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68 recipes

Khari biscuitsSalted puff pastry sticks

Chai in Mumbai's Irani cafés and Ahmedabad's corner bakeries comes with a glass jar of khari: long, shattering sticks of puff pastry, salty rather than sweet, that flake all over your lap. People dip them in sweet masala chai, which soaks into the layers in seconds, so the trick is a quick dunk. Bakeries usually laminate with margarine or vanaspati; butter gives a richer, cleaner taste, and this eggless home version uses a block of cold butter folded into a plain dough, with a scatter of cumin or crushed kasuri methi on some. The biggest mistake is letting the butter go soft between folds: it smears into the dough and the sticks bake up hard and bready instead of rising into dozens of leaves. Chef's tip: once the sticks have puffed and coloured, lower the oven and leave them in until the centres are dry; under-dried khari go soft in the jar within a day.

185 min

Indian Baking

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TopfengolatschenSweet quark puff pastry squares

A Topfengolatsche is what Viennese office workers grab from the bakery on the way in, and what grandparents order with a Melange in a coffee house on a Sunday afternoon. The corners of a puff pastry square are folded over a lemony, vanilla-scented filling of Topfen (Austrian quark) with plump raisins, and the top gets a thin white glaze. It is flaky, light and not too sweet. Raisins are sometimes soaked in rum; warm water or orange juice works just as well, and the recipe below is alcohol-free. Wet quark is the classic problem, because it turns the filling runny and it leaks out in the oven. Chef's tip: hang the quark in a sieve lined with a clean cloth for an hour, or squeeze it, until it is as thick as soft cream cheese.

57 min

Austrian Baking

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Dar ni poriSweet lentil pie with nuts

Parsi families in Mumbai and the small towns of south Gujarat order dar ni pori for Navroz, birthdays and the first day of a new job, when a sweet that keeps well is needed for visitors. A thin, flaky shortcrust holds a fudgy filling of toor dal cooked down with sugar and ghee, scented with cardamom, nutmeg and rose water and studded with almonds and pistachios. It tastes a little like a nutty halwa wrapped in pastry and is cut into small wedges, usually with a cup of milky tea. The usual mistake is stopping the filling too early: if it is still soft and wet it soaks the pastry and leaks through the seams. Chef's tip: the dal is ready when it pulls away from the pan as one mass and a spoonful holds a clean shape on a plate.

150 min

Indian Baking

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Hyderabadi fruit biscuitsTutti-frutti butter biscuits

Boxes of these pink-and-green flecked biscuits leave Hyderabad in every suitcase: visitors queue at the old bakeries near Charminar and the airport shops stock tins of them. Each one is short and crumbly, buttery, with a faint pineapple scent and chewy bits of candied papaya (tutti-frutti) scattered through. They are eggless, rich with butter and a little custard powder, and go with a cup of Irani chai or a glass of cold milk. The usual slip is mixing the tutti-frutti in wet or sticky, so it bleeds colour and clumps; toss it in a spoon of flour first. Chef's tip: shape the dough into a square log and chill it until firm, then slice; a firm log gives neat, sharp-edged biscuits like the bakery ones.

63 min

Indian Baking

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Kashmiri bakery kulchaPoppy seed or sesame tea biscuits

Before dawn the kandurwaan, Srinagar's neighbourhood baker, lights his clay oven, and by breakfast his shelf holds stacks of kulcha: small, thick, very crumbly rounds, some salted and crusted with poppy seeds, some sweet and dotted with sesame. They are nothing like the soft Punjabi bread of the same name. Kashmiris eat them with noon chai, the pink salted tea, breaking a kulcha into the cup or alternating bites and sips; they are also handed out at weddings and taken as gifts when visiting. This eggless home version makes both kinds from one ghee-rich dough. Do not overwork it: kneading develops gluten and you lose the sandy crumble that makes kulcha special. Chef's tip: bake them pale and low; a real Kashmiri kulcha is barely golden on top and crisp only on the base, so take them out while they still look a little underdone.

