilli flakes until tender and blistered in places. It is weekday food in Kottayam and Alappuzha homes, packed into tiffin with rice and moru curry, and it turns up on festive spreads too. The taste is simple, smoky and savoury, with crunch from the shallots. Serve with matta rice and a thin curry. The common mistake is covering the pan for too long, which steams the beans grey and soft; cover briefly, then finish uncovered so they roast. Chef's tip: crush the shallots, garlic and chilli together in a mortar rather than slicing them; the rough paste clings to the beans much better.

25 min

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Chammanthi podiDry coconut chutney powder

Kerala students heading off to hostels in Bengaluru or Chennai always seem to have a jar of chammanthi podi from home in their bags, because it makes a plate of plain rice and curd into a meal. Fresh grated coconut is roasted with dried chillies, shallots, ginger and curry leaves for the best part of half an hour, until it turns a deep, toasty reddish brown, then ground with tamarind and salt. The result is a moist, oily, smoky powder that tastes of coconut first, then sourness and heat. Serve it with kanji (rice gruel), with puttu and banana, or spread on dosa and idli. Common mistake: taking the coconut off the heat when it is merely golden. The remaining moisture makes the podi spoil within days; it must be uniformly dark and completely dry. Chef's tip: keep the flame low and stir without stopping for the last 10 minutes, as coconut goes from brown to burnt very fast.

35 min

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Upvasachi batata bhajiFasting potato stir-fry with peanuts

Ask anyone from Pune or Nashik what they eat on Ekadashi or a Navratri upvas, and this dry potato bhaji will be on the plate, usually next to sabudana khichdi or bhagar and a bowl of danyachi amti. Unlike North Indian vrat ke aloo, there is no tomato and no gravy: cubes of boiled potato are tossed in ghee or oil with cumin and crushed green chilli, then coated in coarsely ground roasted peanuts that cling to every piece. A little sugar and lemon give it the gentle sweet-sour lift that Maharashtrian cooking loves, and coriander and fresh coconut finish it. It is quick, filling and good cold in a tiffin too. Some families add curry leaves; others leave them out on strict fasts. Chef's tip: cool the potatoes completely before cubing; warm potatoes break into mash when you toss them.

25 min

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Inji puliGinger tamarind relish

On the banana leaf of an Onam sadya, inji puli takes the top left corner, a small dark spoonful that you dip into between rice, sambar and payasam to wake the palate up. Some call it puli inji; it is said to balance the 'hundred curries', and it is so loved that the old saying counts it as worth them all. Fresh ginger and green chillies are fried in coconut oil, then simmered in tamarind water with jaggery until thick and shiny, sweet first, then sour, then hot. It is made a day or two before the feast because it gets better as it rests. Serve a teaspoon with rice or curd rice; it also lifts a plain dosa. The usual mistake is browning the ginger too far, which makes the relish bitter; it should just turn golden. Gluten-free if you use gluten-free asafoetida or leave it out. Chef's tip: cook it down until the oil starts to appear at the edges; any wetter and it will not keep.

40 min

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Ulli theeyalShallots in roasted coconut gravy

Theeyal comes from the word for burnt, and the colour gives it away: grated coconut and coriander seeds are roasted together in a dry pan until deep brown, then ground into a paste that turns a sour tamarind gravy almost black. Ulli (shallot) theeyal is the version most Malayali grandmothers make for Onam and for ordinary weekday lunches in Palakkad and Thrissur, with dozens of whole small onions softened in coconut oil until sweet. It tastes smoky, sour and slightly sweet all at once, and it is thick enough to cling to rice. Serve with hot matta rice, a thoran and papadam. The mistake everyone makes once is burning the coconut: it must be roasted on a low flame and taken off when it is the colour of strong coffee, never black. Gluten-free with gluten-free asafoetida. Chef's tip: grind the roasted coconut while it is still warm, so the oil releases and the paste turns smooth and glossy.

50 min

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VattayappamSteamed rice and coconut cake

In Syrian Christian homes in Kottayam and Thiruvalla, vattayappam is the sweet that appears on Christmas and Easter mornings and goes in boxes to every neighbour. A batter of raw rice and coconut is fermented until airy, sweetened, flavoured with cardamom and steamed in a round plate until it rises into a fluffy, honeycombed cake. It is light, moist and gently sweet, with a faint tang from the ferment. Grandmothers used kallu (coconut toddy) to ferment it; this recipe uses dried yeast instead and contains no alcohol at all. Eat it warm with tea, or alongside chicken stew for breakfast. The common mistake is a batter that is too thick: it steams heavy and dense. It should pour like thick pancake batter. Rice and coconut only, so it is naturally gluten-free and vegan. Chef's tip: cook a spoon of the soaked rice into a soft porridge (kurukku) and grind it in; that is what gives vattayappam its fine, silky crumb.

60 min

Indian Baking

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Amla murabbaGooseberry preserve

Murabba is the old North Indian way of keeping amla through the year, and a single gooseberry in syrup each morning is still the winter habit of many grandparents in Uttar Pradesh, Punjab and Rajasthan, who swear by it for digestion and colds. Fresh amla are sour and astringent; pricked, briefly steamed and simmered in sugar syrup, then left to steep overnight, they turn golden, translucent and soft, sweet with a sour heart and a gentle bitterness at the end. Cardamom, black pepper and saffron perfume the syrup. Eat one on its own, chopped into yogurt, or with a paratha. Choose large, firm, unblemished amla in November–February, when they are in season. Common mistake: steaming them too long; they split into segments and fall apart in the syrup. Steam only until they turn pale and the lines on the skin show clearly. Store in a dry, sterilised jar with the amla under the syrup, use a clean dry spoon, and discard if mould or fermentation bubbles appear. Chef's tip: the overnight rest is what lets the syrup soak right to the centre; reboil the syrup the next day so it thickens again.

60 min

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Danyachi amtiPeanut curry

On fast days in Maharashtra, when dal is off the menu, danyachi amti takes its place. Roasted peanuts are ground smooth with green chilli, then simmered with water, a cumin tadka, kokum and a little jaggery into a pale, creamy curry with a sour, slightly sweet and spicy taste. It is ladled over sabudana khichdi or vari tandul (barnyard millet) bhagar, loosening them and adding protein to a fasting meal, and it goes well with upvasachi batata bhaji on the side. Use sendha namak so it suits the fast; ghee is the usual fat in many homes, oil keeps it vegan. It thickens a lot as it stands, so thin it with hot water before serving. Chef's tip: grind the peanut paste really smooth and whisk it into the water before heating; a coarse grind leaves the amti gritty and it splits as it boils.

30 min

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Vrat ke alooFasting potato curry

On Navratri mornings in Delhi, Lucknow and Punjabi homes everywhere, this is what fills the kadhai next to the kuttu puri. Boiled potatoes are broken by hand, not cut, so their rough edges melt into a loose, brothy gravy of tomato, cumin, fresh ginger and green chilli, seasoned only with sendha namak and a little pepper. It is soupy enough to dunk puri into, tangy from the tomato and gently hot, and comforting after a morning of fasting. Very strict homes skip red chilli powder and coriander as well as turmeric and asafoetida; this recipe uses neither turmeric nor hing. Ghee is traditional; oil keeps it vegan. Chef's tip: mash two or three pieces of potato into the gravy as it simmers; the starch thickens it naturally, since no flour or onion is allowed.

30 min

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Ribbon pakodaCrisp rice flour ribbons

Tamil households fire up the murukku press in the week before Deepavali, and ribbon pakoda is usually the first thing through it because it is the most forgiving. The dough of rice flour and gram flour is spiced with red chilli, sesame and asafoetida and squeezed through a flat slit plate straight into the oil, where the ribbons fry into crunchy, ridged strips that break into bite-sized pieces. It is lighter and crisper than thenkuzhal, savoury with a little heat, and fills the tins for guests and neighbours. Children eat it by the handful with evening coffee. Use gluten-free asafoetida, as many brands are cut with wheat, and check your press is free of wheat dough. Chef's tip: listen to the oil; when the loud sizzle around the ribbons dies to a whisper, the moisture is gone and they are done.

45 min

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BhakarwadiSpiced coconut pastry pinwheels

Pune claims bhakarwadi as its own, and the queues outside the city's old sweet-and-farsan shops at Diwali prove it. Thin sheets of spiced pastry are spread with tamarind, sprinkled with a roasted filling of dry coconut, sesame, poppy seeds, coriander, fennel and chilli, rolled up tight and sliced into spirals before frying. Each bite is crisp, then sweet, then sour, then hot, which is why one is never enough. Gujarati farsan shops sell a sweeter cousin, but the Maharashtrian version keeps the chilli forward. They keep for weeks, travel well and make a good tea-time snack all year. Chef's tip: press the filling into the dough with the rolling pin before you roll the log; loose filling falls out when you slice and the spirals unwind in the oil.

90 min

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Ghila pithaFried rice and jaggery cakes

Magh Bihu in January closes the harvest in Assam with bonfires, feasts and plates full of pitha. Ghila pitha takes its name from ghila, the kneecap, because the little cakes are pressed into rounded discs that puff in the middle as they fry. Sticky bora or plain rice is soaked, dried and ground to a damp flour, then kneaded with melted jaggery and fried in mustard or vegetable oil. Outside they are dark brown and crisp; inside chewy and soft like a doughnut, with the deep flavour of jaggery. They keep a few days, so they are stacked in steel tins for visitors and eaten with black tea or with doi and jolpan. Some cooks add a pinch of fennel or sesame. The common mistake is oil that is too hot: jaggery darkens and burns long before the inside is cooked, so fry slowly. Chef's tip: let the dough rest for 30 minutes after kneading; the rice flour drinks up the syrup and the cakes hold together.

45 min

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Dhani khajurPopped jowar and dates

On Holika Dahan night, Gujarati families circle the bonfire with coconut, water and a plate of dhani, dalia and khajur, toss a handful into the flames, and then share the rest. The popped jowar is light and crunchy, the roasted chana nutty and mealy, and the dates bring a chewy, caramel sweetness, so together they make a surprisingly satisfying snack. The idea passed down by elders is practical: as the season turns from winter to summer, dates give warmth and energy, and the dry grains settle the stomach. It is also the first thing handed to children when they come home with coloured faces the next morning. Buy fresh dhani in the weeks before Holi, when Gujarati grocers and street sellers have it by the sackful. Chef's tip: shake the dhani in a sieve before mixing; it loosens the papery husks and the hard unpopped kernels that can crack a tooth.

15 min

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KadboliCrunchy savoury rice and lentil rings

Kadboli is the Maharashtrian answer to chakli for people without a press: the same kind of roasted multi-grain flour, called bhajani, is rolled into ropes on a wooden board and twisted into rings by hand. Grandmothers in Kolhapur and Satara can turn out hundreds in an afternoon, each with the faint ridges of the board on it. The flavour is deeper and more toasty than a plain gram-flour snack, thanks to rice, chana, urad and moong all roasted before grinding, with coriander and cumin roasted in. They are hard-crunchy, spicy and moreish, eaten from the faral dabba with tea through Diwali week. Ready-made kadboli bhajani from a Maharashtrian grocer saves the roasting steps. Chef's tip: knead with water that is just off the boil; the heat partly cooks the starch and gives a pliable dough that rolls into smooth ropes without cracking.

