Recipes with black mustard seeds
29 recipes that use black mustard seeds, with photos, step-by-step instructions and cook times. The quickest, Borhani, takes 10 minutes. It is most often cooked with turmeric, curry leaves and coriander.
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Masala dosa
Masala dosa is the breakfast of Tamil Nadu and Karnataka: a huge, thin, golden crêpe of fermented rice and urad dal batter, crisp at the edges and soft in the middle, folded around a turmeric-yellow potato and onion filling tempered with mustard seeds and curry leaves. In Chennai and Bengaluru it's eaten at small tiffin rooms with coconut chutney and a bowl of sambar, torn by hand. The batter takes planning, soaking in the morning and fermenting overnight, but one batch makes dosas for two or three days. Chef's tip: wipe the hot griddle with a cut onion dipped in oil, then sprinkle on water; if it sizzles away in a second the pan is ready, and the batter will spread thin without sticking.
Mysore masala dosa
Mysuru in Karnataka gave its name to this bolder dosa: a slightly thicker, golden crêpe that is crisp outside and soft inside, painted with a hot red chutney of dried chillies, garlic and roasted chana dal before the potato palya goes in. The chutney melts into the dosa as it cooks, so every bite has a sweet-spicy, garlicky kick. In Mysuru's old cafés it's served flat and folded, with coconut chutney to cool things down. Chef's tip: use Byadagi or Kashmiri chillies for the chutney; they give a deep red colour without blowing your head off, so you can spread it generously.
Bisi bele bath
Bisi bele bath means 'hot lentil rice' in Kannada, and it's Karnataka's great comfort dish, served in temples, weddings and Bengaluru tiffin rooms. Rice and toor dal are cooked soft with vegetables, then simmered with tamarind, jaggery and a freshly roasted spice powder of lentils, coriander seed, chilli, cinnamon and coconut until it's thick, glossy and spoonable. A generous ghee tempering with cashews and curry leaves goes over the top. Eat it piping hot with crisp potato chips or boondi raita. Chef's tip: make it looser than you think; it thickens fast as it stands, and the right texture is soft and flowing, like a thick porridge.
Tomato rasam
Rasam is the thin, sour, peppery broth that runs through every Tamil Nadu meal, poured over rice after sambar or sipped from a tumbler when you have a cold. This tomato version is the everyday kind: ripe tomatoes and tamarind simmered with crushed garlic, black pepper and cumin, then lifted with a tempering of mustard seeds, dried chilli and curry leaves. It's light, warming and ready in 25 minutes. Serve it with plain rice and a dry vegetable, or on its own in a cup. Chef's tip: once you add the spice mix, take the rasam off the heat as soon as it froths up; boiling it hard turns the flavour flat and the pepper harsh.
Puttu and kadala curry
Puttu and kadala is Kerala's most loved breakfast: tall cylinders of steamed rice flour layered with fresh coconut, served with a dark, earthy curry of black chickpeas (kadala) cooked in a masala of coconut roasted until deep brown. Puttu itself is plain and crumbly, so you break it up with your fingers and mash it into the curry, often with a ripe banana and pappadam on the side. The chickpeas make it filling and protein-rich. Chef's tip: the puttu flour should feel like damp sand that holds when squeezed and crumbles when poked; too wet and the puttu turns dense and gluey.
Polos curry
Polos is the tiny unripe jackfruit picked in the Western and Sabaragamuwa provinces long before it sweetens, and cooked low and slow it becomes one of the island's most loved festival curries, especially at Sinhala and Tamil New Year in April and at wedding lunches. The firm, pale flesh soaks up a very dark roasted curry powder, garlic, ginger, goraka (a smoky souring fruit) and coconut milk until it turns almost black-brown and tastes rich, sour and meaty. Fresh polos is hard to find abroad; tinned young green jackfruit in brine works well. A frequent mistake is not cooking it long enough, which leaves it squeaky; the pieces must be soft enough to break with a spoon. Chef's tip: oil your hands and knife before cutting fresh jackfruit; the sticky white sap washes off oiled skin but not dry skin.
Beetroot curry
Beetroot grows well in the cool hills around Nuwara Eliya and Welimada, and its curry is a jewel-pink regular on lunch packets and home rice-and-curry tables across the island. The beetroot is cut into thin matchsticks and cooked with onion, green chilli, curry leaves and a light, unroasted curry powder, then finished with coconut milk, so it's sweet, mildly spiced and brilliantly coloured. It's a good way to win over people who think they don't like beetroot. One frequent mistake is grating the beetroot, which turns the curry into a wet purée; matchsticks keep a pleasing bite. Chef's tip: add a squeeze of lime at the very end; it brightens the colour and cuts the earthy sweetness.
