2797 Jain recipes with no onion, garlic, potato, carrot, fresh ginger or other root vegetables, and no mushrooms, eggs or honey. Hing, dry ginger and turmeric powder are fine. Each has photos, step-by-step instructions and cook times. The quickest, Apfelschorle, takes 2 minutes. Most take around 40 minutes.
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A thick, creamy mint chutney made with hung-yogurt cottage cheese, so it clings to grilled food without running. It's fresh with mint and coriander and gently spicy. Serve it with barbecued paneer and vegetable skewers, tikka, kebabs and corn on the cob.
Crisp mixed lettuce with creamy avocado, juicy orange segments, cubes of feta and roasted nuts, dressed with olive oil, lemon and herbs and finished with grated parmesan. It's a quick, elegant salad for a dinner party or a light lunch. Toss the avocado in lemon juice first so it stays green.
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.
A smooth, creamy cauliflower soup flavoured with nutmeg and Parmesan, with little bow-tie pasta stirred through. It's served with crisp, curled melba toast sprinkled with Parmesan and paprika, so it makes a light meal on its own.
Home-made tortilla chips from a simple maize and wheat dough, rolled thin, cut into triangles and fried until crisp. They're lighter and fresher than packet chips. Serve them with salsa, sour cream dip or avocado dip, or use them for nachos.
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.
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.
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.
An everyday curry powder that's built on coriander seeds, so it's fragrant rather than fiery. Fennel, star anise and bay give it a sweet warmth, with just two red chillies for heat. Season curries with it when you want flavour without much heat.
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 home-made stand-in for golden syrup, from sugar caramelised until amber and boiled with water to a two-thread syrup. Use it in any recipe that needs golden syrup, such as flapjacks, biscuits and treacle tarts.
The michelada is the weekend drink of Mexico, poured at beach bars in Mazatlán, cantinas in Mexico City and backyard carne asadas on Sunday afternoons, and it is a drink for adults only. A light Mexican-style lager is mixed with plenty of lime, a dash of hot sauce, a little soy sauce and Worcestershire sauce, over ice in a glass rimmed with chilli salt, so it is sour, salty, savoury and very refreshing. Most Worcestershire sauce contains anchovies, so buy a vegetarian Worcestershire sauce. For an alcohol-free version, use alcohol-free lager or sparkling water with a little tomato juice; it tastes almost the same. The common mistake is adding the beer too fast: it foams up over the seasoning and the glass overflows. Tilt the glass and pour slowly. Drink responsibly. Chef's tip: chill the glass in the freezer for 15 minutes; the rim sets crisply and the drink stays cold to the last sip.
In the Bahamas johnnycake is not a pancake but a golden pan bread, baked in a skillet or tin and sliced warm in Nassau homes and Out Island kitchens, at breakfast with stew fish or alongside conch chowder and peas and rice. The dough is a rich, lightly sweet mix of flour, butter, milk and a little sugar, closer to a soft scone than a yeast bread. It contains wheat and milk. The common mistake is kneading it like bread, which makes it tough; mix just until it comes together. It is done when the top is deep golden and a skewer in the centre comes out clean, and the bottom sounds hollow when tapped. Chef's tip: brush the top with melted butter the moment it comes out of the oven for a soft, shiny crust.
S'mores were printed in an American scouts' handbook in the 1920s, and they are still the first thing children learn to make round a summer campfire, from Yosemite campsites to backyard fire pits on the Fourth of July. A marshmallow is toasted on a stick until golden and gooey, then squashed with a square of chocolate between two sweet wholemeal crackers so the heat melts the chocolate. The name is short for 'some more', which is what everyone asks for. Most marshmallows contain gelatine, which is not vegetarian, so buy marshmallows labelled vegetarian or vegan. They contain wheat and milk, and possibly soya. Melted marshmallow is very hot, so supervise children closely. The usual mistake is holding the marshmallow in the flames, where it catches fire and stays cold inside; toast it slowly over glowing embers, turning all the time. Chef's tip: set the chocolate on the bottom cracker near the fire while you toast, so it is already softening when the hot marshmallow lands.
No Cuban lunch counter in Havana, Santiago or Miami serves ropa vieja, picadillo or black beans and rice without a few maduros on the side. Plantains are left until the skin is almost completely black, when the flesh turns soft and sugary, then sliced on the diagonal and fried slowly until the edges caramelise and the middle is creamy. The mistake is using yellow plantains: they stay starchy and dry, so wait until the skins are mostly black and the fruit gives when pressed. They are done when deep amber on both sides and a knife slides in with no resistance. Chef's tip: fry over a medium heat, not high; the sugar in ripe plantain burns before the centre softens if the oil is too hot.