55 min

Indian Baking

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Surti jeera butter biscuitsCumin butter tea biscuits

Surat's old bakeries, some of them run by Parsi and Bohra families for a century, sell 'butter' by the kilo: round, crisp, flaky biscuits that crack into layers, and the jeera version is salted and freckled with cumin. Gujaratis eat them with morning tea, crushed into a saucer of chai or spread with a little butter. Unlike khari they start with a lightly yeasted dough that is spread with a ghee-and-flour paste and folded, then baked once until risen and again, low, until bone dry, which gives a crunch rather than a shatter. The mistake most people make is pulling them out after the first bake because they look done; they need the long, slow second bake or they turn chewy. Chef's tip: toast the cumin in a dry pan for a minute and crush half of it before it goes into the dough, so the flavour runs through every layer.

180 min

Indian Baking

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Ooty varkeyFlaky spiral tea biscuits

Up in the cool tea country of the Nilgiris, around Ooty and Coonoor, small bakeries turn out trays of varkey every morning, and tourists carry home bags of them alongside the estate tea. They are flat, golden and lightly sweet, with tight spiral layers that crunch and then melt, a texture the bakers get by rolling a sugared dough up around a fat paste and slicing it like a Swiss roll. Eat them with strong milky Nilgiri tea; locals also crumble them over hot milk. Bakeries traditionally use vanaspati for the paste; butter mixed with a little ghee gives a cleaner taste in this eggless home version. Watch the spiral: if you press the slices too hard when flattening, the layers fuse and the biscuit bakes dense. Chef's tip: chill the rolled log until it is firm enough to slice cleanly; a soft log squashes under the knife and you lose the swirl.

165 min

Indian Baking

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Kerala honey cake

No Kerala bakery counter, from a tiny shop in Thrissur to a busy one near Kochi bus stand, is complete without a tray of honey cake: sticky squares of vanilla sponge sandwiched with red jam, drenched in honey syrup and coated in white coconut. Children buy them after school; adults eat them with a glass of sweet tea in the late afternoon. The sponge is soft and damp right through, sweet and faintly floral from the honey, with fruity jam at its heart. People often pour hot syrup over a hot sponge and get a soggy, collapsing cake, so let the sponge cool and use the syrup just warm. Chef's tip: stir a squeeze of lemon into the syrup; it stops the honey tasting flat and helps the cake soak evenly.

70 min

Indian Baking

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Goan baathSemolina and coconut cake

From Margao to Mapusa, Goan Catholic families start baath a day early: semolina, fresh coconut, sugar and butter are rubbed together and left overnight so the grains drink up the coconut milk. The next morning eggs go in and the cake is baked until brown and fragrant, ready for the Christmas kuswar plate alongside bebinca and neureos, or cut into diamonds for a wedding. The crust is crisp and caramelised; the inside is dense, moist and chewy with coconut, scented with cardamom and sometimes a little rose water. Desiccated coconut is the common shortcut and the common mistake: it makes a dry, crumbly baath, so use fresh or frozen grated coconut. Chef's tip: bake it in a heavy metal tin and do not open the oven for the first 40 minutes; the slow, steady heat gives the dark crust without a raw middle.

660 min

Indian Baking

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Indian bakery cream roll

Cream rolls are a sweet memory for children across India, from the Irani cafés of Mumbai to Kerala's small-town bakeries: spirals of flaky puff pastry baked around a cone, glazed with sugar and piped with soft vanilla cream. They turn up on birthday party plates and in after-school bakery treats. This version uses whipped cream rather than the shortening icing of many shops. It contains gluten and milk. Chef's tip: fill them only an hour or two before serving so the pastry stays crisp.

