3468 vegetarian recipes cooked without onion or garlic, as in Swaminarayan and sattvic kitchens, with no meat, fish, eggs or alcohol. Each has photos, step-by-step instructions and cook times. The quickest, Apfelschorle, takes 2 minutes. Most take around 45 minutes.
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A quick, rich sweet of dates melted down in butter, then mixed with milk chocolate, chopped nuts, coconut and rice krispies and pressed into a tray. It's chewy, chocolatey and crisp. Makes about 30 diamonds; keep them in the fridge and serve cold.
A warming hot punch of black tea, fresh orange and grapefruit juice, star anise and brown sugar: just the thing when you feel a cold coming on. For a sweeter punch, use grape juice instead of grapefruit juice, with 1 teaspoon of lemon juice and honey to taste. Serve hot, decorated with orange peel spirals.
A thick, fragrant blend of ripe guava, mango and banana, boosted with a spoonful of guava powder from the health shop. The book calls it a modern-day vitality drink, drawing on guava's long use in traditional Indian medicine. Serve it well chilled; sieve it if you don't like the little guava seeds.
Finely ground oats cooked in milk and water until smooth and creamy, with a little sieved banana for natural sweetness. A warm, filling breakfast for babies of 4–8 months. Grind a batch of oats in advance and keep it in a jar.
Small pasta shapes cooked right in a soft sauce of aubergine, courgette, pepper, mushrooms, sweetcorn and tomato. It's blended for babies of 8–18 months; as they grow, blend it less or not at all. Serve warm.
A jewel-bright juice of strawberries, peaches, red grapes, kiwi, pomegranate and passion fruit. Sweet, tangy and full of fruit, it's a treat for children and grown-ups alike. Serve cold or at room temperature.
A chocolatey-tasting shake made with carob powder instead of chocolate, blended with milk, yogurt, honey, fresh mint and ground brazil nuts. Creamy and lightly minty. Serve cold.
Flaked rice (pauva) simmered in milk until soft and creamy, then stirred with apple puree and a little ground almond. A comforting afternoon meal for babies of 8–18 months. Almond essence is strong: a tiny drop is plenty.
A smooth, savoury first meal of rice with carrot, new potatoes and spinach, pureed with baby milk for babies of 4–8 months. Use plain, unsalted cooked rice. Make it a little thicker as your baby gets used to texture.
A smooth, naturally sweet puree of gently stewed apple and pear, one of the first foods for babies of 4–8 months. The fruit cooks in a little unsweetened apple juice, so nothing else is needed. Serve it lukewarm; any leftover keeps covered in the fridge for a day, or freezes well in small pots.
Soft mashed potato and mixed vegetables, shaped into little cakes and coated in wholemeal crumbs and ground almonds, then shallow-fried until golden. They're made for babies of 8–18 months and are easy for small hands to hold. Serve them cooled, with a little tomato ketchup for dipping. Leave out the almonds if anyone in the family has a nut allergy.
Fresh watermelon juice blended with banana, plain yogurt, a little honey and ice into a light, pink smoothie. Sweet, cooling and creamy. Serve chilled.
Crisp fennel juiced with sweet apples, pears and a carrot, giving a fresh juice with a gentle aniseed flavour. Serve it chilled.
A small banana baked in a foil parcel with butter, lemon, a pinch of sugar and cinnamon until soft and fragrant. A warm, easy pudding for babies of 8–18 months, mashed or left in soft pieces for older babies. Serve warm, not hot.
A soft, golden hash of butter beans, chickpeas, French beans, carrot and potato, mashed together and pan-fried until crisp on both sides. It's a filling, protein-rich meal for babies and toddlers, moistened with a little home-made vegetable stock. Remember to soak the butter beans and chickpeas the night before.
A vivid pink smoothie of sweet apples and cooked beetroot blended with plain yogurt. Earthy, fruity and creamy at the same time. Serve chilled, garnished with diced apple and fresh mint.
A sweet, energising juice of apples, pears and kiwi fruit with a stick of celery, all used unpeeled for extra goodness. It's naturally sweet, so it needs no sugar. Serve well chilled.
