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WhatToEat.Today

Vegan Indian recipes

Indian dishes with no dairy, ghee, eggs or meat. (681 recipes)

Verkadalai sadam (peanut rice)

Peanut rice is the filling variety rice that Tamil and Kannada parents send when the school day ends with games: roasted peanuts, dry coconut, sesame and red chillies are ground into a coarse powder and tossed through rice in a curry leaf tempering. It tastes a little like a savoury peanut brittle, and it stays good at room temperature for hours. The mistake is grinding the peanuts too long; they turn into peanut butter and the rice clumps. Pulse in short bursts and stop while it is still sandy. Chef's tip: keep a few whole roasted peanuts aside and add them at the end for crunch.

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Menthya soppu bath (fenugreek leaf rice)

In Bengaluru and Mysuru, a "bath" is a one-pan rice dish seasoned with its own roasted spice powder, and menthya soppu bath is the winter version, made when bunches of fresh fenugreek are cheap. Unlike Tamil variety rices, the rice is cooked right in the masala with the leaves, tamarind and a touch of jaggery, so it comes out soft, tangy and gently bitter. The common mistake is using too much methi stalk, which makes the rice harshly bitter; strip the leaves and use only the softest stems. Chef's tip: a teaspoon of jaggery and a squeeze of tamarind balance the bitterness better than extra salt.

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Capsicum rice (capsicum bath)

Every Bengaluru darshini has its own capsicum bath, and at home it is a favourite for office lunch boxes because the peppers stay crunchy until noon. Green peppers are sautéed just until glossy, then tossed with rice and a freshly roasted powder of coriander seeds, chana dal, dry coconut and red chillies. The mistake is cooking the peppers until soft; they release water and the rice turns soggy, so keep them bright and crisp. Chef's tip: add the powder to the hot oil off the heat for a few seconds before the rice goes in; it blooms the spices without burning the coconut.

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Pudina pulao (mint pulao)

Mint pulao turns up in tiffins from Hyderabad to Delhi in summer, when mint grows like a weed on balconies, and it is a lunch box that still smells fresh at one o'clock. Basmati is fried with whole spices and onion, then cooked in water coloured with a paste of mint, coriander, green chilli and ginger. The mistake is boiling the mint paste for a long time before the rice goes in, which turns it khaki and bitter; add it, stir for a minute, and get the rice in. Chef's tip: a squeeze of lime in the cooking water keeps the green colour brighter.

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Vegetable pulao

This is the plain, comforting pulao that gets packed for small children all over India, from Kolkata to Bengaluru: no chilli heat, just whole spices, a little fried onion and plenty of carrot, beans and peas. It is just as good warm or at room temperature, with a pot of raita or a few potato wedges alongside. The mistake is stirring the rice once the water goes in, which breaks the grains and makes it gluey; cover the pan and leave it alone. Chef's tip: cut the vegetables the size of a pea, so a child's spoon gets rice and vegetables in every bite.

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Urulaikizhangu roast (Tamil potato roast)

In Tamil lunch boxes, curd rice almost always comes with this: small cubes of boiled potato roasted slowly in a cast-iron pan with sambar powder, chilli and curry leaves until they are dark, crusty and chewy at the edges. It is a dry side, so it does not leak into the rice, and it tastes as good cold as hot. The mistake is stirring all the time; the potatoes need to sit undisturbed against the hot pan for a few minutes at a time to build the crust. Chef's tip: a teaspoon of rice flour scattered over in the last few minutes makes the coating even crisper.

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Vazhakkai podimas (raw banana podimas)

Podimas comes from Tamil Brahmin kitchens in Thanjavur and Chennai, where green plantain is boiled whole, grated into soft crumbs and tossed with a tempering of mustard, dal, ginger, green chilli and coconut, then sharpened with lemon. It is light and fluffy, and it sits happily next to sambar rice or rasam rice in a tiffin. The mistake is overboiling the plantain: it turns sticky and will not grate into crumbs. Pull it out as soon as a knife slides in with a little resistance. Chef's tip: grate it on the large holes of a box grater while still warm, then let it cool before tossing, so the shreds stay separate.

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Tomato thokkuSpiced tomato preserve

Thokku is the Tamil answer to a jar of chutney: ripe tomatoes cooked down slowly in plenty of gingelly oil with red chilli, tamarind and roasted fenugreek until thick, dark and glossy. A spoonful turns plain curd rice, idli or chapati into a proper lunch box, and travellers from Madurai carry it for trips because it keeps for weeks. The mistake is stopping too early; it is ready only when the oil floats free around the edges and a spoon dragged across the pan leaves a clean trail. Chef's tip: roast the fenugreek seeds until reddish before grinding; raw fenugreek makes the thokku bitter.

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Shepu bhaji (dill and moong dal)

In Pune and the villages of western Maharashtra, bunches of shepu (dill) come to market in winter, and this dry bhaji of dill and soaked yellow moong dal is packed with bhakri or chapati in the lunch dabba. The dill wilts down to a soft, aromatic tangle, and the moong dal gives it body and a little protein. The mistake is adding water: the leaves release plenty of their own, and extra liquid makes the bhaji stew and lose its fresh, sharp smell. Chef's tip: soak the moong dal for at least 30 minutes beforehand, so it cooks through in the dill's own steam without turning mushy.

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Lal mathachi bhaji (red amaranth stir-fry)

In Mumbai and the Konkan, bunches of red math (amaranth) with their magenta stems come in during the monsoon, and this quick garlicky bhaji turns the dabba's chapatis pink at the edges. It is cooked fast in a hot pan so the leaves stay bright, then finished with a little fresh coconut, the coastal touch that sets it apart from the Bengali way with the same leaf. The mistake is cooking it covered for a long time, which turns it grey and watery. Chef's tip: chop the tender stems finely and cook them for a minute before the leaves go in, so everything is done at the same moment.

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Methi besan bhajiFenugreek and gram flour stir-fry

Farmers in Vidarbha and households in Jodhpur both make a version of this: chopped methi leaves cooked down and then dusted with roasted besan until the whole pan turns into dry, savoury crumbs that cling to a chapati. Because it has almost no moisture, it is one of the best sabzis for a long journey or a hot day's dabba. The mistake is adding raw gram flour straight to the leaves, which leaves a pasty, raw taste. Roast the besan dry until it smells like biscuits first. Chef's tip: sprinkle a few drops of water over the crumbs and cover for a minute at the end, so they soften just enough without turning into a paste.

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Sem ki sabzi (flat beans with potato)

When flat green sem pods fill the sabzi carts in Lucknow and Jaipur in winter, they go into this dry stir-fry with potato and a crackle of ajwain, the classic partner for paratha in an office dabba. The beans stay a little firm and sweet, the potato soaks up the spices, and nothing drips into the roti. The mistake is leaving the stringy edges on the pods; they never soften. Snap the tip and pull the string down each side before chopping. Chef's tip: cook covered for the first half to steam the beans tender, then uncover and turn up the heat so the potatoes catch and brown.

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Soya chunks sabziDry soya chunk curry

Soya chunks, called nutrela or meal maker across India, are a hostel and office-tiffin favourite from Delhi to Hyderabad because they are cheap, keep for months and soak up masala like a sponge. Here they are boiled, squeezed and cooked dry with onion, tomato and garam masala until each chunk is glossy and coated. The mistake is not squeezing hard enough: water left inside dilutes the masala and the chunks taste of nothing. Squeeze them in a fist, twice. Chef's tip: soak them in hot salted water with a pinch of turmeric, so they are seasoned all the way through.

