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No onion, no garlic recipes (Swaminarayan and sattvic)

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3470 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.

Filter these by time, diet or cuisine · Make No onion & garlic your diet to see only these recipes everywhere on the site.

ChiroteLayered rose pastries

Chirote are what a Maharashtrian or Kannadiga family makes to show off at a wedding or Diwali. Thin sheets of maida dough are spread with satha, ghee whipped with rice flour, stacked, rolled into a log and sliced, so each piece opens in the hot fat like a many-petalled flower. Done well they shatter when you bite them, light and buttery, with sweetness only from the dusting of cardamom sugar on top. In Pune they appear on the faral platter beside karanji and anarse; in Karnataka the chiroti is often served at weddings drenched in warm saffron-almond milk. This takes patience and a cool kitchen, so set aside an unhurried morning. Chef's tip: whip the satha until it is white and fluffy like whipped cream; a dense, oily paste won't keep the layers apart and they fuse into a single chewy disc.

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Bhogichi bhajiWinter vegetable and peanut stew

Bhogi, the day before Makar Sankranti, is a day of plenty in Maharashtra, and the lunch to match is this thick mixed bhaji made from everything the winter market offers: green chickpeas (harbhara), fresh field beans (pavta and ghevda), carrots, small brinjals, green peas, ber and sugarcane pieces in some homes. Peanuts and sesame are crushed into it for richness, and the spice is goda masala, the sweet-smoky Maharashtrian blend. It is served with bajra bhakri spread with white butter or sesame, a lump of jaggery and a piece of radish. The taste is earthy, slightly sweet and warming. The mistake is using too much water: it should be a thick, almost dry curry that coats the vegetables. Gluten-free if your goda masala has no wheat-cut asafoetida in it; check the label. Chef's tip: add a spoon of jaggery and a little tamarind at the end; that sweet-sour finish is what makes it taste like Bhogi.

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Katachi amtiSweet-sour chana dal stock curry

When Maharashtrian homes cook chana dal for the puran on Holi, the cooking liquid is drained off before the dal is sweetened, and nothing goes to waste: that starchy, nutty stock, the kat, becomes katachi amti. Tempered with mustard, cumin and curry leaves, then simmered with roasted dry coconut, goda masala, tamarind and jaggery, it turns into a thin, hot, sweet-and-sour dal that is poured over puran poli or drunk from a bowl alongside it. The spice balances the rich sweet bread perfectly, which is why the two always appear together on Holi and Gudi Padwa thalis. If you are not making puran poli, cook 150 g chana dal in 1 litre of water until soft, drain off the liquid for this and use the dal for something else. Use gluten-free asafoetida and a goda masala made without wheat for a gluten-free amti. Chef's tip: keep it thin, like rasam; it is meant to soak into the poli, not sit on it.

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Murmura ladooPuffed rice jaggery balls

On Uttarayan, the whole of Ahmedabad climbs onto its rooftops to fly kites from dawn to dusk, and the steel dabbas that come up the stairs are full of chikki, til ladu and these mamra na ladu. Puffed rice is crisped in a pan, then tossed in jaggery cooked to the hard-crack stage and pressed quickly into balls that crunch loudly and taste of caramel. Children love them, they cost almost nothing and they keep for weeks. In North India the same sweet is made for Lohri and Sankranti as murmure ke laddu. The common mistake is undercooking the jaggery: the ladoos then turn chewy and soft after a day. A drop in cold water must snap cleanly. Grease your hands with oil and a splash of water to keep them vegan. Chef's tip: shape them fast and with wet, oiled hands, a few at a time; the syrup sets within a minute and the last balls crumble if you dawdle.

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SannasSteamed rice cakes

Sannas are to a Goan Catholic feast what idli is to a Chennai breakfast: soft, pillowy steamed rice cakes, made for Christmas, weddings and village feast days to mop up sorpotel, xacuti or a coconut curry. They are fluffier and slightly sweeter than idli, because ground coconut and a little sugar go into the rice batter, and they are traditionally risen with fresh coconut toddy (sur). This version uses dried yeast in place of toddy, so it contains no alcohol, and the long overnight ferment still gives the faint sour note that makes them taste right. Serve them warm with any Goan curry (vegetable xacuti or chana ross keep it vegetarian) or with jaggery and coconut milk for tea. The common mistake is overfilling the moulds; sannas rise a lot and spill over. Fill each two-thirds full. Chef's tip: grind a handful of cooked rice or soaked poha into the batter; it gives that cotton-soft, spongy texture that plain rice batter lacks.

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PeradGuava cheese

Goan grandmothers make perad when the guava trees are full in winter, and it sits in a tin on the dresser all through Christmas, cut into dark pink squares for the kuswar plate. The name and the method come from the Portuguese goiabada: ripe guavas are cooked, sieved, then boiled down with sugar and lime juice for the best part of an hour until the paste is thick, glossy and comes away from the pan in one mass. Set in a tray, it slices cleanly and tastes intensely of guava, sweet and slightly tart, with a chewy, jelly-like bite. Eat it on its own, with a piece of cheese, or on bread. The common mistake is stopping too early: it looks thick in the pan but stays soft and sticky once cool. Test a little on a cold plate; it should hold its shape and peel off cleanly. Chef's tip: choose fragrant pink-fleshed guavas and add a couple of slightly under-ripe ones; they carry more pectin and help it set.

