Vegan Indian recipes

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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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

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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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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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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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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

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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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

Indian Breakfast & Brunch

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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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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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Kulle chaatStuffed cucumber chaat

Kulle chaat comes from the lanes of Chandni Chowk around Chawri Bazar, where a couple of old stalls carve fruit and vegetables into little cups and fill them with chickpeas, pomegranate and lime. It is the cooling chaat of Delhi's scorching summer afternoons: no frying, no yoghurt, just juicy, crunchy cups dusted with chaat masala and black salt. Children love picking them up whole. Chef's tip: season the inside of each empty cup with lime and chaat masala before filling, so every bite is tangy right through.

25 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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Moong dal pakodeMoong dal fritters

When the monsoon breaks over Delhi, the pakora stalls of Lajpat Nagar and the lanes off Chandni Chowk do their best trade, and moong dal pakode are the favourite: light, airy balls of soaked and coarsely ground yellow lentils, fried until crunchy and served in paper plates with grated white radish and green chutney. They are naturally gluten free and vegan. Chef's tip: beat the ground batter hard with your hand for a few minutes; the trapped air is what makes them fluffy inside.

40 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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Lucknowi matar chaatWhite pea chaat

In Aminabad and around the Chowk in old Lucknow, matar chaat is ladled hot out of huge brass handis that sit on embers all evening, especially through the cold months. Dried white peas are cooked until they collapse into a creamy, soupy mass, then each leaf bowl is topped with shredded ginger, green chilli, raw onion, lime, roasted spices and a trickle of sweet tamarind chutney. It is warming, sour and gently hot. Chef's tip: cook the peas until a good number break down; that creamy liquid is what makes it Lucknowi.

45 min

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ChurmurCrushed puchka chaat

When you have eaten your fill of puchka at the stalls in Vivekananda Park or outside Gariahat market in the evening, the puchkawala will make you a churmur: the same crisp shells crushed into the same spicy potato filling with tamarind water, onion and coriander, served in a leaf bowl. It is part chaat, part crunchy salad, and puckeringly sour. Chef's tip: crush the shells into big shards, not crumbs, and fold them in last so some stay crisp.

25 min

Indian Breakfast & Brunch

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Club kachoriSmall spiced kachoris

In the narrow lanes of Burrabazar and Bowbazar, sweet shops start frying club kachori before eight in the morning for traders and office-goers, who eat four or five standing up with a ladle of thin, gingery potato curry poured into a sal-leaf bowl. The kachoris are small and puffed like balloons, with a thin layer of peppery ground urad dal inside the crust. Chef's tip: soak the dal ahead (from the night before is easiest) and grind it with almost no water, so the paste is thick enough to roll without breaking through.

60 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

Indian Breakfast & Brunch

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Lebu chaBlack tea with lime

Along College Street and around Esplanade, the tea sellers who pour lebu cha into little unglazed clay cups (bhaar) are the fuel of Kolkata's famous evening adda, the long arguments over books and football. It is weak black tea, sweetened, sharpened with fresh lime and finished with a pinch of sulphurous black salt and roasted cumin, so it tastes sweet, sour and faintly savoury. It is drunk hot in every season and the cup is thrown away. Chef's tip: steep the tea briefly; long-brewed tea plus lime turns harsh and astringent.

7 min

Indian Drinks

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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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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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Lingad ka acharFiddlehead fern pickle

In Kullu, Mandi and Kangra, the monsoon brings lingad, the curled young shoots of the vegetable fern that grows along streams and terrace edges. Villagers pick them in the morning and sell them by the bundle; what is not stir-fried with potato goes into a small jar of pickle to stretch the short season. The shoots are blanched, dressed with mustard oil, crushed mustard seed, red chilli and lemon, and the result is green, crisp and faintly like asparagus with a nutty mustard heat. It is eaten with siddu, rice and madra, or simply with a hot roti. Outside the Himalaya, use ostrich fern fiddleheads, which appear in spring in North America and Europe. Fern shoots must always be cooked; raw or undercooked fiddleheads can upset the stomach badly. Common mistake: only flash-blanching them; boil for the full time. It is ready after a night in the fridge, when the coils have dulled to olive and taste tangy. Keep it in the fridge for up to 10 days; discard if you see mould, slime or smell anything off. Chef's tip: rub off the brown papery scales between your palms under running water before you weigh them.

40 min

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MiscutRaw mango pickle

Before the monsoon breaks over Goa in late May, the first small, tender mangoes are knocked from the trees in Salcete and Bardez villages and cut for miscut, the pickle Goan Catholic families keep for the rainy months when fishing stops and the table relies on rice, curry and preserves. Unlike Gujarati pickles, miscut leans on toddy or cane vinegar: the mango is salted overnight, then folded into a paste of Kashmiri chilli, mustard, fenugreek, turmeric, garlic and ginger ground in vinegar, and finished with oil. It is sour, hot and garlicky, the mango still crisp, and a spoonful brightens a plate of red rice and dried-fish curry or a simple pez (rice gruel). Common mistake: grinding the masala in water; it must be vinegar only, or the pickle spoils. It is ready after 4–5 days, when the vinegar has soaked into the mango and the raw-garlic bite has gone. Because it contains fresh garlic and ginger, keep it in the fridge for up to 3 months, always covered by liquid, dry spoon each time; discard if you see mould, fizzing, sliminess or smell anything off. Chef's tip: use mangoes whose stones have not yet hardened so you can slice straight through.