50 min

Indian Baking

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KalathappamRice and jaggery cake

Kalathappam takes its name from the kalam, the heavy clay or metal pot it was once cooked in over a wood fire with embers heaped on the lid. In Malabar homes from Kozhikode to Kannur it appears at tea after the Ramadan fast and for family visits, cut into wedges and eaten warm with black tea. Soaked rice is ground with a little cooked rice and jaggery syrup, so the cake is naturally eggless and gluten free; ghee-fried coconut slivers and sliced shallots give it a crisp, savoury top and a sweet, chewy, gently bubbled middle. Grind the batter as smooth as you can: a gritty batter is the usual reason it turns out dense and sandy. Here it starts on the hob and finishes in the oven, which gives the heat from above that the embers once did. Chef's tip: let the shallots go only to light gold in the ghee; they keep cooking in the oven and turn bitter if they are already brown.

250 min

Indian Baking

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Mawa cakeCardamom khoya butter cake

Walk into an old Irani café in Mumbai or Pune at teatime and the glass jars on the counter will hold squat, golden mawa cakes, each crowned with a single cashew. The crumb is close and buttery, heavy with milky khoya and perfumed with cardamom, somewhere between a pound cake and a barfi. Locals dunk a slice in cutting chai or eat it with a bun maska on the side. This version uses eggs, as the classic bakeries do; eggless versions swap the eggs for yogurt or condensed milk and are just as popular. The usual slip is adding the khoya in hard lumps, which leave greasy pockets in the cake, so grate it and rub it smooth before it meets the butter. Chef's tip: warm the cardamom seeds in a dry pan for a minute before grinding; the aroma doubles and carries right through the bake.

65 min

Indian Baking

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Kärntner ReindlingCinnamon raisin yeast cake

Carinthia's Easter loaf takes its name from the Reindl, the round, deep pan it is baked in, and in southern Austria no Easter basket goes to church without one. Inside the golden yeast crust is a spiral of butter, cinnamon sugar and plump raisins, so every slice shows a dark swirl. Locals eat it two ways: sweet with coffee on Easter morning, or alongside the savoury Easter platter with horseradish. Many bakers soak the raisins in rum overnight; warm water or tea works just as well and keeps it alcohol-free. A dry, crumbly Reindling usually means too much flour went in during kneading, so keep the dough soft and only lightly floured. Chef's tip: butter the pan well and dust it with sugar, which caramelises into a thin crunchy shell.

180 min

Austrian Baking

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Methia masalaPickle spice mix

In Gujarati homes, methia masala (also called achar masala or sambhar masala in Kathiawad) is mixed each April before the mango pickling begins, and a jar of it lasts the year. It is built on methi kuria and rai kuria, split fenugreek and split mustard seeds sold at every Gujarati grocer, which are bloomed in smoking-hot groundnut oil with hing so they lose their raw bitterness, then mixed with Kashmiri chilli powder, turmeric and salt. That one masala makes instant pickles of carrot, gunda, raw mango or kerda in minutes, is spooned beside khichu, thepla and dhokla and goes into methia keri, the classic Gujarati mango pickle. Common mistake: pouring the oil over the chilli powder while it is smoking hot; the chilli turns black and bitter. Chef's tip: pour the hot oil over the kuria and hing only, wait until it is just warm, and only then stir in the chilli, turmeric and salt.

15 min

Indian Basics

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Pav bhaji masalaPav bhaji spice blend

The bhaji at a Juhu Beach or Girgaum Chowpatty stall gets its unmistakable taste from a ready-made masala, but a home-roasted blend smells far brighter and lets you choose the heat. Whole coriander, cumin, fennel, cloves, cinnamon, cardamom and star anise are roasted, cooled and ground with Kashmiri chilli for colour, amchur (dry mango powder) for tang, kala namak (black salt) for that eggy, savoury depth, and dry ginger. A good pav bhaji masala is red, sour-salty and aromatic rather than very hot. It is also the quick way to give tawa pulao, masala toast and Bombay sandwiches their street flavour. Common mistake: stirring the masala into a dry, very hot pan; the amchur and chilli powder scorch in seconds. Chef's tip: add the masala once the tomatoes have broken down into the butter, and keep a spoonful back to sprinkle over the bhaji in the last minute for a fresh hit of aroma.

