Dal, sabzi, curries and rice dishes for a meat-free Indian dinner. (880 recipes)
A crunchy Indian-style salad of finely shredded cabbage, fresh coconut, fried red peanuts and cashews, with plenty of chilli. The lemon dressing is tempered: mustard seeds are popped in hot oil first, which gives it a lovely nutty flavour. Serve it as a side with dal and rice, or with any Gujarati meal.
Carrots, turnips, three colours of pepper, cucumber, onion and tomato cut into fine matchsticks and spiced with chilli, lemon and coriander. A sizzling dressing of hot oil with cumin, mustard and sesame seeds is poured over at the table. It is crunchy and bright, and should be eaten as soon as it's dressed.
A smooth, glossy red chilli sauce of salted fresh red chillies blended with tomato sauce, vinegar, garlic and jaggery. Salting the chillies overnight softens them and takes off some of the rawness. It keeps for weeks in a glass jar in the fridge and goes with spring rolls, samosas and noodles.
A fresh, crumbly chutney of grated coconut and raw mango with a little chilli paste, sugar and a pinch of turmeric. It's sweet, sour and mildly hot, and is served with kachri bateta, the Gujarati potato snack, as well as with pattice and bhajias.
A hot, garlicky chutney of tomatoes cooked down with garlic paste, red chilli and cumin, then mashed until coarse. It's served alongside pav bhaji for extra heat, and is also good with vada pav, dabeli and toasted sandwiches.
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.
Home-made garam masala is far more fragrant than shop-bought. The whole spices are roasted until crisp, then ground, giving a warm, slightly hot blend with dry ginger and red chilli. Add a pinch to curries, dals and rice dishes towards the end of cooking.
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.
Kandyachya patichi bhaji is winter cooking from village kitchens in Satara, Kolhapur and Marathwada, when bunches of spring onions are cheap at every market. The chopped greens and bulbs are stir-fried with garlic and green chilli, then dusted with gram flour, which toasts and clings to the greens and makes the bhaji dry and savoury. It is eaten with jowar or bajra bhakri and a spoon of thecha or curd. The usual mistake is tipping the besan in one spot, where it forms raw lumps. Chef's tip: sprinkle the besan evenly over the whole pan like flour on a board, then keep stirring on a low heat until it smells nutty.
Burnt garlic fried rice is one of the most-ordered dishes in Indo-Chinese restaurants from Mumbai to Bengaluru, and it is a ten-minute dinner at home with a tub of leftover rice. The name is a bit of a fib: the garlic is fried to a deep golden brown, never black, so it turns nutty and sweet, then tossed through the rice with spring onion, soy and white pepper. It is simple, savoury and fragrant, good alone or with chilli paneer or a vegetable manchurian. The usual mistake is letting the garlic go dark brown in the pan, because it keeps cooking in the hot oil and ends up bitter. Chef's tip: lift out a spoonful of the golden garlic to scatter on top at the end, so you get crunch as well as flavour. Leftover rice must have been cooled quickly (spread out, into the fridge within an hour) and used within a day; fry it until it is piping hot all the way through and steaming, and never reheat it a second time.
In Punjabi and Uttar Pradesh homes, pyaz tamatar ki sabzi is the dinner that rescues an empty vegetable basket: just onions and tomatoes, cooked with cumin and red chilli until they collapse into a jammy, spicy-sweet side for hot rotis or parathas. It is humble but rich-tasting, and it keeps well for the next day's lunch box. The common mistake is adding the tomatoes before the onions have softened, which leaves the onion raw and the sabzi watery. Chef's tip: cut the onions into thick petals rather than fine slices so some keep a little bite in the finished sabzi.
Schezwan fried rice is a star of Mumbai's Indo-Chinese carts, where it is tossed in huge woks late into the evening for office workers heading home; at home it is the best thing to do with last night's rice. Cold rice is fried hard with garlic, carrot, cabbage, pepper and spring onion, then coated in red Schezwan sauce until every grain is orange and hot. It is spicy, garlicky and slightly smoky. The common mistake is using freshly cooked warm rice, which clumps and turns mushy. Chef's tip: break up the cold rice with your fingers before it goes in, so it hits the wok as separate grains. Leftover rice must have been cooled quickly (spread out, into the fridge within an hour) and used within a day; fry it until it is piping hot all the way through and steaming, and never reheat it a second time.
Dadpe pohe comes from the Konkan and Pune side of Maharashtra and is eaten as an evening snack or a light supper, especially in the rainy season when fresh coconut is plentiful. Thin poha is never cooked: it is mixed with fresh coconut, onion, tomato, lemon and green chilli, pressed under a lid for a few minutes so it softens in their juices, then finished with a quick tempering. It is fresh, sweet-sour and crunchy. The common mistake is rinsing thin poha, which turns it straight to mush. Chef's tip: rub the coconut, onion and tomato together with your fingers first so they give up their juice; that is what softens the poha.
Chilli garlic noodles are the punchier sibling of hakka noodles on every Indo-Chinese menu, from Kolkata's Tangra to college canteens in Pune, and they make a quick dinner at home. Boiled noodles are tossed over a fierce heat with plenty of garlic, crushed red chilli, soy and vinegar and a handful of crunchy vegetables. They are hot, tangy and garlicky, good alone or with a bowl of manchow-style soup. The common mistake is overcooking the noodles, which then break and clump in the wok. Chef's tip: cook them a minute short of the packet time, rinse under cold water and toss with a teaspoon of oil so they stay springy and separate. Check the noodle packet if you need them egg-free; many hakka noodles are, some are not.