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Aloo bhindiPotato and okra stir-fry

Aloo bhindi is the sabzi that Delhi children are happiest to find in their dabba with soft phulkas: okra fried until its edges crisp, potato cubes browned alongside, and sliced onion cooked sweet, all dusted with amchur and cumin. The single big mistake is washing the okra and cutting it wet, which releases slime that never cooks off. Wash it, dry every pod with a cloth and wait half an hour before slicing. Chef's tip: add the salt only at the very end; salt draws moisture out of the okra and makes it sticky.

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Gobi matar (cauliflower and peas)

In Punjab and Uttar Pradesh, winter means cauliflower and fresh peas, and gobi matar is what fills countless school and office dabbas between November and February. It is cooked dry, so the florets brown a little at the edges, sweetened by the peas and sharpened by plenty of ginger. The mistake is cooking the cauliflower covered with water until it is soft and smells of cabbage; steam it briefly in its own moisture, then fry it uncovered. Chef's tip: cut the florets so they have one flat side; that face sits on the pan and browns while the rest steams tender.

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Pineapple gojjuSweet and sour pineapple gravy

Pineapple gojju turns up on banana leaves at Kannada weddings, housewarmings and Ugadi feasts, where its bright sweet-sour-hot taste cuts through the rice, saaru and payasa. Ripe pineapple is simmered with tamarind and jaggery, then thickened with a roasted paste of sesame, coconut, chilli and lentils until glossy. It is eaten in small spoonfuls with rice or chapati, or as a relish on the side. The usual mistake is adding the jaggery too early and boiling it hard, which makes it sticky and dull; let the pineapple soften first. It keeps for 4 days in the fridge. Chef's tip: toast the sesame seeds separately and add them last, so they stay nutty and you can hear them crackle.

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Kadle manoliBlack chickpea and coconut curry

Kadle manoli is a Konkani dish from Mangaluru and Udupi, cooked for festive meals, Saturday temple days and family gatherings, where it sits beside rice, dalitoy and papad. Black chickpeas and quartered ivy gourd are cooked together, then tossed in a coarse, roasted masala of coconut, byadgi chillies and coriander, a little tamarind and a coconut-oil tempering. It is dry-ish, coating each piece rather than swimming in gravy. The usual mistake is cutting the ivy gourd into rounds; slice it lengthwise into quarters so it stays crunchy-tender. Slow-cooker: cook the soaked chana and gourd with 500 ml water on low for 7 hours, then stir in the masala and heat through. Chef's tip: grind the masala coarse, with very little water, so it clings to the chickpeas and stays fragrant.

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Lauki chana dalBottle gourd and chana dal

In Punjabi and Haryanvi homes lauki chana dal is a weekday staple, and it travels in the dabba's lidded steel bowl beside rotis or rice. Chana dal holds its shape while the bottle gourd melts into it, so the dal is thick enough not to slosh about. The mistake is adding the lauki at the start with the dal: it collapses into strings and turns the dal watery. Add it once the dal is half cooked. Chef's tip: choose a young, pale-green lauki that your nail dents easily; an old one is bitter and seedy, so taste a small piece raw and discard it if it is bitter.

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Lemon sevai (lemon rice noodles)

Sevai is pressed rice-flour vermicelli, and in Tamil Nadu and the Mysuru region the lemon version is a lighter alternative to lemon rice for a school lunch box. Today most homes use dried rice sevai, softened in hot water and steamed, then tossed with a turmeric tempering of mustard, dal, peanuts and green chilli and plenty of lemon. The common mistake is soaking the dry sevai too long, so it breaks into short mushy bits; it should be just pliable before it goes into the steamer. Chef's tip: toss with a fork, not a spoon, and lift rather than stir so the strands stay long.

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Dalimbi usalSprouted field bean curry

In Konkan and Pune homes, dalimbi usal is a festival dish, cooked for Ganesh Chaturthi, weddings and thread ceremonies and served on the thali beside puran poli and rice. Dalimbi are dried field beans (val) that are soaked, sprouted and peeled; the work takes two days but turns them creamy and sweet. They are simmered gently with fresh coconut, goda masala, kokum and a little jaggery, without onion or garlic. Field beans must always be cooked until fully soft; never eat them raw or half-cooked. The usual mistake is boiling them hard, which bursts the soft peeled beans into mash; keep the simmer gentle. Chef's tip: soak the sprouted beans in warm water for 30 minutes before peeling, and the skins slip off with a pinch.

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Val valMixed vegetables in coconut gravy

Val val is a gentle Goan Saraswat stew of mixed vegetables in coconut milk, cooked for festive meals at Ganesh Chaturthi, weddings and temple feasts in Ponda and Margao, where it balances hot curries and fried fish-free starters on the plate. Drumsticks, pumpkin, green beans and potato cook in thin coconut milk with green chilli and cumin, then thick coconut milk is stirred in at the end for a creamy, pale, mildly sweet sauce. Eat it with rice, or with puris for a feast. The usual mistake is boiling it after the thick coconut milk goes in, which splits it into oily curds. Chef's tip: grind the cumin with the green chillies and a spoon of coconut milk; it gives a fresh warmth without colouring the white sauce.

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Sev tameta nu shaakSev and tomato curry

Sev tameta nu shaak is roadside-dhaba and home food from Kathiyawad in Saurashtra, cooked when the vegetable basket is nearly empty but there are tomatoes and a tin of sev. Ripe tomatoes simmer with garlic, red chilli and a little jaggery into a thin, sweet-sour-hot gravy, and a handful of crisp gram-flour sev goes on top at the very last moment, so it is half-crunchy, half-soft when you eat it with bajra rotla, thepla or rotli. The usual mistake is stirring the sev in too early, which turns the curry into a paste. Most sev is made from gram flour, but check the packet if you avoid gluten. Chef's tip: use thick sev (ratlami or bhavnagari), which holds its crunch far longer than nylon sev.

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Neem begunNeem leaves with aubergine

Neem begun opens a traditional Bengali lunch in spring, especially around Poila Baisakh, when the neem trees of West Bengal put out soft new leaves. A few tender leaves are fried crisp in mustard oil, then tossed with small cubes of fried aubergine so the bitterness is softened by the creamy brinjal. Eat a spoonful or two with the first mouthfuls of rice, before the dal. It is suitable as part of a balanced diet and is meant to be eaten in small amounts, as Bengali cooks always have. About 110 kcal and 7 g carbohydrate per portion. The usual mistake is frying the neem too long, which turns it black and acrid; it needs only seconds. Chef's tip: dry the leaves completely on a cloth before they go into the oil, or they spit and steam instead of crisping.

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Jhinge postoRidge gourd with poppy seeds

Jhinge posto is a summer staple of West Bengal and especially the Bankura and Birbhum districts, where poppy seed (posto) goes into almost every everyday lunch. Ridge gourd is cooked in its own juices with nigella seeds and green chilli, then coated in a creamy paste of ground white poppy seeds, giving a mild, nutty, slightly sweet dish. Serve it with rice and dal, or with a millet roti for a lower-GI plate. It is suitable as part of a balanced diet. About 150 kcal and 9 g carbohydrate per portion. The usual mistake is adding water: the gourd releases plenty, and extra water makes the posto runny. Chef's tip: soak the poppy seeds in hot water for 20 minutes before grinding so the paste is smooth, not gritty.

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TondakMixed beans and cashew gravy

Tondak is a Goan Saraswat dish cooked in homes around Ponda and Margao for festivals, weddings and Sunday lunches: mixed beans and plump cashews in a gravy of roasted coconut, red chillies and coriander seeds. The beans soften into the reddish-brown sauce while the cashews stay buttery, making it filling and rich in protein. Serve it with a little rice or a millet bhakri and a vegetable side. It is suitable as part of a balanced diet. About 380 kcal and 34 g carbohydrate per portion. The usual mistake is grinding raw coconut; it must be roasted to a deep golden brown first or the gravy tastes flat. Chef's tip: dried kidney beans must be soaked overnight and boiled hard for 10 minutes before they simmer, so do this even if you then use a slow cooker or pressure cooker.

