Dal, sabzi, curries and rice dishes for a meat-free Indian dinner. (779 recipes)
A light, sweet-and-sour soup made from ash gourd (kadu) stock, thickened with cornflour and seasoned with tomato and chilli sauces, vinegar and black pepper. Lightly fried carrot, cauliflower and spring onion go on top for crunch. Serve it with hot buns. Bottle gourd works just as well as ash gourd.
Chaat masala is the tangy, salty, slightly sulphurous sprinkle that makes chaat taste like chaat. Dried mango (amchur) gives the sourness and black salt the distinctive savoury edge. Sprinkle it over fruit, salads, raita, chips and street-food snacks.
Sugar syrup (chashni) is the base of many Indian sweets, and recipes ask for it at different stages. A light syrup is for soaking sweets and sweetening drinks. One-thread and two-thread syrups are boiled longer so the sweet sets. You can make it with milk instead of water for some sweets.
A Gujarati dal masala with whole spices roasted in a little oil, plus star anise, black cardamom and dagad phool (stone flower) for depth. A teaspoon gives dals, kadhi and khichdi a warm, rounded flavour. The recipe makes a big batch, so it's worth making once a season.
Sprouting whole green grams makes them crunchier, quicker to cook and more nutritious. All you need is muslin, water and a warm spot, and they're ready in 3–4 days. Use them in salads, bhel, usal and stir-fries. Any other whole pulse sprouts the same way.
On Maha Ashtami, the eighth day of Durga Puja, every para pandal in West Bengal cooks huge pots of bhoger khichuri, offers it to the goddess at noon and then hands it out on sal-leaf plates to anyone in the queue. It is bhog food, so there is no onion or garlic: the flavour comes from dry-roasted moong dal, short, fragrant gobindobhog rice, ginger, whole spices and a generous finish of ghee. The texture should be thick and spoonable, somewhere between a risotto and a porridge, with soft cauliflower, potato and peas through it. Serve it hot with labra, beguni and tomato khejur chutney. Common mistake: skipping the roasting of the dal, which leaves the khichuri flat and pale; roast it until it smells nutty and turns a light biscuit colour. Chef's tip: gobindobhog rice absorbs a lot of water as it stands, so keep a kettle of hot water by the stove and loosen the khichuri just before serving.
In Hyderabad the pre-dawn sehri meal of Ramadan is often khichdi, kheema and khatta: a thin, sour tamarind and onion sauce, tempered with curry leaves, garlic and dried chilli, ladled over the soft rice and lentils to wake up the palate at four in the morning. It is runny like a rasam, tart and savoury with just a little heat. Chef's tip: fry the onion only until soft, not brown, so the khatta stays light and sharp.
Potoler dorma is a showpiece of the Bengali vegetarian table, cooked for Durga Puja Navami lunches, weddings and the jamai shoshti feast. Pointed gourds (potol) are scraped, hollowed, fried, stuffed with paneer, raisins and spices, then simmered in a cashew, yoghurt and tomato gravy that is rich, gently sweet and fragrant with garam masala and ghee. This version keeps to the puja's no-onion, no-garlic style. Common mistake: cutting the gourds open lengthwise; for a dorma you slit only one end and scoop through it with a small spoon, so the filling stays inside while it simmers. The gourd is done when a toothpick slides in easily but the skin is still green and holds its shape. Chef's tip: chop the scooped-out seeds and flesh and cook them into the filling, which adds flavour and wastes nothing.
On 8 September, Mangalorean Catholics celebrate Monti Fest, the feast of Mary's Nativity, which is also a harvest festival: new ears of grain are blessed at church and shared at home, and the family eats a vegetarian feast of new-season vegetables. Vorn, a pudding of split green gram (moong) cooked with coconut milk, jaggery and cardamom, is the sweet that ends it. It is like a gentle payasam, vegan and gluten free. Chef's tip: dry-roast the moong dal until fragrant before cooking it, which gives vorn its nutty flavour.
In Bengali homes and pandal kitchens during Durga Puja, the bhog plate needs a dry vegetable beside the khichuri, and bandhakopir torkari is one of the favourites. Cabbage is shredded fine and cooked slowly with potato, peas, ginger and whole cumin, with no onion or garlic because it is offered to the goddess before it is eaten. A pinch of sugar and a final dusting of garam masala make it gently sweet and fragrant. Serve it with khichuri, luchi or plain rice and dal. Common mistake: covering the pan for the whole time, which steams the cabbage grey and watery; cook it mostly uncovered so the liquid evaporates and the edges just start to brown. Chef's tip: salt the shredded cabbage for 10 minutes and squeeze it lightly before cooking; it cooks faster and soaks up the spices better.