In the United States a grilled cheese is pan-fried, not grilled, and it is the lunch of school canteens, diner counters and snowy days at home, almost always dunked into a bowl of tomato soup. Buttered bread toasts slowly in the pan until deep golden and crisp, while the cheese inside melts into long, gooey strings. It contains wheat and milk. Cheddar is often made with animal rennet, so choose one labelled vegetarian if that matters to you. The usual mistake is a heat that is too high: the bread burns before the cheese has melted. Keep it at medium-low and be patient. Chef's tip: grate the cheese instead of slicing it, and press the sandwich with a lid or a second pan for the first minute; grated cheese melts evenly right to the edges.
Fresas con crema is sold in plastic cups at juice stands, markets and park carts all over Mexico, especially in Irapuato, Guanajuato, the country's strawberry capital, and kids beg for it on hot afternoons and after school. Ripe strawberries are folded through a cold, silky cream sweetened with condensed milk and vanilla, so the juice bleeds pink into the cream. The usual mistake is mixing it too early: after an hour the berries weep and the cream turns thin and watery. Mix it up to 20 minutes before eating. Use the sweetest, reddest berries you can find; pale ones taste sour however much sugar you add. Chef's tip: chill the bowl and both creams for 30 minutes first, then whisk only briefly; cold cream thickens slightly on its own and clings to the fruit.
Across Mexico, from Oaxaca market stalls to family kitchens in Guadalajara, warm corn tortillas arrive at every meal of the day, stacked in a cloth-lined basket next to beans, eggs, stews and salsas. Made fresh, they are soft and pliable with a toasty, sweet corn smell that packaged ones never have, and a good one puffs up like a balloon on the comal. You need only masa harina (nixtamalised corn flour, not cornmeal or polenta), warm water and a pinch of salt. The common mistake is a dough that is too dry: the edges crack when pressed and the tortillas turn stiff as cardboard. The dough should feel like soft play dough and not stick to your palm. They are done when both sides have pale brown freckles and the tortilla has puffed. Chef's tip: stack the cooked tortillas in a clean tea towel inside a lidded basket or pot; they steam each other and stay soft for an hour.
Diós tészta, walnut noodles, is a sweet main course that Hungarians eat for lunch or a quick dinner, often after a bowl of bean or vegetable soup, and it is a fixture of Budapest school canteens. Hot ribbon pasta is tossed with melted butter, then with ground walnuts and sugar, so the nuts cling in a sweet, toasty coat. Children adore it; it contains nuts, so mind allergies. The common mistake is using old walnuts, which taste bitter and spoil the dish; taste one before you start. Chef's tip: toast the ground walnuts in the dry pan for a minute until they smell rich, and a little lemon zest keeps the sweetness lively.
Penne al gorgonzola is the weeknight dinner of Milan and the Piedmontese towns around Novara, where gorgonzola is made: the soft, sweet dolce kind melted with a little butter and milk into a pale, tangy sauce that coats every tube of pasta. It needs only a green salad alongside. Gorgonzola is traditionally made with animal rennet; for a vegetarian dinner choose a soft blue cheese labelled vegetarian. The most common mistake is letting the sauce boil, which splits the cheese into oil and grainy curds. Chef's tip: drain the penne a minute early and let it finish cooking in the sauce, so it drinks up the flavour instead of sitting under it.
Grießbrei is the soft, sweet semolina pudding that German and Austrian families from Bavaria to Vienna eat warm as a light supper on cold evenings, especially when children are tired or someone is under the weather. Semolina is rained into hot milk and stirred until thick and velvety, then topped with cinnamon sugar, a knob of butter or stewed fruit. The classic mistake is tipping the semolina in all at once, which makes lumps that never smooth out. Chef's tip: take it off the heat while it still looks a little runny, because it keeps thickening on the plate.
Karadaiyan Nombu falls on the day the Tamil month of Maasi turns into Panguni, and married women in Tamil Nadu fast for their husbands' long life in memory of Savitri, who won her husband back from Yama. The fast is broken at an auspicious minute with these adai, offered with a lump of unmelted butter and tied on with a yellow thread. The rice flour is roasted, cooked into a dough with jaggery, coconut and boiled cowpeas, shaped into small discs with a hole in the middle and steamed. A savoury batch with green chilli, ginger and curry leaves is usually made alongside. Common mistake: using raw rice flour, which makes the adai sticky; roast it until it is warm and flows like sand, and the adai are done when they turn glossy and no longer stick to a wet finger. Chef's tip: for the savoury version, swap the jaggery for 2 chopped green chillies, a little grated ginger and a mustard-seed tempering.