Lemon coriander soup is a fixture on Indo-Chinese restaurant menus from Delhi to Hyderabad and a favourite light dinner at home on cold or under-the-weather evenings. Finely chopped vegetables simmer briefly in hot stock with ginger, garlic and coriander stems, the broth is lightly thickened, and it is finished with fresh coriander and plenty of lemon. It is clear, tangy and warming. The usual mistake is boiling the soup after the lemon goes in, which makes it bitter and dulls the colour. Chef's tip: chop the coriander stems and cook them with the vegetables; they carry far more flavour than the leaves, which go in only at the end.
Bhinda ni kadhi is a summer and monsoon favourite in Gujarati homes from Ahmedabad to Surat, when okra is cheap: the familiar sweet, tangy yogurt kadhi gets a handful of okra rounds fried until crisp at the edges, which soak up the sauce and add body. It is poured over steamed rice or khichdi for a light lunch. Frying the okra first keeps it from going slimy. The common mistake is boiling the kadhi fast before it has thickened, which curdles the yogurt; keep stirring and keep the heat low until it reaches a simmer. Chef's tip: add the okra only in the last few minutes so the rounds stay whole and a little crisp.
When winter sweet potatoes arrive in North Indian markets, they go straight into the Mahashivratri and Ekadashi fasting kitchen: boiled, mashed and slowly roasted in ghee with sugar and cardamom, they make a soft, fudgy halwa with a natural caramel sweetness. It is offered after the puja and eaten in small bowls, warm, often as the first thing that breaks a day without grains. A few communities do not eat sweet potato on a fast, so check your own tradition. Common mistake: hurrying the roasting; the halwa is ready only when the ghee starts to separate and glisten at the edges and the mixture rolls away from the sides of the pan as one soft mass. Chef's tip: steam or bake the sweet potatoes rather than boiling them in water; drier flesh roasts faster and gives a deeper flavour.
Suran, the knobbly elephant-foot yam, is a favourite of the Gujarati farali table on Mahashivratri and Ekadashi: boiled until tender, then stir-fried with cumin, green chilli and crushed peanuts and sharpened with lemon. It is filling and earthy, a little like a dense potato, and goes well with rajgira thepla or farali kadhi. Because suran is a root vegetable it is not eaten by Jains, so this is a Hindu fasting dish only; some families also skip cumin on a fast. Raw suran contains crystals that make the hands and throat itch, so wear gloves when peeling and always boil it with something sour. Common mistake: under-boiling to keep the cubes firm; undercooked suran scratches the throat. Boil until a cube is soft right through when pierced. Chef's tip: a few pieces of kokum in the boiling water work as well as lemon and give a pleasant blush to the yam.
Peanut chikki is the sweet every Gujarati child grows up with, and in the week of Uttarayan, when the sky over Ahmedabad is crowded with kites, households make it by the tray to hand round on the terrace. Halved roasted peanuts are bound in dark jaggery and cut into neat slabs that snap cleanly and taste of caramel and toasted nuts. Common mistake: undercooking the jaggery; it is ready only when a drop in cold water hardens into a ball that cracks when pressed, and when the syrup is foaming and has darkened by a shade. Undercooked syrup gives chikki that bends and pulls out fillings. Chef's tip: rub the skins off the roasted peanuts and split them in half; halves pack together far better than whole nuts and the slabs don't crumble.
Stories from Mathura and Vrindavan tell of the child Krishna stealing butter from the pots of the cowherd women, so at midnight on Janmashtami the first offering in the temples and at home is a bowl of fresh white butter mixed with mishri, the rock-sugar crystals. The butter is churned from cream at home, so it is soft, cool and lightly tangy, and the sugar crunches against it. It is eaten as prasad in tiny spoonfuls, often with a tulsi leaf on top. Common mistake: churning warm cream, which turns greasy instead of breaking; the cream must be fridge-cold, and the butter is ready when yellow-white clumps separate cleanly from thin buttermilk. Chef's tip: rinse the butter in iced water two or three times and press it with a spoon; washing out the buttermilk keeps it fresh for a day.
On 14 January every Gujarati rooftop fills with kite-flyers, and somewhere between the manja reels there is always a tin of tal ni chikki, broken into shards. The thinnest kind, tal sankli, is rolled out so fine you can almost see through it; it shatters with a snap and tastes of toasted sesame and dark caramel. It is a two-ingredient sweet where everything depends on the jaggery. Common mistake: pulling the jaggery off the heat too soon; it must reach the hard-crack stage, when a drop in cold water sets instantly and snaps cleanly, or the chikki stays chewy and sticks to the teeth. Chef's tip: work fast and roll on the greased back of a steel thali; if it hardens before you finish, warm it in the pan for a few seconds.
Nagara Panchami in Karnataka is a festival of sisters and brothers as much as of snakes: women offer milk to the stone naga images under peepal trees, and the sweets made at home are tambittu, laddus of roasted rice flour, roasted gram, coconut and sesame bound with jaggery syrup and ghee. They are crumbly-soft and earthy, and a few are also offered at Varamahalakshmi. Common mistake: binding with thin syrup, which leaves the laddus wet and collapsing; boil the jaggery only to a soft-ball stage, when a drop in cold water forms a soft ball you can pick up. Chef's tip: roast the rice flour until it just smells toasty and is barely cream-coloured; too dark and the laddus taste bitter.
