Recipes

All recipes

Vegetarian, or something you can't eat? Set your diet once and we'll hide recipes that don't fit.

Filters (6)

76 recipes

Khus sharbatVetiver root syrup drink

Before air-conditioning, North Indian houses hung wet mats of khus grass over their doors in June, and the breeze through them smelt of damp earth and wood. The same vetiver root flavours this sharbat, a summer staple in Delhi, Rajasthan and Uttar Pradesh. Shop-bought bottles are bright emerald green from colouring; a homemade syrup is pale gold and tastes far more of the root itself, cool and grassy. Families serve it diluted with water to guests arriving from the heat, or with cold milk as a dessert drink at summer parties. The common mistake is boiling the roots hard; the aroma is delicate and cooks off, so infuse them in hot water instead and add the infusion to the syrup off the heat. Chef's tip: if you want the classic green colour for children, a drop of green food colour does no harm, but taste it plain first.

30 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

Bel sharbatWood apple drink

Bael trees grow beside temples across Uttar Pradesh and Bihar, and in May the hard golden fruits are cracked open on the doorstep with a pestle. The orange pulp smells of tamarind, marmalade and rose, and mashed into water it makes a thick, pulpy sharbat that people in Patna, Prayagraj and Gorakhpur drink mid-morning to keep the heat at bay; it is also famously kind to the stomach. Rickshaw stalls sell it from big steel pots. Ripe fruit is essential: it should sound hollow when tapped and smell sweet. The common mistake is blending the pulp in a mixer, which crushes the seeds and sticky fibres and makes the drink bitter and gluey; soak it and mash by hand instead. Chef's tip: let the pulp soak a full 15 minutes before mashing, and it practically falls off the fibres.

20 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

Mango mastaniMango milkshake with ice cream

Pune's mastani was born in the city's old peths, and families still queue on summer evenings at the famous shops near Budhwar Peth and Sadashiv Peth for a tall glass so thick you need a spoon. The base is a mango milkshake, made dense with ripe Alphonso pulp and ice cream, then topped with another scoop of mango ice cream, chopped nuts, tutti frutti and a cherry. It is named, people say, after Bajirao Peshwa's beloved Mastani. Rich and fruity, it is dessert and a cool drink in one. A common mistake is adding ice to the blender: it thins the shake and dulls the mango, so chill the milk and pulp well instead. Chef's tip: Alphonso from Ratnagiri or Devgad gives the right colour and fragrance; in the off season use good tinned Alphonso pulp and skip the sugar.

10 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

PanakamJaggery and ginger water

On Sri Rama Navami, temples and homes across Andhra Pradesh, Telangana and Tamil Nadu set out brass pots of panakam beside neer mor (spiced buttermilk) and kosambari. The drink is offered first, then handed to everyone in small steel tumblers. It is nothing more than jaggery dissolved in water, but the dry ginger and black pepper give it a pleasant heat that cuts through the sweetness, and cardamom and a few tulsi leaves make it smell of the festival. It is never boiled; it's stirred until the jaggery melts. The common mistake is not straining: jaggery often carries sand and fibres, so always pour it through a fine cloth. Chef's tip: a squeeze of lemon is not traditional everywhere, but in hot Vijayawada summers many homes add it, and it brightens the drink wonderfully.

10 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

Aam pannaRaw mango cooler

When the first hard green mangoes arrive in April, kitchens from Lucknow to Pune start boiling them for panna. The cooked pulp is blended with roasted cumin, black salt, mint and sugar or jaggery into a thick concentrate that keeps in the fridge for a week, then diluted glass by glass with cold water. Grandmothers swear by it against loo, the hot dry wind of a North Indian summer, and in Maharashtra the same drink, called kairi panha, is served to guests at Gudi Padwa and haldi-kumkum gatherings. It tastes sour first, then sweet, then smoky from the cumin. A common mistake is using mangoes that have begun to ripen and turn yellow: the panna tastes flat and fruity rather than bracing, so pick firm, green, sour ones. Chef's tip: pressure cooking the mangoes whole in their skins keeps the pulp pale and fragrant; scraping too close to the skin and stone adds bitterness.

30 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

JaljeeraTamarind mint cumin drink

Street vendors in Old Delhi and Varanasi sell jaljeera from big red clay matkas wrapped in wet cloth, ladling it into glasses with a handful of boondi on top. The name simply means cumin water, but the flavour is busier than that: sour tamarind and lemon, a cool rush of mint, the sulphur note of black salt and the warmth of roasted cumin and dry ginger. It is drunk before a heavy Punjabi meal to wake the appetite, at summer weddings, and on long train journeys. Make the masala fresh and the difference shows. The common mistake is using raw cumin powder; it tastes dusty. Dry-roast whole cumin until it darkens a shade and smells toasty, then grind it. Chef's tip: add the boondi only at the table so it stays crunchy for the first sip and softens by the last.