60 min

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Karuveppilai podiCurry leaf powder

Grandmothers in Tamil Nadu make karuveppilai podi as much for health as for taste; curry leaves are said to be good for the hair and the blood, and this is the most delicious way to eat a whole bunch at once. Big handfuls of leaves are roasted until crisp and crumbly, then ground with roasted urad and chana dal, red chillies, a little tamarind for sourness and pepper. The powder is dark, fragrant, savoury and slightly tart. Mix it into hot rice with sesame oil or ghee for a quick lunch with a vegetable poriyal, or sprinkle it over idli and dosa. Common mistake: using leaves that are still damp after washing. The podi then traps moisture, loses its colour and can turn mouldy in the jar. Chef's tip: wash the leaves a few hours ahead and spread them on a cloth to air-dry until they feel papery, then roast them on the lowest heat until they crack between your fingers.

25 min

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Aam kasundiMango mustard relish

Kasundi was once made in Bengali homes only by women of the household on a particular day in spring, with elaborate rules; today most families make this quicker aam (mango) version and keep it in the fridge through summer. Soaked black and yellow mustard seeds are ground with sour raw mango, green chilli, turmeric and salt, then loosened with mustard oil and left in the sun for a few days so the flavours mellow and sharpen at the same time. It is nose-tingling, sour, salty and a little bitter, the dip for beguni, alur chop, fish fry, mochar chop and the snack plates of a Kolkata evening, and a spoon in jhalmuri lifts it straight away. Common mistake: grinding the mustard too long or in a hot blender jar, which makes it bitter; grind in short bursts with cold water and something sour. Keep the jar under a thin film of mustard oil, use a clean dry spoon and discard if mould appears. Chef's tip: soak the mustard in water with a pinch of salt and turmeric; it tames the bitterness and gives a brighter yellow.

35 min

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Punjabi aam ka acharRaw mango pickle

Drive through Punjab in June and you will see rooftops lined with glass barnis of mango pickle warming in the sun. The Punjabi style is bold and oily: firm raw mango is chopped with its stone, dried until leathery at the edges, then tossed with coarse saunf (fennel), kalonji (nigella), methi dana, yellow mustard, turmeric and red chilli, all bound by mustard oil heated until it smokes. A week of sun mellows the oil's bite and softens the mango, giving a pungent, fennel-sweet pickle with a strong mustard-oil kick, quite different from the sesame-oil avakaya of Andhra or a Gujarati methia keri. It is the pickle for aloo paratha with white butter, dal-chawal and rajma. Common mistake: using mustard oil straight from the bottle; it must be heated to smoking and cooled, or the pickle tastes harsh. Keep all the pieces under oil, use a dry spoon and discard the jar if mould forms. Chef's tip: cut the mango with a heavy cleaver so each piece keeps a sliver of the soft stone; families fight over those bits.

50 min

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Gunda nu athanuGum berry pickle

Gunda (lasoda or Indian cherry, Cordia myxa) appear in Gujarati markets for only a few weeks in early summer, and a jar of gunda nu athanu is the reward for catching them. Each green berry is slit and its sticky seed pulled out, then stuffed with the same kuria-based masala used for methia keri, along with small pieces of raw mango for sourness. Under groundnut oil the berries soften in a few days into a tender, slightly chewy pickle with a mild sweetness of their own and plenty of chilli heat. It is loved alongside bhakhri, thepla, khichdi and kadhi, and many families make it as keri-gunda, half mango, half berries. Getting the seed out is the only tricky part, because the flesh is gluey: dip your knife and fingertips in salt and the seed slips out cleanly. Pick firm, fully green berries with no brown patches. Common mistake: washing and stuffing straight away; any water left inside the berry will spoil the jar, so dry them completely first. Keep everything submerged under oil, always use a dry spoon, and discard if you see mould. Chef's tip: gunda soften faster than mango, so make a smaller jar and eat it within three months.

55 min

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Tilgul ladooSesame and jaggery balls

On Makar Sankranti in Maharashtra, neighbours, colleagues and old rivals swap tilgul and say 'tilgul ghya, goad goad bola': take this sesame and jaggery, and speak sweetly. Sesame and jaggery both warm the body in the coldest weeks of January, which is why the ladoo appears in every Pune and Mumbai home, often next to halwa sugar beads. These are the softer, chewy kind: sesame and peanuts are roasted separately, then bound with jaggery cooked just to the soft-ball stage and rolled quickly while warm. They taste nutty and toffee-like with a hint of cardamom. Hand them out in small bags or eat one after lunch. The common mistake is overcooking the jaggery: it sets rock hard and the ladoos can crack a tooth. Grease your hands with a little oil rather than ghee to keep them vegan. Chef's tip: test the jaggery by dropping a little into cold water; it should gather into a soft ball you can squash between your fingers.

30 min

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Khatta meetha kadduSweet-sour pumpkin

Kaddu ki sabzi with puri is the meal served at countless bhandaras, the free community feasts outside temples in Uttar Pradesh and Punjab, and at home it is a fasting favourite for Navratri. Chunks of yellow pumpkin are cooked until soft with sizzling fenugreek seeds and cumin, then half-mashed and finished with jaggery and dry mango powder, so the dish swings between sweet and sour with gentle heat from ginger and chilli. The fenugreek gives it a faintly bitter, maple-like depth. This fasting version uses rock salt and leaves out the turmeric, asafoetida and fennel that bhandara cooks add. Serve with kuttu puri or regular puri, and a bowl of raita. Chef's tip: keep the skin on part of the pumpkin; it holds the pieces together while the peeled pieces melt into the sauce, giving a better texture.

30 min

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ChorafaliCrisp besan and urad strips

Chorafali is the snack Gujarati children wait for in Diwali week, because it is made in the last days and vanishes first. The dough of gram flour and white urad flour is kneaded, then pounded with a pestle until it turns pale and elastic, rolled out almost transparent and cut into strips. In hot oil the strips swell into crunchy, bubbled ribbons in under a minute, and a shower of red chilli, dry mango powder and kala namak while they are hot makes them tangy, salty and sharp. It is a Surat and Saurashtra favourite and comes out alongside suvali, mathiya and ghughra for guests on the New Year. Eat it on its own or with tea. Chef's tip: roll with oil on the board and pin, never dry flour; loose besan burns in the oil and leaves bitter brown flecks on the strips.

60 min

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Choddo shaakFourteen leafy greens stir-fry

On Bhoot Chaturdashi, the night before Kali Puja and Diwali, Bengali homes light fourteen lamps for their ancestors and eat a dish of fourteen greens at lunch to keep illness and restless spirits away. Markets in Kolkata sell bundles already mixed for the day: spinach, red and green amaranth, Malabar spinach, water spinach, fenugreek, mustard and radish greens, bathua, jute leaves, pumpkin leaves, helencha and a few neem leaves for bitterness. Fried briefly in mustard oil with nigella and dried chilli, they cook down to an earthy, slightly bitter, faintly sweet tangle. It is eaten as the first course with hot rice and a drizzle of ghee for those who want it. If you can't find all fourteen, use what your grocer has; the mix matters more than the exact list. Chef's tip: cook it uncovered after the first wilt so the water evaporates; choddo shaak should be dry and glossy, not stewed.

40 min

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Ragi rottiFinger millet flatbread

In Bengaluru, Mandya and Mysuru, ragi rotti is the hearty breakfast that farmers and office-goers alike eat before a long day, still warm from the tawa. It is made with finger-millet flour mixed with raw onion, a generous amount of sabsige soppu (dill), green chilli, coriander and fresh coconut, then patted out directly onto the cold griddle with wet fingers rather than rolled. The result is earthy, nutty and slightly chewy, crisp at the edges, with the fresh anise note of dill running through. It is different from the soft boiled-dough ragi mudde and from rice akki rotti, and it is eaten with coconut chutney, a dollop of homemade white butter or a spicy ennegai (stuffed brinjal) curry. Common mistake: patting the dough onto a hot tawa; it sticks, tears and burns your fingers. Chef's tip: use two tawas, or cool one under the tap between rottis, so each one starts on a cool surface.

35 min

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Tandalachi bhakriRice flour flatbread

Along the Konkan coast, from Alibag down to Sindhudurg, the everyday bread isn't wheat at all but tandalachi bhakri, a soft round of rice flour and water, the natural partner to a coconut-rich Malvani fish curry, kombdi rassa, a bowl of usal or plain pithla with sol kadhi. Unlike Karnataka's akki rotti, it has no onion, coconut or chilli in the dough: just rice flour, salt and hot water, kneaded smooth and patted out thin by hand. Cooked on a hot iron tawa and finished over an open flame, it puffs up like a balloon and stays soft and pliable, with a faint sweetness and toasty spots. Common mistake: mixing the flour with cold or warm water. Rice flour has no gluten, so it needs boiling water to gelatinise and bind; otherwise the bhakri cracks all round the edges. Chef's tip: knead each portion again just before patting; a dough that sat still dries on the surface and cracks.

40 min

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Nimbu ka acharLemon pickle

Lemon pickle is the one achar that North Indian grandmothers hand over without a speech, because there is almost nothing to it: lemons, salt, a few spices, a jar and patience. No oil goes in. The quartered lemons sit in salt and their own juice, in a sunny window or on the roof, and over three or four weeks the peel turns soft, translucent and brown, and the juice becomes a thick, sweet-sour syrup. This version is the khatta-meetha kind, with sugar, ajwain, black salt and chilli, loved with parathas, khichdi and as a cure for an upset stomach; leave out the sugar and double the chilli for the salty, sharp version. Use thin-skinned, juicy lemons (kagzi nimbu) and wash and dry them thoroughly. Common mistake: being impatient; the peel is bitter and hard until it has fully cured, so wait until it squashes easily. Keep the pieces pressed under the juice, use only a dry spoon and discard the jar if mould appears. Chef's tip: shake the jar every day rather than opening it; less air and fewer spoons mean less risk of spoilage.

30 min

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RadhaballaviDal-stuffed puris

Named after Radhaballabh, a name of Krishna, these stuffed puris are said to have begun as a temple offering, and they are now what Bengali families serve on a festive morning: at a wedding breakfast, on Janmashtami, or bought hot from a Kolkata sweet shop with a bowl of aloo dum and a sweet like rosogolla or chhanar jilipi on the side. Soaked urad dal is ground coarse and fried dry with ginger, fennel, cumin and hing, then sealed in a soft maida dough, rolled thin and fried until it balloons. The puris are softer and more delicate than kachori, with a thin layer of spiced dal through the middle. They are vegan here, fried in oil; many sweet shops fry them in ghee, which is fine if you do not need them dairy-free. Common mistake: a damp filling, which turns to steam in the oil and bursts the dough; cook it until it is completely dry and crumbly. Chef's tip: roll with gentle pressure from the centre outwards and leave the edges a touch thicker, so the filling cannot push through.

80 min

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Rajgira ladooPopped amaranth jaggery balls

Before Mahashivratri and Navratri, sweet stalls in Maharashtra pile up trays of rajgira ladoo, and they are one of the few sweets that suit a strict fast and a vegan diet at once. Amaranth seeds puff like tiny popcorn in a hot pan; mixed with jaggery cooked to a firm syrup, they set into light, crunchy balls with a toffee-like, molasses sweetness and a toasty grain flavour. They are eaten as an energy-giving snack on fast days, given as prasad, and packed for long temple queues. Ready-popped rajgira is easy to find in Indian shops; popping your own seeds (a spoonful at a time in a hot, dry, lidded pan) takes about 10 minutes more. Chef's tip: wet your palms with cold water and shape the ladoos while the mix is very warm; once the jaggery cools, it sets hard and won't bind.