40 min

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Nadru acharLotus stem pickle

On the lakes around Srinagar, lotus stems are pulled up through the late autumn into winter and sold in muddy bundles at the floating market on Dal Lake. Kashmiri Pandit and Muslim households alike turn some of the harvest into nadru achar, a winter pickle eaten with rice, haakh (collard greens) and nadru yakhni when fresh vegetables are scarce. Thin slices are blanched, dried and dressed with mustard oil, ground fennel, sonth (dry ginger), deep-red Kashmiri chilli and vinegar. The result is crunchy rather than soft, earthy and lacy, with a warm, slightly smoky heat. Common mistake: not washing the hollow channels; mud hides inside, so rinse every slice under running water. Lotus stem grows in lake water and must always be cooked before pickling; never pickle it raw. It is ready when the slices have taken the red colour right into the holes and taste sour through, about 2 days. Keep it in the fridge for up to 1 month, under oil, with a dry spoon; discard if you see mould, fizzing or slime, or smell anything rotten. Chef's tip: buy stems that are pale cream and closed at both ends; open ends let mud in.

45 min

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Chinese bhelCrispy noodle bhel

Mumbai's Indo-Chinese carts, parked outside colleges in Dadar and Matunga from late afternoon, sell this street invention that borrows the idea of bhel and swaps the puffed rice for golden fried noodles. Raw shredded cabbage, carrot and capsicum are thrown in with Schezwan sauce, ketchup, a dash of soy and vinegar, and tossed so fast the noodles still crackle when you eat them. Chef's tip: dry the boiled noodles thoroughly on a tray before frying; wet noodles spit and fry up chewy rather than crisp.

25 min

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Karonde ka acharKaronda berry pickle

When the thorny karonda bushes along Punjab and Rajasthan field edges fruit in July and August, the small green berries with rosy cheeks end up in jars of karonde ka achar. The fruit is very sour and slightly bitter-milky when raw, so it suits a bold mustard-oil pickle: halved berries and slit green chillies are salted, dried for a day, then tossed with crushed fennel, nigella, fenugreek and mustard. After a week the berries turn soft and sour-tangy, the chillies mellow, and the oil smells of saunf. Eat it with paratha, moong dal khichdi or a plain bowl of curd rice. Karonda is hard to find abroad; firm fresh cranberries are the closest substitute in sourness and size. Common mistake: skipping the drying day; wet fruit thins the oil and invites mould. It is ready when the berries yield to the teeth and the spice coat has darkened. Because it holds fresh green chillies under oil, keep this jar in the fridge for up to 2 months, berries always under oil, dry spoon every time; discard if you see mould, fizzing or an off smell. Chef's tip: wear gloves when halving karonda, the white latex is sticky and stains fingers.

40 min

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Kathal ka acharJackfruit pickle

In Lucknow, Kanpur and across Punjab, the hard green jackfruit that arrives in spring and early summer is cooked like meat in kathal ki sabzi, and the rest goes into a jar of kathal ka achar. The chunks are boiled until just tender, dried, then coated in a fierce mix of mustard oil, fennel, nigella, fenugreek and red chilli, sharpened with vinegar and dry mango powder. The texture is the surprise: firm, fibrous and almost meaty, soaking up spice like a sponge. It goes with puri-aloo at a Sunday breakfast or alongside rajma-chawal. Boiled jackfruit is a low-acid vegetable, so this version is deliberately acidified and lives in the fridge. Common mistake: boiling the jackfruit soft; it then breaks into mush in the jar. Stop when a knife meets slight resistance at the core. It is ready after 3 days, when the chunks have turned tawny all the way through and taste sour, not bland. Keep in the fridge for up to 1 month, under oil, with a dry spoon; discard if mould, fizzing, sliminess or a sour-rotten smell appear. Chef's tip: rub your knife and hands with oil before cutting raw jackfruit, or the sticky sap glues everything.