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Tuver tothaGreen pigeon peas in garlic gravy

Tuver totha is a winter street-stall and wedding favourite from Mehsana and the villages of North Gujarat, eaten hot on cold evenings when fresh green tuver is in season. The peas are boiled soft, then simmered in a fiery, garlicky gravy of onion, tomato and green chilli and finished with chopped onion, coriander and lemon. In Gujarat it is mopped up with bread; for a lower-GI plate serve it with a bajra rotla or a small bowl of brown rice. It is suitable as part of a balanced diet. About 260 kcal and 30 g carbohydrate per portion. The usual mistake is undercooking the peas, which then stay chalky in the gravy. Out of season, use frozen green pigeon peas, or dried green tuver soaked overnight and pressure-cooked. Chef's tip: mash a ladle of the cooked peas and stir them back in so the gravy thickens without any flour.

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Gogji razmaKidney beans with turnips

In the Kashmir valley, gogji razma is a winter comfort dish, made in heavy pots when turnips are sweet after the first snow and dried beans from Bhaderwah fill the store. Red kidney beans and turnip chunks simmer in a thin, red gravy flavoured with mustard oil, ground fennel, dried ginger and Kashmiri chilli, without any onion or tomato. Serve with a modest bowl of rice or a millet roti and a green salad. It is suitable as part of a balanced diet. About 300 kcal and 38 g carbohydrate per portion. The usual mistake is slow-cooking dried kidney beans without boiling them hard first; raw kidney beans are unsafe, so soak them overnight and boil hard for 10 minutes before simmering. Chef's tip: add the turnips only when the beans are almost soft, so they keep their shape and sweetness.

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Mochai kottai kuzhambuField bean gravy

Across Tamil Nadu, from Madurai to Tirunelveli, mochai kottai kuzhambu is a winter and weekend curry: dried field beans and small brinjals stewed in a thick tamarind and sambar-powder gravy with shallots and garlic. It is cooked in a big batch, because everyone agrees it tastes better the next day, and eaten with rice, a spoon of sesame oil and appalam or a simple keerai. The beans turn creamy and the brinjal melts into the sauce. Dried field beans must be soaked and boiled until completely soft; never eat them undercooked. The usual mistake is adding the tamarind before the beans are tender, because acid stops them softening. Slow-cooker: boil the soaked beans hard on the hob for 10 minutes first, then cook everything on low for 6 hours. Chef's tip: fry the brinjal in the oil before the gravy goes in, so it holds its shape instead of dissolving.

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Paruppu urundai kuzhambuLentil dumpling gravy

Paruppu urundai kuzhambu is a Sunday-lunch treat in Tamil homes from Chennai to Coimbatore: coarse balls of soaked chana and toor dal, spiked with fennel, chilli and shallot, dropped raw into a bubbling tamarind gravy where they steam and firm up. The dumplings come out soft inside and soak up the sour, spicy sauce, and the crumbs that escape thicken the gravy. Serve it with plain rice, a spoon of sesame oil and a vegetable poriyal. The usual mistake is stirring as soon as the balls go in, which breaks them; leave them alone until they float and feel firm. Chef's tip: drop one test ball in first; if it cracks, knead a spoon of rice flour into the mixture before shaping the rest.

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Lilva tuvar nu shaakGreen pigeon pea curry

From December to February, Gujarati markets fill with fresh tuvar pods, and families in Surat, Vadodara and Ahmedabad spend evenings shelling them for lilva dishes. This simple shaak cooks the sweet, nutty green pigeon peas with ginger, green chilli, ajwain and a fistful of coriander, with a squeeze of lemon and a pinch of sugar for the classic Gujarati balance. Eat it with bajra rotla, rotli or khichdi. The usual mistake is cooking the peas too long, which turns them grey and floury; they should stay green and tender. Chef's tip: frozen lilva from Indian grocers work well outside the season; add them straight from frozen and shorten the cooking time.

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Batata nu rasawalu shaakPotato curry in thin gravy

Batata nu rasawalu shaak is the potato curry that arrives with hot puris at Gujarati wedding breakfasts, Sunday brunches and festival thalis, and it is one of the first curries children in Gujarat love. Soft potato chunks float in a thin, red, sweet-and-sour gravy with mustard seed, curry leaves and hing, lightly spicy and very comforting. Serve with puri, rotli or plain rice. The usual mistake is cutting the potatoes in uneven pieces, so some fall apart while others stay hard; cut them all the same size. Chef's tip: once the potatoes are cooked, mash a few against the side of the pan; the starch gives the rasa (gravy) body without any flour.

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Teliya maahBlack lentils in mustard oil

Teliya maah is one of the dishes of the Himachali dham, the feast cooked by hereditary cooks (botis) in big brass pots for weddings and temple fairs in Mandi, Kangra and Chamba, and served on leaf plates with rice. Whole black urad is cooked slowly with plenty of mustard oil, whole spices, ginger and fennel until each bean is soft but whole and glossy with oil; like most dham dishes, it uses no onion or garlic. Serve with rice and a sour madra or khatta. The usual mistake is stirring hard once the urad is soft, which turns it into a mushy dal instead of separate, oily beans. Slow-cooker option: put the soaked urad, spices and water on low for 8 hours, then finish uncovered on the hob. Chef's tip: heat the mustard oil until it smokes, then let it cool for a minute, which takes away its raw bite before the spices go in.

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Kumaoni rasMixed dal broth

In the hill villages of Kumaon in Uttarakhand, ras is cooked through the cold months in a heavy iron kadhai that sits on the fire for hours; the iron turns the broth dark and earthy, and families drink it with rice or mandua (finger millet) roti. Several whole dals, here horse gram (gahat), black soybeans (bhatt), black urad and green moong, are simmered until their liquid becomes a rich, brown, silky broth, lightly thickened with ground rice and finished with a crackling mustard-oil tempering of jakhya seeds. The cooked dal solids are eaten too, as a dry side. The usual mistake is hurrying: the broth needs long, slow simmering to turn silky and full-flavoured. Chef's tip: jakhya (wild mustard seed) is sold in Uttarakhand shops; cumin is a fair stand-in.

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Milagu kuzhambuBlack pepper tamarind gravy

Milagu kuzhambu is the Tamil Brahmin travel curry: a dark, peppery tamarind gravy cooked down in sesame oil until thick, packed in a steel tin for train journeys and pilgrimages because it keeps for days without spoiling. At home it is mixed into hot rice with a spoon of ghee, on rainy days or when someone has a cold, and eaten with a plain poriyal or appalam. A little goes a long way: it is sharp, hot and slightly sweet. The usual mistake is pulling it off the heat too soon; it must reduce until the oil floats on top, or it tastes raw and won't keep. Store it covered in the fridge for up to 5 days and always use a dry spoon. Chef's tip: roast the pepper and lentils on a low heat until you smell them, not until they darken, because burnt pepper turns the whole pot bitter.

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Kumm curryMushroom curry

In Kodagu (Coorg), the first monsoon rains bring wild mushrooms called kumm up through the coffee estates, and Kodava families cook them at once into this thick, dark, peppery curry to eat with akki otti (rice rotis) or steamed rice. Mushrooms simmer down with onion and coconut in a paste of spices roasted almost black, sharpened with a drop of kachampuli, Coorg's dark fruit vinegar. Cultivated mushrooms work very well. The usual mistake is adding all the mushrooms to a cool pan, so they stew in their liquid and turn rubbery; let the pan get hot first. Chef's tip: never cook mushrooms you have foraged yourself unless an expert has identified them; use a mix of button, oyster and shiitake instead.