25 min

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Methia keriRaw mango pickle

If a Gujarati home makes only one athanu each summer, it is methia keri. Rajapuri or other firm raw mango is cut with its skin, salted overnight, dried, then coated in a masala built on methi kuria (split fenugreek) and rai kuria (split mustard), with Kashmiri chilli, hing, turmeric and salt, and covered with groundnut oil. The kuria swell and soften in the oil, so the fenugreek turns pleasantly bitter-nutty instead of hard. In a week the mango is tender but still has bite, and the pickle is tangy, hot and aromatic with hing. It goes on the side of every thali, with khichdi-kadhi, thepla, bhakhri or a simple dal-bhaat. Buy kuria rather than splitting seeds yourself; Rajkot and Kanda-style methi kuria sold in Gujarati shops are ideal. Common mistake: leaving any moisture on the mango, the jar or the spoon; a single damp spoon can bring mould to a whole jar. Keep the oil 2 cm above the pieces at all times, and discard if you see mould or smell anything sour or off. Chef's tip: pour a little hot oil over the hing in the middle of the kuria and cover it for a minute; the bloomed hing perfumes the whole masala.

50 min

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SannasSteamed rice cakes

Sannas are to a Goan Catholic feast what idli is to a Chennai breakfast: soft, pillowy steamed rice cakes, made for Christmas, weddings and village feast days to mop up sorpotel, xacuti or a coconut curry. They are fluffier and slightly sweeter than idli, because ground coconut and a little sugar go into the rice batter, and they are traditionally risen with fresh coconut toddy (sur). This version uses dried yeast in place of toddy, so it contains no alcohol, and the long overnight ferment still gives the faint sour note that makes them taste right. Serve them warm with any Goan curry (vegetable xacuti or chana ross keep it vegetarian) or with jaggery and coconut milk for tea. The common mistake is overfilling the moulds; sannas rise a lot and spill over. Fill each two-thirds full. Chef's tip: grind a handful of cooked rice or soaked poha into the batter; it gives that cotton-soft, spongy texture that plain rice batter lacks.

60 min

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Murmura ladooPuffed rice jaggery balls

On Uttarayan, the whole of Ahmedabad climbs onto its rooftops to fly kites from dawn to dusk, and the steel dabbas that come up the stairs are full of chikki, til ladu and these mamra na ladu. Puffed rice is crisped in a pan, then tossed in jaggery cooked to the hard-crack stage and pressed quickly into balls that crunch loudly and taste of caramel. Children love them, they cost almost nothing and they keep for weeks. In North India the same sweet is made for Lohri and Sankranti as murmure ke laddu. The common mistake is undercooking the jaggery: the ladoos then turn chewy and soft after a day. A drop in cold water must snap cleanly. Grease your hands with oil and a splash of water to keep them vegan. Chef's tip: shape them fast and with wet, oiled hands, a few at a time; the syrup sets within a minute and the last balls crumble if you dawdle.

20 min

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Rishi panchami bhajiPumpkin, taro and corn stew

The day after Ganesh Chaturthi, many Maharashtrian women fast for Rishi Panchami and eat only what has grown without the labour of a bullock. That rule turns into one of the most unusual dishes of the year: a stew of whatever the backyard and the monsoon give, such as red pumpkin, colocasia (alu) leaves and roots, sweet corn, ridge gourd, snake gourd, lal math (red amaranth), okra and raw banana, simmered with crushed peanuts, coconut and green chilli. It is thick, mildly sweet and fresh-tasting, with no onion, garlic or tomato. Some families also skip the tadka entirely; others use a little ghee or oil with cumin. Eat it hot on its own as the main meal of the day, with nothing else alongside. A common mistake is putting colocasia in without enough sourness, which can leave the throat itchy: always add the tamarind with the colocasia. Chef's tip: add the vegetables in order of how long they need, roots first and leaves last, so nothing turns to mush.

50 min

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Katachi amtiSweet-sour chana dal stock curry

When Maharashtrian homes cook chana dal for the puran on Holi, the cooking liquid is drained off before the dal is sweetened, and nothing goes to waste: that starchy, nutty stock, the kat, becomes katachi amti. Tempered with mustard, cumin and curry leaves, then simmered with roasted dry coconut, goda masala, tamarind and jaggery, it turns into a thin, hot, sweet-and-sour dal that is poured over puran poli or drunk from a bowl alongside it. The spice balances the rich sweet bread perfectly, which is why the two always appear together on Holi and Gudi Padwa thalis. If you are not making puran poli, cook 150 g chana dal in 1 litre of water until soft, drain off the liquid for this and use the dal for something else. Use gluten-free asafoetida and a goda masala made without wheat for a gluten-free amti. Chef's tip: keep it thin, like rasam; it is meant to soak into the poli, not sit on it.

45 min

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Kerala pappadamPlain lentil crisps

No sadya on a banana leaf in Thrissur or Kottayam is complete without a pappadam, and nobody eats it whole: it gets crushed over rice with parippu (dal) and ghee, or with payasam at the end of the meal. The Kerala kind is small, about the size of a saucer, and plain. There is no pepper or cumin, just urad dal, salt and pappada karam (papad khar), so the flavour is clean and lentilly. It is dried only briefly, which keeps it pliable, and when it hits hot coconut oil it puffs into a blistered, bubbly dome that shatters at a touch. That is the opposite of the big, peppery north Indian urad papad, which is sun-dried hard and roasted over a flame. Pappadam makers in Kerala are a whole craft community, but a home batch is very doable. Chef's tip: fry in coconut oil at about 180 °C and press the pappadam down for a second with a slotted spoon; it should puff in under 5 seconds and stay pale gold.

90 min

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Sabudana papadSago crisps

When Ashadhi Ekadashi, Navratri or a Monday fast comes round in Pune and Nashik, the upvas plate needs something crunchy, and these sago papads are it. They are made in the hottest weeks of summer: soaked sabudana is boiled into a thick, glassy porridge with cumin, green chilli and rock salt, spooned onto plastic sheets and left in the sun until it turns into thin, translucent discs. In hot oil they expand to nearly double, go snow-white and crackle when you bite. They sit next to sabudana khichdi, varyache tandul (sama rice) with peanut amti, or plain farali potato bhaji. The recipe keeps to fasting rules: no grains, no turmeric or asafoetida, and sendha namak (rock salt) instead of regular salt; fry them in groundnut oil or ghee, as your household allows. Chef's tip: cook the sago until there is not a single white dot left in the pearls; any uncooked centres stay hard and chalky after drying and never puff.

70 min

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Kadumanga acharBaby mango pickle

In late February the mango trees of Kerala drop tiny, thumb-sized green fruit with soft stones, and those tender mangoes (kanni manga) become one of the pickles on a Kerala sadya leaf, beside the inji puli and naranga. They are salted whole until they wrinkle and sit in their own brine, then dressed with a tempering of gingelly (sesame) oil, mustard, Kashmiri chilli, roasted fenugreek and hing. The brine turns thick and red, and the little mangoes stay crunchy and sour, with a bitter-sharp bite under the chilli. Kadumanga literally means strong mango, and in some sadya kitchens the name also covers a quicker pickle of finely cut raw mango in the same masala; this is the whole-fruit version. Eat a mango with kanji (rice gruel), curd rice or the sadya rice. Common mistake: pricking or cutting the mangoes; they must stay whole with a bit of stalk so the brine does not turn slimy. Keep them fully covered, use a dry spoon and discard if mould appears. Chef's tip: let the chilli and fenugreek cool in the oil before mixing; added hot, they scorch and taste bitter.

40 min

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Gajar gobhi shalgam acharCarrot, cauliflower and turnip pickle

When Punjabi kitchens are full of winter vegetables, this is how they keep them: carrots, cauliflower and turnips are blanched, dried in the weak winter sun, and mixed with smoked mustard oil, ginger, garlic, coarse mustard, garam masala and a dark syrup of jaggery and vinegar. In three or four days the vegetables are tangy, sweet and warm, still crunchy, and the jars come out with makki di roti and sarson da saag, aloo parathas and every dal through to spring. Use white or sugarcane vinegar; malt vinegar is made from barley, so avoid it if you need the pickle gluten-free. Common mistake: packing the vegetables while they are still wet from blanching, which dilutes the vinegar and spoils the batch; they must feel dry to the touch. Keep the jar in a cool place or the fridge once matured, use a clean dry spoon and discard if mould appears. Chef's tip: cut the turnip slightly thinner than the carrot, so everything softens at the same pace.

50 min

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ImartiSyrup-soaked lentil spirals

Imarti (jangiri in Tamil Nadu) is the stately cousin of jalebi: instead of a fermented flour batter it uses soaked urad dal, whipped until airy, piped into hot oil in a ring of small loops like a flower, and plunged into warm saffron syrup. The result is crisp at first and then pleasantly chewy, juicy inside but not soggy, and less tangy than jalebi. Halwais in Jaunpur, Agra and across Rajasthan fry it in desi ghee for weddings, Diwali and Holi, often served warm with rabri. This version is fried in oil so it stays vegan; use ghee if you prefer the halwai taste. The batter is the whole secret: grind the dal with very little water, then beat it by hand until a drop floats in water. Common mistake: frying on high heat, which browns the outside before the inside is set, so the imarti go limp in the syrup. Keep the oil at a gentle medium-low and expect them to take a couple of minutes. Chef's tip: practise the shape on a plate first; a ketchup bottle or a piping bag with a 3–4 mm round nozzle is far easier than the traditional cloth with a hole.

65 min

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Bengali boriSun-dried lentil dumplings

Winter mornings in rural Bengal used to mean bori-making: the household gathered on the roof with a big bowl of freshly ground, hand-whipped urad dal and dropped little peaked dollops onto cloth in neat rows. In Medinipur the women even pipe them into lace-like gohona bori, a folk art of its own. The everyday kind is simpler, a cone the size of a marble, sun-dried until rock hard. Fried in mustard oil, a bori turns crisp and golden outside and slightly spongy inside, and it soaks up gravy beautifully. A handful goes into shukto, into a maacher jhol with potatoes, into lau ghonto (bottle gourd) or into a simple vegetable chorchori. Common mistake: grinding the dal with too much water; the paste then spreads flat on the cloth instead of holding a peak. Chef's tip: check the whipped paste by dropping a little into a bowl of water. If it floats, it has enough air and the bori will be light; if it sinks, keep beating.

50 min

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Masala papadPapad with onion and tomato topping

Order drinks at an Irani café or a Udupi restaurant in Mumbai and masala papad arrives before you have looked at the menu: a big crisp disc, roasted or fried, buried under chopped onion, tomato, green chilli and coriander, dusted with chaat masala and chilli powder, with a squeeze of lemon. It is part salad, part cracker, and it disappears in minutes. At home it is the easiest party starter there is, made in the time it takes guests to sit down. Use any good urad or moong papad, homemade or bought. Fried papads give a richer, puffier base; flame-roasted ones are lighter and smokier. Common mistake: topping the papads too early, so the juice from the tomato and onion soaks in and they go limp. Chef's tip: deseed the tomato and salt the topping only at the last moment, then pile it on and serve within two minutes.

12 min

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AmchurDry mango powder

Every Punjabi and UP kitchen keeps a jar of amchur next to the jeera and haldi, and the homemade version smells far fresher and sourer than most shop powder. In villages around Saharanpur and Malihabad, the raw mangoes that fall in early-summer storms are peeled, sliced and spread out to dry, and the brittle slices (amchur khatai) are either stored whole or ground. Amchur gives a fruity, mouth-puckering sourness without any liquid, which is why it goes into dry dishes where tomato or tamarind would make things soggy: bhindi masala, stuffed karela, samosa and kachori fillings, chole, chaat masala and pav bhaji masala. A kilo of mangoes gives roughly 100 g of powder. Common mistake: grinding slices that still bend; even slight moisture makes the powder clump into hard lumps in the jar. Chef's tip: choose small, rock-hard, very sour green mangoes with white flesh, not ones starting to turn yellow; riper fruit dries into a brown, sweetish powder.