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Mkatra foutraCoconut milk flatbread

Before dawn in Moroni, women set heavy pans over charcoal to make mkatra foutra, and during Ramadan stacks of it appear at every iftar table. The dough is soft and sticky, raised with yeast and made rich with coconut milk instead of water, then patted into a thick round, scattered with sesame and baked slowly in a covered pan. It comes out golden and speckled outside, with a fluffy, slightly sweet, faintly coconutty crumb. Tear it with sweet spiced tea for breakfast, or use it to mop up a fish curry or mtsolola. Chef's tip: keep the heat low and the lid on; a hot pan burns the base long before the thick middle has cooked through, which is the most common mistake.

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DoodhpakRice milk pudding

Doodhpak and puri is the classic pairing of a Gujarati jamanvar (feast), served at weddings, at Sharad Purnima and, in many families, cooked for pitru paksha (shraddh) to remember the ancestors. Unlike a thick kheer, doodhpak is pourable and silky: a small amount of rice cooks in milk that has been reduced by about a third, so each grain is soft but still whole, and the milk turns creamy and faintly golden from saffron. Charoli (chironji, small almond-like seeds), slivered almonds and pistachios give it bite, and cardamom with a little nutmeg (jaiphal) is the true Gujarati flavour. It thickens a lot as it cools, so take it off the heat while it still looks thin. Serve warm in winter or chilled in summer, with hot puris, dal-bhaat and a dry shaak. Common mistake: adding sugar before the rice is fully soft; the sugar stops the grains cooking and they stay chalky. Chef's tip: rub the soaked rice with a teaspoon of ghee before it goes in, so the grains stay separate and do not form lumps on the base.

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Gor keriSweet mango pickle

Gor keri is the sweet sister of methia keri, and in most Gujarati homes both jars are filled in the same week of May. The mango is salted and dried in the same way, but the masala is milder, with methi kuria, a little rai kuria, hing and Kashmiri chilli for colour, and the star is desi gor (jaggery). Over 4–6 days the jaggery melts in the mango's own juices into a dark, glossy syrup that covers the pieces and keeps them, so it needs only a little oil. It tastes sweet, sour and gently warm, and children who refuse spicy pickle eat it by the spoonful. Serve it with thepla, puri, khichdi, or dal-bhaat on a hot afternoon. Choose soft, dark, fresh jaggery that breaks easily; hard, pale blocks never fully melt. Common mistake: wet mango, which thins the syrup and invites mould. If the syrup still looks thin after a week, warm the pickle gently on the stove for 5 minutes and cool before jarring again. Use only a clean dry spoon, and throw it out if you see mould. Chef's tip: a teaspoon of lightly crushed fennel (variyali) adds a lovely fragrance, as many Kathiyawadi families do.

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Chakka pradhamanJackfruit coconut milk pudding

When the jackfruit trees of Kerala hang heavy in summer, families cook the ripe bulbs with jaggery and ghee into chakka varatti, a dark, sticky preserve that keeps for months. Come Onam in August or September, a jar of varatti is all that stands between them and chakka pradhaman, the richest payasam on the sadya leaf. The preserve is melted into thin coconut milk, simmered, then finished with the thick first pressing, dry ginger, cardamom and coconut slivers fried in ghee. It tastes of caramelised fruit and toffee, smooth and heavy, with crunchy bits of coconut. Serve it warm in small cups or on the leaf with a crushed pappadam and a slice of banana, as Malabar families do. Do not let the pot boil once the thick coconut milk goes in: it splits and turns oily. Chef's tip: if you have ready varatti, use 250 g and skip the first stage; the slow-cooked jackfruit is what gives the deep colour, so do not rush it.

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PathiriThin rice flatbreads

When the call for maghrib rings out in Kozhikode and Malappuram during Ramadan, families break the fast with dates and juice and then sit down to a stack of pathiri with chicken curry or mutton stew. Also called nice pathiri, these are the thinnest breads in Kerala: a dough of fine rice flour scalded with boiling water, rolled almost see-through, cooked on a dry tawa until they puff, and then dipped in thin coconut milk so they turn soft and silky. They taste mild and slightly sweet, made only to soak up gravy. The usual mistake is adding the flour to water that has stopped boiling; the dough stays crumbly and the pathiri crack. Rice flour has no gluten, so these suit anyone avoiding wheat. Serve them warm, folded into quarters, with any curry (they are vegan as made here; the curry is up to you). Chef's tip: knead the scalded dough while it is still hot, using the heel of your hand and a little oil, until it is as smooth as a baby's cheek.

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Arisi vadamSun-dried rice crisps

Chithirai and Vaikasi, the blazing months of a Tamil summer, are vadam season. In Madurai and the older Chennai neighbourhoods, terraces are covered with white sheets and rows of pressed rice-dough spirals, ribbons and stars, guarded from crows by whoever is on duty. Fried, the vadams puff into light, crunchy curls with a hint of chilli, cumin and lime. They come out on the side of a lunch of vatha kuzhambu, mor kuzhambu or rasam with rice, where they do the job a papad does in the north. The dough is a cooked rice-flour koozh, and it has to be pressed through the vadam (murukku) press while warm. Common mistake: making the koozh too thick; the press becomes impossible to turn and the strands break. It should feel like soft, sticky mashed potato. Chef's tip: lime juice is not just for flavour, it keeps the vadams bright white as they dry.