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Sorakaya pulusuBottle gourd in tamarind gravy

Sorakaya pulusu is everyday Telugu home cooking from Vijayawada to Visakhapatnam, made on weekdays when there's a bottle gourd in the basket and the family wants something light and sour with rice. Soft pieces of gourd simmer in a thin tamarind broth balanced with a little jaggery, chilli and onion, thickened only lightly with rice flour, and finished with a mustard and fenugreek tempering. Mix it into hot rice with a spoon of ghee or eat it with a crisp vada. The usual mistake is overcooking the gourd to mush; it should be tender and translucent but still in pieces. Chef's tip: taste a raw slice of the gourd before cooking, and throw it away if it is bitter, because bitter bottle gourd should not be eaten.

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ThechwaniCrushed radish curry

Thechwani is a winter dish from the hill villages of Garhwal, Uttarakhand, cooked when the radishes are fat and sweet. Instead of chopping, the radish (or potato) is bashed with a stone or pestle so it cracks into rough pieces with lots of surface, then simmered in an iron kadhai with mustard oil, jakhya seeds and a little tomato. The broken pieces soak up the spices, and the iron pot darkens the gravy. It is eaten with rice or mandua (finger-millet) roti. Jakhya, a crunchy wild seed, is sold in hill stores; cumin is the swap. The usual mistake is slicing the radish neatly with a knife, which keeps the spices on the outside. Chef's tip: add the radish greens, finely chopped, in the last 5 minutes for colour and a peppery bite.

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PhaanuGround mixed lentil stew

Phaanu is everyday food in Garhwal's hill villages, from Pauri to Tehri, made on cold days and in large pots for family gatherings. Mixed lentils are soaked overnight, ground to a coarse paste and simmered slowly in an iron pot until the paste turns into a thick, earthy stew, with spinach or other greens and a mustard-oil and jakhya tempering. It is eaten with steamed rice and a little ghee. The usual mistake is adding the paste to the pot and walking away; for the first 10 minutes it must be stirred constantly or it forms lumps and sticks to the bottom. Chef's tip: whisk the lentil paste into cold water before it goes on the heat; it thickens smoothly and never catches.

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Tschok wangunSour tamarind aubergine

Tschok wangun is a Kashmiri Pandit dish from the Srinagar valley, cooked on ordinary weekdays and on fasting days when onion and garlic are kept out of the kitchen. Thick wedges of aubergine are fried in smoking mustard oil, then simmered in a thin, tart tamarind broth flavoured with ground fennel, dried ginger and Kashmiri chilli, so the pieces keep their shape but turn silky inside. Serve it with plain steamed rice and a bowl of dal. The usual mistake is adding the tamarind before the aubergine is properly fried: the pieces then soak up the sour liquid, collapse and taste raw. Chef's tip: heat the mustard oil until it just smokes, then let it cool for a minute before frying, which takes away its harsh edge.

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Chapor ghontoFried lentil cake vegetable curry

In West Bengal, chapor ghonto is the thrifty, comforting dish that turns up at weekday lunch and on the vegetarian days of the Durga Puja season. Soaked yellow peas are ground and fried into small savoury cakes (chapor), then broken into a slow-cooked mix of potato, pumpkin and banana stem tempered with panch phoron, ginger and a little sugar, until everything turns soft, jammy and lightly sweet. Eat it with plain rice and a squeeze of lime. The usual mistake is stirring the chapor in too early, so they dissolve into mush; add them in the last ten minutes. Chef's tip: soak the banana stem in water with a pinch of turmeric as you slice it and pull away the fibres that wind round your finger, or it stays stringy.

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Ou tenga dalMasoor dal with elephant apple

Assamese cooks love a sour note, and ou tenga dal is the everyday lentil dish of Upper Assam's homes in the monsoon and autumn, when elephant apples (ou tenga) fall from the trees. Split masoor is boiled thin with turmeric and slices of the hard, tart fruit, then tempered with mustard oil, panch phoron and garlic, so it tastes bright, fruity and comforting. Serve with rice, or with a millet roti and a green vegetable for a lower-GI plate. It is suitable as part of a balanced diet. About 190 kcal and 26 g carbohydrate per portion. The usual mistake is adding the fruit too late, so its sourness never comes out; it must cook with the lentils from the start. If you can't find it, use a slice of green mango or 1 tsp tamarind. Chef's tip: bruise the ou tenga slices with a pestle so they release their juice.

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Kadha (spiced herbal decoction)

When the fog settles over Delhi, Lucknow and the plains of Uttar Pradesh in December, or whenever the monsoon brings coughs round the house, someone puts a pan of kadha on the stove. Tulsi leaves, ginger, black pepper, cinnamon, cloves and sometimes a little ajwain are boiled hard until the water reduces by half, then sweetened with jaggery and sipped in small cups, morning or night. It is not a gentle tea: it is hot, peppery, clove-numbing and earthy, with a dark amber colour and a sweet edge. It is traditionally drunk for coughs and colds; it does not replace medical care, and anyone who is pregnant, on medication or giving it to small children should keep it mild and check with a doctor. The common mistake is simmering it gently like tea: kadha needs a steady boil so the spices give up their strength and the liquid reduces. It is ready when the volume has halved and the brew is deep amber and pungent. Chef's tip: crush the pepper and cloves just before they go in; whole spices hardly flavour the water in this short time.

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Variyali sharbat (fennel cooler)

On May afternoons in Ahmedabad and Surat, when the loo wind blows and nobody wants a hot drink, Gujarati homes keep a bottle of variyali sharbat concentrate in the fridge. Fennel seeds are soaked, ground with rock sugar, strained and mixed with lemon and a little black pepper, then diluted with iced water for guests, after lunch, or to break a fast, since nothing in it is off-limits on upvas days if you use rock salt. It is pale green and cloudy, with a sweet aniseed taste, a sharp lemon finish and a faint peppery tingle. The common mistake is grinding dry fennel straight away: it stays gritty and the flavour is harsh. Soak the seeds for at least two hours so they swell and grind into a smooth paste. It is ready when the strained concentrate is silky, smells clearly of fennel and tastes very sweet, as it will be diluted three or four times. The concentrate keeps 5 days in the fridge in a clean bottle. Chef's tip: add a few mint leaves or a pinch of cardamom when grinding for a more rounded cooler.

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Paneer soda (rose soda)

Every Tamil town once had a soda shop with crates of Codd-neck bottles sealed by a glass marble, and the pop of the marble being pushed down was the sound of a hot afternoon. Paneer here means rose water, not cheese, and paneer soda is rose syrup topped with that sharp local fizz, sold in Madurai, Tiruchi and Coimbatore by the bus stand and at temple festival stalls in Chithirai and Vaikasi, the hottest months. It is sweet and floral at first, then the bubbles and a touch of lime cut through and leave the mouth clean. The mistake most people make is boiling the rose water with the sugar: the scent cooks away and you are left with plain syrup. Make the syrup first, let it cool, and only then stir in the rose water. The syrup is ready when it is clear and slightly thickened, like thin honey, and the finished drink should be rosy pink and still foaming as you hand it over. Chef's tip: chill the syrup, the soda and the glasses well; warm soda loses its fizz the moment it meets the syrup.