Khichdo is Gujarat's Uttarayan dish of giving: on the morning of the festival big pots of it are cooked and shared with neighbours, cows and anyone in need, because charity on Makar Sankranti is thought to bring blessings. It is a slow, hearty porridge of pounded whole wheat cooked with rice and several dals until everything melts together, finished with a ghee tadka of whole spices, ginger and chilli. Some families make it sweet with jaggery instead. Common mistake: skipping the soaking; the wheat needs a night in water or it never softens, and the khichdo is ready when the grains are bursting and it falls thickly from the ladle. Chef's tip: pounded khichda wheat is sold in Indian shops; cracked whole wheat (not bulgur) also works.
In Punjabi villages choori is what a grandmother makes when a child comes home hungry before dinner: a warm roti or leftover paratha crumbled by hand into ghee and shakkar until it turns into soft, sweet, buttery crumbs. It is eaten with a glass of tea or milk in the late afternoon, and in many homes a bowl is set aside as an offering on Sankranti and at the gurdwara. The common mistake is using cold, leathery rotis straight from the box: the ghee won't soak in and the sugar stays gritty. Warm them on the tawa first until they are soft and just crisp at the edges. Chef's tip: a pinch of crushed fennel and some chopped almonds turn it into a little treat for guests.
Maa laddu (maladu) is the simplest of the Tamil Deepavali sweets, made in a quarter of an hour from pottukadalai, the roasted split gram sold in every Tamil grocery. Ground with sugar and bound with hot ghee, it melts on the tongue, nutty and cardamom-scented, and it's the laddu grandmothers teach children to roll. The mistake is pouring cold or too little ghee: the powder won't bind and the balls crumble, so add it smoking hot and in stages. Chef's tip: warm the pottukadalai in a dry pan for two minutes before grinding; it brings out the toasty flavour and grinds finer.
Across Uttar Pradesh and Bihar, Makar Sankranti is simply called Khichdi: after a dip in the Ganga, raw rice and black urad dal are given away as alms, and the same two are cooked at home into this khichdi for lunch. Its four companions are part of the custom: 'khichdi ke chaar yaar, dahi, papad, ghee, achaar', so it comes to the table with curd, roasted papad, a spoon of ghee and pickle, often with aloo or baingan chokha too. The split urad with its black skin gives a creamy, earthy khichdi that is grey-brown and flecked with black. Common mistake: cooking it too dry; urad drinks up water, so it should be soft and loose enough to settle on the plate, and it is done when the dal grains crush easily. Chef's tip: let the cooker release naturally and rest 5 minutes before opening; the khichdi finishes softening in the steam.
On the full moon of Shravan, Konkan fishing families offer a coconut to the sea to mark the end of the monsoon, and the same day in most Maharashtrian homes is Raksha Bandhan, so sisters and brothers sit down to a plate of narali bhaat. It is basmati or ambemohar rice cooked with fresh grated coconut, jaggery, ghee, clove and cardamom until each grain is glossy, golden-brown and separate, with cashews and raisins through it. It tastes of caramel and coconut, warm and only gently spiced. Common mistake: adding the jaggery to rice that is not fully cooked; jaggery stops rice softening, so the grains must be tender before it goes in, then the mixture is cooked until the syrup is absorbed and the rice looks dry and shiny. Chef's tip: keep the rice slightly undercooked when you first boil it and spread it on a plate to cool; firm, cool grains stay whole when they meet the hot jaggery.
Kadambuttu are the steamed rice balls of Kodagu (Coorg), made in every Kodava home for breakfast and in great heaps for Puttari, the rice harvest festival in late November or early December. Broken rice is cooked to a thick porridge with coconut, rolled into balls and steamed, so they're dense, slightly sticky and mild, the perfect sponge for a fiery curry; at home they go with pandi curry, but a spicy kadala or mushroom curry works beautifully too. A common mistake is using whole rice flour or fine semolina; you need coarse broken rice, or the balls turn gluey. Chef's tip: wet your palms between each ball so the dough stays smooth and doesn't crack.
Semiya upma is a fixture of Tamil home cooking, from Coimbatore to Chennai, made for breakfast, for school tiffin boxes and very often for a light dinner when nobody wants a heavy meal. Ready-roasted wheat vermicelli is cooked in a tempering of mustard seeds, dal, curry leaves, onion and green chilli with a handful of peas until each strand is soft and separate. It is mild and savoury with a squeeze of lemon, and children love it. The common mistake is adding too much water, which turns the vermicelli into a sticky lump. Chef's tip: once the water is absorbed, take the pan off the heat and leave it covered for 2 minutes; the strands finish cooking in the steam and stay separate.
Puli aval is the quick cousin of tamarind rice from Tamil Nadu, cooked in Kumbakonam and Tirunelveli homes as an evening tiffin or a light supper when there's no rice left in the pot. Thick flattened rice is soaked in tamarind water, then tossed into a crackling tempering of mustard seeds, dals, red chilli and peanuts. It tastes tangy, a little sweet and nutty, with soft flakes and crunchy bits. The common mistake is drowning the aval in tamarind water so it turns to porridge; it only needs to be moistened, not soaked. Chef's tip: let the tempered aval sit, covered and off the heat, for 2 minutes before serving so the flakes soften evenly and drink in the tamarind.