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Makhana kheerFox nut milk pudding

Most of India's makhana comes from the ponds of Mithila in north Bihar, where the lotus-like seeds are harvested by hand, roasted and popped into the airy white puffs sold everywhere. For fasts across North India, from Navratri to Janmashtami and Mahashivratri, makhana kheer is the sweet of choice because it needs no grain at all. The fox nuts are roasted in ghee until crisp, half crushed, then simmered in reducing milk, where they soften into a creamy, slightly chewy texture with a gentle nuttiness. Cardamom and a few nuts finish it. Serve it warm after a fasting meal, or chilled on hot evenings. It thickens as it cools, so loosen it with a splash of milk if needed. Chef's tip: roast the makhana until one crushes easily between your fingers; under-roasted puffs stay spongy and taste raw in the kheer.

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Amla murabbaGooseberry preserve

Murabba is the old North Indian way of keeping amla through the year, and a single gooseberry in syrup each morning is still the winter habit of many grandparents in Uttar Pradesh, Punjab and Rajasthan, who swear by it for digestion and colds. Fresh amla are sour and astringent; pricked, briefly steamed and simmered in sugar syrup, then left to steep overnight, they turn golden, translucent and soft, sweet with a sour heart and a gentle bitterness at the end. Cardamom, black pepper and saffron perfume the syrup. Eat one on its own, chopped into yogurt, or with a paratha. Choose large, firm, unblemished amla in November–February, when they are in season. Common mistake: steaming them too long; they split into segments and fall apart in the syrup. Steam only until they turn pale and the lines on the skin show clearly. Store in a dry, sterilised jar with the amla under the syrup, use a clean dry spoon, and discard if mould or fermentation bubbles appear. Chef's tip: the overnight rest is what lets the syrup soak right to the centre; reboil the syrup the next day so it thickens again.

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AmchurDry mango powder

Every Punjabi and UP kitchen keeps a jar of amchur next to the jeera and haldi, and the homemade version smells far fresher and sourer than most shop powder. In villages around Saharanpur and Malihabad, the raw mangoes that fall in early-summer storms are peeled, sliced and spread out to dry, and the brittle slices (amchur khatai) are either stored whole or ground. Amchur gives a fruity, mouth-puckering sourness without any liquid, which is why it goes into dry dishes where tomato or tamarind would make things soggy: bhindi masala, stuffed karela, samosa and kachori fillings, chole, chaat masala and pav bhaji masala. A kilo of mangoes gives roughly 100 g of powder. Common mistake: grinding slices that still bend; even slight moisture makes the powder clump into hard lumps in the jar. Chef's tip: choose small, rock-hard, very sour green mangoes with white flesh, not ones starting to turn yellow; riper fruit dries into a brown, sweetish powder.

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Rumali rotiHandkerchief-thin flatbread

Watch a rumali roti maker at a Mughlai stall in Old Delhi's Jama Masjid lanes or Lucknow's Aminabad and it looks like a magic trick: a ball of dough is flattened, tossed and stretched over the backs of the hands until it is translucent and almost a metre wide, then laid over a huge domed iron griddle for a few seconds. Rumal means handkerchief, and the finished bread is folded into quarters like one: silky, soft, slightly chewy and very thin. It is the bread for kebabs, korma, nihari and shahi paneer. At home, an upturned wok over a high flame does the job, and you can roll most of the way and stretch the last bit by hand. The dough is mainly maida with some atta, kept very soft and well rested. Common mistake: a firm or under-rested dough tears the moment you start stretching. Chef's tip: wipe the hot kadai with salted water before each roti; the hiss means it's hot enough, and the salt film stops the roti from sticking or blistering.

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VattayappamSteamed rice and coconut cake

In Syrian Christian homes in Kottayam and Thiruvalla, vattayappam is the sweet that appears on Christmas and Easter mornings and goes in boxes to every neighbour. A batter of raw rice and coconut is fermented until airy, sweetened, flavoured with cardamom and steamed in a round plate until it rises into a fluffy, honeycombed cake. It is light, moist and gently sweet, with a faint tang from the ferment. Grandmothers used kallu (coconut toddy) to ferment it; this recipe uses dried yeast instead and contains no alcohol at all. Eat it warm with tea, or alongside chicken stew for breakfast. The common mistake is a batter that is too thick: it steams heavy and dense. It should pour like thick pancake batter. Rice and coconut only, so it is naturally gluten-free and vegan. Chef's tip: cook a spoon of the soaked rice into a soft porridge (kurukku) and grind it in; that is what gives vattayappam its fine, silky crumb.