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Cauliflower avakayaCauliflower pickle

When the mango jars run low and the Andhra and Telangana winter brings piles of dense white cauliflower to the markets, from December to February, households make a cauliflower avakaya. Lemon juice stands in for the sour mango, and the florets are coated in the same masala of mustard powder, chilli, salt, fenugreek and garlic, tempered with gingelly oil. After two days the florets have soaked up the masala but still crunch; the pickle is hot, nose-tingling and bright with lemon. Serve it with hot rice and ghee, with chapati, or beside a plain dal. Cauliflower is not acidic by itself and this pickle contains raw garlic, so it is always kept in the fridge, with plenty of lemon. Common mistake: packing florets that are still damp; wash them in hot salted water to drive out any insects, then dry them for several hours until no moisture remains. It is ready when the florets taste seasoned to the core and the oil and lemon have formed a glossy red sauce. Chef's tip: cut the florets small, about 2 cm, so the masala can reach the middle.

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Pandu mirapakaya pachadiRipe red chilli pickle

Guntur is chilli country, and when the fields turn red between January and March, Andhra kitchens buy fresh, fully ripe red chillies by the kilo for this pachadi. The chillies are chopped, salted and packed with tamarind for two days, then ground coarse with roasted fenugreek and sealed under a tempering of gingelly oil, mustard and hing. The result is brick red, fiery and fruity rather than smoky, with a sour backbone from the tamarind and a faint bitterness from the methi. A teaspoon is mashed into hot rice with a spoon of ghee or sesame oil, and it is just as good beside idli, dosa or pesarattu. The big mistake is washing the chillies and grinding them while still damp: water is what makes this pachadi spoil, so wipe them dry and leave them on a cloth for a few hours. It is ready when the paste is thick and glossy and the oil pools on top. Salt here is high on purpose, about 12 g for every 100 g of chillies, and the tamarind makes it acidic; even so, keep it in the fridge, where it lasts up to 6 months. Chef's tip: mix in a few Byadgi or Kashmiri chillies with the hot Guntur ones for a deeper red without extra fire.

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Chintakaya pachadiGreen tamarind pickle

In Telangana and coastal Andhra, the tamarind trees hang heavy with tender green pods from December to February, and every household that can lays in a jar of chintakaya before the pods ripen and turn brown. The raw pods are pounded with salt and turmeric and left to mature into a sharp, olive-green base that keeps for the whole year. Small portions are then ground with chillies and finished with a crackling tadka whenever the family wants it. The taste is pure, mouth-puckering sourness with a fresh, almost apple-like green note, very different from ripe tamarind. Mix it into hot rice with sesame oil, or eat it with jonna rotte (sorghum flatbread) and raw onion. The common mistake is to let wet pods into the jar: wash the tamarind the day before, then spread it to dry completely. The salted base is very acidic and roughly 15% salt, so it keeps in a cool cupboard; the finished pachadi with chillies belongs in the fridge and is best within 3 weeks. It is ready when the paste is coarse, dark green and smells sharply sour. Chef's tip: roast dried chillies for a smoky winter version, or use green chillies for a brighter, fresher heat.

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FafdaGram flour strips with papaya salad

On Sunday mornings, and above all on Dussehra, Ahmedabad queues outside its farsan shops for paper parcels of fafda: long, pale-gold strips of gram flour dough, crisp and gently salty with carom, eaten beside hot jalebi, a sour-sweet raw papaya relish called sambharo and whole fried chillies. The real craft is the shaping, done by pushing a little log of dough along a wooden board with the heel of the hand until it stretches into a thin ribbon. Chef's tip: knead the dough with your knuckles for a full 5 minutes until it turns smooth and slightly shiny, or the strips tear as you push them.

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Dalvada (Ahmedabad moong dal fritters)

The first monsoon shower in Ahmedabad sends people straight to the dalvada counters by Raipur Darwaja, where fritters of split green moong come out of the karahi by the basketful and are sold by weight with sliced raw onion and salted fried chillies. They are rough and craggy outside, light and steamy inside, warm with ginger and cracked pepper. Eat them hot with masala chai while the rain falls. Chef's tip: grind the dal coarse with almost no water, then whisk the batter by hand for a few minutes; the air you beat in is what keeps them light.

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Burma athoBurmese noodle salad

When Tamil families returned from Burma in the 1960s they brought atho with them, and today it is cooked on carts around Burma Bazaar, Parry's Corner and along the roads near the harbour in George Town, busiest at lunch and in the early evening. Cold noodles are mixed by hand with raw cabbage and onion, crisp fried garlic, tamarind, chilli flakes, roasted gram powder and lime, and come with a peppery banana-stem soup on the side. It is sour, hot, crunchy and very moreish. Contains wheat. Chef's tip: fry the garlic slowly until only pale gold; it keeps darkening off the heat and turns bitter if you wait for brown.

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Mushroom kaalanCrisp fried mushroom

Kaalan is the Chennai evening snack you smell before you see: carts around Pondy Bazaar in T. Nagar and along Besant Nagar beach fry clumps of chopped mushroom and cabbage, then chop them with a steel scraper on a giant tawa into a dark, peppery masala and heap them on paper plates with raw onion and coriander. It is crunchy at first, then soft and spicy as the gravy soaks in. Contains wheat. Chef's tip: mix the batter only when the oil is hot; salted mushrooms start weeping water within minutes and the batter turns sloppy.

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Samosa pavSamosa in a bun

At the steaming kadhais outside Kurla and Ghatkopar stations, and at Sion's famous samosa counters, commuters grab samosa pav on the way to and from the local trains, from breakfast until long after dark. A hot potato samosa is pressed flat inside a soft, split pav with fiery dry garlic chutney and green chutney, and a salted fried green chilli comes on the side. It is filling, cheap, crumbly and hot, and the soft bread soaks up the chutneys. Use dairy-free pav to keep it vegan. Chef's tip: start the samosas in oil that is only warm; slow frying gives the blistered, flaky crust that holds up when squashed.

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Aloo kabliPotato and chickpea chaat

Aloo kabli is the after-school snack of Kolkata: vendors with a big aluminium bowl stand outside the school gates of north Kolkata and around Vivekananda Park from about four o'clock, mixing it to order and spooning it into sal-leaf bowls. Cubes of boiled potato and soft white chickpeas are drenched in sour tamarind water, then seasoned with fresh green chilli, raw onion, roasted cumin and pungent black salt, and finished with a squeeze of lime. It is tangy, smoky and sharp rather than sweet. Chef's tip: dress the potatoes while they are still slightly warm so they drink up the tamarind.

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MagayaSun-dried mango pickle

In Andhra Pradesh the pickle season opens around Ugadi, and long before the fiery avakaya is cut, many homes make magaya, the gentler mango pickle. Peeled raw mango is sliced thin and salted until it weeps a yellow brine (magaya ooru), the slices are dried in the hot April sun until leathery, then mixed back into the brine with mustard powder, chilli and fenugreek and sealed under a tempering of gingelly oil. After a week the slices are chewy and soft, tangy and salty, with a rounder heat than avakaya. It is eaten with hot rice and a spoon of ghee, stirred into curd rice, or turned into a raita-like magaya pachadi with yoghurt; the leftover brine is mixed into plain rice. The salt is about 10% of the peeled mango weight (100 g per kg), which, with the fruit's own acid, keeps it safe. Common mistake: drying the slices to hard chips, or too little so they stay wet and mould; stop when they bend without snapping. It is ready when the slices have softened, turned deep red-orange and the oil floats on top. Chef's tip: no sun? A dehydrator or oven at 50 °C dries the slices in 6–8 hours.