20 min

Indian Basics

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Kashmiri ver masalaKashmiri spice cakes

In Srinagar's old city, ver is still made at the end of summer and strung up to dry in kitchens: flat, ring-shaped cakes of ground spices bound with shallot paste and pungent mustard oil, dark red and rock hard. It was a way to store flavour for the long winter, when fresh ingredients were scarce. A piece grated into the pot gives Kashmiri food its typical deep red colour and its warm, sweet-hot fennel and dry ginger flavour, without tomatoes or onions: think dum aloo, nadru yakhni (lotus stem), haak (collard greens), chaman (paneer) and rogan josh. Kashmiri Muslim kitchens often add garlic; Pandit homes may leave the shallots out altogether. Common mistake: drying the cakes in a damp or closed spot; they stay soft inside and grow mould. Chef's tip: heat the mustard oil until it smokes and then cool it before mixing, to take away its raw, sharp bite.

50 min

Indian Basics

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Dhana jiruCoriander and cumin powder

Open the masala dabba in any Gujarati kitchen, from Rajkot to Vadodara, and next to the haldi and marchu there will be a compartment of dhana jiru. It is the spice that goes into almost every shaak, dal and kadhi, often alongside red chilli and turmeric in the same pinch-and-throw rhythm. The ratio is roughly four parts coriander to one of cumin, giving a mild, citrusy, earthy powder that thickens and rounds out a dish rather than heating it. Many families buy it ready-ground, but a fresh home batch is so much more fragrant that it changes a plain potato shaak or tuver dal. Surti and Parsi kitchens roast it darker; most Gujarati homes keep it light. Common mistake: over-roasting, which kills the fresh lemony note of the coriander. Chef's tip: roast just until warm and fragrant, grind, then sift; the coriander husks stay in the sieve and the powder comes out soft and fine.

11 min

Indian Basics

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Goda masalaMaharashtrian spice blend

Goda means sweet in Marathi, and the word describes not sugar but the warm, rounded fragrance of this masala, which every Pune and Satara household roasts in small batches. It is the soul of Brahmin Maharashtrian cooking: masale bhaat at weddings, a spoonful in amti (tangy toor dal), bharli vangi (stuffed brinjal), and usal for misal. It is dark and aromatic rather than hot, built on coriander, dry coconut (kopra) and sesame, perfumed with cinnamon, cloves and cardamom, and given its earthy, slightly musky depth by dagad phool (stone flower, a lichen), with nagkesar and maratha moggu if you can find them at a Marathi grocer. Common mistake: roasting the coconut and sesame with the hard spices on a high flame; the coconut burns before the coriander is done and the whole batch tastes bitter. Chef's tip: roast each spice in a drop of oil until a shade darker, because that slow roasting is what gives goda masala its colour.

30 min

Indian Basics

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Kanda lasun masalaOnion and garlic spice blend

Kolhapuri women still make kanda lasun masala once a year, in the hot months, in a day-long session of frying, roasting and pounding, and the jar lasts until the next summer. The masala is a deep brick-red, oily paste-powder that smells of browned onion and garlic and sets your mouth on fire, thanks to plenty of hot chilli powder, traditionally from Sankeshwari or Lavangi chillies, plus milder Kashmiri for colour. A spoon or two transforms misal, kat (the spicy gravy for pav), batata bhaji, anda curry or the famous tambda rassa of mutton. Common mistake: frying the onions only until golden. They must be deep brown and crisp, with no moisture left, or the masala will turn mouldy within weeks. Chef's tip: dry the fried onion and garlic on paper for an hour before grinding, and keep the finished jar in the fridge if your kitchen is humid.