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Kuttu ki puriBuckwheat puris

Through the nine days of Navratri, Delhi and Punjabi kitchens switch wheat for kuttu, buckwheat flour, and these dark, earthy puris become the fast-day staple. Kuttu has no gluten, so boiled potato is mashed in to bind the dough and keep the puris soft; they puff less than wheat puris but come out crisp at the edges and tender inside, with a nutty, slightly bitter flavour. Rajgira or singhara flour can be used in exactly the same way. They are eaten with vrat ke aloo, kaddu ki sabzi or a bowl of sweet curd, and on Ashtami many temples serve them with halwa. Only sendha namak goes in, and no regular salt, spices or grains, so they suit strict fasts. Buckwheat is naturally gluten-free, but buy flour labelled gluten-free if that matters to you, as some is milled alongside wheat. Chef's tip: make the dough just before frying; kuttu dough goes sticky and wet if it sits.

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Upvasachi batata bhajiFasting potato stir-fry with peanuts

Ask anyone from Pune or Nashik what they eat on Ekadashi or a Navratri upvas, and this dry potato bhaji will be on the plate, usually next to sabudana khichdi or bhagar and a bowl of danyachi amti. Unlike North Indian vrat ke aloo, there is no tomato and no gravy: cubes of boiled potato are tossed in ghee or oil with cumin and crushed green chilli, then coated in coarsely ground roasted peanuts that cling to every piece. A little sugar and lemon give it the gentle sweet-sour lift that Maharashtrian cooking loves, and coriander and fresh coconut finish it. It is quick, filling and good cold in a tiffin too. Some families add curry leaves; others leave them out on strict fasts. Chef's tip: cool the potatoes completely before cubing; warm potatoes break into mash when you toss them.

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Inji puliGinger tamarind relish

On the banana leaf of an Onam sadya, inji puli takes the top left corner, a small dark spoonful that you dip into between rice, sambar and payasam to wake the palate up. Some call it puli inji; it is said to balance the 'hundred curries', and it is so loved that the old saying counts it as worth them all. Fresh ginger and green chillies are fried in coconut oil, then simmered in tamarind water with jaggery until thick and shiny, sweet first, then sour, then hot. It is made a day or two before the feast because it gets better as it rests. Serve a teaspoon with rice or curd rice; it also lifts a plain dosa. The usual mistake is browning the ginger too far, which makes the relish bitter; it should just turn golden. Gluten-free if you use gluten-free asafoetida or leave it out. Chef's tip: cook it down until the oil starts to appear at the edges; any wetter and it will not keep.

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Goan chana dal doceChana dal and coconut fudge

Doce de grão is one of the oldest sweets on the Goan Christmas kuswar platter, made in Catholic homes from Margao to Mapusa in the weeks before Christmas and also for weddings. Chana dal is boiled and ground with fresh coconut, then cooked with sugar in a wide pan, stirred constantly for the best part of an hour, until it turns into a thick, glossy dough that leaves the sides of the pan. Spread on a plate, cut into diamonds or pressed into small moulds, it is dense, fudgy and nutty, with a soft coconut flavour. Some families add a little ghee at the end for shine, and that makes it vegetarian rather than vegan. The usual mistake is taking it off the heat too soon: it stays sticky and never sets. Push a spoon through the middle; it is ready when the line holds and the mixture rolls into a ball. Chef's tip: grind the coconut and dal together while the dal is warm and without water; a wet paste takes twice as long to cook down.

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Kerala pappadamPlain lentil crisps

No sadya on a banana leaf in Thrissur or Kottayam is complete without a pappadam, and nobody eats it whole: it gets crushed over rice with parippu (dal) and ghee, or with payasam at the end of the meal. The Kerala kind is small, about the size of a saucer, and plain. There is no pepper or cumin, just urad dal, salt and pappada karam (papad khar), so the flavour is clean and lentilly. It is dried only briefly, which keeps it pliable, and when it hits hot coconut oil it puffs into a blistered, bubbly dome that shatters at a touch. That is the opposite of the big, peppery north Indian urad papad, which is sun-dried hard and roasted over a flame. Pappadam makers in Kerala are a whole craft community, but a home batch is very doable. Chef's tip: fry in coconut oil at about 180 °C and press the pappadam down for a second with a slotted spoon; it should puff in under 5 seconds and stay pale gold.

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ImartiSyrup-soaked lentil spirals

Imarti (jangiri in Tamil Nadu) is the stately cousin of jalebi: instead of a fermented flour batter it uses soaked urad dal, whipped until airy, piped into hot oil in a ring of small loops like a flower, and plunged into warm saffron syrup. The result is crisp at first and then pleasantly chewy, juicy inside but not soggy, and less tangy than jalebi. Halwais in Jaunpur, Agra and across Rajasthan fry it in desi ghee for weddings, Diwali and Holi, often served warm with rabri. This version is fried in oil so it stays vegan; use ghee if you prefer the halwai taste. The batter is the whole secret: grind the dal with very little water, then beat it by hand until a drop floats in water. Common mistake: frying on high heat, which browns the outside before the inside is set, so the imarti go limp in the syrup. Keep the oil at a gentle medium-low and expect them to take a couple of minutes. Chef's tip: practise the shape on a plate first; a ketchup bottle or a piping bag with a 3–4 mm round nozzle is far easier than the traditional cloth with a hole.