Fulkopir dalna is the gravy dish of a niramish (no onion, no garlic) Bengali menu, and it appears on the Durga Puja bhog table and at home on Navami and Dashami, when many families keep the day's food vegetarian. Large cauliflower florets and potatoes are fried golden and then simmered in a thin, glossy gravy of ginger, cumin, tomato and a little yoghurt, finished with ghee and Bengali garam masala. It should taste mellow, warm and slightly sweet rather than hot. Serve it with luchi or khichuri. Common mistake: boiling the cauliflower in the gravy from raw; fry the florets first until browned in patches, or they turn mushy and taste watery. Chef's tip: whisk the yoghurt with the ground spices before it goes in, and keep the heat low, so the gravy stays smooth instead of splitting.
A Bengali festive meal ends with chutney, and during Durga Puja the bhog plate's last stop is often this glossy tomato and date chutney. Ripe tomatoes are cooked with a mustard-seed and dried-chilli tempering, then sweetened with sugar and stoned dates and studded with raisins until it turns jammy and sticky. It is eaten as its own course after the vegetables, to clean the palate before the sweets. Common mistake: taking it off the heat too early so it stays watery; it is ready when a spoon drawn through the pan leaves a clear line for a second and the chutney looks shiny. Chef's tip: add a few strips of aamsotto (dried mango leather) with the dates if you have it; it gives the deep, fruity sourness of the pandal chutney.
Plastic chutney gets its funny name from the way the thin slices of raw papaya turn clear and glassy, like cellophane, as they cook in syrup. It is the chutney of every Bengali wedding feast and of the Durga Puja bhog, served in a small heap at the end of the meal, sweet, sharp with lime, and dotted with raisins. No onion or garlic goes near it. Common mistake: cutting the papaya too thick or cooking it on high heat; thick slices stay opaque and chewy, while a fast boil caramelises the syrup before the papaya turns clear. The chutney is ready when every slice is see-through and the syrup coats a spoon. Chef's tip: soak the sliced papaya in water with a pinch of baking soda for 15 minutes, then rinse; this helps the slices stay crisp-tender and turn translucent evenly.
At Tamil Muslim weddings and Eid feasts in Chennai and Madurai, the biryani is followed by a spoonful of bread halwa, sticky, golden and glistening with ghee. Cubes of white bread are fried until crisp, then cooked down with milk, sugar and cardamom until they melt into a soft, jammy halwa studded with cashews. Chef's tip: day-old bread fries crisper and soaks up the milk more evenly than fresh.
On Pesaha, Maundy Thursday, Syrian Christian families in Kerala gather in the evening for a meal that remembers the Last Supper. The head of the house cuts the Pesaha appam (indri appam), an unleavened, steamed cake of roasted rice flour, urad dal and coconut, marked with a cross made from the palm leaves blessed on Palm Sunday, and shares it with everyone, dipped in sweet Pesaha paal. It is soft, dense and lightly savoury. Chef's tip: grind the soaked urad dal and coconut together very finely; the batter should be smooth and thick, like idli batter.
Kumror chhokka is the soft, sweet-savoury pumpkin dish that turns up on the niramish bhog plate at Durga Puja, next to khichuri and luchi, and at Bengali vegetarian feasts all year. Red pumpkin and potato are cooked down with soaked chickpeas, panch phoron (the Bengali five-spice), ginger and a pinch of sugar, until the pumpkin half melts and coats everything. There is no onion or garlic, which keeps it fit for the offering. It is mild, a little sweet and comforting. Common mistake: cutting the pumpkin and potato the same size; pumpkin cooks much faster, so cut it into bigger pieces, and stop when the potato is soft and some of the pumpkin has broken down. Chef's tip: a teaspoon of ghee and a pinch of roasted cumin powder stirred in at the very end makes it taste like the pandal version.
Pinaca is one of the oldest Goan Christmas sweets in the kuswar tray, made in the weeks before Christmas from three things: rice flour roasted until golden and nutty, jaggery and freshly grated coconut. They are pressed into small cakes or squares and have a soft, crumbly, toffee-like bite. They are vegan and gluten free. Chef's tip: take your time roasting the rice flour, as it is the roasting that gives pinaca its flavour, but stir constantly because it burns at the edges.