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Bellam avakayaSweet raw mango pickle

In the Godavari districts of coastal Andhra, the same May afternoon that produces a jar of fiery avakaya usually produces a second jar of bellam avakaya for the children and anyone who likes it sweet. The mangoes are hacked into chunks with their skin and the hard shell of the stone still attached, then tossed with chilli, mustard powder, salt and plenty of grated jaggery. Over three or four days the jaggery melts into a dark, glossy syrup that clings to every piece. It tastes sweet first, then the mustard catches the nose and the chilli warms the back of the throat; the mango stays firm and sour. Eat it with pesarattu, dosa, chapati or curd rice. The salt is about 8% of the mango weight and the fruit is acidic, so it keeps all year under oil in a dry jar. Common mistake: cutting the mangoes wet or leaving sap and water on them; any moisture invites mould, so dry each piece with a cloth. It is ready when no jaggery grains remain and a film of oil rises to the top. Chef's tip: wipe off the milky sap at the stalk end before cutting; it stings the skin and tastes bitter.

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Pesara avakayaMoong dal mango pickle

Pesara avakaya is the Krishna and Guntur districts' answer for anyone who finds classic avakaya too sharp. It is cut and mixed in the same summer weeks, from the same sour mangoes, but finely ground raw yellow moong dal replaces most of the mustard. The dal swells in the mango juice and oil and turns the masala thick, nutty and almost creamy, so it clings to each piece, while a little mustard keeps a hint of nose-tingle. It is still properly hot from the chilli. Eat it with hot rice and ghee, with pesarattu, or alongside a plate of curd rice. Some families add garlic; if you do, the jar must live in the fridge. Common mistake: grinding the dal coarsely, which leaves a gritty masala; sift it and regrind the bits. Another is skimping on oil: the dal absorbs a lot, so top up until the pickle is covered. The salt is about 9% of the mango weight. It is ready after three days, when the masala is thick and clinging and oil has risen to the surface. Chef's tip: warm the dal in a dry pan for 2–3 minutes without colouring it; it grinds finer and keeps better.

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Menthi avakayaFenugreek mango pickle

In East Godavari kitchens menthi avakaya is the mango pickle for people who love bitterness: instead of a mustard-heavy masala, it is built on fenugreek seeds roasted until golden and ground, with red chilli, salt and a tempering of mustard seeds and asafoetida in gingelly oil. Families make it in the hottest weeks of May, when the mangoes are at their sourest, and it is traditionally eaten through the summer with hot rice, ghee and a dal. The fenugreek gives a toasty, almost maple-like aroma and a pleasant bitter edge that sits against the sour mango and the chilli heat. The salt is about 9% of the mango weight, and the pickle keeps for a year under oil in a dry jar. Common mistake: roasting the fenugreek too dark; it turns acrid, and that bitterness spreads through the whole jar. Roast it slowly until golden and fragrant, then let it cool before grinding. It is ready after two or three days, when the mango has darkened, the fenugreek smell has mellowed and oil sits on top. Chef's tip: grind the fenugreek only when completely cold, or it turns pasty and clumps.

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DosavakayaCucumber mustard pickle

Dosavakaya is the everyday pickle of Andhra homes: no waiting for mango season, just a round yellow dosakaya cubed with its skin on and tossed with mustard powder, chilli, salt, garlic and raw gingelly oil. It is made in minutes, often for Sunday lunch or to go with a festive meal, and eaten over the next few days with hot rice and ghee, pappu or curd rice. It is crunchy, juicy and mustard-sharp, hot and tangy, and the cubes give off a little juice that loosens the masala into a sauce. Dosakaya is sold in Indian grocers abroad; if you cannot find it, use a firm field cucumber, seeded, and add a little extra lemon juice for the missing tang. Because it contains raw garlic and cucumber, it is a fridge pickle: acidified with lemon and eaten within a week. Common mistake: using a bitter cucumber; taste a sliver from each end before you cut, and discard any that taste bitter. It is ready 2–3 hours after mixing, when the masala has turned glossy and the cubes taste seasoned through. Chef's tip: keep the skin on; it holds the crunch.

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Tomato oorugayaTomato and tamarind pickle

When tomatoes flood the Madanapalle and Kurnool markets in the hot months and prices drop, Andhra cooks turn them into this deep red oorugaya. Chopped tomatoes are salted and cooked down with tamarind until most of the water has gone, then simmered in sesame oil with chilli, garlic and a freshly roasted fenugreek-mustard powder. The texture is a thick, almost jammy paste; the taste is tangy, salty and hot, with the slight bitterness of methi lifting the sweetness of ripe tomato. Mash a spoonful into steaming rice with ghee, or serve it with dosa, upma and curd rice. The common mistake is stopping too early: if water is left in the paste the pickle will spoil within days. Keep cooking until the paste holds together, leaves the sides of the pan and the oil separates and shines on the surface. Because it has garlic and tomatoes are not as acidic as tamarind alone, store it in the fridge, where it keeps up to 2 months. Chef's tip: use firm, fully ripe country tomatoes rather than watery salad ones; you will cook for less time and get a richer colour.

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Maangai thokkuGrated raw mango pickle

Thokku is the Tamil word for a pickle cooked down to a thick, spoonable mass, and maangai thokku is the one every Tamil Nadu home makes in April and May when the hard, sour Kili mooku (parrot-beak) mangoes are cheap. Grated mango is simmered in nallennai (gingelly oil) with chilli powder, salt and hing until it turns dark, glossy and jam-like, then finished with roasted fenugreek powder. It is sour first, then hot, with a nutty sesame taste and a little bitterness at the end. It is a classic partner for curd rice, a spoonful inside a dosa, or a travel companion with idli and lemon rice for train journeys. The usual mistake is grating the mango too fine or stirring it too little: a fine pulp sticks and burns. Use the large holes of the grater and keep stirring once it thickens. It is done when the mango has darkened, comes away from the pan in one mass and the oil oozes out around the edge. Kept in a dry jar under a film of oil it lasts about 2 weeks in a cool cupboard and 2 months in the fridge. Chef's tip: a teaspoon of jaggery at the end rounds off very sour mangoes without making the thokku sweet.

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Aam ki launjiSweet and sour raw mango relish

In Rajasthan and across the Hindi belt, launji is the quick mango relish made the day the first raw mangoes come home in April, and it keeps appearing on the thali all through the scorching summer. Unlike the long-cured achaars, it is cooked in 20 minutes: mango pieces in mustard oil with saunf, kalonji, methi and cumin, then simmered with jaggery until glossy. The pieces stay soft but hold their shape in a thick, amber syrup that is sweet first, then sour, with a warm hum of chilli and a liquorice note from the fennel. Eat it with dal-baati, puri, paratha or plain khichdi; in the heat it is believed to cool the body. The common mistake is adding the jaggery too early, so it caramelises and turns bitter before the mango is tender; cook the mango first, then the jaggery. It is ready when the syrup coats the back of a spoon and the mango looks translucent at the edges. It thickens as it cools. Store in a clean jar in the fridge and eat within a week to 10 days. Chef's tip: leave a little peel on some pieces; it gives a pleasant chew and stops the mango from turning to mush.

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Kachi haldi ka acharFresh turmeric pickle

From December to February, fresh turmeric root turns up in heaps in the mandis of Jaipur, Jodhpur and Udaipur, bright orange inside and earthy-sweet. Rajasthani families eat it as a warming winter food, cooked in ghee as kachi haldi ki sabzi or, more simply, as this fresh pickle with ginger and green chilli. The slivers stay crisp and juicy; they taste peppery and slightly bitter, with sharp lemon and the nose-tingling bite of split mustard seed. It sits beside bajra roti, dal and a winter sabzi, and a few pieces with lunch is the whole point. The common mistake is cutting thick chunks: turmeric is fibrous, so slice it into matchsticks or thin coins so the lemon can soak in. It is ready to eat after 2 days, when the slivers have turned a shade softer and the juice has gone golden. Because it contains fresh ginger and chilli, keep it fully covered in the lemon juice and store it in the fridge, where it keeps for about 4 weeks. Wear gloves and use a steel or glass bowl, as turmeric stains wood, plastic and fingers for days. Chef's tip: pick plump, firm roots with smooth skin; wrinkled ones are dry and woody.