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Kadumanga acharBaby mango pickle

In late February the mango trees of Kerala drop tiny, thumb-sized green fruit with soft stones, and those tender mangoes (kanni manga) become one of the pickles on a Kerala sadya leaf, beside the inji puli and naranga. They are salted whole until they wrinkle and sit in their own brine, then dressed with a tempering of gingelly (sesame) oil, mustard, Kashmiri chilli, roasted fenugreek and hing. The brine turns thick and red, and the little mangoes stay crunchy and sour, with a bitter-sharp bite under the chilli. Kadumanga literally means strong mango, and in some sadya kitchens the name also covers a quicker pickle of finely cut raw mango in the same masala; this is the whole-fruit version. Eat a mango with kanji (rice gruel), curd rice or the sadya rice. Common mistake: pricking or cutting the mangoes; they must stay whole with a bit of stalk so the brine does not turn slimy. Keep them fully covered, use a dry spoon and discard if mould appears. Chef's tip: let the chilli and fenugreek cool in the oil before mixing; added hot, they scorch and taste bitter.

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Sabudana papadSago crisps

When Ashadhi Ekadashi, Navratri or a Monday fast comes round in Pune and Nashik, the upvas plate needs something crunchy, and these sago papads are it. They are made in the hottest weeks of summer: soaked sabudana is boiled into a thick, glassy porridge with cumin, green chilli and rock salt, spooned onto plastic sheets and left in the sun until it turns into thin, translucent discs. In hot oil they expand to nearly double, go snow-white and crackle when you bite. They sit next to sabudana khichdi, varyache tandul (sama rice) with peanut amti, or plain farali potato bhaji. The recipe keeps to fasting rules: no grains, no turmeric or asafoetida, and sendha namak (rock salt) instead of regular salt; fry them in groundnut oil or ghee, as your household allows. Chef's tip: cook the sago until there is not a single white dot left in the pearls; any uncooked centres stay hard and chalky after drying and never puff.

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Nolen gurer payeshRice pudding with date palm jaggery

In Bengal winter means nolen gur, the new date-palm jaggery that arrives in clay pots in December and January and smells of caramel and smoke. Kolkata sweet shops put it in everything, but at home the best use is a pot of payesh for Poush Sankranti or a birthday. Short, buttery gobindobhog rice is fried briefly in ghee with a bay leaf, then cooked slowly in full-fat milk until the grains break down and the milk reduces to a creamy, spoonable pudding. The jaggery goes in last and turns it a soft brown. Serve warm or cold, in small bowls or clay bhar, with pithe on the side. Common mistake: adding the gur while the milk is boiling, which almost always curdles it; take the pot off the heat and let it cool for a few minutes first. Chef's tip: no nolen gur? Use liquid date-palm jaggery (jhola gur) or a soft palm jaggery; cane jaggery works but the flavour is flatter.

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Breadfruit chipsBreadfruit crisps

Roadside kiosks on La Digue and the Victoria market sell paper cones of chips friyapen, still warm, to people walking back from the beach. Breadfruit fries up lighter than potato, with a faintly nutty, bready taste and a crunch that shatters, and islanders say whoever eats breadfruit will come back to the Seychelles. Use a fruit that is mature but still firm, with green skin and no soft patches; ripe, yielding breadfruit is too sweet and wet and the slices go leathery. Breadfruit has no gluten at all, so the chips suit coeliac friends if the oil is fresh. Eat them as they are with a cold drink, or alongside grilled fish and a sharp tomato chutney. Chef's tip: rub a little oil on your knife and hands before cutting, because the white sap is sticky and hard to wash off.

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KurdaiSun-dried wheat starch spirals

Kurdai is one of the great Marathi summer projects, the kind that takes the whole family and most of the week. In Marathwada and Khandesh, whole wheat grains are soaked for three days, ground, and strained to collect the fine starch (chik), which settles and slightly ferments. That starch is cooked into a glossy paste and pressed through a kurdai press into flat spirals that dry hard and translucent in the April sun. Fried, they swell into airy, rippled curls, crisp and almost melting, with a faint tang from the fermentation. Kurdai turns up on the side of a Maharashtrian thali with varan-bhaat, at festivals, and as a tea-time crunch. Note that it is made from wheat, so it is not gluten-free. Chef's tip: change the soaking water morning and evening without fail. Skip it and the wheat starts to smell sour and musty instead of clean and yeasty, and the kurdai will taste of it.

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Besan ladooGram flour sweet balls

Every North Indian and Gujarati kitchen has its besan ladoo argument: coarse or fine flour, boora or caster sugar, nuts or not. What nobody argues about is the roasting. The gram flour has to cook in ghee on a low flame for half an hour, going from a stiff lump to a loose, flowing paste the colour of sand, until the raw beany smell is gone and the kitchen smells like roasted peanuts. That patient roast gives a ladoo that is melt-in-the-mouth, faintly grainy and rich, never pasty. They are made for Diwali, offered to Ganesh on Chaturthi and packed for travellers because they keep for weeks. Use besan packed without wheat if you need it gluten-free. Chef's tip: let the roasted besan cool until just warm to the touch before the sugar goes in; hot besan melts the sugar and your ladoos slump into flat discs.