40 min

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Gor keriSweet mango pickle

Gor keri is the sweet sister of methia keri, and in most Gujarati homes both jars are filled in the same week of May. The mango is salted and dried in the same way, but the masala is milder, with methi kuria, a little rai kuria, hing and Kashmiri chilli for colour, and the star is desi gor (jaggery). Over 4–6 days the jaggery melts in the mango's own juices into a dark, glossy syrup that covers the pieces and keeps them, so it needs only a little oil. It tastes sweet, sour and gently warm, and children who refuse spicy pickle eat it by the spoonful. Serve it with thepla, puri, khichdi, or dal-bhaat on a hot afternoon. Choose soft, dark, fresh jaggery that breaks easily; hard, pale blocks never fully melt. Common mistake: wet mango, which thins the syrup and invites mould. If the syrup still looks thin after a week, warm the pickle gently on the stove for 5 minutes and cool before jarring again. Use only a clean dry spoon, and throw it out if you see mould. Chef's tip: a teaspoon of lightly crushed fennel (variyali) adds a lovely fragrance, as many Kathiyawadi families do.

45 min

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Rumali rotiHandkerchief-thin flatbread

Watch a rumali roti maker at a Mughlai stall in Old Delhi's Jama Masjid lanes or Lucknow's Aminabad and it looks like a magic trick: a ball of dough is flattened, tossed and stretched over the backs of the hands until it is translucent and almost a metre wide, then laid over a huge domed iron griddle for a few seconds. Rumal means handkerchief, and the finished bread is folded into quarters like one: silky, soft, slightly chewy and very thin. It is the bread for kebabs, korma, nihari and shahi paneer. At home, an upturned wok over a high flame does the job, and you can roll most of the way and stretch the last bit by hand. The dough is mainly maida with some atta, kept very soft and well rested. Common mistake: a firm or under-rested dough tears the moment you start stretching. Chef's tip: wipe the hot kadai with salted water before each roti; the hiss means it's hot enough, and the salt film stops the roti from sticking or blistering.

60 min

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Paruppu podiLentil powder for rice

Ask a Tamil or Andhra child what they want for a quick lunch and the answer is often paruppu podi sadam: a heap of steaming rice, two spoons of this pale, sandy powder and a generous pour of ghee or sesame oil, mixed by hand, with appalam and a spoon of mango pickle alongside. The podi is mild compared with idli podi, built on roasted toor dal and pottukadalai (roasted split gram), with black pepper and just a few red chillies for warmth. Andhra kandi podi adds garlic, which makes it more savoury; roast the cloves until dry so the powder keeps. The recipe itself is vegan, but the traditional serving uses ghee. Common mistake: roasting the toor dal too fast; it browns outside while staying hard and raw-tasting inside. Chef's tip: grind it finer than idli podi, almost to a soft powder, so it coats every grain of rice.

20 min

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ThattaiCrisp rice flour crackers

Thattai means flat, and that is the whole secret: these Tamil rice crackers are patted out so thin you can see light through them, then fried until they crack like glass. Soaked chana dal pops inside each one for little nubs of crunch, torn curry leaves crisp in the oil, and roasted urad powder gives a savoury, biscuity depth. They fill tins for Deepavali and Gokulashtami across Tamil Nadu; in Karnataka a thicker cousin with peanuts is called nippattu, and in Andhra chekkalu. Many homes add butter to the dough; this version uses hot oil, which keeps it vegan and just as crisp. Use gluten-free asafoetida for a gluten-free batch. Chef's tip: pat them out on a sheet of oiled plastic or a banana leaf, then peel each one straight into the oil; lifting by hand tears thin dough.

65 min

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Kanji vadaLentil dumplings in mustard water

Around Holi, glass jars of cloudy water sit on rooftops across Jaipur, Jodhpur and old Delhi, fermenting in the spring sun. That water is kanji: boiled water with ground mustard seed, salt and chilli, which turns sour, pungent and faintly fizzy in two or three days. Small moong dal fritters are soaked in hot water to soften, then dropped into the kanji, where they drink up its tang and turn spongy. Served chilled in clay kulhads with a vada or two in each, it is a cooling, appetite-sharpening drink-snack that cuts through the rich Holi sweets. Ferment only in a clean, sterilised glass or ceramic jar, stir with a clean dry spoon, and discard the batch if you see mould or it smells rotten rather than pleasantly sour. Chef's tip: grind the mustard seed coarsely and fresh; pre-ground mustard powder goes bitter and dull.

65 min

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Kali gajar ki kanjiFermented black carrot drink

When the last black carrots of winter reach Punjabi and UP markets in February and March, kitchens start a jar of kanji. The carrots are cut into fingers, steeped in water with crushed mustard seed, salt and chilli, and left in the sun for a few days until the liquid turns deep purple, sour and sharp enough to tickle your nose. It is drunk by the glass before meals around Holi as a digestive and a spring tonic, and the soft, tangy carrot sticks are eaten too. The flavour is like a lively pickle brine, earthy from the carrots and peppery from mustard. Use a glass or ceramic jar that you have washed and dried completely, keep the vegetables under the water, stir with a clean dry spoon, and discard if mould or an unpleasant smell appears. Chef's tip: a small beetroot deepens the colour if your carrots are more red than black, but don't overdo it or the kanji tastes earthy and sweet.

20 min

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PathiriThin rice flatbreads

When the call for maghrib rings out in Kozhikode and Malappuram during Ramadan, families break the fast with dates and juice and then sit down to a stack of pathiri with chicken curry or mutton stew. Also called nice pathiri, these are the thinnest breads in Kerala: a dough of fine rice flour scalded with boiling water, rolled almost see-through, cooked on a dry tawa until they puff, and then dipped in thin coconut milk so they turn soft and silky. They taste mild and slightly sweet, made only to soak up gravy. The usual mistake is adding the flour to water that has stopped boiling; the dough stays crumbly and the pathiri crack. Rice flour has no gluten, so these suit anyone avoiding wheat. Serve them warm, folded into quarters, with any curry (they are vegan as made here; the curry is up to you). Chef's tip: knead the scalded dough while it is still hot, using the heel of your hand and a little oil, until it is as smooth as a baby's cheek.

50 min

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PeradGuava cheese

Goan grandmothers make perad when the guava trees are full in winter, and it sits in a tin on the dresser all through Christmas, cut into dark pink squares for the kuswar plate. The name and the method come from the Portuguese goiabada: ripe guavas are cooked, sieved, then boiled down with sugar and lime juice for the best part of an hour until the paste is thick, glossy and comes away from the pan in one mass. Set in a tray, it slices cleanly and tastes intensely of guava, sweet and slightly tart, with a chewy, jelly-like bite. Eat it on its own, with a piece of cheese, or on bread. The common mistake is stopping too early: it looks thick in the pan but stays soft and sticky once cool. Test a little on a cold plate; it should hold its shape and peel off cleanly. Chef's tip: choose fragrant pink-fleshed guavas and add a couple of slightly under-ripe ones; they carry more pectin and help it set.

95 min

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Kala vatana amtiBlack pea curry

On the Konkan coast around Malvan and Sindhudurg, kala vatana amti is cooked for Sunday lunch and festive meals, and it is the vegetarian partner to fluffy fried vade made from rice and pulse flour. Small dried black peas simmer until creamy in a dark, aromatic gravy of onion and dried coconut roasted until brown, ground with Malvani masala, then soured with kokum. Serve with vade, rice or jowar bhakri. The usual mistake is not soaking the peas long enough, so they stay hard however long they cook; soak them for at least 8 hours. Slow-cooker option: cook the soaked peas with the water on low for 7 hours, then stir in the masala and simmer 15 minutes. Chef's tip: roast the coconut and onion slowly on a medium heat until deep brown but never black, as that colour gives the gravy its depth.

65 min

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Koova kurukku (arrowroot porridge)

Koova, the arrowroot that grows in Kerala's backyards, is dug, washed, grated and dried into a snow-white powder that many families in Thrissur and Kottayam still make themselves. Stirred with water over a low flame, it turns from chalky to clear and glossy in a few minutes, and this kurukku is a classic first spoonful at six months, often given in the hot months because it is thought to be cooling. It is very mild and smooth. No salt, sugar, jaggery or honey goes in for babies. It is free of the major allergens. Chef's tip: buy pure koova or arrowroot powder, not a cornflour blend, and stop cooking the moment the whole pan turns translucent.

10 min

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Chagem pombaMustard greens and fermented soybean

Chagem pomba is a thick Meitei stew of mustard leaves and seasonal vegetables, bound with rice flour and flavoured with hawaijar, Manipur's sticky fermented soybean; it is cooked especially for Ningol Chakouba and family gatherings, and eaten with rice. To make hawaijar, keep boiled, drained soybeans wrapped in leaves at 30–40 °C for 3 days until stringy and pungent; discard if black, green or pink mould appears or it smells rotten. The mistake is adding dry rice flour straight to the pot, which forms lumps: whisk it into water first. Chef's tip: bought natto or kinema replaces hawaijar well.

45 min

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Methi gajarCarrots with fenugreek leaves

When the long red Delhi carrots and bunches of fresh methi fill the winter markets of Haryana and Punjab, this quick dry sabzi turns up beside every plate of rotis and dal. The slight bitterness of the fenugreek leaves and the sweetness of the carrots balance each other, helped along by a pinch of sugar and a squeeze of lemon. It takes about 25 minutes. The common mistake is adding the methi too early, which makes it bitter and dark. Chef's tip: rub the chopped methi with a little salt and squeeze it after 10 minutes; this tames the bitterness without losing the fragrance.

27 min

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Lauki koftaBottle gourd balls in gravy

Lauki kofta is how North Indian mothers in Punjab and Uttar Pradesh smuggle the humble bottle gourd onto a party table: the gourd is grated and squeezed, bound with gram flour, fried into soft balls and slipped into an onion-tomato gravy. It is a Sunday-lunch and dinner-party curry with phulka, jeera rice or laccha paratha. The classic mistake is not squeezing the lauki hard enough; wet mixture splutters in the oil and the koftas fall apart. Chef's tip: save the squeezed lauki juice and use it in place of water in the gravy, so none of its flavour is wasted.

65 min

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Bihari aloo bhujiaFried potato sticks

In Bihar, aloo bhujia is not the packaged snack but the everyday matchstick-potato fry that sits beside dal, bhaat and chokha on the lunch plate, cooked in mustard oil with panch phoron and a slit green chilli. Patna households make it most days of the week because it takes twenty minutes and pleases everyone. The common slip is crowding the pan and stirring too much, which turns the sticks to mash; give them room and toss gently. Chef's tip: soak the cut potatoes in cold water for 10 minutes and dry them well; washing off surface starch keeps the sticks separate and lightly crisp.

25 min

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Koinar saagKachnar leaf greens

In Jharkhand's spring, as the kachnar (Bauhinia) trees put out pale tender leaves, Santhal, Munda and Oraon families gather them for koinar saag, a slightly tangy, earthy green cooked with lots of garlic in mustard oil and eaten with rice and dal or with madua roti. Some households dry the leaves to use through the summer. The usual mistake is using older, darker leaves, which stay tough and fibrous however long you cook them. Chef's tip: blanch the leaves first and squeeze them hard; it softens the faint astringency and the saag absorbs the garlic oil better.