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.
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.
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.
Thavala vadai belongs to the old Brahmin kitchens of Thanjavur and Kumbakonam, where it is fried for the afternoon 'tiffin' or for guests on festival days. Four dals and a little rice are ground coarse with pepper, then studded with tiny coconut cubes, so each vadai is rough and pebbly outside and soft and nutty within. The usual mistake is grinding it as smooth as medu vada batter; thavala vadai wants a gritty, semolina-like texture, so keep the grinder on pulse. Chef's tip: shape them small and thick with a dent in the middle using your thumb, so the centre cooks through before the outside darkens.
Pana Sankranti, in mid-April, is Odisha's new year and its own version of Baisakhi, and the day is kept with two cooling things: a jug of pana, the sweet bel-fruit drink, and a bowl of chhatua. The chhatua is a mix of roasted flours, usually chana, barley and rice, stirred with curd, ripe banana, jaggery and fresh coconut into a soft, sustaining mash that needs no cooking on a hot day. It is mild, sweet and nutty, and many families offer it first at the household shrine. Common mistake: making it watery; add the curd a little at a time and stop when it is like thick porridge that just holds a spoon. Chef's tip: roast your own flours in a dry pan until they smell of toast; ready-made sattu works, but freshly roasted flour has a far deeper flavour.
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.
On the first morning of Losar, Tibetan and Sherpa households in the Himalaya and in Kathmandu greet the year with a bowl of dresil: rice tossed with melted butter, sugar, raisins and droma, the small sweet roots of a wild silverweed gathered on the high pastures. It is eaten with butter tea before visits begin, and a little is offered at the family shrine first. The rice is fluffy and glossy, gently sweet and buttery, with chewy bursts of fruit. The common mistake is cooking the sugar in with the rice, which makes it sticky and likely to catch; cook the rice plain, then fold everything in. It is ready when every grain is coated and separate and the raisins have plumped. Chef's tip: droma is hard to find outside Tibetan shops; chopped dried dates and a few toasted cashews give a similar sweet, earthy chew.
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.
When the new rice is in and the date palms start giving their winter sap, Bangladeshi families make pitha for Nabanna and through the cold months, and chushi pitha is the one grandmothers roll by hand, an evening of small grain-shaped strands rubbed out between the palms. The strands are cooked in reduced milk with bay leaf and cardamom, then sweetened with fresh khejur gur, giving a pale caramel pudding with soft, slightly chewy pieces. The common mistake is adding the jaggery while the milk is still boiling: it can curdle it, so take the pan off the heat and let it cool for a few minutes first. The strands are done when they float, turn translucent at the edges and are soft right through. Chef's tip: let the rolled strands dry on a tray for 15 minutes before cooking; they hold their shape instead of dissolving into the milk.
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.
In late winter, around the time of Holi, village children in rural Punjab pull up bunches of green chickpea plants from the edge of the field and throw them onto a small fire of dry stalks. Once the pods blacken they rake them out and shell them hot, blowing on their fingers, and the bright green peas inside taste smoky, sweet and nutty. At home you can do the same in a heavy iron kadai. The mistake is leaving them on until the pods are fully burnt; by then the peas inside are dry and hard. Stop when the pods are blistered black in patches and the peas are just tender. Chef's tip: a pinch of salt and chilli with a squeeze of lemon on the shelled peas turns them into a quick chaat.
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.
Kurkuri bhindi is the dhaba and wedding-buffet side that disappears first: thin, slivered okra tossed in a dry coat of besan, chilli and amchur and fried until it shatters. In Punjabi and Delhi homes it is served as a tea-time snack, scattered over dal-chawal or eaten by the handful while the rest of dinner cooks. The mistake almost everyone makes once is washing the okra and slicing it while still damp: the coating turns into gluey lumps and the strips go limp. Wash it an hour ahead and dry it completely. Chef's tip: toss the slivers with the spices first and add the flours only just before frying, so the okra cannot release liquid into the coating.
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.
Thatte idli comes from Bidadi, on the old highway from Bengaluru to Mysuru, where roadside hotels steam plate-sized idlis on round thatte trays from dawn for travellers' breakfast. Poha in the batter makes them soft and spongy, and they are served with a knob of butter melting on top, coconut chutney and a thin sambar or podi. A common mistake is a stiff batter: thatte idlis need a looser, pourable batter than ordinary idli or they turn dense in the wide plate. Chef's tip: grind the urad dal with ice-cold water until it is light and almost doubled; that air carries the whole idli.