Ala thel dala
Ala thel dala means 'potato tempered in oil', and it's the quick, fiery potato fry that Sri Lankan mothers make when there's no time for a full curry, served with rice, packed into a lunch box with parippu, or eaten with bread at breakfast. Boiled potato cubes are tossed in hot oil with mustard seeds, plenty of red onion, curry leaves, turmeric and roughly crushed dried chilli until the edges turn golden and the onion goes soft and sweet. Unlike an Indian aloo sabzi there are no ground cumin or coriander, just chilli heat, onion and curry leaf. The usual mistake is boiling the potatoes until they're soft right through; they then break up in the pan. Chef's tip: stop boiling when a knife still meets a little resistance in the middle; the potatoes finish cooking in the pan and keep their shape.
Parippu
No Sri Lankan rice-and-curry plate is complete without a bowl of parippu, from a Colombo office canteen to a farmhouse kitchen in the dry zone; many families also mop it up with bread or pol roti for breakfast. Unlike a North Indian dal, the red lentils are cooked with turmeric, green chilli and a strip of rampe (pandan leaf), then softened with thin coconut milk and finished with a sizzling tempering of mustard seeds, shallots, dried chilli and curry leaves, so it tastes mellow, fragrant and only gently spicy. Keep it pourable: it thickens a lot as it stands. The usual mistake is adding the coconut milk too early and boiling it hard, which makes it split and grainy. Chef's tip: stir the thick coconut milk in off the heat at the very end; it gives a silky, almost creamy finish without curdling.
Hyderabadi khatti dal
Khatti dal, 'sour dal', is the everyday dal of Hyderabad's old city, cooked in Muslim and Telugu homes alike and ladled over plain rice with a fried papad and a dry vegetable on the side. Toor dal is cooked with tomato and green chilli, mashed smooth, soured with tamarind and finished with a sizzling bagaar of garlic, dried red chillies, cumin and curry leaves. It is thinner and sharper than a north Indian dal, and on Fridays it often sits next to a biryani as the comforting partner. Chef's tip: let the garlic in the bagaar turn properly golden before pouring it over; pale garlic tastes raw and harsh in a sour dal.
Pachi pulusu
Pachi pulusu, 'raw stew', is Telangana's summer cooler: a no-cook tamarind water stirred with jaggery, finely sliced raw onion and green chilli, finished with a hot mustard-seed tempering. In the heat of April and May in villages around Warangal and Karimnagar, families pour it over hot rice with a spoonful of dal or a spicy fry, and it wakes up appetites dulled by the sun. Some add a smoky roasted brinjal mashed in, which gives it body. Sweet, sour and sharp at once, it takes ten minutes. Chef's tip: rub the onion with salt and a little chilli powder in your fingers before adding the tamarind water, so it softens slightly and flavours the whole bowl.
Borhani
At a Bangladeshi wedding in Dhaka, the moment the kacchi biryani comes out, so do glasses of pale green borhani. It's a thin, salty-spicy yoghurt drink blended with mint, coriander, green chilli, black salt and a whisper of ground mustard, made to cut through a rich meal and settle the stomach. Pour it alongside any spiced rice dish, including a vegetable biryani or bhuna khichuri. Chef's tip: the ground mustard seed is the signature; toast it lightly first and grind it fine, or the drink turns bitter.
Fara
Fara is what a Chhattisgarhi kitchen does with yesterday's rice: it is kneaded with rice flour and hot water into a soft dough, rolled into little fingers, steamed and then tossed in a crackling tadka. Served at teatime or packed for long bus journeys, it is soft and chewy inside with spots of crispness from the pan. Some families spoon it into a thin, tangy curry instead, but the dry tempered version is the one sold in Raipur's snack corners. Chef's tip: knead the dough while it is still hot from the water; cold rice dough cracks and the fara split as they steam.
Sev usal
Ask anyone from Vadodara where to eat sev usal and you'll get a strong opinion and a street-corner name. Early in the morning the handcarts near Mandvi and Raopura have a huge pot of dried white peas simmering in a thin, fiery gravy, with a separate tin of brick-red chilli oil (the tari) on the side. A ladle of usal goes into a steel plate, a spoonful of tari is poured over, and then it disappears under fine sev, raw onion and coriander, with lemon and soft pav to mop it up. The gravy should be loose and soupy, not thick like a curry, so the sev stays crisp for the first few bites and then soaks in. Chef's tip: cook the tari separately and let each person add their own; the usal alone is only medium-hot, and the tari is where the fire comes from.