Every plate of gathiya, dalvada or bhajiya sold in Gujarat comes with a little heap of talela marcha, green chillies dropped into the farsan seller's kadai for a few seconds until they blister and turn olive green, then shaken with salt and a squeeze of lemon. Bitten between mouthfuls of farsan they give a fresh, smoky hit of heat. Use thick, fairly mild chillies if you can find them. The common mistake is frying wet chillies: water on the skin makes the oil spit violently. Chef's tip: slit them lengthways first so steam escapes and they don't burst in the oil.
Srivilliputhur, the temple town of Andal near Virudhunagar, is so famous for its palkova that it has a protected geographical name. Local cows' milk is reduced in wide iron pans over a wood fire with sugar until it becomes a soft, grainy, pale caramel-coloured fudge, sold on banana-leaf squares and eaten as a sweet with tea or after meals. The mistake is turning the heat up to save time; the milk scorches, tastes burnt and the texture turns tough. Chef's tip: use full-fat milk and a wide, heavy pan, and stir the bottom and sides constantly in the last twenty minutes.
Then mittai, 'honey sweets', were sold from glass jars at the petti kadai outside every Tamil village school in the 1980s and 90s, glossy red balls that crunch and then squirt sweet syrup. They're nostalgic now and great fun to make at home for children's parties. The mistake is frying too hot, which browns the outside before the centre cooks; they should fry slowly to a crisp shell. Chef's tip: let the fried balls cool for a minute before dropping them into warm, not hot, syrup so they stay crisp instead of going soggy.
At exactly noon on Ram Navami, when Maharashtrian temples and homes rock a decorated cradle to mark Rama's birth, each person is handed a spoonful of sunthavada: dry ginger powder, toasted dry coconut, poppy seeds and sugar pounded together into a fragrant, warming powder. The same mix is given at Janmashtami midnight. It is sweet, nutty and gently fiery from the ginger. Common mistake: burning the coconut; it should be toasted on a low heat only until it turns pale gold and smells sweet, then cooled before grinding so it does not turn oily. Chef's tip: grind in short pulses; long grinding releases the coconut oil and the powder clumps.
Puthandu, the Tamil New Year in mid-April, falls when neem trees across Tamil Nadu are in flower, and the festive lunch has a little bitterness on purpose, to remind everyone that the year will bring both sweet and bitter. Veppampoo rasam does it gently: dried neem flowers are fried in ghee until crisp and stirred into a light tamarind rasam with pepper and cumin. It is thin, warming and sour, with a toasty bitter finish, and it is poured over rice or sipped from a tumbler. The common mistake is burning the flowers; they turn from golden to black in seconds and taste acrid, so have the rasam ready before you heat the ghee. The rasam is ready when it froths up to the top of the pan; take it off before it reaches a rolling boil. Chef's tip: fry a few extra flowers and scatter them over each serving for crunch.
Sharad Poonam, the brightest full moon of the year, ends the Navratri season in Gujarat; families sing garba late into the night and leave a bowl of doodh pauva out under the moon, believing its rays make it healing, before eating it cold together. It is thin poha soaked in reduced, sweetened milk with cardamom, saffron and nuts, cooling, soft and lightly creamy, the Gujarati cousin of Maharashtra's Kojagiri masala doodh. Common mistake: adding poha to hot milk or too early, so it turns to porridge; chill the milk first and stir the poha in only 10–15 minutes before eating, when the flakes are soft but still separate. Chef's tip: simmer the milk down by a quarter before chilling; a little reduction gives body without needing cream.
Chalimidi is a no-cook-flour sweet from Andhra and Telangana, offered to the goddess at Navaratri and Nagula Chavithi and handed out at naming ceremonies and baby showers. Soaked rice is dried, pounded into fresh flour and stirred into a thick jaggery syrup with coconut, so it sets into a soft, damp, slightly crumbly dough that is shaped into small balls. It tastes of molasses and cardamom and is eaten as it is, at room temperature. The most common mistake is undercooking the syrup: a thin syrup leaves the chalimidi sticky and pasty, so cook it to a firm soft-ball stage. Chef's tip: use freshly ground soaked rice, not shop rice flour; the slightly damp flour is what gives chalimidi its tender bite.
Manoharam is a Chettinad sweet made for weddings and the sweet trays of Deepavali, often shaped into a tall cone for the bridal seer. Short, crisp sticks of rice and moong flour are pressed and fried, then tossed in a jaggery syrup cooked to the hard-ball stage, so the syrup sets around them into a crunchy, molasses-sweet cluster. It is eaten in small pieces with coffee and keeps for weeks. The usual mistake is undercooked syrup, which never sets and leaves the sticks soggy; test it in cold water until it snaps. Chef's tip: have the fried sticks warm and ready in a wide greased bowl before the syrup reaches the right stage, as it starts setting within a minute.
