26 recipes that use chaat masala, with photos, step-by-step instructions and cook times. The quickest, Cracker bites, takes 15 minutes. It is most often cooked with coriander, red onion and green chillies.
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Crisp, buttery crackers topped with a chaat-style mixture of crushed roasted peanuts, chilli, garlic, coriander and lemon. There's no cooking: just mix and spoon on. Assemble them just before serving so the crackers stay crisp.
Small capsicums and firm, unripe tomatoes hollowed out and filled with a spiced mix of potato, peas, carrot, beans and paneer seasoned with roasted cumin, chaat masala and amchur, then topped with cheddar and cooked gently until tender. A lovely dish for a dinner party. Serve hot with naan or chapaties.
Vegetarian seekh kebabs of soya chunks, potato and paneer, spiced with garlic, ginger, green chilli, chaat masala and white pepper, pressed onto skewers and cooked over charcoal until browned. They're meaty in texture and very moreish. Serve with spring onion and yogurt dip or any chutney; they can also be deep fried.
Pyaaz kachori is the pride of Jodhpur in Rajasthan, where sweet shops fry them from early morning and sell them by the hundred with tamarind chutney. The crust is khasta: short, layered and crackly, made by rubbing plenty of oil into the flour and frying slowly. Inside is a soft, jammy filling of onions cooked with fennel, coriander seed and nigella, bound with a little gram flour and potato and lifted with dried mango powder. Eat them warm for breakfast or with afternoon chai. Chef's tip: fry them in oil that is only just warm and let them take their time; the slow fry is what puffs the crust into crisp, hollow layers instead of a hard, oily shell.
Samosa chaat is how the street stalls of Punjab and Delhi turn yesterday's samosas into the best snack of the day. Samosas are broken open on a plate, covered with a ladle of hot, tangy chole, then cooled down with sweet whisked yogurt, green and tamarind chutneys, raw onion, crunchy sev and a dusting of chaat masala. Every spoonful is hot and cold, crisp and soft, sweet, sour and spicy at once. Use bought samosas or the site's own samosa recipe. Chef's tip: warm the samosas in the oven until crisp before you crush them; a soggy samosa makes a heavy chaat, a crisp one soaks up the chole and still crunches.
In Pakistan a bowl of chana chaat is on almost every iftar table during Ramadan, next to the dates, pakoras and a jug of red sherbet, and in Lahore and Karachi street vendors toss it to order all year round in big steel bowls. The Pakistani style is simple and sharp: plump chickpeas and potato with raw onion, tomato, green chilli, lots of coriander and mint, tamarind chutney, lemon juice and a heavy hand of chaat masala, served cold or at room temperature. It is a quick, filling, high-fibre snack. People often mix it too early and the onion goes limp and the potato mushy; dress it no more than 15 minutes before eating. Chef's tip: toss the chickpeas with the chaat masala and salt first, before anything wet goes in, so the spice clings to them.
Kalari, also spelt kaladi, is a fresh, stretchy cheese made in the hills around Udhampur and Ramnagar in Jammu, often from buffalo or goat milk. Street sellers in Jammu city lay slices of it on a hot iron tawa with no oil at all: the cheese releases its own fat and fries to a blistered brown crust while the inside turns soft and slightly stringy. They stuff it into a warm kulcha with onion, tomato, green chutney and a shake of chaat masala, and it is eaten standing up, especially on winter evenings. Outside Jammu, use halloumi, which behaves almost the same, or firm paneer with a teaspoon of oil. Chef's tip: dry the cheese slices on kitchen paper first; wet cheese steams instead of crisping.
In Delhi, aloo tikki is fried on a giant iron tawa at the edge of a busy market, flattened with a spatula until the outside is shatteringly crisp, then smothered in spiced chickpeas, cool yogurt and green and tamarind chutneys. Places like Chandni Chowk and Lajpat Nagar have queues for it on winter evenings. Delhi tikkis are often stuffed with a little spiced chana dal, which adds bite inside the soft potato. Unlike Mumbai's ragda pattice, it's served with chole and a lot of yogurt. Chef's tip: let the tikkis sit undisturbed on the hot pan for the first 5 minutes; a crust forms that stops them breaking when you turn them.
Papdi chaat is the plate Delhi orders without thinking about it, from the stalls outside Bengali Market to wedding buffets. Small, flaky wheat wafers called papdi are laid flat, topped with potato and chickpeas, drowned in sweetened yogurt and streaked with tamarind and green chutney, so you get crunch and creaminess in the same spoonful. Homemade papdi, crisp with ajwain, are far better than shop ones and keep for a week in a tin, though bought papdi will do on a busy day. Chef's tip: rub the oil into the flour until it holds together when squeezed; that shortening is what makes the papdi flaky rather than hard.
