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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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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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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

Indian Drinks

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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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Hong you (Sichuan red chilli oil)

In Chengdu kitchens, a jar of hong you sits next to the stove and goes into almost everything cold: wontons in red oil, cucumber salads, cold noodles and the dressing for liang mian. Good chilli oil is a deep ruby colour, fragrant rather than burnt, with a warm, rounded heat and the tingle of Sichuan pepper. It is poured in two stages, hot then warm, so you get both toasted and bright chilli flavours. The mistake most people make is pouring smoking oil onto the flakes, which turns them black and bitter in a second; check the temperature. Chef's tip: mix coarse and fine chilli flakes, the fine for colour and the coarse for crunch and flavour, and let the oil sit overnight before using.

20 min

Chinese Basics

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Shi xiang cai (ten-treasure vegetables)

Shanghai families make a big tub of shi xiang cai on the last days of the old year, and it sits on the table, cold, through the first fortnight of New Year as a fresh, crunchy counterweight to all the braised meat. Ten ingredients, each shredded as fine as matchsticks and stir-fried separately, are tossed together with soy, sugar and sesame oil: soybean sprouts, carrot, celery, wood ear, shiitake, lily buds, bamboo, pressed tofu, preserved mustard tuber and red pepper. Throwing everything into the wok at once is the mistake; each vegetable cooks at its own speed, and only separate frying keeps them crisp. Chef's tip: the finer and more even the shreds, the more it tastes like the real thing.

65 min

Chinese Sides

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Moo shu pork (mu xu rou)

Mu xu rou began in Shandong and became a Beijing home-cooking staple, a weeknight stir-fry of thin pork strips with fluffy egg, crunchy wood ear and slightly sweet dried lily buds; the name refers to the yellow egg pieces looking like osmanthus blossom. In Beijing it is eaten with rice; Americans know it rolled in thin pancakes with hoisin, and both are good. A little Shaoxing rice wine goes into the pork marinade and evaporates in the hot wok; leave it out for an alcohol-free version. The mistake is overcooking the egg at the start, so it goes rubbery; take it out while still soft. Cook the pork until no pink remains, at least 71 °C. Chef's tip: cut off the hard tips of the lily buds after soaking, or they stay woody.

25 min

Chinese Meat

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Kabocha no nimonoSimmered Japanese pumpkin

In Japanese homes kabocha nimono is autumn and winter comfort, and it is traditionally eaten on the winter solstice (tōji) for good health; the wedges also travel well in a lunchbox. The dense, chestnut-sweet pumpkin is simmered skin-side down in a little dashi with sugar, mirin and soy until a skewer slides in, and the flesh turns fluffy while the dark green skin holds the shape. This version uses kombu–shiitake dashi so it is fully vegan; mirin contains alcohol and the note gives a swap. The usual mistake is stirring: it breaks the pumpkin into mash, so just shake the pan. Chef's tip: trim the sharp edges of each wedge (mentori) with a peeler so they don't crumble into the broth.

28 min

Japanese Sides

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Japanese potato salad

Every konbini, school lunch tray and izakaya menu in Japan seems to have its own potato salad, a Western-born dish the Japanese have made entirely theirs. The potatoes are half-mashed so the salad is creamy with chunks, then folded with salted cucumber, carrot, onion and a rich, slightly tangy Japanese-style mayonnaise; it is often served as a side to tonkatsu or packed in a bento. Japanese mayonnaise is made with egg yolk, so this contains egg. The common mistake is mixing in the mayonnaise while the potatoes are hot, which makes it oily and gluey; season with vinegar while hot, then cool before the mayo goes in. Chef's tip: salt the cucumber and onion and squeeze them hard, so they stay crisp and don't water down the salad.