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PanchakhadyaCoconut, jaggery and poppy seed offering

Walk into a Maharashtrian home during the ten days of Ganeshotsav and the evening aarti ends with a spoonful of panchakhadya pressed into your palm. Pancha means five and khadya means things to eat: dry coconut (khobra), jaggery, poppy seeds, dry dates (kharik) and dry ginger (sunth) powder, all toasted and pounded together into a loose, sweet crumble. Some families add a few raisins or almonds, but the five are the heart of it. It is warming, chewy and gently spicy from the sunth, and it keeps for weeks, which is why it is made in a big tin at the start of the festival. Eat it by the spoon, or sprinkle over hot milk. The common mistake is grinding everything together into a sticky paste; the jaggery should be grated and stirred in at the end so the mixture stays crumbly. Chef's tip: dry kharik are rock hard; soak them for 10 minutes in hot water, then pat dry and chop, or buy ready kharik powder.

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Ellu bellaSesame and jaggery mix

'Ellu bella thindu olle maathadi': eat sesame and jaggery and speak only good words. On Sankranti morning, girls in Bengaluru and Mysuru dress in new silk and carry small steel plates of ellu bella, a sugarcane stick, a banana and a sugar figure (sakkare acchu) from house to house, a custom called ellu birodhu. The mix itself is uncooked once its parts are roasted: white sesame, tiny cubes of dry coconut and jaggery, peanuts and putani (roasted gram), sometimes with a few fried gram-dal sugar beads. It is crunchy, nutty and sweet in small bursts. Families make a kilo at a time to give away. The common mistake is mixing it while the sesame is still warm, which melts the jaggery and turns everything into a lump. Chef's tip: cut the copra and jaggery to the same small size as the peanuts so every spoonful has a bit of everything.

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Talniche modakFried coconut jaggery dumplings

Steamed ukadiche modak may be the star of Ganesh Chaturthi in Konkan homes, but across Pune, Nashik and Vidarbha the plate of twenty-one for Bappa is just as often fried. Talniche modak use a short dough of wheat flour and fine semolina, pleated by hand around the same coconut, jaggery and poppy-seed saran, then fried slowly until they turn pale gold and shatter when bitten. Because they are dry and crisp they travel well: they go into the steel dabba for relatives and last through all ten days of the festival. The filling is sticky and fragrant with cardamom and nutmeg, the shell flaky like a karanji. Serve them at room temperature with a cup of tea or as part of the naivedya thali. The usual mistake is frying in oil that is too hot, which browns the outside in a minute and leaves the inner pleats raw and doughy. Chef's tip: rub the ghee into the flour until it holds in a clump when pressed; that moyan is what makes the shell blister and flake rather than turn hard like a puri.

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PatraSteamed colocasia leaf rolls

Arbi leaves (colocasia, sold as patra or alu leaves in Indian shops) are on every farsan counter from Surat to Ahmedabad, and steamed patra is the one Gujarati mothers make on a Sunday when the leaves look good at the market. Several leaves are glued together with a thick besan paste that is sour with tamarind, sweet with jaggery and warm with ginger and chilli, then rolled, steamed, cooled and cut into spirals. A final vaghar of mustard, sesame and curry leaves gives a crisp edge. The same dish in Maharashtra is alu vadi, where the slices are usually fried. Patra is a must on a wedding or Diwali farsan plate and is good cold in a dabba too, with green chutney or nothing at all. Tamarind matters for more than taste: raw colocasia makes the throat itch, and the acid in the paste stops it, so never skip it. Common mistake: slicing the rolls while hot, when they crumble; let them cool completely first. Chef's tip: choose medium leaves without holes, and shave the thick back veins flat with a knife so the leaves lie flat and roll tight.

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Athela marchaQuick pickled green chillies

On a Gujarati table there is nearly always a small steel bowl of athela marcha beside the thali, the quick daily pickle that makes plain khichdi, dal-bhaat, thepla or a plate of fafda taste complete. Thick, mild chillies (Bhavnagri or the pale green ones sold for bhajia) are slit, tossed with rai kuria (split mustard), salt, turmeric and hing, and soused with lemon juice. Within a few hours the mustard blooms and turns pleasantly pungent, the lemon softens the chillies and the colour turns olive green. They stay crunchy for about a week in the fridge, so most homes make a small batch every few days. Use thin, hot chillies if your family likes the heat. Common mistake: washing the chillies and using them damp, which waters down the masala and turns the pickle slimy; dry them completely before slitting. Always serve with a clean, dry spoon and throw the jar out if it turns cloudy, mouldy or smells off. Chef's tip: a pinch of methi kuria and half a teaspoon of sugar round out the sharpness if the lemons are very sour.

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Namak pareSalted dough diamonds

Namak pare are the easiest thing in the festive tin, and usually the first to run out. A simple salted dough with a little ghee, ajwain and black nigella seeds is rolled thin, cut into small diamonds and fried until golden and crunchy. They are much thinner and crisper than mathri, with a satisfying snap rather than a flaky crumble, and the kalonji gives a slightly oniony, peppery note. Punjabi and UP homes make big batches before Holi and Diwali, but they also turn up on train journeys, at kitty parties and with evening tea. Sprinkle with chaat masala for a tangier version. Chef's tip: roll the dough evenly, about 3 mm; thin spots burn while thick ones stay soft, and even sheets give every piece the same crunch.