A smooth, tangy chutney of unripe mango, red pepper and hot red chillies, sweetened with jaggery and flavoured with cumin. It's a no-cook chutney with a lovely bright colour. Serve it with dhokla, bhajias, samosas or as a sandwich spread.
Raw cauliflower florets marinated in a little oil and vinegar, then mixed with sweet dates, banana, crisp red apples and celery on crunchy salad leaves. It is served with a creamy orange and mustard yogurt dressing. The mix of sweet, crunchy and tangy makes it a refreshing side for a summer lunch.
A smooth, cooling green chutney of fresh mint, coriander and green chillies blended into yogurt with a dash of vinegar. It's the classic partner for tikka, kebabs, samosas and pakoras, and also good drizzled over chaat.
A creamy, sweet-and-tangy raita of chilled yogurt with banana, grated cucumber and pepper, spiced with mustard, cumin and a little chilli. It's cooling next to spicy food: serve it with biryani or dhosa ladoo. For a festive version, add finely chopped apple and pomegranate seeds.
A tropical salad of julienned mango, cucumber and cabbage with thin slices of fresh coconut and toasted pumpkin seeds. The dressing is sweet and hot with chilli flakes and parsley. Choose firm, semi-ripe mangoes so the strips hold their shape, and add them at the last minute.
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 'royal' chutney of fresh and dried red chillies with toasted urad dal, cumin, coriander and sesame seeds, curry leaves and fresh coriander, ground smooth with tangy tamarind juice. It's hot, sour and nutty, with a little sweetness. Serve a spoonful with idli, dhosa, farsan and rice dishes.
A dry, coarse chutney powder of ground cumin, chilli, salt and asafoetida, with a few drops of lemon and oil and some fresh coriander, air-dried for a few days. Sprinkle a pinch over khichdi, dahi, chaat, bhel or buttered toast. Kept airtight, it lasts for weeks.
A fresh, juicy chutney of grated tomato, cucumber and carrot with crushed chillies, ketchup and coriander. It's the bright, tangy salad-chutney served with Kenyan-style maru bhajia (crispy potato bhajias). It needs no cooking and takes minutes to make.
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.
Bread rounds baked in a muffin tray into crisp little baskets, filled with a gently spiced mixture of corn, potato, carrot and coconut. Topped with crushed crisps and dots of red, green and tamarind chutney, they make a pretty party starter.
Small cubes of potato tossed in chilli, lemon and salt, dusted with maize, wheat and gram flour and deep fried until crunchy. Fry them in small portions so each bhajiya stays separate. Serve hot with chandu bhajiya chutney.
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Order breakfast anywhere from a Brooklyn diner to a Nevada truck stop and the plate comes with hash browns: a thin, wide cake of shredded potato fried on the griddle until the outside is shatteringly crisp and the inside is soft. They are made from just potato, oil, salt and pepper, so they are naturally vegan and gluten free. Serve with pancakes, fried eggs or beans, and a bottle of hot sauce on the side. The mistake nearly everyone makes is skipping the squeeze: wet potato steams, sticks and turns grey and soggy. Wring the shreds hard in a clean tea towel until no more water drips out. Leave the cake alone in the pan, too; it only crisps if you do not keep stirring it. Chef's tip: rinse the shredded potato in cold water before squeezing; washing off the surface starch stops the shreds clumping into a gluey mass.
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.
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.
Mandioca frita, called aipim in Rio and macaxeira in the Northeast, is a must at Brazilian botecos (neighbourhood bars), served in a basket with lime and a little hot sauce on Friday nights, or alongside picanha at a Sunday churrasco. Fat cassava batons are boiled until tender, then fried until the outside crackles and the inside is fluffy, like the best chips you have ever had. Cassava must never be eaten raw: peel off all the brown bark and pink layer and boil it until completely soft right through. The usual mistake is frying it before it is fully tender; it stays hard and woody in the middle. Boil until a knife meets no resistance and the batons start to split. Chef's tip: let the boiled cassava cool and dry completely on a rack, or even chill it overnight; dry cassava fries crisper and splatters less.
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.
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.