In Punjabi villages the cane harvest is in by Lohri, and on the night of the bonfire a pot of rice is set to cook slowly in fresh sugarcane juice (rauh) with no milk and no added sugar. The custom is to leave it to cool overnight and eat it cold the next morning, on Maghi, so you will often hear 'poh rinni, magh khaadi': cooked in Poh, eaten in Magh. It sets into a soft, brown, gently caramel pudding that tastes of cane. Common mistake: cooking on a high heat; the juice catches and turns bitter, so simmer it low and stir from the bottom, and it is done when the rice is very soft and the kheer coats the back of a spoon thickly. Chef's tip: skim off all the grey scum as the juice first comes to the boil, or the kheer tastes earthy.
On hot evenings in Mysuru and Bengaluru, mosaru avalakki is the cooling no-fuss dinner: thin poha folded into thick curd loosened with a little milk, sharpened with ginger and green chilli and finished with a sizzling mustard and curry leaf tempering. It is soft, tangy and refreshing, and often comes with pomegranate seeds or grated cucumber. The common mistake is mixing it too early; thin poha keeps soaking up curd and turns into a stiff paste if it sits. Chef's tip: stir in the milk last, just before serving, so the curd stays creamy and the poha keeps a little bite.
On Nag Pancham, Gujarati women draw a snake in kumkum on the wall or visit a nag temple and offer kuler with milk and cotton: a raw sweet of fine bajra flour rubbed with ghee and jaggery, rolled into soft balls. Since the day is a cold-food day in many homes, nothing is cooked; the bajra simply soaks up the ghee. It is soft, earthy, sweet and slightly sandy. Common mistake: using coarse or stale bajra flour, which tastes bitter and gritty; use fresh, finely ground flour, and the mix is ready when a handful holds together when squeezed. If you prefer, you can lightly roast the flour first, though that is not the traditional way. Chef's tip: grate the jaggery very finely, or melt it with the ghee and cool slightly, so it blends evenly.
Poush Sankranti in Bengal is the day for pithe, and ranga alur pithe uses the sweet potatoes that come in with the winter harvest. Boiled sweet potato is kneaded with a little flour into a soft dough, wrapped round a coconut and jaggery filling, fried and then dipped in syrup, so you get a crisp shell, a melting orange layer and a sweet, nutty centre. They are eaten warm on the festival evening or the next day once they have soaked up more syrup. Common mistake: watery sweet potato; boil it whole in its skin and let it steam dry, or the dough gets sticky and the pithe burst in the oil. They are fried enough when they are deep golden and float. Chef's tip: the syrup should be warm and at one-string stage, a thread forming between finger and thumb; too thick and it won't soak in.
Mahura is the vegetable curry of the Jagannath temple tradition in Odisha and a fixture on Rath Yatra lunches at home: pumpkin, raw banana, yam, aubergine and sweet potato cooked soft with a little dal and a paste of roasted cumin, ginger, coconut and a touch of jaggery. Like all temple food it uses no onion, garlic, tomato, chilli powder or New World vegetables, so it tastes gentle, earthy and faintly sweet. It is thicker and more vegetable-heavy than dalma, with the dal only binding the vegetables. Common mistake: stirring too much once the pumpkin softens, which melts it into the gravy; the mahura is done when the yam is tender, the vegetables hold their shape and the gravy coats them. Serve with kanika or plain rice. Chef's tip: finish with a pinch of roasted cumin and dry red chilli powder ground together (bhaja masala), which Odia cooks add right at the end.
Each family takes several saddulu, flavoured rice dishes, to the lake on Saddula Bathukamma, the last evening of Telangana's flower festival, and swaps them with neighbours after the songs; sesame rice, lemon rice, peanut rice and coconut rice are the usual set. Nuvvula saddi is the nuttiest of them: freshly roasted sesame ground with dried red chilli, tossed through cooked rice with a tempering of mustard seeds, dals, peanuts and curry leaves. It is eaten at room temperature, so the grains must stay separate. Common mistake: grinding the sesame for too long, which turns it to oily paste; pulse only until it looks like coarse sand. The sesame is roasted enough when it crackles, turns light gold and one seed crushes easily between your fingers. Chef's tip: cook the rice a little firm and spread it on a plate to cool before mixing, so it does not break up.
Karadantu is the famous sweet of Gokak in Belagavi district, sold in sweet shops near the Gokak falls and carried home as a gift, and also made in north Karnataka homes for new mothers and in winter. Edible gum is fried in ghee until it puffs like popcorn, then bound with jaggery syrup, dry coconut, poppy seeds and plenty of dry fruit and pressed into slabs. It's dense, chewy-crisp and deeply caramel-tasting. A common mistake is frying the gum on high heat; it browns outside and stays hard and glassy inside. Chef's tip: fry the gum a few pieces at a time in warm ghee and wait for each to swell to three times its size before lifting.
Every Punjabi winter, mothers and grandmothers roast a big batch of methi laddoos and hand out one a day with morning tea or warm milk, for strength and to keep the cold out of the joints. Fenugreek gives a gentle bitterness that the jaggery, ghee and roasted wheat balance into something nutty and warming, with crunch from puffed gond and almonds. The mistake people make is roasting the atta on high heat: it browns outside, stays raw inside and the laddoos taste floury. Keep it low and patient until it smells of biscuits. Chef's tip: soak the fenugreek powder in milk overnight; it softens the bitterness so even children will eat them.