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Soan papdiFlaky threaded sweet cubes

Long before it came in gift boxes, soan papdi was a halwai's showpiece in the bazaars of western Uttar Pradesh and Delhi. Hot sugar syrup is pulled like taffy, then worked into a warm paste of gram flour and maida roasted in ghee, and the folding stretches it into hundreds of fine threads. The result is airy, flaky and crumbly, with a toasty, cardamom-sweet flavour, nothing like the stale boxes passed around offices at Diwali. It is genuinely a two-person job at home: one person pulls while the other keeps the flour warm. Wear clean kitchen gloves rubbed with ghee if your hands are sensitive to heat, and keep children away from the syrup. Chef's tip: keep the roasted flour on the lowest possible heat the whole time; the moment it cools, it stops coating the sugar threads and you get dense, chewy lumps.

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Aam papadMango fruit leather

Children in Lucknow, Varanasi and across Uttar Pradesh grew up tearing strips off aam papad from the corner shop, but the homemade kind, made when Dussehri and Langra mangoes are cheap and overripe in June, is in another league: thick, glossy, chewy, deep orange and properly mango-tasting, with a sour edge. Ripe pulp is cooked down with a little sugar and lemon until thick, then spread thinly on greased thalis and left on the terrace. Many families add a new layer every day for a week to build up a thick slab. Eat it as a sweet snack, cut into squares or rolls, or tuck it into a lunchbox. Common mistake: spreading the pulp in one thick layer to save time; the outside dries while the centre stays sticky and can turn mouldy. Chef's tip: no sun? Spread it on a lined tray and dry it in the oven at 60–70 °C, door slightly ajar, for 6–8 hours.

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Idli podiLentil and chilli powder

Pack idlis for a train journey out of Chennai Central and they travel already smeared in milagai podi and gingelly oil, which is why Tamilians call this the travel chutney. At home, a small mound sits on the side of every breakfast plate: you make a well in it, pour in sesame oil and drag hot idli or crisp dosa through the paste. A good podi is coarse and sandy rather than floury, nutty from slow-roasted urad and chana dal, toasty from sesame, smoky from the chillies and lifted by curry leaves and asafoetida. Mix byadgi chillies for colour with a few hotter ones for bite. Common mistake: grinding the dals while still warm; the steam turns the podi damp and lumpy and it loses its crunch in a week. Chef's tip: roast each ingredient separately on a low flame, because the dals, chillies and sesame all brown at different speeds.

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AnnakutWinter vegetable shaak

The day after Diwali, Pushtimarg havelis from Nathdwara to Ahmedabad build the annakut, literally a mountain of food, piled before Shrinathji to remember Krishna lifting Govardhan hill. Among dozens of sweets and farsan, there is always a shaak cooked from every vegetable of the new season, and many Gujarati and Rajasthani homes make their own version for the New Year meal. In the haveli tradition there is no onion or garlic, and many families leave out tomato too; the flavour comes from ajwain, ginger, green chilli, a little jaggery and lemon. It is lightly spiced, sweet-sour and full of different textures, from creamy raw banana to crunchy beans. Serve with puri, kadhi and rice. This version uses groundnut oil, so it is vegan; havelis cook it in ghee. Chef's tip: cut every vegetable to roughly the same size and add them in order of how long they take, so the shaak ends up tender, not mushy.

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Gulab jamun

No Diwali sweet box, wedding thali or birthday party in India feels complete without a gulab jamun or two. This is the classic halwai version made with khoya, milk reduced to a dense crumbly solid, kneaded with a little flour and fried slowly in ghee until the outside is deep mahogany and the inside cooked through. Soaked in light syrup scented with rose and cardamom, the balls swell and become soft and spongy, with a faint caramel milkiness. Serve them warm on their own, or with a scoop of vanilla ice cream or a spoonful of rabri. Buy soft, unsweetened khoya (mawa) for this; dry, hard khoya makes dense jamuns. Chef's tip: fry one test ball first; if it cracks, knead in a teaspoon of milk, and if it spreads, add a pinch more flour.

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ChhundoSweet grated mango preserve

Every May, when rajapuri mangoes arrive hard and green, Gujarati terraces fill with muslin-covered jars of chhundo slowly cooking in the sun. Grated raw mango is salted, mixed with sugar and left out for a week or more, stirred each day, until the sugar melts into a clear, glossy syrup and the shreds turn translucent. Red chilli and roasted cumin go in at the end, so it is sweet first and then warm. It is what children spread inside a thepla or a rotli for the school dabba, and it sits beside khakhra, puri and dal-bhaat all year round. No terrace or no sun? It cooks just as well on the stove in 25 minutes; both methods are below. Use rajapuri (or another firm, sour, fibre-free raw mango) and grate it on the large holes so the shreds hold. Common mistake: cooking past one-string; the syrup keeps thickening as it cools and the chhundo sets hard like candy. Store it in a dry, sterilised jar and always use a clean, dry spoon; discard it if you ever see mould or it smells fermented. Chef's tip: mix part Kashmiri chilli for colour and part hot chilli for heat, and add the chilli only after the syrup is ready so it stays bright red.