25 min

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Kudrum chutneyRoselle chutney

Kudrum is roselle, the red-calyxed hibiscus that tribal households in Jharkhand grow round their homes, and in the post-monsoon months its sour fleshy calyces and leaves are cooked into this bright red chutney. It is eaten with plain rice, dhuska or pitha, and a spoonful wakes up a simple meal of dal and saag. A frequent mistake is leaving the hard green seed pod inside each calyx, which makes the chutney woody; split each one and pop the pod out. Chef's tip: dried hibiscus flowers sold for tea make a good stand-in; soak them 20 minutes in hot water first.

25 min

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Chintha chiguru pappuDal with young tamarind leaves

Every spring the tamarind trees of Telangana put out soft, coppery new leaves, chintha chiguru, and housewives in Hyderabad and the districts strip them by the handful for a few weeks of this pleasantly sour dal. The leaves give the tang that tamarind pulp gives the rest of the year, and the pappu is eaten with hot rice, ghee and a crisp papad. The common mistake is adding all the leaves at the start; they lose their fresh sourness, so stir half in near the end. Chef's tip: if tamarind shoots are out of reach, use a mix of sorrel and a teaspoon of tamarind paste.

35 min

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Bachali kura pappuDal with Malabar spinach

Bachali, or Malabar spinach, climbs over back walls all across Telangana and Andhra, and its thick, glossy leaves go into this everyday pappu that turns up at lunch several times a month with rice, ghee and a pickle. The leaves give the dal a silky body and a faint lemony note. People often overcook it until the greens turn khaki; add them after the dal is soft and cook just long enough to wilt. Chef's tip: use the tender stems too, chopped small; they add a pleasant crunch.

35 min

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Phing tarkariGlass noodle curry

In Gangtok kitchens phing tarkari turns up beside rice on ordinary weeknights and at Losar and Dashain spreads, the slippery noodles soaking up a thin, gingery gravy studded with mushrooms and greens. Phing are mung-bean glass noodles, and Sikkimese cooks treat them more like a vegetable than pasta, so the dish is spooned over rice rather than eaten as a noodle bowl. The usual mistake is boiling the noodles first: they turn to mush, so only soak them in warm water and let them finish in the gravy for the last few minutes. Chef's tip: snip the soaked noodles into 10 cm lengths with kitchen scissors so they mix evenly and are easy to serve.

28 min

Indian Pasta & Noodles

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ManganeChana dal and sago pudding

In Goan Hindu homes, especially around Ganesh Chaturthi, a pot of mangane is cooked for the naivedya and handed round warm after the aarti. Soft chana dal and glassy sago pearls sit in a thick, caramel-coloured sauce of coconut jaggery and fresh coconut milk, scented with cardamom and studded with cashews. The common mistake is boiling the dal hard after the thick coconut milk goes in, which splits it into oily curds; once the first milk is added the pot should only steam gently. Serve it warm in small bowls, or cool so it sets a little and spoon it up like a soft pudding. Chef's tip: soak the sago only until the pearls just give when pressed, or they melt into glue in the pot.

55 min

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Goan pezRice porridge with pickle and papad

Pez is the plainest food in a Goan kitchen and one of the most loved: red parboiled rice simmered in plenty of water until the grains burst and the liquid turns milky. Fishermen and farmers ate it before a day's work, mothers serve it to anyone who feels unwell, and on heavy monsoon evenings it comes with a spoon of mango or lime pickle, a roasted papad and sometimes a dry fish or vegetable on the side. The mistake is cooking it in too little water so it becomes a sticky porridge; good pez has whole soft grains floating in thin, starchy broth. Chef's tip: stir in a little salt only at the end and let everyone add buttermilk or coconut milk to their own bowl.

45 min

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Aval kanji for babiesRice flake porridge for babies

In Tamil homes from Madurai to Chennai, aval (flattened rice, the same poha sold in every kirana shop) is one of the first grains a grandmother reaches for when a baby turns six months. The flakes are dry-roasted until they smell like puffed rice, ground to a fine powder and simmered with water into a thin, pale porridge with a gentle toasted flavour, usually given as a mid-morning feed. For babies it is made with no salt, sugar, jaggery or honey. It is free of the major allergens: no milk, egg, gluten, nuts, soya, sesame or fish. Chef's tip: roast a whole cup of aval at once, grind it and keep the powder in a dry jar for up to two weeks, so each feed takes five minutes.

15 min

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Dal dhokli for toddlersWheat dumplings in dal for toddlers

In Ahmedabad pols and Surat kitchens dal dhokli is the Sunday one-pot lunch: diamonds of spiced wheat dough cooked straight in tangy toor dal. This toddler version, for children from 12 months, keeps the soft pasta-like pieces small, leaves out the chilli, peanuts and cloves, and uses only a pinch of jaggery so the dal stays sweet-sour the way Gujarati families like it. It is cooked in oil, so it is dairy free and vegan. It contains wheat (gluten); there is no milk, egg, nuts or soya. Chef's tip: roll the dough thin, about 2 mm; thick dhokli stay chewy in the middle.

45 min

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Kanji payar for toddlersRed rice gruel for toddlers

Kanji and payar, rice gruel with a dry dish of green gram, is Kerala's oldest comfort meal, eaten for dinner in homes across Kottayam and Palakkad and at simple roadside kanji kadas on rainy monsoon evenings. For toddlers from 12 months the matta rice is cooked until it bursts into a creamy porridge, and the cherupayar is steamed soft and finished with a little coconut and cumin instead of chilli, then the two are mashed together. Skip the usual pickle and pappadam. It contains coconut; there is no milk, gluten, egg, nuts or soya, and it is vegan. Chef's tip: soak both the rice and the gram overnight; it halves the cooking time and makes them far softer.

55 min

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Aloo pitikaMashed potato with mustard oil

Aloo pitika is the first thing on many Assamese lunch plates, a rough mash of boiled potato sharpened with raw mustard oil, onion, green chilli and coriander, eaten with the first mouthfuls of rice and dal. Guwahati families make it daily, and in winter it may be mixed with roasted aubergine or a boiled egg. The usual mistake is making it smooth like a Western purée; it should be coarse and hand-mashed so the onion and chilli stay crunchy. Chef's tip: use pungent kachi ghani mustard oil and rub it in last, so its heat hits the nose.

25 min

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Steamed Nendran banana mash

Nendran is the long, golden plantain of Kerala, sold in hands at every market from Palakkad to Thiruvananthapuram, and a steamed ripe Nendran is one of the first fruits a Malayali baby tastes. Raw, it is too firm and starchy for a six-month-old, so it is steamed in its skin until the flesh turns soft and orange-gold, the dark string of seeds in the centre is pulled out, and the rest is mashed smooth. It is naturally sweet, so nothing is added: no sugar, jaggery, honey or salt. It is free of the major allergens. Chef's tip: wait until the skin is fully yellow with black freckles; a green Nendran stays chalky however long you steam it.

15 min

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Sabudana kanji for babiesSago porridge for babies

Sabudana (sago) is pantry food in Pune and Ahmedabad homes, best known for fasting khichdi, but mothers in Maharashtra and Gujarat also cook the pearls into a thin, soothing kanji for babies, especially in the hot weeks before the monsoon. The pearls are soaked, simmered until every one is glassy and clear, then blended so there is nothing for a baby to choke on. It tastes very mild and is mostly energy, so offer it alongside iron-rich foods rather than instead of them. No salt, sugar, jaggery or honey for babies; it is free of the major allergens. Chef's tip: a white dot in the middle of a pearl means it is still raw; simmer until none are left.

35 min

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Goan tendli bhajiIvy gourd stir-fry

On an everyday Goan plate of rice, fish curry and a vegetable, the vegetable is very often this quick tendli bhaji. Thin rounds of ivy gourd are softened with onion and green chilli in coconut oil, then tossed with fresh grated coconut just before serving, so they stay crunchy-tender and sweet. Hindu homes make it without onion on fasting or puja days. The mistake to avoid is cutting the tendli thickly and covering the pan for too long, which gives grey, soggy rings; thin slices cooked mostly uncovered keep their green colour. Chef's tip: pick firm, bright green tendli and discard any that are red inside, as they are overripe and slimy.

25 min

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KilanjiRice crepes with coconut banana sauce

On the coral islands of Lakshadweep, kilanji is the treat for weddings, Eid mornings and a welcome guest. Thin, soft crepes of soaked rice and egg, or rice alone as here, are folded and drenched in a warm sauce of coconut milk sweetened with coconut jaggery and full of mashed ripe banana and cardamom. The islanders often add egg to the batter; this version keeps it vegan with a touch of cooked rice for softness. The common mistake is a gritty batter: the rice needs a full four hours' soak and a long, fine grind, or the crepes tear. Chef's tip: keep the sauce barely warm, never boiling, so the coconut milk stays silky.

290 min

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Agra dalmothFried lentil snack mix

Agra is famous for two sweets and one namkeen, and dalmoth is the namkeen: soaked masoor and chana dal fried until crunchy and tossed with chilli, black salt, dry mango and a little sugar, sold in big tins near the Taj and packed for every train journey. It is eaten with tea in the afternoon and handed round to guests at Diwali. The dal is fried dry, without any batter coating. The common mistake is frying the dal straight from soaking water; any moisture makes the oil spit dangerously and the dal chewy, so dry it on a cloth for at least an hour. Chef's tip: fry the masoor and chana separately, as they need different times to turn crisp.

50 min

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Moong dal cheela fingers for babiesMoong dal pancake fingers for babies

Across Punjab and north India, moong dal cheela is a weekday breakfast griddled to order, usually with green chilli, ginger and a pinch of ajwain. For babies from nine months the batter is just soaked yellow moong and grated carrot, cooked thin and soft and cut into strips that are easy to grab, ideal for baby-led eating alongside spoon food. They are tender, mildly sweet from the carrot and packed with plant protein. They are free of the major allergens: no milk, egg, gluten, nuts, soya, sesame or fish. Chef's tip: grind the batter to the thickness of double cream; thinner batter tears, thicker batter stays raw in the middle.

30 min

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Hmarcha rawtRoasted green chilli relish

No Mizo table in Aizawl is complete without a small bowl of hmarcha rawt, the sharp relish that goes with plain rice, boiled vegetables and bai at almost every meal. Green chillies are charred over a flame or on a dry pan, then pounded with raw onion, ginger and salt. The mistake is to blend it smooth; it should be coarse and juicy, with bits of charred skin. Chef's tip: roast the chillies until blistered all over, not black, or the relish turns bitter.

13 min

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ChhangbanPounded sticky rice cakes

Chhangban are soft, chewy cakes that Mizo families make from steamed sticky rice pounded in a wooden mortar, traditionally for Christmas, Chapchar Kut and visits from relatives. They are eaten warm, dipped in sugar, or toasted the next day with a mug of black tea. The mistake people make is pounding cold rice: it will not come together, so work while it is steaming hot. Chef's tip: wet the pestle or your hands with salted water so the rice does not stick.

60 min

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BekangFried fermented soybeans

Bekang is the Mizo name for soybeans boiled and left to ferment in leaves until sticky and strongly savoury, and fried bekang is one of the most loved sides on the Aizawl table, spooned over plain rice. To ferment your own, keep the wrapped, drained beans at 30–40 °C for 2–3 days: they are ready when coated in sticky white threads and smell of ammonia and nuts. Throw them out if you see black, green or pink mould or they smell rotten. The common mistake is frying on high heat until the beans scorch and turn bitter. Chef's tip: bought kinema, axone or natto work in place of homemade bekang.