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Lehsun ka acharGarlic pickle

Rajasthani homes put up garlic pickle in the dry months after the new crop comes in, and it is the pickle that turns a plain plate of bajra roti and kadhi into a meal. Whole cloves sit in a coarse masala of saunf, methi, mustard, chilli and amchur bound with mustard oil; after a week they are mellow and tender-crisp, pungent and sour with a slight sweetness. Traditionally the jar matures in the sun for days, but garlic in oil at room temperature can carry botulism, so this version is adapted: the cloves are first soaked in lemon juice and vinegar for a day to make them properly acidic, and the pickle matures and lives in the fridge. Use vinegar of at least 5% acidity, never diluted. Don't worry if a few cloves turn blue-green; that is a harmless reaction between garlic and acid. The common mistake is skipping the acid soak to save time; do not. It is ready after a week, when the cloves have lost their raw burn and taste of the masala right through. Keep it in the fridge for up to a month. Chef's tip: choose small, firm desi garlic with tight skins; big soft cloves go limp in the acid.

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Tetul acharTamarind pickle

Ask anyone who grew up in Kolkata or a Bengal village about tetul achar and they will remember winter afternoons on the roof, sneaking spoonfuls from jars drying in the sun. Tamarind pulp is cooked down with jaggery, salt and a mustard-oil tempering of panch phoron and dried chilli until it turns sticky, dark and glossy. It tastes sweet and sour in one bite, with a little heat and the bittersweet crackle of fenugreek and nigella from the five-spice. Eat it as a teatime treat, with khichuri, or as the sweet-sour note at the end of a Bengali lunch. The common mistake is cooking it too hard: like toffee, tamarind and jaggery go from glossy to burnt quickly, so keep the heat low near the end and stir. It is ready when it falls from the spoon in a thick ribbon and leaves a trail across the pan; it firms up a lot as it cools. Being very sweet and acidic, it keeps 2 months in a dry jar in a cool cupboard and longer in the fridge. Chef's tip: in winter use khejur gur (date palm jaggery) for a smoky, caramel depth.

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Aam telMango pickle in mustard oil

In Bengal the summer of kal-baishakhi storms is also the season of aam tel, mango oil. Slices of hard green mango are salted and sun-dried until leathery, then sunk in mustard oil with roasted panch phoron and chilli and left to steep for a couple of weeks. The mango turns chewy, salty and sour; the oil turns golden, sharp and fruity, and that oil is the real treasure. A spoonful goes into jhalmuri (spiced puffed rice) on every Kolkata street corner, over plain rice with a fried egg or mashed potato, or into a bowl of panta bhat in the heat. The common mistake is not drying the mango enough: if it still feels wet when pressed, it will grow mould under the oil. Dry it until the slices are shrunken, leathery and bend without releasing juice. The pickle is ready when the oil has turned golden and smells strongly of mango and spice. Because the mango is salt-cured and acidic and stays fully under the oil in a dry jar, with no garlic, it keeps up to a year in a cool cupboard; in hot, humid weather keep it in the fridge. Chef's tip: no strong sun? Dry the salted slices in the oven at 60–70 °C with the door propped open, for 5–6 hours.

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Jolpai acharIndian olive pickle

Jolpai, the small, hard, sour Indian olive, appears in Bengal and Bangladesh markets from October to December, and no winter afternoon is complete without a jar of jolpai achar warming in the sun. It is no relation to the Mediterranean olive: it is tart and astringent, almost like a green plum. The olives are boiled, lightly crushed so the flesh splits from the stone, then cooked in mustard oil with panch phoron, dried chilli and plenty of jaggery. The pickle is sticky, sweet-sour and slightly tannic, with soft flesh to nibble off the stones. Eat it with khichuri on a cold evening, with dal-bhaat, or straight from the jar as a snack. The common mistake is under-boiling: the olives must be soft enough to press flat, or the syrup cannot get in and they stay bitter. It is done when the syrup is thick and shiny and clings to the olives. Very sweet and acidic, it keeps a month in a cool cupboard in winter and 3 months in the fridge. Abroad, look for frozen jolpai in Bangladeshi grocers; firm, sour green plums are the closest substitute. Chef's tip: keep a few olives whole and only scored; they give a nicer bite.

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Chalta acharElephant apple pickle

Chalta, the elephant apple, is a big green fruit of tightly wrapped, fleshy petals, and in Bengal it arrives in the markets in autumn, around Durga Puja, staying through early winter. Raw it is so sour and fibrous that it is almost impossible to eat, but cooked with jaggery and mustard it becomes one of the best-loved sweet-sour pickles of the region. The petals soften into chewy, slightly crunchy pieces in a thick, amber syrup, sour and sweet with a sharp kick of ground mustard and chilli. Serve it with dal and rice at the end of a meal, or with khichuri on a rainy day. The common mistake is skipping the pounding: after boiling, the pieces need a few firm knocks with a pestle to break the fibres, or they stay tough and never absorb the syrup. It is ready when the syrup coats a spoon and the chalta pieces look glossy and translucent. Keep it in a clean jar in the fridge for up to a month. Outside India, frozen chalta is sold in Bangladeshi grocers; hard, sour cooking apples with a squeeze of lime are a passable stand-in. Chef's tip: a pinch of ground mustard added at the very end gives the classic nose-tingling bite.

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Kannimanga acharBaby mango pickle

In central Kerala, around Thrissur and Kottayam, families watch the mango trees in January and February and pick the tiniest fruit, no bigger than a thumb joint, before the stone hardens. These kannimanga are salted whole in a tall ceramic bharani, left until shrivelled in their own brine, then mixed with freshly ground raw mustard, Kashmiri chilli and hing and left to mature for three or four weeks. This older, oil-free style keeps the mangoes crunchy and the brine thick, red and sinus-clearing from the raw mustard. The flavour is salty, sour and fiercely pungent; one mango and a spoon of brine is enough for a whole bowl of kanji (rice gruel) or curd rice. The common mistake is using water that has not been boiled and cooled, which brings in microbes and turns the brine slimy. It is ready when the mangoes are wrinkled but crisp and the brine tastes mellow rather than raw. Salt is high, about 20 g per 100 g of mango, and the fruit is very acidic; kept fully submerged in a dry jar it lasts a year in a cool place. Abroad, any tiny, hard green mango with a soft stone works. Chef's tip: keep a short stalk on each mango; it stops brine seeping in and softening the fruit.

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Vadukapuli naranga acharWild lime pickle

Vadukapuli naranga is a large, knobbly, thick-skinned wild lemon grown in Kerala backyards, and it is ripe just in time for Onam in August–September. Cut into small cubes with its spongy white pith and mixed with green chilli, ginger, chilli powder and a sesame-oil tempering, it becomes the pale yellow pickle dabbed on the end of every sadya banana leaf, next to inji puli and mango. It is sour, bitter and fresh at once, with juicy flesh and a soft, absorbent pith that soaks up the spices. It is just as welcome with curd rice or a simple moru curry. The common mistake is leaving the bitter seeds and the tough central core in; take them out or the whole jar turns harsh. It is ready to eat after a day, once the salt has drawn out the juice and the pieces look moist and slightly translucent. Because it has fresh ginger, green chilli and curry leaves, keep it in the fridge and eat within a month. Outside Kerala, use a citron or the biggest thick-skinned lemons you can find. Chef's tip: a spoon of vinegar sharpens the pickle and helps it keep; Kerala Christian homes often add one.