Kashi halwa, also called dumrot, is the sweet that ends Udupi and Karnataka wedding feasts, spooned onto the banana leaf next to payasa. Grated white ash gourd cooks down in its own juice with sugar and ghee until it turns glassy and golden, with saffron for colour and cashews for crunch; it tastes delicate and buttery, not vegetal. The mistake most people make is skipping the squeeze: grate the gourd and leave the water in, and the halwa takes an hour to thicken and goes mushy. Squeeze it well, then cook the gourd in that juice. Chef's tip: add the sugar only after the gourd is soft and translucent; sugar added early firms the shreds and they never turn tender.
The partner to kali on Arudra Darshan morning is a kootu of seven (ezhu) vegetables, an old Tamil Brahmin custom that uses whatever native winter produce is at the market: pumpkin, ash gourd, raw plantain, sweet potato, broad beans, colocasia and chow-chow are a typical set, and no onion, garlic, tomato or 'English' vegetables go in. They simmer in tamarind water with soft toor dal and a paste of roasted coriander, chana dal, red chillies and coconut, giving a thick, tangy, gently hot stew that cuts the sweetness of the kali. Common mistake: adding tamarind before the vegetables are cooked, which keeps them hard; cook them first in plain water until a knife goes in easily, then add the tamarind and boil until its raw smell has gone. Chef's tip: roast the paste spices until the chana dal turns golden-red, which gives the kootu its depth.
In Kumaon, Makar Sankranti is Ghughutiya, and the evening before, families knead wheat flour with jaggery and shape it into little drums (damru), swords, knots and flowers, fry them and thread them into necklaces with an orange in the middle. The next morning children wear the garlands and call the crows: 'kale kale, ghughuti mala khale', offering them the first bites before eating the rest themselves. The ghughute are crisp outside and slightly chewy within, gently sweet with fennel. Common mistake: oil that is too hot; they darken in seconds but stay doughy inside, so fry on a medium heat until they are an even deep gold and sound hollow when tapped. Chef's tip: keep the dough quite stiff, like for mathri; soft dough loses its shapes in the oil.
Kamarkattu is the toffee of Tamil village shops, dark, chewy, caramel-scented balls of coconut and jaggery that cost a few paise in the days when children bought sweets one at a time. It's quick to make at home and keeps for a couple of weeks. The mistake is taking the jaggery too far: if the syrup hardens past the soft-ball stage, kamarkattu turns rock hard and pulls fillings. Chef's tip: test a drop in cold water; when it forms a soft ball you can squash, switch off and shape immediately.
Kanika is one of the dishes of the Jagannath temple's mahaprasad in Puri, cooked in clay pots over wood fires and sold at the Ananda Bazaar to pilgrims, and Odia homes make it for Rath Yatra, when the deities ride their chariots through the town. It is a fragrant, glossy rice sweetened with sugar and perfumed with cinnamon, bay leaf and cloves in plenty of ghee, studded with fried cashews and raisins. It sits halfway between a pulao and a dessert and is eaten with dalma or a temple-style mahura. Common mistake: adding the sugar at the start, which hardens the grains; cook the rice almost through first, then add the sugar, and it is done when the syrup is absorbed and the ghee shines on the surface. Chef's tip: use a short-grain aromatic rice such as gobindobhog or the Odia arua rice for the true temple texture; basmati works but gives separate, longer grains.
In Assamese homes the nights before Magh Bihu are spent making pitha, and tekeli pitha is the one named after the pot it is cooked on: a cloth is tied over the mouth of a tekeli (a small clay water pot), and damp rice flour, coconut and jaggery are piled on top and steamed by the water boiling underneath. It comes off as a soft, crumbly cake, sweet in the middle and plain at the edges, eaten warm with tea on Bihu morning or packed into the bhogali spread. Any narrow-necked pot or saucepan works at home. Common mistake: using dry shop rice flour straight from the packet; it needs to be just damp enough to clump when pressed, or the cake falls apart, and it is done when the top looks matt and a skewer comes out clean, about 10–12 minutes. Chef's tip: soak and grind your own rice flour if you can; flour from soaked rice, dried for an hour, gives the softest pitha.
Ugadi falls just as the first green mangoes reach Andhra markets, so the festive lunch nearly always has a pot of mamidikaya pappu beside the pulihora and pachadi. Toor dal is cooked soft, then sharpened with chunks of sour raw mango and slit green chillies, and finished with a sizzling tempering of garlic, dried red chilli and curry leaves. Mixed into hot rice with a spoon of ghee, it is tangy, mellow and comforting. The common mistake is cooking the mango with raw dal: its acid stops the lentils from softening, so always cook the dal to a smooth mush first. The mango is ready when a piece crushes easily but still holds its shape. Chef's tip: mangoes vary hugely in sourness, so add half, taste after five minutes and add the rest only if the dal needs more bite.
Around Thrissur and Palakkad the Vishu breakfast table is not complete without katta, rice cooked slowly in coconut milk until it can be spread on a plate, set and cut like a cake. Families eat the squares two ways: with a pour of dark jaggery syrup for sweetness, or with a hot, sour curry for those who prefer savoury on a festival morning. Set, it is soft, rich and faintly salty, with the scent of cumin. The common mistake is rushing it on a high flame; the coconut milk splits and the rice catches before it turns creamy. It is ready when the whole mass comes away from the sides of the pan and holds a ridge when you draw a spoon through it. Chef's tip: smooth the top with a piece of banana leaf or the back of a wet spoon, and cut the katta only once it is fully cool, or the squares will tear.