Ma you mian xian is a warming Taiwanese home bowl, cooked on chilly evenings across the island and famously fed to new mothers to restore their strength. Fine wheat noodles called mian xian (misua) are tossed with plenty of ginger fried slowly in dark, nutty black sesame oil and seasoned with a little soy. Many families add a splash of rice wine; this version leaves it out. The common mistake is frying the ginger in hot sesame oil, which turns bitter fast; keep the heat low and let the ginger curl and brown gently. Chef's tip: misua is salty already, so rinse it briefly after boiling and taste before adding any extra soy.
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.
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.
Bhavnagar is Gujarat's gathiya town, and its namkeen shops sell these thick, knobbly sticks by the kilo, warm in the morning with fried chillies and papaya sambharo, and boxed up for relatives abroad. They are thicker than any sev, with a rough, bubbly surface from being rubbed through a flat perforated gathiya jharo (or pressed through the largest disc of a sev press), and the dough is beaten with oil and soda so they stay light and crunchy rather than hard. Ajwain and coarse black pepper give them their warmth. The common mistake is a stiff dough: it will not pass through the holes and the gathiya come out dense. Chef's tip: beat the oil, water and soda together until white and frothy before adding the flour; that is what makes them airy.
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.
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.
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.
Pidi kozhukattai, literally 'fist dumplings', is a Tamil evening tiffin and a Vinayaka Chaturthi offering in homes that make both sweet and savoury kozhukattai. The rice flour is cooked in tempered, spiced water until it forms a dough, then squeezed in your fist so each piece carries the print of your fingers, and steamed to a soft, light bite. The mistake is adding all the flour at once to cold water; it lumps and never cooks evenly, so stir it into boiling water in a stream. Chef's tip: shape them while the dough is still warm, with oiled palms; cold dough cracks.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Hara bhara kebab is the vegetarian starter of Delhi's Punjabi restaurants and every wedding cocktail hour, a bright green patty of spinach, peas and potato with ginger and green chilli, pan-fried until crusty and topped with a single cashew. It is soft inside, crisp outside and mild enough for children, served with mint chutney before a big meal. The usual mistake is not squeezing the blanched spinach dry: the mix turns wet, the patties won't hold and they fall apart in the pan. Wring it out in your fist until no more water comes. Chef's tip: dip the spinach in iced water right after blanching; it keeps the patties a vivid green instead of khaki.
In Surat and the towns of South Gujarat, winter means undhiyu, and undhiyu means a big batch of fried methi muthia. These little finger-shaped dumplings of fresh fenugreek, gram flour and coarse wheat flour are crisp outside and soft inside, sweet-sour from sugar and lemon, with the pleasant bitterness of methi. Many families fry extra to eat as a snack with tea or with green chutney. The common mistake is frying in oil that is too hot; the outside browns while the centre stays raw and pasty, so fry them at a steady medium heat. Chef's tip: a little hot oil rubbed into the flour (moyan) is what makes them crumbly-crisp rather than hard.
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.
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.
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.
On Divali evening in Mauritius, Hindu households set out clay lamps and then walk plates of sweets round to their neighbours, Hindu, Muslim, Creole and Chinese alike; gato moutaille, gato cravate and gato zinzli are almost always on the plate. Moutaille (from the Bhojpuri mithai) are short ropes of soft dough twisted into knots or spirals, fried until crisp and soaked in a cardamom syrup so the outside is sticky and the inside stays slightly chewy. Common mistake: syrup that is too thick, which crystallises into a white crust; cook it only to one-string consistency, when a drop pulled between finger and thumb makes a single thread. Chef's tip: dip the moutaille while they are hot and the syrup is warm, then lift them out after a minute so they stay crisp.
Every tea stall from Ludhiana to Delhi's Kamla Nagar has a tray of bread pakoras by ten in the morning, and school children and office clerks eat them standing up, squashed into a paper plate with ketchup and fried green chillies. Two slices of soft white bread hold a layer of green chutney and spicy aloo, and the whole sandwich is cut into triangles, dunked in a thick besan batter and fried until it puffs and crisps. The common mistake is a thin, watery batter: it soaks straight into the bread and the pakora comes out heavy and oily. Keep the batter as thick as idli batter and dip quickly. Chef's tip: use bread that is a day old, which holds its shape in the batter far better than fresh.
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