17 min

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Mizo panch phoran tarkariMixed vegetables with five spices

Mizo cooking uses very little oil and few spices, and this Aizawl tarkari of pumpkin, potato, brinjal and beans is a good example: a few seeds of panch phoron bloom in a spoonful of oil, the vegetables steam in their own juices and dinner is ready. It is eaten on weekdays with rice, dal and a sharp chilli relish. The common mistake is stirring too often, which mashes the pumpkin; turn it gently only once or twice. Chef's tip: cut everything about the same size so it cooks evenly.

32 min

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JastemTurmeric yellow rice

Jastem is the Khasi everyday yellow rice of Meghalaya, cooked with turmeric, ginger and fried onion and served with dal, greens or a meat curry; on feast days it shares the table with jadoh. It is lighter and less oily than a pulao. The common mistake is too much water, which makes it sticky; the grains should stay separate. Chef's tip: use a short-grain local rice or plain sona masoori, rinsed until the water runs clear.

32 min

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PutharoSteamed rice flour cakes

In Shillong and the Khasi Hills, putharo are plain steamed rice-flour cakes eaten at breakfast with red tea or with a bowl of curry. Freshly milled, slightly damp rice flour is what makes them soft. The common mistake is using dry supermarket flour without moistening it, which gives crumbly, dusty cakes; sprinkle the flour with water and rub until it holds when squeezed. Chef's tip: steam on a cloth so the bottoms don't turn soggy.

30 min

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Minil songaBamboo-roasted sticky rice

The Garo of western Meghalaya make minil songa for festivals, hunting trips and family picnics, packing soaked sticky rice into lengths of green bamboo and roasting them in the embers until the rice comes out fragrant, firm and faintly smoky. At home, a hot oven or a grill gives a very good result. The mistake to avoid is sealing the bamboo too tightly: steam must escape. Chef's tip: if you have no bamboo, roll the rice in a double layer of banana leaf and foil.

70 min

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KabokPuffed rice and sesame balls

Kabok are crunchy balls of puffed rice and sesame bound with hot jaggery syrup, made in Meitei homes for Yaoshang, Cheiraoba and temple offerings. Black puffed rice is used in some villages, giving dark, toasty kabok. The key is the syrup: cook it to the hard-ball stage, when a drop in cold water sets into a firm ball, or the balls will fall apart. The common mistake is shaping with dry hands; wet them so the hot mixture doesn't stick or burn. Chef's tip: warm the puffed rice in the oven for a few minutes first so it stays crisp.

25 min

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AkibiyeCreamy taro with fermented soybean

Akibiye is Sumi Naga comfort food from Nagaland: colocasia boiled until it melts into a thick, creamy stew, flavoured with chilli and axone, the fermented soybean that gives Naga cooking its deep savour. It is eaten with rice, especially in winter. For homemade axone, keep boiled soybeans wrapped in leaves at 30–40 °C for 3–5 days until sticky and pungent, then dry or use fresh; discard if black, green or pink mould appears or it smells rotten. The mistake is handling raw taro with bare hands, which itches; wear gloves or oil your hands. Chef's tip: bought axone, kinema or natto work well.

45 min

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LavasaThin leavened flatbread

Every Kashmiri neighbourhood has its kandur, the baker who slaps breads onto the walls of a clay tandoor before dawn, and lavasa is the thin, soft, bubbly sheet bought for the afternoon or for wrapping hot seekh kebabs at weddings. It is lightly leavened, a little chewy and faintly smoky, and is eaten with noon chai or with harissa in winter. At home a very hot heavy pan or a pizza stone does a fine job. The common mistake is rolling it too thick; lavasa should be thin enough to see light through at the edges. Chef's tip: stack the breads under a clean cloth as they come off the heat, so the steam keeps them soft and foldable.

140 min

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AmbalSweet and sour pumpkin

Ambal belongs to the Dogra dham of Jammu, the feast cooked by the hereditary siyan cooks for weddings and festivals and served on leaf plates in a fixed order. Yellow pumpkin is softened with fenugreek seeds and fennel, then simmered in a dark tamarind and jaggery sauce until it is sticky, sour and sweet at once, which is what the name, from 'amla' for sour, promises. It is eaten with rice alongside the dham's dals and madra. The common mistake is stirring hard once the pumpkin is soft, which turns it to mush; shake the pan instead. Chef's tip: let it rest an hour before serving, as the tamarind settles and the flavour deepens.

40 min

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Lingdi ki sabziFiddlehead fern curry

When the monsoon arrives in the Kullu and Mandi valleys, coiled fiddlehead ferns (lingdi) appear along streams and in village markets, and families cook them as a quick dry sabzi with onion, garlic and chilli, or pickle them for winter. The young fronds taste a little like asparagus and green beans, with a pleasant snap. Only eat edible fiddlehead species from a trusted seller, and always cook them well: undercooked ferns can upset the stomach. The common mistake is skipping the blanching, which leaves them bitter and unsafe; boil them first, then fry. Chef's tip: rub off the brown papery scales under running water before trimming; they hold grit.

28 min

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Chamba chukhChilli and lemon paste

Chukh is the fiery condiment of Chamba in western Himachal, made at the end of summer when red and green chillies are abundant, and kept for months to brighten dal, rice and rajma through the winter. Chillies are lightly cooked in mustard oil, pounded with lemon juice and salt, and stored in glass jars under a film of oil. Just a dab is used at a time. The common mistake is leaving moisture in the jar, which lets mould grow; use a bone-dry, sterilised jar and a dry spoon. Chef's tip: wear gloves when handling this many chillies, and do not touch your eyes for hours afterwards.

90 min

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MarchuDeep-fried wheat breads

In the high Lahaul valley, marchu are fried by the basketful before the winter festivals of Halda and Losar, when families visit each other and every house must have a pile ready for guests. They are thick, soft rounds of wheat dough, sometimes lightly sweetened, fried in oil until puffed and golden, and they keep for days in the cold. They are eaten with butter tea or a spicy potato dish. The common mistake is frying in oil that is too hot, which browns the outside before the inside cooks; keep the heat medium. Chef's tip: prick each round twice with a fork so it puffs evenly rather than ballooning on one side.

50 min

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DubukThick lentil curry

Dubuk is a Kumaoni winter staple from the hill villages around Almora and Pithoragarh, where soaked bhatt (black soybean) or gahat is ground on a stone and simmered slowly in an iron kadhai until it turns thick and dark. It is eaten with plain rice on cold evenings, and the iron pot gives it its slightly earthy colour and taste. Toor dal or a mix of toor and urad works well if you cannot find pahadi lentils. The common mistake is grinding the lentils to a fine paste and boiling hard, which makes dubuk gluey; grind coarse and keep the simmer gentle. Chef's tip: stir in a spoon of the rice paste only at the end, and only if the gravy needs body, because the lentils thicken a lot as they stand.

60 min

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Bhang ki chutneyRoasted hemp seed chutney

In Kumaon every kitchen keeps a jar of hemp seeds, and this tangy chutney is ground fresh to go with rotis, aloo ke gutke and festive pakodas all through the year. It uses hulled, food-grade hemp seeds sold for cooking, which are not psychoactive at all; they simply taste like a cross between sesame and toasted pine nuts. The seeds are dry-roasted, ground with mint, chilli and the juice of the big hill lemon, and loosened with a little water. The usual mistake is roasting the seeds too dark, which turns the chutney bitter and grey. Chef's tip: grind in a mortar or with short pulses and stop while it still has some texture; a perfectly smooth paste loses the pleasant crunch.

15 min

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Til ki chutney (Kumaoni)Sesame chutney

This is the everyday sesame chutney of Kumaoni homes, ground on the sil-batta to go with mandua rotis, rice and dal, or the pakodas made for Harela and Ghughutiya. Unlike southern sesame chutneys, it has no coconut or tamarind: just toasted white sesame, green chilli, coriander and plenty of hill-lemon juice, so it tastes bright and nutty at once. It keeps for two days in the fridge. The most common mistake is burning the sesame, which only takes a few seconds too long and makes the chutney bitter. Chef's tip: pull the pan off the heat the moment the first seeds turn golden; they keep cooking in the hot pan.

12 min

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SwaleFried lentil-stuffed breads

In Garhwal, swale are fried in huge batches for weddings, for the bride's send-off parcel and for festivals like Basant Panchami, then eaten warm or cold over the next couple of days. Soaked urad or gahat dal is ground with ginger and spices and sealed inside wholewheat dough, then fried until the breads puff and blister. They travel well and taste good with raita or a hill pickle. The common mistake is overfilling, which tears the dough and makes the oil spit. Chef's tip: roll them gently from the centre outwards with almost no dusting flour, so the edges seal and the swale puffs evenly.

70 min

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LesuWheat and finger millet roti

Lesu is a clever Garhwali farmhouse roti in which a small ball of mandua (finger-millet) dough is wrapped inside wheat dough and rolled out, so each bite has a soft wheat outside and a dark, earthy layer within. Families eat it for breakfast or dinner in winter with a big dollop of ghee, jaggery or a green saag. The millet adds minerals and a pleasant nutty taste. The common mistake is making the millet dough too dry, which cracks and pokes through the wheat when you roll. Chef's tip: knead the mandua dough with hot water and keep it as soft as the wheat dough, so the two roll out together.

40 min

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Bilahi chutneySweet-sour tomato chutney

Bilahi is the Assamese word for tomato, and this glossy red chutney, sweet with jaggery and warmed with nigella and dried chilli, closes a festive Assamese meal, especially at weddings and on Bihu, as the sweet-sour last course before curd and sweets. Everyday cooks in Jorhat and Guwahati make a quick batch in winter when tomatoes are cheap. The mistake to avoid is adding the jaggery too early, which scorches before the tomatoes have broken down. Chef's tip: a few dates or raisins added with the jaggery give the chutney a deeper, jammy sweetness.

25 min

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Xaak bhajiStir-fried greens

Xaak bhaji is the simplest dish on an Assamese table and one of the most loved: whatever greens are in season, mustard leaves in winter, red or green amaranth and dhekia fern in the monsoon, wilted in mustard oil with garlic and a dried chilli. It is eaten at the start of the meal with rice in homes from Sivasagar to Guwahati. People often add water and stew the greens; they should cook in their own moisture over brisk heat so they stay bright. Chef's tip: mix two or three greens together, as Assamese cooks do, for a fuller flavour.

20 min

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KharoliFermented mustard relish

Kharoli is an old Assamese relish from the villages of upper Assam: ground mustard seed is mixed with khar, the alkaline water filtered from burnt banana peel, packed into a jar and left to ferment until sharp and funky. A small spoon with mustard oil and green chilli is eaten with the first balls of rice, and families make it in the cooler months. The common mistake is using a damp jar or spoon, which lets mould in. Ferment at 20–28 °C for 4–6 days; it is ready when it smells sharply pungent and tangy. Throw it away if you see fuzzy mould, pink or black spots, or it smells rotten or putrid rather than sour. Chef's tip: if you have no banana-ash khar, a quarter teaspoon of bicarbonate of soda in the water gives a similar alkaline bite.

20 min

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Dubki wale alooHing-scented potato curry

In the lanes of Mathura and Agra, breakfast is bedai or kachori with dubki wale aloo, a thin, peppery potato curry with so much gravy the puri can take a dip, or dubki. Its flavour comes from hing, crushed coriander seed and fennel rather than onion or garlic, which suits the Vaishnav kitchens of Braj and Holi mornings. The common mistake is making the gravy thick; it should run, so add enough water and mash only a few potatoes to give it body. Chef's tip: crush the boiled potatoes by hand into rough pieces rather than cubing them; the jagged edges soak up the spice.