Kholasapori means 'pressed in the khola', the shallow clay pan that every Assamese kitchen brings out for Magh Bihu, when guests are offered a plate of pitha before anything else. These are thicker and softer than the crisp til pitha: a loose batter of sticky rice flour is spread on the hot pan, filled with coconut and jaggery and folded over, so the outside is lightly speckled and the inside chewy and sweet. A heavy cast-iron pan stands in well for the khola. Common mistake: a pan that is too hot; the batter should set slowly with no browning in the first minute, and it is ready to fold when the edges lift and the top no longer looks wet. Chef's tip: wipe the pan with a cloth dipped in oil between each pitha rather than pouring oil in, so they stay pale and even.
Dahi chura belongs to Bihar and eastern Uttar Pradesh: it is the traditional Makar Sankranti breakfast, but on summer nights in Patna and Gaya it is also the supper that needs no stove at all. Thick chura (flattened rice) is rinsed, mixed with creamy set curd and sweetened with jaggery, then eaten with a spicy potato sabzi or a pinch of pickle alongside. It is cool, mildly sweet and gently chewy. The usual mistake is soaking the chura in water, which leaves it soggy and dilutes the curd. Chef's tip: rinse the chura and let it drain for two minutes so the flakes swell from the water clinging to them, then add the curd.
Sweet boxes swapped on Raksha Bandhan in Rajasthan very often hold Alwar milk cake: a dense slab of full-fat milk reduced for hours with sugar, then left to set slowly in its own heat so the middle caramelises dark brown while the edges stay pale and grainy. Unlike kalakand, it uses no chhena at all; the grain comes from souring the milk just a little as it reduces, and the colour from long, patient cooking. It is fudgy, milky and toffee-like. Common mistake: hurrying the last stage on a high flame, which scorches the base instead of browning it; the mass is ready when it leaves the sides of the pan as one sticky lump and the ghee starts to show at the edges. Chef's tip: wrap the filled tin in a thick towel and leave it overnight; that slow cooling is what browns the centre.
In Kerala, Vishu starts before sunrise with the kani, when each member of the family is led with closed eyes to see a tray of rice, gold-yellow konna flowers, fruit, a mirror and a lamp, so the year begins with something lucky. Breakfast afterwards, in many central Kerala homes, is this kanji: rice and lightly roasted whole green gram cooked soft and finished with coconut milk, eaten with a dry chakka or pumpkin side and pappadam. It is mild, creamy and nourishing, nothing like a plain rice gruel. The common mistake is boiling the thick coconut milk, which splits it and turns the kanji grainy; it goes in at the end, off the boil. It is ready when the gram has burst and the rice falls apart when stirred. Chef's tip: a few crushed cumin seeds and a shallot fried in coconut oil spooned over each bowl make it taste festive.
Vishu arrives in April when Kerala's jackfruit trees are heavy, and homes turn the glut into chakka varatti, a dark, glossy jam stirred for well over an hour in a wide uruli. It is eaten by the spoon, spread on dosa, and kept in jars for the payasam and ada made at festivals through the year. The taste is deep and caramel-like, with the floral sweetness of ripe jackfruit. The common mistake is cooking it on a high heat to save time: jaggery burns quickly and turns the whole batch bitter. It is done when the ghee starts to separate and shine at the edges, the colour is a dark mahogany brown, and the mass rolls round the pan as one lump. Chef's tip: use only very ripe, fragrant jackfruit bulbs, and if your jackfruit is the firm varikka type, steam it first so it purées smoothly.
On Arudra Darshan in the Tamil month of Margazhi, temples across Tamil Nadu, Chidambaram above all, celebrate Shiva as Nataraja, and homes offer him kali with ezhu kari kootu at dawn. The rice and a little moong dal are dry-roasted until fragrant, ground to a coarse rava and then cooked in jaggery water until soft and set, a loose, grainy sweet rather than a smooth halwa. Grated coconut, cardamom and plenty of ghee finish it. Common mistake: grinding the roasted rice to a fine flour, which cooks into a sticky paste; you want grains like fine semolina, and the kali is done when it leaves the sides of the pan and the ghee glistens on top. Chef's tip: roast the rice only until it smells like popcorn and turns faintly golden; any darker and the kali tastes bitter.
Gathiya nu shaak is a Kathiawadi dhaba standby along the Rajkot and Bhavnagar highways, cooked in ten minutes and eaten with hot bajra rotla, raw onion and buttermilk. A spicy gravy of onion, tomato, garlic and whisked yogurt is brought to a simmer and thick bhavnagari gathiya go in right at the end, so they soften on the outside but keep a little bite at the centre. It is rich, fiery and comforting. The common mistake is adding the gathiya too early or letting them sit in the gravy; they swell and turn to mush. Chef's tip: have everyone at the table before the gathiya go into the pan, and serve within two minutes.
In Kathiawad, bharela marcha are made with the long, fat and fairly mild bhavnagri chillies that come in every winter, and they sit beside a thali of rotla, kadhi and khichdi as a sweet-sour-hot side. The filling is besan roasted in oil until nutty, mixed with sugar, lemon, turmeric and dhana-jiru, and the chillies are cooked covered on low heat until soft and blistered in patches. A common mistake is using small, very hot chillies; choose large mild ones, or the dish is too fierce to eat. Chef's tip: slit the chillies only on one side and scrape out the seeds and ribs; the heat drops right down and the filling stays inside.