13 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

Badam milkAlmond milk

In Hyderabad and Bengaluru, darshinis and Irani cafés sell badam milk from steaming steel urns, while in North Indian homes a hot glass of it is what you get after an exam or on a cold Delhi evening. It is creamy and nutty, tinted pale gold by saffron, and has fine, pleasant flecks of almond rather than being smooth like a shake. Chilled, it is sold in bottles all summer and served at weddings. Soaking and peeling the almonds is what makes it taste clean and sweet. A common mistake is grinding the almonds dry, which turns them oily and gritty; grind soaked almonds with a little milk to a fine paste. Chef's tip: simmer gently after adding the almond paste and keep stirring, because it settles and catches on the bottom of the pan within minutes.

25 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

PiyushShrikhand buttermilk drink

Piyush means nectar, and Pune and Mumbai Maharashtrians drink it on summer afternoons, at Gudi Padwa lunches when there is leftover shrikhand, or from old dairy shops near Dadar and Girgaon where it is sold in glass bottles. It sits between lassi and dessert: thick but pourable, sweet and gently sour, yellow with saffron and scented with cardamom and a whisper of nutmeg. It is lovely with a spicy batata vada or after a puran poli meal. The common mistake is pouring cold buttermilk straight onto stiff shrikhand, which leaves stubborn lumps; loosen the shrikhand with a little buttermilk first, then whisk in the rest. Chef's tip: bloom the saffron in a spoonful of warm milk; cold buttermilk won't pull the colour out.

10 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

Nannari sarbathSarsaparilla and lime cooler

Walk past any sarbath kadai in Madurai, Tiruchi or Chennai's Parry's Corner in summer and you'll hear the clink of a glass being stirred with a long spoon. Nannari, the sweet, woody, vanilla-like root of Indian sarsaparilla, is cooked into a dark syrup; the vendor pours a little into a glass, squeezes in a whole lime, adds a pinch of salt and ice, and tops it with water or a fizz of soda. It is sweet, sharp and earthy all at once, and nothing like the milky jigarthanda made with the same syrup. Many shops add soaked sabja seeds for texture. The common mistake is too much syrup: the root flavour gets lost in sweetness, so start with less and let the lime lead. Chef's tip: squeeze the lime straight into the glass and drop in one squeezed half; a little oil from the peel gives that roadside freshness.

10 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

Masala chaasSpiced buttermilk

No Gujarati lunch is finished until the steel glass of chaas comes round. From Ahmedabad pols to Kathiyawadi farmhouses, homemade dahi is thinned right down, churned with a wooden ravai or a blender, and seasoned with roasted cumin, black salt, a little ginger and green chilli, then poured ice-cold after dal-bhaat-shaak-rotli. It should be thin enough to drink in one go, salty, gently hot and full of coriander; that is what settles a heavy meal in May. Kerala's sambaram, with shallot and curry leaf, is a close cousin. A common mistake is churning thick, very cold full-fat dahi for too long: the fat clumps into flecks of butter and the chaas turns thin and greasy. Blend the dahi with only part of the water for a few seconds, then stir in the rest. Chef's tip: dahi that is a day old and slightly sour makes the best chaas; very fresh, sweet dahi tastes flat however much masala you add.

10 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

Kulukki sarbathShaken lime cooler

Kulukki means shaken, and the show is half the fun: at roadside stalls in Kozhikode, Kochi and Thrissur, the vendor drops lime, a slit green chilli, basil seeds, syrup and ice into a tall steel tumbler, caps it with another and rattles it furiously before pouring a frothy glass. The drink became a craze across Kerala in the 2010s and is now a beach and festival favourite. It tastes sharp, sweet, salty and then hot as the chilli catches the back of your throat. Some stalls add pineapple or passion fruit. The common mistake is crushing the lime and chilli too hard or leaving them to sit, which makes the drink bitter from the peel and far too fiery; shake briefly and pour at once. Chef's tip: use a jar with a tight lid half filled with ice; the ice does the crushing and makes the foam.

10 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

Kokum sharbatKokum cordial

Along the Konkan coast, from Ratnagiri down to Goa, the purple kokum fruit is split and dried in the sun every summer, and the leathery rinds go into curries, sol kadhi and this sharbat. Unlike sol kadhi, there is no coconut milk here: just a clear, deep-red syrup that is fruity, tart and faintly salty, diluted with cold water and drunk after a fish lunch or on a hot afternoon to cool the stomach. Families in Malvan and Sawantwadi still make the concentrate by layering fresh fruit with sugar in jars; this quicker version uses the dried rinds you can buy anywhere. The common mistake is boiling the kokum hard for a long time, which makes the syrup taste stewed and murky; simmer gently just until the colour floods out. Chef's tip: a pinch of roasted cumin and black salt in the glass turns a simple sweet drink into the proper coastal version.