Lasaniya bataka
Lasaniya bataka is a dhaba favourite along the highways of Kathiawad, where it lands on the table next to bajra rotla, a lump of white butter, raw onion and a glass of chaas. Baby potatoes are boiled, lightly fried, then coated in a thick paste of pounded garlic and red chilli that has been cooked down until it smells sweet rather than sharp. It is hot, garlicky and a little tangy, the kind of side dish that turns plain flatbread into a meal. Make it for a winter lunch with Kathiawadi kadhi and khichdi. Chef's tip: pound the garlic and chilli in a mortar instead of blending; a slightly coarse paste clings to the potatoes and gives you little bursts of garlic.
Maharashtrian aamti
Aamti is the everyday dal of Maharashtrian homes from Pune to Kolhapur: toor dal cooked soft, soured with kokum, sweetened with a little jaggery and seasoned with goda masala, the dark, aromatic spice blend of the state. It's thinner than a Punjabi dal and has a gentle sweet-sour-hot balance. Before the tempering goes in, many cooks scoop out a bowl of the plain cooked dal for varan bhaat, the simple turmeric-yellow dal with rice, ghee and lemon that every Maharashtrian child grows up on and that starts every festive thali. Chef's tip: add the kokum near the end and taste after 5 minutes; it keeps releasing sourness, and it's easy to overshoot.
Pithla with jowar bhakri
In villages across the Deccan plateau of Maharashtra, pithla bhakri is what a farmer's family eats when the pantry is low and the day is long: a pan of gram flour simmered with garlic, green chilli and onion until it sets to a soft, spoonable curry, with thick jowar bhakri patted out by hand and a raw onion on the side. It became a symbol of rural Maharashtra, served at roadside stalls near Sinhagad fort to trekkers and at political rallies alike. Zunka, the dry version, uses the same flavours but is stirred until crumbly. Serve with thecha or a wedge of lemon. Chef's tip: whisk the gram flour into cold water before it meets the pan; that one step is the whole secret to a lump-free pithla.
Masale bhaat
At a traditional Maharashtrian wedding lunch in Pune, the masale bhaat arrives in a steel bucket, deep brown-gold with goda masala, studded with tondli, peas and cashews and topped with fresh coconut and coriander. Unlike a pulao it is not delicate: it's spiced, a touch sweet from jaggery, and made with short-grain ambemohor or indrayani rice that turns soft and fragrant. A squeeze of lemon, a spoon of ghee and a bowl of kadhi or mattha (spiced buttermilk) on the side make it a meal. Chef's tip: slice the ivy gourd lengthways into quarters, not rounds, so it holds its shape and stays crunchy through the steaming.
Tarri poha
In Nagpur, winter mornings start at a poha stall: soft, turmeric-yellow flattened rice heaped onto a plate and then flooded with tarri, a spicy black-chickpea gravy with a slick of red oil on top, finished with raw onion, sev, coriander and a squeeze of lemon. It's Vidarbha's answer to the plain poha eaten elsewhere in India, louder and hotter, made for a cold morning and a cutting chai. Making it at home takes a little planning because the chana needs an overnight soak, but the tarri keeps for days. Chef's tip: don't skimp on the oil in the tarri; the red layer that floats on top is what soaks into the poha and gives the dish its name.
Davanagere benne dosa
Davanagere, a cotton-market town in central Karnataka, is famous for one thing above all: benne dosa, small, thick dosas cooked on a huge iron griddle with a generous lump of white butter melting over each one. The batter includes puffed rice (mandakki), which makes the inside soft and spongy while the base turns crisp and deep golden. In the town's busy dosa halls they arrive two at a time with a thin coconut chutney and a spoonful of potato palya tucked inside. It is breakfast, but many people eat it as an evening snack too. Chef's tip: use proper unsalted white butter if you can find it, and add it in two goes, half when the batter goes on and half just before folding, so the edges fry in butter rather than burn.
Ragi mudde with bassaru
In the villages around Mandya, Mysuru and Hassan, the farmers' lunch is ragi mudde: steaming balls of finger millet cooked into a firm, smooth dough, eaten with a thin, spicy bassaru. Bassaru literally means 'drained water': greens and dal are cooked together, the liquid is poured off and spiced into a peppery broth (the saaru), and the solids become a dry palya on the side. You pinch off a piece of mudde, roll it in the saaru and swallow it without chewing. It is filling, very nourishing and naturally gluten-free. Chef's tip: the wooden stick (mudde kolu) matters; stirring with the handle of a wooden spoon pushes the flour into the water and gets rid of lumps far better than a whisk.