Kajli Teej in Bundi, Rajasthan, falls in the dark fortnight of Bhadrapad, when women fast for their husbands and break the fast in the evening by moonrise with sattu: roasted gram flour mixed with ghee, sugar and nuts and pressed into laddus or one large decorated cake called a sattu pinda. The laddus are nutty, soft, powdery and very filling. Common mistake: using plain besan instead of sattu, or under-roasting the sattu, which tastes raw; roast gently in ghee until it smells biscuity and the ghee starts to separate at the edges. Chef's tip: shape while the mix is warm but cool enough to hold, and press each laddu firmly in your palm so it does not crumble.
Every Kartik Purnima, Cuttack holds Bali Jatra on the banks of the Mahanadi, a huge open-air fair that remembers the Odia sailors who once set off for Bali and Java; families float little paper and banana-bark boats at dawn and spend the day eating at the stalls. Thunka puri is the fair's famous snack: puris rolled as big as a plate, which balloon into hollow golden domes in the oil and are torn open over a bowl of hot ghugni (yellow pea curry), onion and tamarind chutney. Common mistake: oil that is not hot enough or dough that is too soft; the puri then drinks oil and stays flat. Get the oil to about 190 °C, so a pinch of dough rises at once, and it is done when it is puffed and pale gold on both sides. Chef's tip: slide the puri in, then gently press the centre with a slotted spoon and splash hot oil over the top; it will puff fully within seconds.
Rasiya dhokli is what Kathiawadi cooks in Rajkot and Gondal make on an evening when there are no vegetables in the basket: a quick dough of wheat and gram flour with chilli and ajwain is rolled, cut into diamonds and simmered in a thin, tangy rasa of tomatoes, sour buttermilk and plenty of garlic and red chilli. The dhokli soak up the sauce and turn soft and silky, and the whole thing is eaten from a bowl like a spicy, soupy one-pot supper. The common mistake is adding the buttermilk to a boiling pot, which splits it; temper it with some of the hot rasa first and keep the heat low. Chef's tip: let the finished dish rest for 5 minutes off the heat; the dhokli thicken the rasa to just the right consistency.
Lauki ki kheer is the light pudding many North Indian families make on Mahashivratri, Navratri and Ekadashi, when rice is off the menu: grated bottle gourd stands in for the grain, softens in ghee and then simmers in milk until it turns pale, creamy and almost translucent. It tastes delicate and milky, with cardamom and a crunch of nuts, and is eaten warm after the evening puja or chilled the next day. Taste a sliver of the raw gourd first; a bitter one can make you ill and must be thrown away. Common mistake: adding the sugar too early, which stops the gourd softening and can make the milk split; add it only once the milk has reduced by about a third and the lauki is tender. Chef's tip: squeeze the grated lauki lightly before cooking, but keep the juice and add it to the milk, so none of the flavour is lost.
When the January cold sets in around Lohri, Punjabi and Marwari kitchens make a tin of gond ke laddu, one of which is eaten each morning with hot milk to keep warm through winter. Edible gum (gond, from the acacia tree) is fried in ghee until it puffs into light crunchy nuggets, then crushed and mixed with ghee-roasted wheat flour, jaggery, dry ginger and plenty of nuts, so the laddus are rich, crumbly and crackle as you bite. Common mistake: frying the gum in oil that is too hot; it browns outside and stays glassy and chewy in the middle, so fry it on a medium heat until each piece swells to twice its size and turns opaque white. The flour is done when it smells nutty, turns golden and the ghee loosens at the edges. Chef's tip: roll the laddus while the mixture is still warm; once it cools it will not bind.
In Odisha no festival plate is complete without kakara pitha, and during Durga Puja (and on Prathamastami and Dussehra) Odia homes fry them by the dozen to offer and share. A soft semolina dough cooked in sweetened milk-water is wrapped around a filling of fresh coconut, jaggery, cardamom and a surprising pinch of crushed black pepper, flattened into discs and fried in ghee until golden. They are crisp outside, soft and chewy within, with a gently spicy sweet centre. Common mistake: letting the jaggery filling stay wet, which makes it leak and burst in the hot fat; cook it until it gathers into a ball that leaves the pan clean. Chef's tip: knead the cooked semolina while it is still warm with a little ghee on your palms; it turns smooth and pliable and will not crack as you shape the pitha.
Chhath begins with Nahay-khay: after a holy bath in the Ganga or a pond, the women and men keeping the fast in Bihar and Jharkhand eat one pure, simple meal, and it is always kaddu (bottle gourd) cooked with chana dal, plain rice and a ghee-fried sabzi, seasoned only with sendha namak (rock salt) and no onion or garlic. The dal is mild, soft and sweet from the gourd, with cumin, ginger and green chilli. Common mistake: adding the gourd at the start, so it collapses to mush; cook the chana dal soft first, then simmer the gourd until just translucent. Chef's tip: grate a spoon of fresh ginger into the ghee tadka at the end; it is the main flavour since there is no garlic.
Showing 72 of 880 recipes
Show more recipesPage 4 of 37
Indian
