Vegan Indian recipes

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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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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

Indian Vegetarian

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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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

Indian Curries

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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

Indian Vegetarian

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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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

Indian Basics

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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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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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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

Indian Basics

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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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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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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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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

Indian Curries

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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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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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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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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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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

Indian Vegetarian

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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

Indian Curries

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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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