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Kopra pakFresh coconut fudge

Kopra pak is the sweet a Gujarati home makes when a coconut has been broken for a puja and there is too much to use. It is ready in under an hour: fresh coconut is cooked with milk until the milk is soaked up, then with sugar until the mixture comes away from the pan, and it is spread in a thali to set. The result is soft and moist, with the clean, milky sweetness of fresh coconut and a little chew, quite different from dry desiccated barfi. It appears at Diwali, Sharad Purnima and on Bestu Varas, and as prasad after Satyanarayan katha. Use only the white part of the coconut for a pale barfi. Chef's tip: grate the coconut finely or pulse it briefly; coarse shreds make a loose barfi that crumbles when you cut it.

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Kali gajar ki kanjiFermented black carrot drink

When the last black carrots of winter reach Punjabi and UP markets in February and March, kitchens start a jar of kanji. The carrots are cut into fingers, steeped in water with crushed mustard seed, salt and chilli, and left in the sun for a few days until the liquid turns deep purple, sour and sharp enough to tickle your nose. It is drunk by the glass before meals around Holi as a digestive and a spring tonic, and the soft, tangy carrot sticks are eaten too. The flavour is like a lively pickle brine, earthy from the carrots and peppery from mustard. Use a glass or ceramic jar that you have washed and dried completely, keep the vegetables under the water, stir with a clean dry spoon, and discard if mould or an unpleasant smell appears. Chef's tip: a small beetroot deepens the colour if your carrots are more red than black, but don't overdo it or the kanji tastes earthy and sweet.

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Kanji vadaLentil dumplings in mustard water

Around Holi, glass jars of cloudy water sit on rooftops across Jaipur, Jodhpur and old Delhi, fermenting in the spring sun. That water is kanji: boiled water with ground mustard seed, salt and chilli, which turns sour, pungent and faintly fizzy in two or three days. Small moong dal fritters are soaked in hot water to soften, then dropped into the kanji, where they drink up its tang and turn spongy. Served chilled in clay kulhads with a vada or two in each, it is a cooling, appetite-sharpening drink-snack that cuts through the rich Holi sweets. Ferment only in a clean, sterilised glass or ceramic jar, stir with a clean dry spoon, and discard the batch if you see mould or it smells rotten rather than pleasantly sour. Chef's tip: grind the mustard seed coarsely and fresh; pre-ground mustard powder goes bitter and dull.

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LadobPlantain in sweet coconut milk

Sunday lunch on Mahé often ends with a pot of ladob carried warm to the table: thick slices of ripe plantain, sometimes breadfruit or sweet potato, stewed in coconut milk until they turn soft and amber. The sauce reduces to a pale, silky cream scented with vanilla, which grows on the islands, and a scrape of nutmeg. Families eat it warm in bowls, or cold from the fridge the next afternoon, and children like it best with the sauce spooned over a little extra. Pick plantains with black-speckled or nearly black skins; yellow-green ones stay starchy and never go sweet and tender, which is the most common disappointment. Chef's tip: simmer gently and never let the coconut milk boil hard, or it splits and the sauce turns oily instead of creamy.

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Madras mixtureCrunchy savoury snack mix

In Chennai sweet shops the glass jars of mixture sit beside the murukku, and at Deepavali most Tamil families make their own. It is built from separately fried parts: thin besan omapodi-style sev, little spiced kara boondi pearls, thick poha fried to a crunch, fried gram, peanuts and a big handful of curry leaves, all tossed with chilli and asafoetida while warm. The flavour is salty, peppery and savoury, with no sugar and no raisins, which is what sets it apart from Gujarati chevdo. Each part has a different crunch, so every handful is different. Serve it with filter coffee or tea. Use gluten-free asafoetida if you need it gluten-free. Chef's tip: fry everything in the same oil in order, from lightest to heaviest flavour: poha and peanuts first, then boondi, then sev; that keeps the oil clean and every part tastes fresh.

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ThattaiCrisp rice flour crackers

Thattai means flat, and that is the whole secret: these Tamil rice crackers are patted out so thin you can see light through them, then fried until they crack like glass. Soaked chana dal pops inside each one for little nubs of crunch, torn curry leaves crisp in the oil, and roasted urad powder gives a savoury, biscuity depth. They fill tins for Deepavali and Gokulashtami across Tamil Nadu; in Karnataka a thicker cousin with peanuts is called nippattu, and in Andhra chekkalu. Many homes add butter to the dough; this version uses hot oil, which keeps it vegan and just as crisp. Use gluten-free asafoetida for a gluten-free batch. Chef's tip: pat them out on a sheet of oiled plastic or a banana leaf, then peel each one straight into the oil; lifting by hand tears thin dough.

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RabriThickened sweet milk

Halwais in Mathura, Varanasi and Lucknow make rabri in wide iron kadhais, fanning the surface so a skin forms fast, then pushing each layer of malai to the cooler sides of the pan. After an hour or more, the milk has shrunk to a quarter, and the layers are scraped back in to give a thick, spoonable sweet full of soft, chewy ribbons of cream. It is much thicker than Gujarati basundi, which is stirred smooth. Rabri is served chilled in kulhads, or spooned over hot jalebi or malpua at Holi, the hot-cold contrast being the whole point. Use the widest heavy pan you own; the bigger the surface, the more malai and the faster it reduces. Chef's tip: add the sugar only at the end; sugar added early makes the milk catch and stops the skins forming properly.

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