30 min

Japanese Salads

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Tang cu pai gu (sweet and sour pork ribs)

In Shanghai and nearby Wuxi, these small, dark, lacquered pork ribs come to the table at room temperature as one of the cold starters at a banquet, though at home they are just as good hot with rice. The pork ribs are simmered until tender, fried, then reduced with sugar and Chinkiang black vinegar into a sticky glaze that clings to every piece. A splash of Shaoxing rice wine goes into the simmer; it cooks off completely, and you can use water instead. The mistake is pulling them off the heat while the sauce is still thin; keep reducing until it coats the ribs and bubbles in big, slow bubbles. Pork should reach at least 71 °C, well past that after the long simmer. Chef's tip: add a final dash of vinegar just before serving to bring back its sharp, fresh edge.

70 min

Chinese Meat

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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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Karela nu shaakBitter gourd and jaggery curry

Most children in Gujarat grow up hating karela and end up asking for this version. Bitter gourd is sliced into thin rings, rubbed with salt and turmeric, squeezed, then cooked slowly in a vaghar of mustard seed and hing until soft and browned. A spoonful of besan toasted in the same pan clings to each ring, and jaggery melts into a glossy coating, so it tastes sweet, nutty, spicy and only pleasantly bitter. With no onion or garlic it suits Jain homes, and it's a monsoon favourite with dal-bhaat-rotli. A common mistake is salting the shaak again as if from scratch; the squeezed karela still holds salt, so taste first. Chef's tip: add the besan only once the karela is dry and browned, and stir constantly for a minute; in a wet pan it forms lumps.

35 min

Indian Sides

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Kakori kebabMinced mutton skewers

The village of Kakori, just outside Lucknow, gave its name to the softest kebab of Awadh, said to have been created for a nawab who could no longer chew. Mutton (goat) mince, ground twice until it is almost a paste, is bound with roasted gram flour, khoya and fried onion, tenderised with raw papaya and perfumed with mace, green cardamom, rose petals and a few drops of kewra. It is wrapped around long skewers and cooked over charcoal until the outside is lightly charred and the inside so delicate that it falls apart on the tongue. Lamb mince with some fat is the best swap. Kakori kebabs are an Eid and wedding favourite, served wrapped in thin rumali roti or ulte tawe ka paratha with mint chutney and onion rings. Because it is minced meat, cook it to 71 °C in the centre. Chef's tip: ask the butcher for mince from the shoulder with about 20 per cent fat and have it ground twice; lean mince makes dry kebabs that won't cling to the skewer.

60 min

Indian Meat

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Doi maachFish in spiced yogurt gravy

At a Bengali wedding feast or on Jamai Shashthi, when sons-in-law are fed like kings, doi maach is the fish course everyone waits for. Thick steaks of rohu or katla, the big freshwater carp of Bengal's ponds, are rubbed with turmeric and salt, fried in sharp mustard oil and then simmered in a pale, creamy gravy of whisked yogurt, ginger and onion paste and whole garam masala, sweetened just enough to balance the tang. It is mild and fragrant rather than hot. Carp has fine bones, so eat it slowly. Cook the fish until it is opaque and flakes easily from the bone. Serve with steamed gobindobhog or plain white rice, and a squeeze of gondhoraj lime if you can find it. Common mistake: tipping cold yogurt straight into hot oil, which splits it into grainy curds. Chef's tip: whisk the yogurt with the spice powders and a spoonful of the hot gravy first, then add it over the lowest heat.

50 min

Indian Fish

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Ball curryMutton meatball curry

Ask any Anglo-Indian family in Kolkata, Chennai or Bengaluru what's on the Christmas lunch table and ball curry will be near the top, along with yellow coconut rice, roast chicken and a fruit cake for later. The 'balls' are soft koftas of spiced minced meat with onion, green chilli, mint and coriander, dropped raw into a simmering coconut and tomato curry so they absorb its flavour as they cook. Many homes use beef mince; this recipe uses mutton (goat) mince, which is easier to find in most Indian cities and gives a lighter, sweeter flavour. Lamb mince is a good swap. The curry is medium-hot, tangy from tomato and rounded off with coconut milk. Because it is minced meat, cook the koftas through to 71 °C in the centre. Serve with yellow rice, plain rice or appam. Chef's tip: wet your hands with cold water while rolling; the koftas come out smooth with no cracks and stay whole in the gravy.