35 min

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MesuFermented bamboo shoot pickle

Lepcha and Nepali households in Sikkim shred tender bamboo shoots in the monsoon, when they push up fresh, and pack them tightly into glass jars or hollow bamboo to sour for one to two weeks. The finished mesu is eaten as a sharp pickle with rice and dal through the rest of the year. A common mistake is leaving shoots above the brine, which invites mould; press them down hard so the liquid always covers them. Keep the jar at 20–28 °C out of direct sun and taste from day 7: it is ready when pleasantly sour and pale yellow. Discard the batch if you see fuzzy, pink or black mould, if it smells putrid rather than sour, or if the shoots feel slimy. Chef's tip: short of time, buy ready-fermented bamboo shoot from a Northeast or Asian grocer and go straight to the tempering.

40 min

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Manipuri boraGram flour fritters

Bora are the crisp fritters that Meitei families fry for evening tea, for guests and for festivals like Cheiraoba, using whatever is in season: onion and herbs, gourd flowers, or tender greens. The batter is gram flour with a little rice flour, so they stay crisp. The common mistake is a thick batter that makes doughy fritters; it should just coat the vegetables. Fill the pan no more than a third deep with oil, test it with a drop of batter (it should rise in 2–3 seconds) and never leave it unattended. Chef's tip: mix the batter just before frying so the vegetables don't weep and make it watery.

30 min

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Nadru monjeLotus stem fritters

On cold Srinagar evenings the stalls around Dal Lake and in the old city fry nadru monje, thin slices of lotus stem dipped in a rice-flour batter reddened with Kashmiri chilli and fried until crackling. They are eaten hot from paper with a sharp walnut or radish chutney, and turn up at home with noon chai when guests drop in. The lotus stem stays crunchy inside the crisp batter. The most common mistake is skipping the boiling step; raw lotus stem is woody and can carry mud in its holes, so scrub and part-cook it first. Chef's tip: slice on a slant about 3 mm thick so the batter clings and the lacy holes show.

35 min

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ChilreBuckwheat pancakes

In the upper hills around Shimla and through Kinnaur, buckwheat (kuttu or ogla) grows where wheat struggles, and chilre are its everyday form: thin, lacy pancakes poured on a hot griddle for breakfast or a late-afternoon snack. They are eaten with a sharp mint-and-walnut chutney, or sweet with honey, and are naturally gluten free when made with pure buckwheat. The common mistake is making the batter too thick, so the chilre come out stodgy; it should pour like single cream. Chef's tip: let the batter rest 15 minutes so the buckwheat swells, and wipe the pan with an oiled cloth rather than pouring oil, for even, lacy pancakes.

25 min

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Kangri khattaTangy chickpeas

At a Kangra dham, the leaf-plate feast cooked by botis (Brahmin cooks) for weddings and village festivals, khatta comes towards the end, a dark, sweet-sour dish of chickpeas or pumpkin in a gravy soured with tamarind or dried mango and balanced with jaggery. It is served with rice and has no onion or garlic. The gravy is thin, glossy and almost black from the long-cooked tamarind. The common mistake is adding the tamarind to undercooked chickpeas; the acid stops them softening, so cook them fully first. Chef's tip: a teaspoon of rice flour or gram flour stirred into the gravy gives the dham-style gloss without making it heavy.

50 min

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Chennai onion samosa

In Chennai's old tea shops, many started by Irani and Muslim families, a glass of strong tea comes with a plate of small onion samosas: thin, crackly pastry folded around a filling of nothing but slow-cooked onion, green chilli, curry leaves and a little poha to soak up the juices. They are sold by the dozen in the evenings and at bus stands across Tamil Nadu. The pastry is the thin, ready-rolled samosa-patti kind, so they are quick to fold. The common mistake is undercooking the onion, which leaks water and makes the samosas soggy; fry it until soft and sweet, then cool. Chef's tip: seal the folds with a thick paste of flour and water, not plain water, so they do not open in the oil.

65 min

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Gol dhanaJaggery and coriander seed sweet

In Gujarat, when two families agree on a match, a plate of gol dhana is passed around before anything else, and the engagement itself is often simply called 'gol dhana'. The same mix appears on auspicious days, at a griha pravesh and at the start of a new venture: soft jaggery rubbed together with dhana dal, the split, lightly roasted coriander seeds sold in every Gujarati grocery. It takes five minutes and needs no cooking. The common mistake is using whole coriander seeds, which are hard and bitter; buy dhana dal, or split and toast the seeds yourself. Chef's tip: choose a soft, golden Kolhapuri-style jaggery that crumbles between your fingers, so it coats the seeds instead of staying in lumps.

5 min

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Sakin gataSticky rice and sesame cakes

During Wangala, the Garo harvest festival of drums and dancing each autumn, families steam sakin gata: sticky rice ground with black sesame, sweetened lightly and wrapped in leaves. The cakes are chewy, nutty and grey-black, shared with visitors and offered at the celebrations. The common mistake is grinding the rice too dry, which makes cakes that crack; the dough should feel like soft clay. Chef's tip: toast the sesame until it just starts to pop, no darker, or it turns bitter.

65 min

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OotiSoft dried pea curry

Ooti is a Meitei comfort dish from Manipur, especially loved in winter and at the community feasts of Ningol Chakouba: dried peas simmered with a pinch of soda until they collapse into a soft, mild stew scented with garlic and spring onion. It goes with rice and a fiery eromba. The mistake is adding too much soda, which tastes soapy; a small pinch is enough. Chef's tip: soak the peas overnight and they will be soft in about 40 minutes.

55 min

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Kelli chanaSpiced chickpea snack

On Imphal evenings, kelli chana is sold from steaming pots at street stalls and outside markets: boiled chickpeas tossed while hot with raw onion, chilli, coriander and lemon, sometimes with a spoon of roasted chilli. It is a cheap, filling snack before dinner. The mistake is using under-cooked chickpeas, which stay hard; they should squash easily between finger and thumb. Chef's tip: toss the chickpeas while still hot so they soak up the lemon and salt.

20 min

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HinkejvuTaro and mustard leaf stew

Hinkejvu is a light Sumi Naga everyday dish from Nagaland's Zunheboto district, where colocasia, cabbage, mustard leaves and beans are simmered together with only ginger, chilli and salt. It is eaten with plain rice and a smoky chutney, often after a heavier meat dish the day before. The common mistake is adding oil or spices, which hides the clean vegetable flavour; Naga home cooking relies on the produce. Chef's tip: cook the colocasia until it starts to break and thicken the broth slightly.

35 min

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ChutagiWheat pasta in vegetable soup

In Leh and the villages along the Indus, chutagi is the one-pot supper of the long winter: little hand-pinched bow-ties of wheat dough dropped into a broth of turnip, carrot, onion and greens. Families sit around the stove pinching the dough together while the pot comes to the boil, and the soup is eaten piping hot, often with a spoon of chilli paste on the side. The broth is light but the pasta makes it filling. The usual mistake is rolling the dough too thick, which leaves the centres of the bows doughy; roll it about as thin as a coin. Chef's tip: let the shaped bows dry on a floured tray for ten minutes before they go in, so they hold their pinched centre instead of opening up in the pot.

55 min

Indian Soups

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Tsestalulu (sea-buckthorn juice)

Sea buckthorn grows wild along the river beds of Ladakh, and in Leh the bright orange berries are pressed into tsestalulu, a sharp, tropical-tasting juice sold in summer cafés and made at home after the autumn harvest. It is drunk chilled, sweetened with sugar or honey and thinned with cold water. The berries are very sour and slightly oily, so the juice is always diluted. The common mistake is boiling the pulp, which dulls both the colour and the fresh taste; just blend and strain. Chef's tip: frozen sea-buckthorn berries or plain unsweetened purée from health shops work very well; strain twice through a fine sieve for a silky drink.

15 min

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Ratlami sevPeppery gram flour sev

Ratlam in western Madhya Pradesh is so proud of its sev that it carries a GI tag, and every Malwa household keeps a tin for poha, usal and chai-time munching. What makes it different is the spice: ground clove, black pepper and ajwain give a warm heat that builds slowly, and the sev is pressed thick and fried until deep gold. The common mistake is frying in oil that is too hot, which browns the outside while the centre stays soft and soon goes chewy. Chef's tip: cool completely before you store it in an airtight tin; it keeps crisp for three weeks.

40 min

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ChauselaRice flour puris

Chausela is the puri of the Chhattisgarh plains, where rice rather than wheat fills the granary, and it turns up at Hareli, Pola and any Sunday breakfast with a sharp tomato chutney or a potato curry. The dough is scalded with boiling water so the rice flour holds together, and the puris fry up pale, soft and lightly crisp at the edges. The usual mistake is mixing the flour with cold water; it cracks as you roll and the puris split in the oil. Chef's tip: knead the dough while it is still warm, using the heel of an oiled palm, and keep it under a damp cloth so the rounds stay supple.

30 min

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Angakar rotiThick rice flour roti

Angakar roti takes its name from angaar, the glowing coals of a village chulha in Chhattisgarh, where a thick round of rice dough is sandwiched between palash or banana leaves and buried in the embers until smoky and crusted. Farmers carry it to the fields with chutney and a green chilli, and it is still a winter breakfast across Bilaspur and Raipur. At home a heavy tawa and a lid do the job. The common slip is making the dough too wet; it should be soft but hold a fingerprint, or the roti stays gummy in the middle. Chef's tip: mix in a spoon of leftover cooked rice for a softer crumb, just as Chhattisgarhi grandmothers do.

35 min

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Chech bhajiJute leaf curry

Chech bhaji is a monsoon green in Chhattisgarh, picked from the jute plants that come up in field edges and village gardens, and cooked almost every week during Sawan. The leaves turn slippery as they soften, a bit like okra, and the cook reins that in with tomato and a little rice water left from washing the rice. It is eaten with plain rice and dal or bore baasi. The mistake to avoid is stirring it endlessly; the leaves go stringy and gluey, so stir only now and then. Chef's tip: frozen or dried molokhia leaves from an Arab grocery are the same plant and work well outside India.

25 min

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Gahat ke paratheHorse gram stuffed parathas

Gahat (horse gram) is the warming winter lentil of Uttarakhand, and in Garhwal it is boiled, mashed and stuffed into parathas for cold mornings, served with butter, curd and a hill pickle. The filling is spiked with ginger, garlic, green chilli and coriander, and the parathas keep you full for hours. Gahat is hard, so it needs a long soak and a pressure cooker. The common mistake is leaving the filling wet; moisture steams through the dough and the paratha tears. Chef's tip: dry the mashed gahat in a pan for a few minutes after mashing until it holds together like a soft crumble.

80 min

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Kandalee ka saagStinging nettle greens

Every spring in Uttarakhand people pick the soft tips of kandalee (bichhu ghas, stinging nettle) from field edges and cook them into a deep green saag with garlic, chilli and a spoon of rice paste, eaten with mandua roti or rice. Nettles taste like a rich, mineral spinach and the sting disappears completely once they are blanched. Always wear gloves or use tongs when picking and washing them. The common mistake is skipping the blanch and going straight to the pan, which leaves stringy stems and some sting. Chef's tip: squeeze the blanched nettles well and chop fine before cooking; this is what gives the smooth, creamy texture hill cooks are proud of.