15 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

Ladi pavSoft pull-apart bread rolls

Pav came to Mumbai with the Portuguese and was taken up by the city's Goan and Irani bakeries, and today it is the bread every street snack depends on: vada pav, misal pav, bhurji pav, dabeli and pav bhaji. A ladi is a slab of rolls baked touching each other, so their sides stay pale and fluffy and they tear apart with soft white edges and a thin golden top. This home version uses milk and a little butter for a tender, slightly sweet crumb that holds up to a buttery tawa toast. It bakes in an ordinary oven at 190 °C (170 °C fan). Common mistake: baking the pav too long or too hot, so the crust turns hard and brown; take it out the moment the tops are golden and brush with butter at once. Chef's tip: cover the hot ladi with a clean cloth as it cools; the trapped steam is what gives that typical bakery softness.

50 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

Dum ka roatBaked semolina and khoya cake

Dum ka roat is baked in Hyderabadi homes and bakeries in the first ten days of Muharram, and boxes of it are shared with neighbours and at majlis gatherings in the Old City. It is closer to a dense shortbread than a sponge: coarse semolina soaked overnight in ghee and milk, mixed with khoya, sugar, eggs, cardamom and nutmeg, then baked slowly until golden and crumbly with a crunchy almond top. It contains egg, so it is vegetarian with egg, not vegan. Each piece tastes of browned butter, milk and spice, and it keeps for a week in a tin. Eat it with Irani chai. The common mistake is skipping the overnight rest: the semolina stays gritty and the roat falls apart. Chef's tip: bake low and slow, at 160 °C, until the top is deep golden and a skewer comes out with moist crumbs; at higher heat the edges burn before the khoya centre has set.

70 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

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.

20 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

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.

60 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

BolinhasSemolina and coconut cookies

Bolinhas (small balls in Portuguese) are the cookies Goan Catholic families bake in batches for the Christmas kuswar, the tins of sweets sent to friends and neighbours in Panjim and Salcete in mid-December. Fresh coconut is cooked briefly in a sugar syrup, mixed with semolina and left overnight so the grains soften, then bound with butter and egg yolks, shaped into small balls, marked with a fork or a cross and baked until golden. The texture is sandy and crumbly outside with a chewy coconut centre, and they smell of cardamom and browned butter. They contain egg yolk, so they are vegetarian with egg, not vegan. The common mistake is baking them the same day: unsoaked semolina stays gritty and the cookies spread. Chef's tip: shape with slightly damp hands and keep them small, about 3 cm; they puff a little and need room on the tray.

55 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

Neer mor (spiced buttermilk)

From April to June, when Chennai and Madurai bake at forty degrees, temples, shops and political parties set up 'thaneer pandhal' sheds by the roadside, offering free neer mor to every passer-by from great clay pots. At home it comes after a rice meal of sambar and rasam, or in the middle of the afternoon. The curd is churned and thinned with water until barely white, then seasoned with green chilli, ginger, curry leaves, coriander and a pinch of asafoetida, sometimes finished with a tempering of mustard seeds. It should be very thin, salty, tangy and herby, with a little chilli heat and a lingering savoury scent. The common mistake is using too little water: it then drinks like a heavy lassi rather than a thirst-quencher. Aim for about one part curd to four parts water. It is ready when the buttermilk is smooth, cold and pale green-flecked, and smells of curry leaf. It keeps a day in the fridge. Chef's tip: crush the ginger, chilli and curry leaves rather than chopping them; bruising releases far more flavour into the thin liquid.

12 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

Paneer soda (rose soda)

Every Tamil town once had a soda shop with crates of Codd-neck bottles sealed by a glass marble, and the pop of the marble being pushed down was the sound of a hot afternoon. Paneer here means rose water, not cheese, and paneer soda is rose syrup topped with that sharp local fizz, sold in Madurai, Tiruchi and Coimbatore by the bus stand and at temple festival stalls in Chithirai and Vaikasi, the hottest months. It is sweet and floral at first, then the bubbles and a touch of lime cut through and leave the mouth clean. The mistake most people make is boiling the rose water with the sugar: the scent cooks away and you are left with plain syrup. Make the syrup first, let it cool, and only then stir in the rose water. The syrup is ready when it is clear and slightly thickened, like thin honey, and the finished drink should be rosy pink and still foaming as you hand it over. Chef's tip: chill the syrup, the soda and the glasses well; warm soda loses its fizz the moment it meets the syrup.