Despite the name, ram ladoo aren't sweet. They're small, crisp moong and chana dal fritters, sold from carts across Delhi in winter, when white radish is at its best. The vendor splits a few hot ones, smears them with a sharp coriander chutney and buries them under a heap of grated mooli and its leaves, with lemon and chaat masala over the top. Hot, crunchy fritters against cold, peppery radish is the whole appeal; it's a light snack for a foggy evening. Chef's tip: grind the soaked dal with as little water as possible, then beat the batter by hand for 3–4 minutes; air whipped into it is what makes the ladoos puff up and stay light.
Walk through any Delhi office district at lunchtime and you'll find a cart with a huge brass pot of pale white peas and a stack of soft kulchas warming on a tawa. Delhiites call it chole kulche even though it's made with dried white peas (safed matar) rather than chickpeas. The vendor scoops the peas onto a leaf plate, piles on raw onion, tomato, green chilli and ginger, squeezes lime over and dusts it with a sour, smoky masala. It's tangy, fresh and filling, and very different from the rich, stuffed Amritsari kulcha. Chef's tip: mash a ladleful of the cooked peas back into the pot; it thickens the liquid so the toppings and masala cling instead of sliding off.
Raj kachori is the showpiece at Delhi's sweet-and-chaat shops: a fist-sized puri, fried until it balloons and turns crisp as a biscuit, then cracked open and stuffed with potato, chickpeas, sprouted moong, sweet yogurt, two chutneys and a snowfall of sev. It arrives on a steel plate at weddings and family outings, and it's eaten with a spoon because there's no other way. Every bite is crunchy, cold, sweet, sour and spicy at once. The puris can be fried a day ahead and kept in a tin. Chef's tip: roll the dough thin and even, and keep the oil properly hot; a puri rolled thicker on one side won't puff into a full ball.
Delhi's fruit chaat wallahs set up their carts in the afternoons with towers of guava, papaya, apples and bananas, plus roasted sweet potato, and chop whatever you point at into a leaf bowl. Then comes the part that makes it chaat rather than fruit salad: a big shake of tangy chaat masala, black salt and roasted cumin, a squeeze of lime, sometimes a pinch of chilli. It's a refreshing mid-afternoon snack in summer, and a regular sight on Ramzan iftar spreads too. The salt and spice make sweet fruit taste even sweeter. Chef's tip: season it just before eating; once the salt goes on, the fruit starts weeping juice and goes soft within 15 minutes.
Walk through the lanes near Dashashwamedh Ghat in Varanasi in the evening and you will see vendors mashing tomatoes and potatoes in large iron pans, cooking them with ghee and spices until thick, then spooning the mixture into small clay cups. Tamatar chaat is unique to Banaras: served hot, spicy, tangy, and finished with a thin sugar syrup and a pinch of chaat masala, then topped with crisp sev for crunch. Locals eat it standing up after the aarti, often followed by a glass of lassi. Many people forget the sugar syrup, but that's what balances the sourness and makes it Banarasi. Chef's tip: use very ripe, soft tomatoes and mash them right in the pan with the back of the ladle, leaving some texture.
When the nights turn cold in Indore, the stalls of Sarafa Bazaar pile their woks with garadu, a starchy, slightly sticky yam that only appears from November to February. It is boiled, fried until the edges crunch, then shaken with a punchy masala of roasted cumin, black salt and chilli and finished with lime. People eat it standing up from a leaf bowl, often as the savoury stop between jalebi and rabri. Garadu can be hard to find outside Madhya Pradesh; purple yam or white yam from an Asian or African grocer is the closest match, and taro (arbi) works in a pinch. Chef's tip: boil the cubes only until a knife meets slight resistance, then let them steam dry completely, because wet yam spits in the oil and never crisps.
Every busy corner in Mumbai, from Churchgate station to the lanes of Dadar, has a sandwich-wallah with a stack of white bread, a tub of butter, a bowl of green chutney and a cast-iron toaster held over a flame. The Bombay sandwich is built in thin layers of boiled potato, beetroot, cucumber, tomato, onion and green pepper, each layer dusted with a peppery sandwich masala, then toasted until crisp and cut into neat squares. Cheese is grated over the top if you ask. It's a commuter's breakfast, a school snack and a late-night bite after the cinema. Serve with ketchup and more chutney. Chef's tip: slice every vegetable as thin as a coin; thick slices slide out when you bite and stop the sandwich toasting evenly.
Sev puri is the snack Mumbaikars eat standing up at Juhu and Girgaum Chowpatty, or at the chaat stall outside the office in the evening. Flat, crisp papdi are laid out on a plate, topped with potato, onion and raw mango, splashed with green, sweet tamarind and red garlic chutneys, then buried under a snowfall of fine sev. It must be eaten within a couple of minutes, before the papdi soften. Here the papdi are made at home, but good shop-bought ones work fine on a busy day. Chef's tip: assemble each plate just before it's eaten, in the order given; chutney on bare papdi makes them soggy, so the potato always goes down first.