Jolada rotti with ennegai
Across Hubballi, Dharwad, Vijayapura and the dry plains of north Karnataka, a meal means jolada rotti: thin, crisp sorghum flatbreads slapped out by hand, often by the hundred and stored in cloth to eat with everything. Their best-loved partner is ennegai, which means 'oil vegetable': small brinjals slit and stuffed with roasted peanuts, sesame, dry coconut and spices, then cooked slowly in plenty of oil until they collapse into a thick, nutty gravy. It is wedding food, field food and Sunday food, with raw onion, a wedge of lemon and spicy chutney powder on the side. Chef's tip: use boiling water for the jowar dough; it gelatinises the flour slightly, so the rotti holds together without any wheat.
Kosambari
No Karnataka festival lunch on a banana leaf is complete without a spoonful of kosambari at the top left corner. This raw salad of soaked split moong dal, cucumber, carrot and fresh coconut, sharpened with lemon and finished with a mustard-seed tempering, is especially made for Ram Navami, when it is offered in temples with panaka (jaggery water), and for Ugadi and weddings. It is crunchy, cool and refreshing, and packed with protein. Chef's tip: add the salt and lemon only just before serving; salted cucumber weeps water and turns the salad soggy within half an hour.
Chitranna
Chitranna, 'colourful rice', is the dish Karnataka mothers make when there is leftover rice and a school tiffin box to fill: cooked rice tossed in a yellow turmeric tempering with roasted peanuts, crunchy dals, green chilli, curry leaves and plenty of lemon. It appears at temple festivals as prasada, on train journeys wrapped in banana leaf, and on every Bengaluru darshini breakfast counter. It tastes even better an hour after it's made, when the lemon has soaked in. Tamil Nadu's elumichai sadam is a close cousin. Chef's tip: spread the rice out on a plate to cool before mixing; warm, steamy rice turns sticky and breaks when you toss it.
Pakhala bhata
Pakhala is Odisha's answer to the summer heat: cooked rice left to soak in water, often overnight so it turns faintly sour, then loosened with curd, salt, lime leaf, cumin and green chilli and eaten cold at midday. The state even celebrates Pakhala Dibasa on 20 March. The rice itself is plain; the pleasure is in the sides, such as badi chura (crushed fried lentil dumplings with onion and mustard oil), fried potato, saga bhaja and roasted aubergine. Chef's tip: for the gently sour basi pakhala, leave the rice in its water at room temperature for 8–12 hours; for dahi pakhala, eat it the same day with more curd.
Dahi baigana
Dahi baigana is one of the easiest dishes of an Odia summer lunch, and it turns up at home thalis in Puri and Bhubaneswar beside dalma and rice. Thick rounds of aubergine are rubbed with turmeric and salt, fried until golden and creamy, then bathed in whisked yogurt that has been tempered with mustard seeds, cumin, curry leaves and dried chilli. It is served at room temperature: cool, tangy and smoky from the fried aubergine. Chef's tip: add the tempering to the yogurt, never the yogurt to the hot pan, so it doesn't split.
Bhetki paturi
Paturi means 'wrapped in a leaf', and in Bengal the favourite fish for it is bhetki, the meaty barramundi of the Sundarbans estuaries. Fillets are coated in a sharp paste of mustard, coconut and green chilli, tied up in banana leaf and steamed or cooked on a griddle, so they come out moist and fragrant. It is a dish for celebration lunches in Kolkata and is unwrapped at the table over hot rice. Chef's tip: no banana leaves? Use baking paper inside foil; you lose a little aroma but none of the texture.
Shorshe ilish
Hilsa, ilish, is the national fish of Bangladesh, and during the monsoon, when the shoals swim up the Padma and Meghna rivers, families in Dhaka and Chandpur cook it almost daily. Shorshe ilish is the most loved way: steaks of the rich, silvery fish gently simmered in a paste of ground yellow and black mustard seed, green chillies and mustard oil until the sauce turns sharp, creamy and nose-tingling. Eat it with plain white rice and nothing else. Hilsa is very bony, so warn guests and eat slowly; salmon steaks are an easier, less traditional swap. The common mistake is boiling the sauce hard after the mustard paste goes in, which turns it bitter. Chef's tip: grind the mustard seeds with a pinch of salt and a green chilli, and let the paste rest for 10 minutes before cooking; this tames the bitterness.