50 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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Adrak ka acharGinger pickle

Walk into a Punjabi dhaba in winter and there is often a steel bowl of ginger matchsticks soaking in lemon juice beside the onion rings. Adrak ka achar is the simplest pickle of all: tender ginger, green chilli, salt and lemon, nothing cooked. Young ginger with thin, pinkish skin reacts with the acid and turns a pretty pale pink within a day; older ginger stays yellow but tastes just as good. The flavour is clean, hot and sour, with crunch, and a forkful cuts the richness of sarson ka saag, makki ki roti, chole bhature or a heavy dal makhani. Common mistake: cutting the ginger thick or using fibrous old roots, which stay woody and harsh; slice thin enough to see light through. It is ready when the ginger has softened slightly, the juice tastes less sharp and the slices have taken colour. Fresh ginger in lemon juice keeps in the fridge for up to 2 weeks; discard it if mould appears, the juice turns slimy or the smell turns from fresh-sour to musty. Chef's tip: a pinch of black salt (kala namak) added at the end gives it that dhaba-style sulphurous edge.

15 min

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Chana methi nu athanuChickpea and fenugreek pickle

This is the thrifty, protein-rich pickle of Kathiawad and the Gujarati countryside, made in the May pickle season alongside methia keri. Brown chickpeas and fenugreek seeds are soaked until plump, then mixed with salted raw mango, split mustard, chilli and hing and sealed under oil. Over a few days the chana and methi drink up the sour mango juice and soften to a pleasant bite; the methi seeds lose most of their bitterness and turn nutty. The pickle is sour, hot and pungent, with plenty of crunch. A spoonful brightens khichdi-kadhi, bajra rotla or a plain dal-bhaat-shaak lunch. The common mistake is mixing in chickpeas that are still wet after soaking: dry them on a cloth for a few hours or the pickle will turn mouldy. It is ready in 4–5 days, when the chickpeas can be bitten through easily and taste sour all the way in. Because soaked pulses are low in acid, keep this one in the fridge once it is mixed, where it lasts up to 3 months, with the oil always covering the top. Chef's tip: use kala chana (small brown chickpeas); they stay firmer than large white ones.

50 min

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Gajar marcha nu athanuCarrot and chilli pickle

Every Gujarati thali, from Ahmedabad homes to Surat lunch houses, has a little bowl of something fresh and sharp to cut through the dal, kadhi and sweet shaak, and in the cold months it is very often this instant carrot and chilli athanu. Winter brings the sweet, deep red desi carrots and fat, mild bhavnagri chillies, and the pickle is mixed in ten minutes: sticks of both coated in split mustard seed, turmeric, hing, salt and lemon, then dressed with warm oil. It is crunchy, juicy and bright, with the nose-tingling pungency of rai kuria and a clean lemon tang. Eat it with rotli, thepla, khichdi or a full thali. The common mistake is pouring smoking-hot oil straight on, which cooks the mustard and makes it bitter; let the oil cool until just warm. It is ready when the mustard has softened and the carrots look glossy, about an hour after mixing, though it is good straight away. With fresh chilli and no long cure, keep it in the fridge and eat within a week. Chef's tip: if bhavnagri chillies are hard to find, use a mix of mild long green peppers and a couple of hot green chillies.

18 min

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Eenthapazham acharDate pickle

Date pickle came to Kerala with the Gulf, and in Malabar and central Travancore it has become a fixture at weddings, where it sits on the leaf beside the biriyani or the sadya rice. Pitted dates are simmered briefly in a gingelly-oil masala of garlic, ginger, green chilli and Kashmiri chilli, then loosened with vinegar and a little sugar. The dates stay plump and sticky, and the sauce is sweet, sour and gently hot all at once, like a spiced chutney with more punch. Serve it with ghee rice or biriyani, with chapati and a mild kurma, or tucked into a sandwich with cucumber. The common mistake is cooking the dates for too long so they dissolve into paste; add them at the end and warm them through for only a few minutes. It is ready when the masala is glossy and thick enough to cling to each date and the oil shines at the edges. With garlic and ginger in it, the vinegar (at least 5% acidity, undiluted) keeps it sharp, but it still belongs in the fridge: it keeps up to a month. Chef's tip: use soft, semi-dry dates rather than very sticky ones; they hold their shape and soak up the vinegar better.

40 min

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Keri no murabboSweet raw mango preserve

In Gujarat, when the summer stock of pickles goes up in May, murabbo is the gentle, sweet one that children are allowed to dip into freely. Pieces of firm raw mango (rajapuri or totapuri) are cooked slowly in sugar syrup until they turn translucent and glossy, then scented with saffron and cardamom. Unlike chhundo, which is grated and spiked with chilli, murabbo keeps the mango in distinct, tender-firm pieces in a clear, golden syrup; it tastes like candied fruit with a sour edge. Spread it on a warm thepla or rotli, serve it with khakhra at breakfast, or spoon a little beside a Gujarati thali. The common mistake is boiling the mango hard in the syrup, which breaks the pieces and clouds it; keep it at a gentle simmer. It is ready when the pieces look see-through at the edges and the syrup reaches one-string consistency (a cooled drop stretches into a single thread between finger and thumb). With this much sugar it keeps 6 months in a cool cupboard in a sterilised, dry jar, or longer in the fridge. Chef's tip: soak the cut mango in lightly salted water for 10 minutes first; it firms the pieces and stops browning.

50 min