Milk cream is a pale, fudgy Goan Christmas sweet, set in pretty little moulds of flowers, stars and Christmas trees and laid on the kuswar platter beside neureos, bebinca and kulkuls. Whole milk is cooked down with sugar and ground cashews (and sometimes semolina) until it turns into a smooth paste, a little like Indian peda but softer. It is gluten free and very rich, so pieces are small. Chef's tip: dust the moulds with sugar, not flour, so the sweets pop out cleanly with crisp detail.
Kokad is one of the sweets in the Goan Christmas kuswar, the tray of homemade sweets Catholic families swap with neighbours in the days around 25 December. Freshly grated coconut is cooked with jaggery, semolina and ghee until it pulls together into a dark, fudgy mass, then pressed into a tray, scored into diamonds and topped with cashews. It is chewy, caramel-sweet and fragrant with cardamom. Chef's tip: roast the semolina in ghee first, until it smells nutty, as raw semolina makes kokad pasty.
Paal kozhukattai is made in Tamil Nadu homes for Vinayaka Chaturthi and on rainy evenings when something warm and sweet is wanted. Tiny pearls of rice-flour dough are cooked in thin coconut milk until they float and turn glossy, then the pot is sweetened with jaggery and finished with thick coconut milk and cardamom. The dumplings are soft and chewy, the liquid creamy and caramel-coloured, and the whole thing is served warm in small bowls, or at room temperature as part of a festival offering. It is naturally egg-free and vegan: the rice flour, scalded with boiling water, holds the dumplings together, and its starch thickens the coconut milk as they cook. Chef's tip: once the thick coconut milk goes in, keep it below a boil; boiling it hard is the common mistake that splits the coconut milk and makes it oily.
The name means 'clay of paradise', and gil-e-firdaus belongs to the grand dessert tables of Hyderabad, served at weddings, at Eid and during Ramadan iftars alongside double ka meetha. Grated bottle gourd (lauki) is softened in ghee, then cooked in milk with coarsely ground rice and crumbled khoya until thick, pale green and fragrant with cardamom and rose water. It's thicker than a kheer, creamy and gently grainy, with soft strands of gourd and plenty of almonds and pistachios. Serve it warm in winter or chilled in summer, in small bowls. It is naturally egg-free: the ground rice and khoya do the thickening, giving it the richness a custard would. Chef's tip: squeeze the grated gourd well and add the sugar only once the rice is cooked; sugar added too early is the common mistake that stops the rice softening and leaves the pudding runny.
When the avarekai (hyacinth bean) season comes to Bengaluru and Mysuru in December and January, the city celebrates with a whole street festival of avarekalu dishes, and this thin, fragrant saaru is the one cooked at home for lunch with ragi mudde or rice. The tender beans, popped out of their pods, are simmered in a gravy of coconut, roasted spices and a little tamarind and jaggery. Fresh beans are watery, so a portion gives about 12 g of protein, from the beans, a little toor dal and the coconut; that is why it is not tagged High protein. Frozen shelled avarekalu from Indian grocers works well out of season. The most common mistake is undercooking the beans: like all hyacinth beans they must be cooked until completely soft, never eaten raw or half-cooked. Chef's tip: for the classic hitikida flavour, soak the shelled beans in warm water for 30 minutes and squeeze each one out of its skin; it takes time but gives a creamier, sweeter saaru.
When Kesar mangoes reach Ahmedabad and Alphonsos reach Pune in April and May, aamras appears at almost every summer lunch in Gujarat and Maharashtra. It's simply ripe mango pulp, thick and silky, with a pinch of dry ginger to help digestion, a little cardamom and sometimes a spoon of sugar if the fruit isn't sweet enough. It's eaten as part of the meal rather than after it, scooped up with hot puris, alongside a potato sabzi and dal; in Maharashtra it's also served at Akshaya Tritiya and Gudi Padwa. Spoon it out chilled in bowls, or offer it to children by itself. It is naturally egg-free and vegan: the mango's own thick pulp gives all the body, so nothing needs to bind or set it. Chef's tip: use only soft, fragrant, fully ripe mangoes and press the pulp through a sieve if they are fibrous; under-ripe fruit is the common mistake that makes aamras sour and thin.