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Irumban puli acharBilimbi pickle

Almost every Kerala compound has an irumban puli tree, its trunk studded with clusters of small, cucumber-shaped green fruit so sour they make your eyes water. Through the monsoon months the tree fruits non-stop, and the surplus is salted and turned into this pickle. The bilimbi pieces soften into a tangy, juicy mass in a red masala of chilli, garlic and ginger cooked in gingelly oil, with roasted fenugreek giving a gentle bitterness. Eat it with kanji and payar (rice gruel and green gram), with a simple meal of rice, thoran and moru curry, or with chapati. The common mistake is cooking the fruit for too long: bilimbi is very watery and soft, and if stewed it breaks down to mush. Salt it first to draw out the water, then just warm it through in the masala for a couple of minutes. It is ready when the masala clings to the pieces and the oil glistens on top. Very acidic, but with fresh garlic and ginger, so store it in the fridge and use within a month. Abroad, use sour, green, unripe star fruit (its close relative) or green gooseberries. Chef's tip: dry the salted pieces in the sun for an afternoon for a firmer, chewier pickle.

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Pavakka acharBitter gourd pickle

Bitter gourd pickle is a speciality of Kerala's Syrian Christian kitchens in Kottayam and Thiruvalla, made through the year and always on the table at Christmas and wedding lunches. Thin rounds of pavakka are salted to tame the bitterness, fried until crisp at the edges, then tossed in a garlicky, ginger-sharp masala of Kashmiri chilli and vinegar cooked in gingelly oil. The pieces stay slightly crunchy and chewy, the masala is tangy and hot, and the bitterness is there but rounded off by a little sugar. Eat it with rice and moru curry, appam or chapati. The common mistake is under-frying: pale, soft pavakka goes soggy and spoils fast in the vinegar. Fry until the rounds are deep golden and the bubbling in the oil almost stops. The masala is ready when the oil separates and the vinegar's sharp smell has mellowed. Because it holds garlic and ginger in oil, the vinegar (at least 5% acidity, never diluted) and the fridge both matter: keep it chilled and eat within a month. Chef's tip: choose small, dark green Kerala pavakka with tight ridges; they are firmer and less watery than the big pale ones.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Kerda nu athanuDesert berry pickle

Ker is a leafless desert shrub that grows wild across Kutch and the Thar, and in April and May, before the monsoon, it is covered in small green berries that families pick by hand. Fresh ker are fiercely bitter, so they are soaked and boiled until the bitterness fades, then pickled with split mustard, split fenugreek, chilli and lemon juice and covered in oil. The berries are firm, pea-sized and slightly chewy, with a sour, earthy, caper-like flavour under the mustard heat. In Kutch the pickle goes with bajra rotlo and buttermilk, or is mixed into khichdi; across Rajasthan the same berries go into ker sangri. The common mistake is rushing the soaking: if the water is not changed several times the pickle stays harsh. Taste a berry: it should be pleasantly sour-bitter, like an olive, not acrid. It is ready to eat after 3–4 days, once the berries have absorbed the lemon. Boiled ker are low in acid, so the lemon matters and the pickle lives in the fridge, where it keeps up to 2 months. Abroad, use dried ker from Indian grocers (they swell back well), or, at a pinch, capers soaked to remove the salt. Chef's tip: add a few cubes of raw mango in season for extra sourness.

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Tindora nu athanuIvy gourd pickle

In Gujarati homes from Surat to Rajkot, tindora nu athanu is the pickle you make on a Tuesday for the rest of the week, not the big summer jar. Thin sticks of tindora (ivy gourd) are tossed with rai na kuria (split mustard seed), salt, turmeric, a pinch of hing and lemon juice, then dressed with warm oil. By the next lunch the mustard has bloomed into a nose-tingling heat, the lemon has softened the raw edge and the sticks are still crunchy, a sharp counterpoint to dal-bhaat, khichdi or a plate of thepla. Choose firm, bright green tindora; once they turn red inside they go soft and seedy. Common mistake: pouring smoking-hot oil straight onto the kuria, which scorches it bitter; let the oil cool until just warm. It is ready when the sticks look slightly glossy and darker and a few drops of juice gather in the jar. Because it is fresh vegetable with little salt, it lives in the fridge and is best eaten within 7 days; throw it out if it smells rotten, turns slimy or grows any mould. Chef's tip: no kuria? Pound yellow mustard seeds coarsely in a mortar; you want cracked halves, not powder.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Bhel puri

On Girgaum and Juhu Chowpatty the bhelwalas set up as the sun drops into the Arabian Sea, and bhel puri is what Mumbai eats while it walks along the sand. Puffed rice, crushed flat puris and boiled potato are tossed in a steel bowl with sweet tamarind and fiery green chutneys, then buried under fine sev and handed over in a folded paper cone with a puri for a spoon. It is crunchy, sweet, sour and hot all at once, and it has to be eaten within minutes. Chef's tip: lay out every component before you start, because the mixing takes thirty seconds and the crunch only lasts about five minutes.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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OlanAsh gourd and cowpea stew

Olan is the quietest dish on a Travancore sadya leaf, the banana-leaf feast served in southern Kerala for Onam, weddings and temple festivals. Thin, glassy slices of ash gourd and soft red cowpeas sit in coconut milk with nothing louder than green chilli and curry leaves, and its job is to cool the palate between the tangy, fiery curries around it. The flavour comes from coconut milk added in two stages and a spoonful of raw coconut oil poured over at the end. Eat it with plain rice, or ladle it beside appam on an ordinary weekday. Chef's tip: slice the ash gourd as thin as a coin so it turns translucent in the time the coconut milk takes to thicken.

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ErisseryPumpkin and cowpea curry

Erissery is the golden, slightly sweet pumpkin dish of the Onam sadya in Kerala, and a favourite in homes all through the harvest season when the yellow mathanga pumpkins are piled up in the markets. Soft pumpkin and red cowpeas are bound with a coconut, cumin and green chilli paste, and the whole pot is crowned with grated coconut fried in coconut oil until it turns the colour of cinnamon. That crunchy, nutty topping is what makes it erissery. Serve with rice and parippu, or scoop it up with chapati. Chef's tip: keep the pumpkin pieces large so some stay whole while others melt into the sauce.

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Pazham poriBanana fritters

Pazham pori is what the glass cases of Kerala's roadside tea shops are full of at four in the afternoon: long slices of ripe nendran banana dipped in a sweet batter and fried in coconut oil until puffed and golden. Bite through the crisp, slightly chewy coat and the banana inside is soft, hot and honeyed. People eat them standing at the counter with a glass of frothy, milky chaya, or carry a paper parcel home for the family. Chef's tip: wait until the nendran skins are mostly black; the banana must be fully ripe to turn creamy when fried.

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PehakFermented soybean and chilli chutney

Pehak is the Apatani chutney of the Ziro valley in Arunachal Pradesh: fermented soybean pounded with roasted chillies, ginger and salt into a thick, pungent paste. It goes with nearly every meal, a little at a time, with rice, boiled vegetables or millet. It is savoury, salty and very hot, and it keeps for weeks. Chef's tip: dry-roast the fermented soybean briefly before pounding; it mellows the sharp smell and brings out a toasty depth. Natto or Naga axone work if you can't get local soybean.

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Kerala banana chips

Upperi, the yellow raw-banana chips of Kerala, are fried in huge cauldrons in the snack shops of Kozhikode and Thrissur and handed round in bags at every Onam sadya, where they are one of the first things laid on the leaf. Green nendran bananas are sliced straight into hot coconut oil, and a splash of salted water goes in at the end, so the salt clings to every chip. The result is crisp, golden and faintly sweet, with that unmistakable coconut-oil smell. Chef's tip: rub a little oil on your hands before peeling the bananas; the sap stains skin and is very hard to wash off.

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