The kathi roll was born on Park Street in Kolkata, where kebabs once came on bamboo sticks (kathi) and were later wrapped in a paratha so office workers could eat them walking. This is the egg-and-paneer roll the stalls on Park Street and Gariahat sell to vegetarians: a flaky, ghee-fried paratha with an egg cooked right onto one side, then rolled round charred paneer, raw onion, green chilli, lime and a squirt of chilli sauce. Chef's tip: wrap the bottom half in paper as soon as it is rolled; the steam softens the paratha just enough to hold together.
Chana jor garam is sold from a tin box slung round a vendor's neck on the Kolkata Maidan, at Babughat and along Esplanade, with a sing-song call to match its name. Chickpeas are soaked, pressed flat, and fried or roasted until crunchy, then tossed to order with raw onion, tomato, green chilli, coriander, lime and a spice mix, and handed over in a paper cone. It is lighter than jhalmuri and much crunchier. The same snack is sold on Mumbai beaches; this is the Kolkata cart version. Chef's tip: flatten the soaked chickpeas while still damp, with a rolling pin between two cloths, so they split into thin discs.
All over India, fruit sellers with handcarts chop a plate of fruit chaat to order, and in Kolkata the evening carts near New Market and Gariahat pile guava, apple, papaya, banana, pomegranate and cucumber into a leaf bowl with chaat masala, black salt and lime. During Ramzan it appears at iftar, and in summer it is sold with a sprinkle of chilli. It is sweet, salty, sour and a little hot all at once, so it tastes nothing like a dessert fruit salad. Chef's tip: use at least one crunchy fruit (guava, apple or pear) and one soft one (banana or papaya) for contrast.
On winter evenings in Amritsar, roadside stalls near the old city fry river fish in huge karahis and sell it by weight, hot and crisp, sprinkled with chaat masala and lemon. The batter is made from gram flour rather than wheat and is fragrant with ajwain (carom seeds), which Punjabis say makes fried food easier to digest. It is a snack or starter, eaten with mint chutney and sliced onions; at home it is the treat that comes out when guests arrive. Use any firm white fish: singhara is traditional, but cod, haddock, basa or tilapia all work. Chef's tip: a little rice flour in the batter is what keeps it crisp for longer after frying.
Tandoori chicken comes from Punjab, where clay tandoor ovens fired with wood or charcoal reach well over 400 °C and roast marinated chicken in minutes. In Punjabi dhabas and wedding buffets it arrives on a sizzling plate with raw onion rings, lemon and mint chutney, and it's the starting point for butter chicken. A home oven can't match a tandoor, but a very hot oven plus a final blast under the grill gets you charred edges and juicy meat. The two-step marinade (lemon and salt first, then spiced yogurt) is the key. Chef's tip: cut deep slashes right down to the bone; the marinade gets inside and the thick legs cook through at the same time as the thinner parts.
Chargha is a Lahore speciality, sold from the busy food streets of Lakshmi Chowk and the old city, where whole birds are coated in a red, tangy masala, steamed in big pots and then dropped into hot oil to order. It is the centrepiece of wedding dinners and Saturday-night family outings, and makes an impressive home dinner for guests. Steaming keeps the meat moist and cooked through before frying gives it a crisp, spicy skin. Serve it with naan, raita, salad and a squeeze of lime. Chef's tip: slash the chicken deeply to the bone so the masala and steam reach the thickest parts.
When the first cold nights arrive in Lahore, people head to the fish stalls around Mozang and Gawalmandi, where chunks of river fish sizzle in giant woks of oil. The batter is made with gram flour, ajwain (carom seeds), red chilli and a squeeze of lemon, so it fries crisp, orange and very savoury. It's winter street food, but it's quick enough for a weeknight at home with a white fish fillet. Eat it hot with mint chutney, lemon and sliced onion. Chef's tip: marinate the fish in lemon and garlic first, then add the gram flour just before frying so the coating stays crisp, not pasty.
Karachi's barbecue streets, from Burns Road to Boat Basin, are famous for chicken tikka cooked on the bone: whole legs and breast quarters soaked in a red, sharp yogurt-chilli marinade and grilled over charcoal until charred at the edges. It's late-night food after a wedding or a cricket match, eaten with paratha, raita and onion rings. This home version uses the oven grill and a quick smoke at the end for that barbecue taste. Chef's tip: let the marinade sit overnight; chicken on the bone needs time for the flavour to reach the middle.
Haleem is cooked in vast pots across Pakistan in the month of Muharram and during Ramadan, when neighbours queue with bowls in Karachi, Lahore and Hyderabad. Cracked wheat, barley and several lentils cook for hours with beef until everything is beaten into one thick, stretchy, deeply savoury porridge. Each bowl is finished with crisp fried onions, ginger, green chilli, mint and lemon, so everyone builds their own. It takes time but freezes well, so make a big pot. Chef's tip: beat the haleem hard with a wooden spoon or a hand blender on short pulses; you want long meaty threads, not a smooth purée.