Bhapa doi means steamed yogurt, and it's the dessert Kolkata households make when there's no time to visit the sweet shop for mishti doi. It's especially popular on Jamai Shashthi and at Poila Baisakh, the Bengali New Year, but it appears at Sunday lunches all year. Thick hung yogurt is mixed with condensed milk and a little milk, scented with cardamom, then gently steamed until it sets like a soft cheesecake without a crust. Chilled, it's dense, smooth and tangy-sweet. Serve it plain in small bowls, topped with pistachios, or with ripe mango in summer. There is no egg here: the milk proteins in the yogurt and condensed milk set with gentle heat, just as eggs would set a baked custard, and the condensed milk adds body and sweetness. Chef's tip: steam it on a low, gentle simmer; the common mistake is a fierce boil, which makes the yogurt weep whey and turn grainy.
In Punjab, Rajasthan and Delhi homes, methi dal arrives in late autumn and winter, when bunches of fresh fenugreek are cheap and fragrant at every vegetable cart. The leaves are stirred into a pot of soft toor and moong dal, where their gentle bitterness balances the earthy lentils, and a cumin and garlic tadka goes over the top. It is a light everyday dinner with phulka or rice. A portion gives about 21 g of protein from the two dals, for about 350 kcal. The most common mistake is cooking the leaves for too long or chopping in the thick stems, which makes the dal bitter and stringy: use only leaves and tender tips and add them for the last few minutes. Chef's tip: toss the chopped leaves with a pinch of salt, leave them for 10 minutes and squeeze out the green juice; it takes the harsh edge off the bitterness without losing the flavour.
Ghanta is the Odia one-pot of everything the winter market offers, cooked in Bhubaneswar and Cuttack homes for festival days and pujas, and in a similar form in the temple kitchens at Puri. Pumpkin, raw banana, sweet potato, aubergine and beans are cooked with soaked dried peas and chana dal until the pulses thicken it into a soft, chunky stew, seasoned with ginger, cumin and a light panch phoron tempering. A portion gives about 20 g of protein from the dried peas, chana dal and vegetables. The dried peas and chana dal need 8 hours of soaking first (overnight), which is not counted in the times. The most common mistake is adding all the vegetables at once: pumpkin melts to mush while the raw banana is still hard, so add them in two stages. Chef's tip: grind the ginger and cumin with a little water to a fresh paste rather than using powder; it is what gives ghanta its clean, warm flavour.
Kharvas is a festive treat in Maharashtra and Gujarat, traditionally made from the first milk a cow gives after calving, which sets into a wobbly pudding when steamed. That milk is hard to find in cities, so home cooks in Pune and Mumbai make a version with ordinary milk, curd and condensed milk, and that is the method here. It is steamed until it sets into a soft, sliceable square with a slightly springy texture, coloured with saffron and lightly sweetened with jaggery, with a hint of nutmeg. Families serve it at room temperature or cold as a teatime sweet, especially in the monsoon and around Ganesh Chaturthi. There is no egg: the curd and condensed milk proteins set on steaming the way colostrum does, and the condensed milk gives body and binds it. Chef's tip: whisk the mixture until completely smooth and strain it, because lumps of curd are the common mistake that leaves holes and a grainy set.
In Guntur, Vijayawada and across Telangana, gongura pappu is the everyday lunch dal that people who move away miss most: toor dal cooked soft with handfuls of sour roselle leaves, which melt into a tangy, olive-green purée, then finished with a sizzling tempering of garlic and dried red chillies. It is eaten mixed into hot rice with a spoon of ghee or oil and a crisp papad. A portion gives about 20 g of protein, almost all from the toor dal, and about 23 g with a plate of rice. Gongura is sold in Indian grocers in bunches; you need only the leaves. The most common mistake is cooking the leaves in an aluminium or iron pan: their acid reacts with the metal and the dal turns dark and tastes metallic, so use a steel or enamelled pot. Chef's tip: mash the dal and wilted leaves together hard with a whisk or wooden masher before tempering; a smooth, creamy pappu carries the sourness evenly instead of in stringy patches.