60 min

Indian Basics

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Malvani masalaKonkan spice blend

Head down the coast to Malvan, Vengurla or Devgad and every family has its own masala tin, ground in summer when the chillies are crisp and dry. Malvani masala is hotter and more aromatic than goda masala and uses no coconut: it is mostly Bedgi chillies (for a deep red colour and moderate heat) with a handful of fiery Sankeshwari, roasted with coriander and about fifteen whole spices including fennel, star anise, mace, nutmeg and stone flower. Fried in oil with coconut and onion, it becomes the base of kombdi vade (chicken curry with puris), bangda and surmai curries, prawn sukka, and vegetarian dishes like kala vatana usal and Malvani batata bhaji. The blend itself is vegan. Common mistake: leaving the stalks on the chillies; they grind into hard, woody bits and dull the colour. Chef's tip: dry the chillies in the sun or in a barely warm pan first, then roast them separately on low until they crackle, so they grind to a fine, bright powder.

30 min

Indian Basics

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Panch phoronFive-seed spice mix

Every Bengali and Odia kitchen keeps a jar of panch phoron within reach of the stove, because so much of the cooking begins with a teaspoon of it crackling in hot mustard oil. The five seeds, in equal measure, are left whole and never roasted or ground ahead: bitter fenugreek, oniony nigella (kalonji), earthy cumin, sharp black mustard and sweet fennel. Together they give a layered, slightly bittersweet aroma that is the signature of tomato chutney, cholar dal, labra, chorchori and the sweet-sour vegetable dishes of a Bengali lunch. In some traditional homes radhuni, a wild celery seed, replaces the mustard. Common mistake: tempering over a high flame. The fenugreek blackens in seconds and the whole dish tastes bitter. Chef's tip: let the oil heat until it just shimmers, add the panch phoron, and the moment the mustard starts popping and the fenugreek is reddish brown, add the vegetables or dal.

5 min

Indian Basics

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Rasam powderRasam spice powder

A spoon of rasam podi, a lime-sized ball of tamarind, a tomato and a ladle of cooked toor dal: that is lunch in countless Tamil homes, from Thanjavur to Tirunelveli, and the podi is what makes one family's rasam taste unlike the neighbour's. This version is peppery and cumin-forward, as rasam should be, with roasted coriander for body and a little toor dal that thickens the broth slightly and gives it a rounded, nutty base. It is meant for clear, thin rasams: tomato rasam, pepper rasam, lemon rasam, and the one you sip as a soup when you have a cold. Make a small batch, since the aroma fades after a couple of months. Common mistake: roasting the coriander seeds until dark brown; they turn bitter and the rasam tastes burnt. Chef's tip: add rasam powder at the end, when the tamarind water is already boiling, and switch off the heat as soon as the rasam froths; boiling it hard kills the pepper aroma.

20 min

Indian Basics

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Bengali boriSun-dried lentil dumplings

Winter mornings in rural Bengal used to mean bori-making: the household gathered on the roof with a big bowl of freshly ground, hand-whipped urad dal and dropped little peaked dollops onto cloth in neat rows. In Medinipur the women even pipe them into lace-like gohona bori, a folk art of its own. The everyday kind is simpler, a cone the size of a marble, sun-dried until rock hard. Fried in mustard oil, a bori turns crisp and golden outside and slightly spongy inside, and it soaks up gravy beautifully. A handful goes into shukto, into a maacher jhol with potatoes, into lau ghonto (bottle gourd) or into a simple vegetable chorchori. Common mistake: grinding the dal with too much water; the paste then spreads flat on the cloth instead of holding a peak. Chef's tip: check the whipped paste by dropping a little into a bowl of water. If it floats, it has enough air and the bori will be light; if it sinks, keep beating.

50 min

Indian Basics

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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.

40 min

Indian Basics

by KrazyBadal 0 views

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