75 min

Indian Meat

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HiyayakkoChilled tofu with ginger

On a hot July night in any Tokyo izakaya, the first plate to arrive is often a cold block of tofu: hiyayakko, a summer staple that takes five minutes and no cooking. Silky tofu sits in a little pool of soy and is heaped with fresh ginger, spring onion and shiso, so it is cool, creamy and sharp at once. Bonito flakes are the usual topping; here crisp nori and sesame keep it vegan. The common mistake is serving it wet: blot the tofu, or the water dilutes the soy into a pale puddle. Chef's tip: buy the freshest silken (kinugoshi) tofu you can find and chill it well in its water, since this dish is only as good as the tofu.

5 min

Japanese Salads

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Fa gao (prosperity cakes)Steamed rice flour cakes

Fa gao is the little cake on every Cantonese New Year altar in Guangzhou and in Chinatowns from Kuala Lumpur to London: the word 'fa' means both 'rise' and 'prosper', and the deeper the cross-shaped crack on top, the luckier the year. This quick version uses rice flour, a little wheat flour and baking powder, steamed hard so the tops burst open, and it is egg- and dairy-free. The mistake that stops them smiling is a gentle steamer; the water must be at a fierce rolling boil before the cups go in. Chef's tip: fill the cups right to the brim, so the batter has to split as it rises.

35 min

Chinese Baking

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Hijiki no nimonoSimmered hijiki seaweed

This is the quiet, dark heap of seaweed that turns up next to rice in set lunches all over Japan, and it is a staple of home bento boxes because it tastes just as good cold. Tiny black hijiki strands are simmered with carrot, thin fried tofu (aburaage) and soybeans in a sweet soy broth until the liquid is nearly gone. It is savoury, faintly of the sea and rich in fibre. Mirin contains alcohol; the note gives an alcohol-free swap, and this version uses fish-free kombu–shiitake dashi. A common mistake is skipping the rinse after soaking: dried hijiki carries sand, so swish it in fresh water twice. Because hijiki can hold inorganic arsenic, soak it well, discard the soaking water and eat it as a small side rather than daily in large amounts. Chef's tip: pour boiling water over the aburaage first to remove excess frying oil, so it soaks up the broth.

45 min

Japanese Sides

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Kinpira goboBurdock and carrot stir-fry

Open almost any home-packed bento in Tokyo or Osaka and there is a small heap of kinpira tucked into a corner: burdock root and carrot cut into matchsticks, fried in sesame oil, then cooked down with soy, mirin and a little chilli until glossy and almost dry. It is earthy, sweet-salty and crunchy, and it keeps for four days in the fridge, which is exactly why mothers make a big pan on Sunday. The mirin and sake both contain alcohol; the ingredient notes give alcohol-free swaps. The most common mistake is soaking the cut burdock for too long, which washes away its flavour; five minutes in water is plenty. Chef's tip: leave a little skin on the burdock by scrubbing with the back of a knife rather than peeling, because most of the aroma sits just under it.

27 min

Japanese Sides

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ShiraaeVegetables in tofu dressing

Shiraae, 'white dressing', is one of the oldest dishes of Japanese temple cooking and still a gentle home side today, especially in the Kyoto area: blanched spinach, carrot and konnyaku folded into a creamy paste of tofu, ground sesame and a touch of white miso. It tastes mild, nutty and lightly sweet, rather like a Japanese answer to a dip-dressed salad. The common mistake is leaving the vegetables wet, which turns the dressing grey and runny; squeeze them well and dress just before serving. Chef's tip: for the silkiest dressing, grind the toasted sesame in a suribachi (or mortar) until it starts to turn oily, then mash the tofu straight into it.

28 min

Japanese Salads

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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

Indian Drinks

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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

Indian Drinks

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