In Kerala, where green coconuts are sold by the roadside all summer, elaneer payasam is the cool, delicate cousin of the hot temple payasams. It turns up at Vishu lunches and summer weddings, and on any hot afternoon when someone has opened a few tender coconuts. Milk is boiled down until creamy and faintly caramel, sweetened, chilled, and only then mixed with slippery spoonfuls of young coconut flesh and a little of its water, so the coconut stays fresh and floral rather than cooked. The pudding is pourable, silky and cold, with soft white strands of coconut through it; serve it in small glasses after a meal or alongside banana chips. It is naturally egg-free: the long reduction of the milk, helped by a little condensed milk, gives the body that a custard would get from yolks. Chef's tip: the common mistake is stirring the coconut water into hot milk, which can make it split and taste sour; let the milk cool completely first.
No Onam sadya in Kerala feels finished without palada, ladled onto the banana leaf near the end of the feast, often after a darker jaggery payasam. Thin flakes of rice (ada) are cooked for a long time in milk and sugar, and as the milk reduces the sugar caramelises very slightly, turning the whole pot a soft blush pink. The result is creamy and gently chewy, with a taste like warm toffee milk. It is served warm or at room temperature, sometimes mopped up with a crisp pappadam crushed into it, the way Keralites eat it at weddings. It is naturally egg-free: the starch from the rice flakes and the slow reduction of the milk thicken it, with no custard at all. Use ready-made rice ada from an Indian shop. Chef's tip: the pink colour only comes with patience; keep the heat low and steady and keep stirring, because rushing it on a high flame scorches the milk and turns it brown and bitter.
Dalithoy is the comfort dal of Konkani-speaking families in Goa, Mangalore and Udupi, eaten almost daily at lunch with red rice, and the first thing many make for someone recovering from illness. It is deliberately simple: toor dal cooked very soft with ginger and green chilli, thinned to a pourable soup and finished with coconut oil, mustard seeds, curry leaves and a good pinch of asafoetida. A portion gives about 19 g of protein from the toor dal, or about 23 g with a plate of rice, for about 330 kcal. With a pressure cooker it is on the table in half an hour. The most common mistake is skimping on the asafoetida or burning it: it is the main flavour here, so add it off the heat at the end of the tempering. Chef's tip: whisk the cooked dal until it is completely smooth before thinning it; dalithoy should be silky, with no whole grains left.
Bengali households in Kolkata make bhaja muger dal on winter weekdays, and it is a fixture of the vegetarian bhog served at Durga Puja and Saraswati Puja. The moong is dry-roasted in a heavy pan until it smells nutty, then cooked soft with ginger and green peas and finished with ghee, bay leaf and a whisper of sugar. The roasting gives it a toasty, almost sweet depth that plain moong dal never has. A portion gives about 21 g of protein from the moong and peas, for about 360 kcal. Serve it with rice and a fried vegetable such as begun bhaja. The most common mistake is roasting over too high a heat: the outside browns while the inside stays raw, and the dal tastes burnt and never softens evenly. Chef's tip: roast only until the dal is a couple of shades darker, pale gold, and you can smell it from the next room; stop the moment you see the first brown spots.
Chana ghassi is a Mangalorean and Udupi favourite, cooked for Sunday breakfast with soft neer dosa or for a weekday lunch over boiled rice. Small black chickpeas are simmered until tender and then cooked in a russet gravy of coconut and spices roasted in coconut oil, sharpened with tamarind and finished with fried onion and curry leaves. A portion gives about 21 g of protein, mostly from the black chickpeas with a little from the coconut. The chickpeas need 8 hours of soaking first (overnight is easiest), which is not counted in the times. The most common mistake is under-roasting the coconut and spices: the gravy then tastes raw and flat instead of deep and toasty. Chef's tip: roast the dried chillies, coriander and fenugreek first and the coconut last, until it turns an even reddish brown; grind it with a little of the chickpea cooking water for the smoothest gravy.
Bhindi do pyaza is the summer okra dish of North Indian dhabas and home kitchens, made in the hot months when ladyfinger is tender and cheap. 'Do pyaza' means two lots of onion: one fried soft into the masala and one added in chunky petals near the end so it stays sweet and slightly crunchy against the okra. The classic mistake is washing the okra and cutting it while it is still wet, which turns the whole pan slimy; dry every pod completely before you slice it. Chef's tip: add the salt only once the okra is nearly cooked, because salt draws out moisture and makes it sticky.