15 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

Tsestalulu (sea-buckthorn juice)

Sea buckthorn grows wild along the river beds of Ladakh, and in Leh the bright orange berries are pressed into tsestalulu, a sharp, tropical-tasting juice sold in summer cafés and made at home after the autumn harvest. It is drunk chilled, sweetened with sugar or honey and thinned with cold water. The berries are very sour and slightly oily, so the juice is always diluted. The common mistake is boiling the pulp, which dulls both the colour and the fresh taste; just blend and strain. Chef's tip: frozen sea-buckthorn berries or plain unsweetened purée from health shops work very well; strain twice through a fine sieve for a silky drink.

15 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

Kadha (spiced herbal decoction)

When the fog settles over Delhi, Lucknow and the plains of Uttar Pradesh in December, or whenever the monsoon brings coughs round the house, someone puts a pan of kadha on the stove. Tulsi leaves, ginger, black pepper, cinnamon, cloves and sometimes a little ajwain are boiled hard until the water reduces by half, then sweetened with jaggery and sipped in small cups, morning or night. It is not a gentle tea: it is hot, peppery, clove-numbing and earthy, with a dark amber colour and a sweet edge. It is traditionally drunk for coughs and colds; it does not replace medical care, and anyone who is pregnant, on medication or giving it to small children should keep it mild and check with a doctor. The common mistake is simmering it gently like tea: kadha needs a steady boil so the spices give up their strength and the liquid reduces. It is ready when the volume has halved and the brew is deep amber and pungent. Chef's tip: crush the pepper and cloves just before they go in; whole spices hardly flavour the water in this short time.

20 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

Variyali sharbat (fennel cooler)

On May afternoons in Ahmedabad and Surat, when the loo wind blows and nobody wants a hot drink, Gujarati homes keep a bottle of variyali sharbat concentrate in the fridge. Fennel seeds are soaked, ground with rock sugar, strained and mixed with lemon and a little black pepper, then diluted with iced water for guests, after lunch, or to break a fast, since nothing in it is off-limits on upvas days if you use rock salt. It is pale green and cloudy, with a sweet aniseed taste, a sharp lemon finish and a faint peppery tingle. The common mistake is grinding dry fennel straight away: it stays gritty and the flavour is harsh. Soak the seeds for at least two hours so they swell and grind into a smooth paste. It is ready when the strained concentrate is silky, smells clearly of fennel and tastes very sweet, as it will be diluted three or four times. The concentrate keeps 5 days in the fridge in a clean bottle. Chef's tip: add a few mint leaves or a pinch of cardamom when grinding for a more rounded cooler.

23 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

Haldi doodh (turmeric milk)

In homes from Punjab to Kerala, a mother or grandmother hands round haldi doodh on cold winter nights, after a fall in the playground or whenever someone starts sniffling; it is drunk at bedtime, steaming, in a steel tumbler. Milk is simmered with turmeric, a few grinds of black pepper and sometimes ginger or cinnamon, then sweetened with jaggery. It is golden, warming and gently earthy, with a soft peppery heat and a slightly grainy feel if the turmeric is fresh-ground. It is traditionally drunk for colds and aches, as a comfort rather than a cure. The common mistake is adding raw turmeric powder to hot milk at the end: it tastes chalky and bitter. Simmer it in the milk for a few minutes so the raw edge cooks out. It is ready when the milk turns an even deep yellow, smells mellow and has a thin skin forming on top. Add jaggery off the heat, as it can curdle boiling milk. Turmeric stains, so use a steel pan. Chef's tip: a teaspoon of ghee stirred in at the end makes it rounder and is how many families make it.

10 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

Bajre ki raabdiFermented pearl millet buttermilk porridge

In the villages of Haryana and the Rajasthan border, raabdi is drunk at midday in May and June to keep cool in the fields. Pearl-millet flour is stirred into buttermilk and left to ferment for a few hours, then cooked slowly until thick, cooled in a clay pot and thinned with more buttermilk and salt. It tastes tangy and earthy, a little like a savoury porridge you can drink. Ferment at warm room temperature (25–32 °C) for 4–6 hours: it should smell pleasantly sour with a few bubbles. Throw it away if you see pink, black or furry mould or it smells rotten or of nail varnish. The common mistake is cooking on high heat, which scorches the millet and leaves raw lumps. Chef's tip: keep the cooked raabdi in the fridge and drink it within 2 days, thinning each glass to taste.

35 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

Showing 24 of 76 recipes

Show more recipes

Page 1 of 4