Nippattu is the Karnataka tea-time cracker, sold in Iyengar bakeries from Bengaluru to Mysuru and fried at home for Gowri-Ganesha and Deepavali. Unlike the thin, delicate Tamil thattai, nippattu is thicker and chunkier, packed with crushed peanuts and roasted gram (hurigadale) so every bite crunches with nuts. It's spiced with chilli, hing and curry leaves and keeps for weeks. A common mistake is skipping the hot oil rubbed into the flour; without it the crackers turn hard instead of short and crisp. Chef's tip: prick each disc a few times with a fork so it fries flat and crisp right through instead of puffing.
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.
Batasa come from the wood-fired Parsi bakeries of Navsari, Udvada and Surat, where they are baked low and slow until dry and pale gold, then sold by the tin for morning chai. They are domed, flaky-crumbly and buttery, with just a whisper of salt and sugar, and they are made to be dunked. Bakeries traditionally raise the dough with toddy; this home version uses yogurt and a little baking powder for the same light, short crumb. The usual mistake is baking them hot and fast, which browns the outside while the inside stays soft; batasa need a long, gentle bake to dry right through. Chef's tip: switch the oven off at the end and leave the biscuits inside with the door ajar for 20 minutes so they crisp completely.
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.
Arisi upma is the old Tamil country breakfast and evening dinner, especially in Tirunelveli and Madurai homes, made from rice and toor dal coarsely broken at home and cooked in a heavy pot. The best part is the 'kaanthal', the crisp golden crust that forms on the bottom, which families fight over. The mistake is too much water, which gives a sticky porridge; use about two and a half times the volume of the broken rice. Chef's tip: once cooked, leave it on the lowest heat with a lid for ten minutes, undisturbed, to build that crust.
On Vinayaka Chaturthi, Tamil kitchens make two kinds of kozhukattai side by side: sweet ones with coconut and jaggery, and these savoury ulundu kozhukattai, filled with a crumbly, peppery urad dal 'usili'. The thin rice-flour shell turns translucent when steamed, and the filling is soft, savoury and fragrant with curry leaves. The mistake is a wet filling: if the ground dal isn't steamed and then crumbled dry in the pan, it leaks and the shells split. Chef's tip: make the shells as thin as you can while still holding the filling; thick shells taste stodgy.
Every Chennai beach stall and every Tamil wedding tiffin has a tray of vazhakkai bajji, long thin slices of raw plantain in a soft, puffy, red-tinged coat. They are best eaten minutes out of the oil around 5 pm, with coconut chutney and a tumbler of coffee. The mistake is slicing too thick: the banana stays starchy and hard while the batter overbrowns, so cut slices 2–3 mm thin, ideally on a mandoline, lengthways. Chef's tip: a spoonful of rice flour and a pinch of hot oil whisked into the batter makes the coating crisp outside and keeps it from going soggy.
Churuttu, 'the roll', is a wedding sweet of the Syrian Christian families of central Kerala, around Kottayam, Pala and Changanassery, where aunts sit together for a day before the wedding shaping hundreds of these cones for the guests to take home. Paper-thin rice wafers are rolled into cones, filled with a sweet crumble of roasted rice flour, coconut and cardamom, sealed and dried until crisp. They shatter at the first bite and melt to a sweet, toasty dust. The mistake is a wet filling; damp coconut softens the cones within a day, so the filling must be roasted dry. Chef's tip: work with one wafer at a time and keep the rest under a damp cloth; they crack if they dry before rolling.
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.
In Jain homes in Ahmedabad, Palanpur and Mumbai's Gujarati neighbourhoods, raw green banana takes the place of potato, so these vada are the Jain answer to batata vada, made for paryushan-season tea and for guests. The bananas are boiled, mashed and spiced with dry ginger, green chilli, lemon and a little sugar, rolled into balls, dipped in gram flour batter and fried. They taste much like batata vada but are slightly firmer, sweeter and fruity. There is no onion, garlic, potato or fresh ginger in this version. The common mistake is overboiling the bananas until they are waterlogged; the filling then goes sticky and the vada split in the oil, so cook them only until a knife slides in. Chef's tip: mash the bananas while warm with a potato masher, not a blender, so the filling stays light.
Set dosa is a Bengaluru darshini breakfast, ordered as a 'set' of three small, thick, pancake-soft dosas served with vegetable sagu and coconut chutney, often before the office rush or at a lazy Sunday table. Poha and a high share of rice make the batter rise into a holey, spongy dosa that's cooked on one side only. A common mistake is spreading it thin like a crisp dosa; pour it and just nudge it into a thick round so it stays soft. Chef's tip: cover the dosa for a minute while it cooks so the steam sets the top and the holes stay open.
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