Across North India, from Delhi flats to Lucknow kitchens, mushroom matar has become the weeknight cousin of matar paneer: quick to cook, meaty in texture without any meat, and good with rotis or jeera rice. Button mushrooms and sweet green peas sit in a medium-thick onion-tomato gravy warmed with ginger, garlic and garam masala. The common mistake is adding the mushrooms to a wet masala, where they boil and turn rubbery; sear them first in a hot pan until they brown, and their juices go into the sauce rather than drowning it. Chef's tip: frozen peas are perfect here and need only the last 4 minutes, so they stay bright green.
Dahi aloo is the light potato curry cooked in Rajasthan and across Uttar Pradesh when there are no fresh vegetables in the house, and on vrat (fasting) days, when families leave out onion and garlic and cook it with rock salt. Boiled potatoes are simmered in whisked yogurt thickened with a spoon of gram flour, tempered with cumin, hing and green chilli, giving a gently sour, soupy gravy to pour over puris or rice. The mistake nearly everyone makes once is adding cold yogurt straight to a hot pan, where it splits into curds; whisk the gram flour in well and keep stirring over a low heat until it bubbles. Chef's tip: for a fasting version, swap the gram flour for 1 tablespoon of water chestnut flour (singhara atta), leave out the hing and turmeric, and use rock salt. Most hing is cut with wheat flour, so buy a gluten-free one if that matters.
Neychoru, or ghee rice, comes from the Malabar coast of Kerala and the coastal towns of Karnataka, where it is cooked for Friday lunches, weddings and Eid tables alongside chicken or vegetable curries. Short, fragrant kaima (jeerakasala) rice is fried in ghee with whole spices, cooked until each grain is separate, and topped with crisp fried onions, cashews and plump raisins. The mistake to avoid is stirring the rice once the water goes in, which breaks the delicate grains and makes it mushy; cover it and leave it alone. Chef's tip: if you can't find kaima rice, basmati works, but cut the water by a few spoonfuls. It is not a 30-minute dish once the rice has been rinsed, drained and rested, so start it before the curry.
Aloo matar is the everyday potato and pea curry of North Indian homes, cooked through the winter when fresh peas fill the markets of Delhi and Punjab, and eaten with hot phulkas or rice on a weeknight. Small cubes of potato and sweet peas simmer in a thin, bright tomato gravy with cumin, turmeric and coriander, so it is comforting rather than rich. The common mistake is cutting the potatoes too big: they take forever, the peas turn grey waiting for them, and the gravy reduces to nothing. Chef's tip: mash two or three potato cubes against the side of the pot near the end; it thickens the gravy naturally without cream.
Matar paneer is one of Punjab's most-cooked dinners, made in North Indian homes for a midweek meal or when guests drop in, and served with butter rotis, parathas or jeera rice. Soft cubes of paneer and sweet green peas simmer in a gravy of browned onion, tomato, ginger and garlic, finished with garam masala and a pinch of crushed fenugreek. Paneer is set with lemon juice or vinegar, not rennet, so it is a safe choice for vegetarians. The common mistake is boiling the paneer in the gravy for too long, which makes it rubbery and squeaky. Chef's tip: soak the paneer cubes in hot salted water for 10 minutes while the gravy cooks; they turn soft and spongy and soak up the sauce.
Across North India, from Delhi dhabas to Rajasthani wedding buffets, boondi raita is the cooling bowl that turns a plain weeknight dal and rice or a spicy pulao into a proper meal. Tiny fried gram-flour pearls (boondi) are softened briefly and folded into whisked yogurt seasoned with roasted cumin, black salt and red chilli, so each spoonful is creamy with soft little pops. Ready-made salted boondi is sold in Indian shops; check the packet says it is made only with gram flour if you need it gluten free. The common mistake is leaving the boondi to soak too long, which turns it to mush. Chef's tip: soak the boondi in warm water for just 2 minutes and squeeze it gently; this rinses off excess oil and salt and keeps the raita light.
Sukhi (dry) moong dal is made in Rajasthan and Uttar Pradesh when there is no time for a soupy dal, or to roll into parathas and pack for journeys; Marwari families often serve it at weddings with kachoris. Soaked yellow moong is cooked with just enough water to soften it while keeping the grains whole, then lifted with amchur, ginger and a ghee tempering. The mistake to avoid is too much water or stirring hard, which turns it into a mushy khichdi; add water a little at a time and fold gently. Chef's tip: soak the dal for at least 30 minutes, which is why this dish takes longer than the cooking alone. It is one of the few dals that is just as good at room temperature.