35 min

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GodsheBroken rice and jaggery pudding

Godshe is the quiet sweet of Goan Saraswat and Gaud Saraswat kitchens, made on festival mornings, for a family puja, or simply when there is fresh coconut and good jaggery in the house. Broken rice is cooked until soft and creamy, then sweetened with dark coconut jaggery and loosened with first-press coconut milk, giving a pudding thicker than payasam and deeply caramel in flavour. Many families make the same dish with chana dal instead of rice. The usual mistake is adding jaggery while the rice is still firm, because the sugar stops the grains from softening any further. Chef's tip: a few slivers of fresh coconut and a pinch of nutmeg on top make it taste like a temple offering.

45 min

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Ambadyachi udda methiHog plum coconut gravy

Udda methi is a Goan Saraswat curry named for its two roasted seasonings, urad dal and fenugreek seeds, and in the monsoon months the best version is made with tart green hog plums, ambade. The plums simmer whole in a coconut gravy that is sour, a little bitter, hot and faintly sweet from jaggery, and it is eaten with plain rice on rainy days or at a Shravan meal. The common mistake is burning the fenugreek: it should be roasted only until reddish, because dark seeds make the whole pot bitter. Raw mango works in place of ambade outside the season. Chef's tip: crush each hog plum lightly with a pestle before cooking so the gravy can soak into the flesh around the stone.

45 min

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PanchkutaFive desert vegetables with spices

Panchkuta is the Marwari answer to a land where fresh vegetables are scarce: five sun-dried desert foods, ker berries, sangri beans, kumatiya seeds, gunda (lasoda) and amchur, soaked back to life and cooked in mustard oil with red chilli. Jodhpur and Bikaner families keep it for Sheetla Ashtami, when food is cooked a day ahead, and for wedding thalis with bajra roti, because it keeps for days without spoiling. The common mistake is cutting the soaking short; under-soaked ker and sangri stay leathery and bitter. Chef's tip: boil the soaked ker on its own and throw away the first water, which carries most of its bitterness.

60 min

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VadouvanDried shallot and spice balls

Vadagam, called vadouvan in Puducherry's French-Tamil kitchens, is a seasoning made in the hot months: shallots and garlic are pounded with mustard seeds, cumin, fenugreek, curry leaves and castor or gingelly oil, rolled into balls and dried in the sun for days. A piece crumbled into hot oil at the start of a sambar, a kuzhambu, a poriyal or even buttered vegetables gives a deep, sweet, smoky onion flavour. This version finishes the drying in a low oven, which is safer and quicker in cooler kitchens. The common mistake is storing the balls before they are bone dry; any softness inside can turn mouldy, so break one open to check. Chef's tip: crush a ball and warm it in ghee, then toss with roast carrots for a very Pondicherry side dish.

280 min

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Shegaon kachoriDal-stuffed fried pastries

Shegaon, a temple town in Vidarbha, is known across Maharashtra for its small, round, crisp kachoris, sold by the boxful at the railway station and carried home by pilgrims and travellers. The stuffing is dry and spicy, made of roasted gram flour, crushed dal, fennel, coriander and a good pinch of hing, and the pastry is short and flaky. They are eaten with sweet tamarind chutney, or broken into hot kadhi. The common mistake is frying on high heat, which browns the pastry before it turns flaky; these need a slow fry. Chef's tip: the stuffing must be cold and crumbly when you fill the dough; warm stuffing turns pasty and bursts the kachoris.

80 min

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Hinger kochuriUrad dal stuffed puffed bread

In Kolkata's sweetshops, Sunday breakfast often means hinger kochuri: soft, white-flour puris stuffed with a smear of urad dal paste perfumed strongly with hing, fried puffy and served with aloo dum or a sweet-sour pumpkin chhokka. They are smaller and softer than North Indian kachoris, closer to a stuffed luchi. The hing must be generous; it is the point of the dish. The common mistake is a wet filling, which steams the dough from inside and stops it puffing; cook the dal paste until it leaves the pan dry. Chef's tip: roll gently from the centre outwards so the thin filling layer stays even and the kochuri puffs all over.

60 min

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Kumbakonam kadappaMoong dal and potato gravy

Kadappa belongs to the temple town of Kumbakonam in Thanjavur district, where it is ladled beside idli, dosa and soft poori at breakfast, a mild gravy of moong dal and potato thickened with a paste of coconut, roasted gram, fennel and green chilli. Its gentle, aromatic taste is a world away from sambar. The common mistake is boiling it hard after the coconut goes in; the paste separates and loses its fragrance, so heat it just to a simmer. Chef's tip: a teaspoon of poppy seeds ground into the paste gives the creamy body of the Kumbakonam hotels.

40 min

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Shev bhajiGram flour shev in spicy gravy

Shev bhaji comes from Khandesh, around Jalgaon and Dhule, where dhabas and homes make a gravy black with roasted onion, dry coconut and a dark Khandeshi masala and drop in thick, crunchy shev just before serving. It is eaten with jowar bhakri or chapati, often at roadside eateries in the winter. The mistake almost everyone makes is adding the shev too early; it swells and turns to paste, so add it at the table. Food note: shop-bought shev can contain wheat or regular hing, so check the packet if you need it gluten free. Chef's tip: roast the onion and coconut until truly dark brown, but not burnt; that is where the colour comes from.

45 min

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Mirchi thechaPounded chilli, garlic and peanut relish

Thecha is the fiery pounded chilli relish of rural Maharashtra, from the Desh villages around Satara and Kolhapur, eaten with jowar bhakri and a raw onion at a farmhand's lunch and now a fixture of Pune's Marathi restaurants. Green chillies and garlic are blistered in a pan, then crushed with peanuts in a stone mortar. The common mistake is blending it smooth in a mixer; thecha should be coarse and rustic, so pound it or pulse briefly. Chef's tip: wear gloves or oil your fingers when handling this many chillies, and wash the pan straight away.

15 min

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Ajwaini arbiPan-fried colocasia with carom seeds

Across Delhi, Punjab and Uttar Pradesh, arbi is the vegetable that goes into a dabba with ajwain rotis or plain phulkas: the small colocasia roots are boiled, flattened slightly and pan-fried with carom seeds, red chilli and dried mango powder until crisp outside and creamy inside. Ajwain is there for its flavour and because it is said to help digest the starchy root. The mistake is boiling the arbi too long: it turns slimy and falls apart in the pan. Cook it until just tender, then cool fully before peeling. Chef's tip: press each piece gently with your palm to crack it before frying; the cracks catch the spices and crisp up.

40 min

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Kathirikai gothsuSmoky aubergine tamarind gravy

At the Nataraja temple in Chidambaram, ven pongal, the peppery rice and moong porridge, is always served with gothsu, and the pairing has spread to breakfast tables and wedding feasts all over Tamil Nadu. Brinjal is charred over the flame, mashed and simmered with a little moong dal, shallots and tamarind, then seasoned with a freshly roasted powder of coriander, chana dal and chilli. The result is smoky, tangy and spoonable, also good with idli or dosa. The usual mistake is using big, seedy aubergines: choose small, firm, glossy ones, which are sweeter. Chef's tip: char at least one brinjal right over the gas flame until the skin is black all over; that smoky note is what makes Chidambaram gothsu.

50 min

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Ghadichi poliLayered chapati

In Maharashtrian homes the everyday poli is not a plain chapati but a ghadichi poli: the dough is oiled, folded into a triangle and rolled again, so it puffs into soft, separate layers that stay tender in a dabba until lunchtime. Mumbai's dabbawalas carry thousands of them every day alongside bhaji and dal. The common mistake is a stiff dough, which makes leathery polis; it should be softer than you think. Chef's tip: as soon as each poli comes off the tawa, clap it between your palms to break open the layers, then stack it in a cloth-lined box.

40 min

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Besan chillaGram flour pancakes

Across North India, besan chilla is the answer when the tiffin needs packing in fifteen minutes: a pourable gram flour batter studded with onion, tomato, chilli and coriander, cooked thin on a tawa, then rolled up with chutney or ketchup. It is naturally egg-free and filling. The common mistake is a thick batter, which gives a heavy, raw-tasting pancake; it should flow like single cream. Chef's tip: spread the batter with the back of a ladle in quick circles from the centre outward, and cover the pan for the first minute so the top steams set.

25 min

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PothichoruRice meal in banana leaf

Before steel tiffin carriers, Kerala's schoolchildren and office workers carried pothichoru, a parcel of hot rice, a dry vegetable thoran, coconut chammanthi and a dab of pickle, folded inside a banana leaf that had been passed over a flame. By lunchtime the leaf's aroma has seeped into the rice; the whole parcel is still sold on trains and at festivals. Fried egg or fish fry are often tucked in; this is the vegetarian version. The common mistake is wrapping the leaf without wilting it first, so it cracks and leaks. Chef's tip: pack the rice warm, not steaming, and eat within four hours, or cool everything and keep the parcel cold until lunch.

60 min

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Puri bhajiPuffed bread with potato curry

In Mumbai, Pune and across Gujarat, puri bhaji is what goes into the steel dabba on exam days and into the bag for a long train ride: small puffed puris and a dry, sunny-yellow potato bhaji spiked with mustard seeds, green chilli and curry leaves. Because the bhaji is dry, it never soaks the puris, and both taste good at room temperature by lunchtime. The common mistake is a soft dough, which drinks oil and gives flat, greasy puris; knead it stiff, like a firm chapati dough. Chef's tip: mash only a third of the potatoes and leave the rest in rough chunks, so the bhaji clings together in the box without turning to paste.

45 min

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Ellu sadam (sesame rice)

In Tamil homes ellu sadam is cooked on Saturdays and temple days, and it is one of the variety rices that keeps best in a school lunch box, because the dry sesame powder soaks up the oil and does not spoil the way coconut rice can. The powder is roasted from black sesame, urad dal and dried red chillies, ground coarse and tossed through plain rice with a nutty gingelly oil tempering. The usual mistake is roasting the sesame too hard: it turns bitter within seconds, so take it off as soon as it starts to pop and smell toasty. Chef's tip: pound the powder rather than blitzing it to dust, so you keep a little crunch from the dal.

20 min

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Kothamalli sadam (coriander rice)

Chennai mothers turn a big bunch of coriander into this bright green rice when they want a lunch box that looks fresh and smells of the market. The leaves and stems are ground with green chilli, coconut, ginger and a little tamarind, then fried in oil until the raw grassy smell goes and the paste turns a deeper green. The mistake is adding the paste and the rice together: the paste stays raw and the rice goes dull and sour. Cook the paste first until it leaves the sides of the pan. Chef's tip: keep the coriander stems; they carry more flavour than the leaves and grind into a smoother paste.

25 min

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Karuveppilai sadam (curry leaf rice)

Around Madurai and Tiruchirappalli this dark, peppery rice comes out when there is a big handful of curry leaves and very little else in the kitchen, and it keeps so well that it goes into lunch boxes and onto long bus journeys. The leaves are roasted until crisp with chana and urad dal, black pepper, cumin and red chilli, then ground into a fragrant podi. The common mistake is roasting wet leaves: they steam instead of crisp, and the powder clumps. Dry them well on a towel first. Chef's tip: grind a double batch of the podi and store it airtight; it keeps for two weeks and makes lunch in five minutes.

23 min

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Mangai sadam (raw mango rice)

When hard green mangoes pile up at the markets of Tamil Nadu in April and May, school lunch boxes fill with mangai sadam, sour and fresh like lemon rice but with a fruitier bite. Grated raw mango is cooked only briefly in a mustard, chana dal and curry leaf tempering so it softens but keeps its tang. The mistake is overcooking the mango into mush, which makes the rice sticky; two or three minutes is enough. Chef's tip: taste the mango first. A very sour one needs a pinch of sugar, and a half-ripe one needs a squeeze of lemon at the end.

22 min