Jeera rice is the plain-but-not-plain rice of North Indian restaurants and homes, cooked on weeknights from Delhi to Lucknow to go with dal makhani, rajma, chole or any gravy curry. Cumin seeds are fried in ghee with a bay leaf, cardamom and cloves until they crackle, then rinsed basmati is cooked in the same pot, so every long grain is scented and separate. The usual mistake is stirring the rice while it cooks, which breaks the grains and makes it sticky. Chef's tip: if you have 20 minutes to spare, soak the rinsed rice first; the grains cook up longer and even fluffier (that pushes it past 30 minutes).
Dahi bhindi is how North Indian and Rajasthani cooks turn a plate of okra into a saucy curry for summer evenings, when the heat calls for something sour and cooling. The okra is fried first until it loses its stickiness, then folded into a thin yogurt gravy flavoured with fennel, cumin and a little chilli, good with rotis or plain rice. The usual mistake is pouring in the yogurt over a high flame, which curdles it; whisk it with the spices first, turn the heat right down, and stir until it simmers. Chef's tip: a pinch of crushed fennel seeds in the tempering brings out the sweetness of the okra.
In Uttar Pradesh, Bihar and across the North Indian plains, turai (ridge gourd) is the light monsoon vegetable that mothers cook for upset stomachs, hot evenings and anyone who wants a gentle dinner with roti and dal. Peeled and chopped, it releases its own water as it cooks, and with a little tomato and cumin it forms a soft, sweet, barely spicy gravy. The common mistake is adding water: the gourd is full of it, and extra water gives a bland, thin soup, so cover the pan and let it make its own. Chef's tip: taste a slice of raw gourd before cooking; very occasionally one is bitter, and a bitter gourd will spoil the whole pot.
Hakka noodles are the street and restaurant staple of Kolkata's Chinese community, now sold from carts in every Indian city for a cheap evening meal and loved by children everywhere. Thin noodles are boiled, cooled, then tossed over the highest heat with shredded cabbage, carrot, peppers and spring onion, seasoned with soy, vinegar and white pepper. The mistake that ruins them is a crowded, lukewarm pan: the vegetables sweat and the noodles clump into a damp heap, so cook in a very hot wok and do two batches if yours is small. Chef's tip: toss the boiled noodles with a teaspoon of oil as soon as they are drained; they won't stick while you chop. Check the noodle packet: many Hakka noodles contain egg, so buy egg-free ones for a vegan dish.
Guvar (cluster beans) is everyday Gujarati shaak, cooked in Kathiawad and Ahmedabad homes most weeks with bajra rotla or rotli and a bowl of khadhi. The flat, slightly bitter beans are steamed in their pan with ajwain and garlic, then balanced the Gujarati way with a little jaggery and a squeeze of lemon, so every mouthful is gently sweet, sour and spicy. The mistake to avoid is using old, thick guvar; the pods should snap cleanly, and tough ones stay stringy however long you cook them. Chef's tip: a pinch of bicarbonate of soda in the cooking water is an old trick for keeping guvar green, but it is not needed if you keep the lid off at the end. Most hing contains wheat, so buy a gluten-free one if needed.
Palak paneer is a Punjabi winter favourite, made when fresh spinach piles up in the markets of Amritsar and Ludhiana, and now cooked on weeknights all over India with makki di roti, naan or rice. The spinach is blanched for just a minute, blended smooth and cooked with fried garlic, onion, tomato and gentle spices, then soft cubes of paneer are folded in. Paneer is acid-set, so it contains no animal rennet. The usual mistake is overcooking the spinach, which turns the sauce khaki and bitter: blanch it briefly, cool it fast, and simmer the purée for only a few minutes. Chef's tip: fry a little extra sliced garlic in ghee and pour it over just before serving for the classic dhaba finish.
Corn palak grew out of North Indian restaurant menus, where palak paneer met the sweetcorn that is now in every Delhi and Chandigarh market, and it has become a weeknight favourite for families with children who like the little bursts of sweetness. Blanched spinach is blended smooth and cooked into a light masala with garlic and cumin, then sweetcorn is simmered in and a spoon of cream rounds it off. The most common mistake is boiling the spinach too long before blending, which turns the gravy khaki and bitter; one minute in boiling water and straight into cold keeps it emerald. Chef's tip: a pinch of kasuri methi crumbled in at the end makes it taste like the restaurant version.
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