SAVEUR

AGOSTO 2014

Finding India. A long ago visit to the subcontinent leaves a lasting impression. I’m not going to lie. My f
rst encounter with India was inauspicious. It was 1998, and after a month-long journey through
Southeast Asia, I wound up in Chennai, a mega-city in the south Indian state of Tamil Nadu. Unprepared
for its intensity, I found it cacophonous and chaotic. And while I’d long been enamored of Indian cuisine
— my f rst bites courtesy of Madhur Jaf rey cookbook’s An Invitation to Indian Cooking (Knopf, 1975),
which I’d fallen in love with as a teenager—the foods I ate there felt texturally odd and alarmingly spicy.
Determined to give India another shot, I pulled out a map of the country, closed my eyes, and decided
that wherever my f nger landed, I would go. T at place, it turned out, was the village of Gingee, 90 miles
southwest of Chennai. As soon as I arrived, I realized I had found the India of my dreams. T e people
were jubilant and open-hearted. T e foods—bold lentil stews spiked with fresh curry leaves, stir-fried
greens that tasted of the garden—were vibrant and unforgettable. I found a small room to rent, and
gradually India got under my skin. When I returned to New York, I was determined to replicate the
astonishing foods I’d eaten at home. I spent weekends scouring Indian markets in Queens for
ingredients, learning how to turn them into exciting, authentic dishes. My hope is that this issue,
devoted entirely to India, will encourage you to do the same. In putting it together, with the guidance of
Madhur (a saveur contributing editor), saveur’s editors, writers, and photographers undertook an
extraordinary journey, from tropical Kerala, where spicy f sh and coconut curries prevail, to northeast
India, where tribal cooks create f avorful stirfries and pork dishes. In these pages, you’ll f nd the stories,
the know-how and, most important, the inspiration to prepare some of the f nest foods you, too, will
ever eat. —JAMES OSELAND, Editor-in-Chief.

INDIA
India, home to tow er ing snow-covered ranges in the north, deserts in its center, and a network of
tropical waterways lacing through the south, is the birthplace of dozens of cuisines. India’s food refects
its geographical variation— the north eats wheat, the south consumes rice, and the coasts thrive on
coconut milk and fsh—as well as its religious diversity. Muslims may eat beef, but most Hindus would
never kill a cow; Parsis, heirs to a Persian ancestry, pair meats with sweet, dried fruits, while the
Assamese, descended from Tibetans and Burmese, favor pungent, fermented favors. Everywhere in
India, however, there is one common element: the masterful use of spices. Indians know when to cook
spices whole, fash-frying them in blistering oil to release caramelized aromas. They know when to roast
spices to bring out secondary favors, and they know when to grind them to unleash their potency. It’s an
approach that has been honed over thousands of years. Time for recipes to mature and ripen. Time for
agriculture to be fashioned to each region’s palate. Time to take history in stride and, as each new
invading power came through, whether it was the Greeks, Arabs, or British, to lower the head and let
the bloody winds of war pass. India took from the foreigners what suited her—sealed-pot dum baking
from the Mughals, chiles and potatoes from the Portuguese— and used them in the service of her own
tastes. I was lucky enough to have been born into an ancient family of scribes in Delhi who were also
great lovers of drinking and eating. For the past 40 years I have traveled throughout the country,
wanting to know and taste every part of it. I have only scratched the surface. Each time I return,
searching for new recipes, new stories, I go with a begging bowl. I have never been left hungry. —
Madhur Jafrey, saveur contributing editor.
East.
THE EASTERN Indian states of West Bengal, Odisha, Bihar, Jharkhand, and Chhattisgarh are home to
fruitful plains riddled with waterways and lakes. After monsoon season , felds are blanketed with
mustard fowers, whose seeds are crushed to yield pungent cooking oil; gardens burst with vegetables of
all kinds. Where the Ganges fows into the Bay of Bengal, it fans out into the world’s largest delta. There,
freshwater fish and rice are at the foundation of the cuisine, while farther south, hundreds of miles of
coastline yield shrimp and other seafood. More than anything, though, eastern India is renowned for its
sweets. The date palms that thrive in the tropical climate provide a delicate sugar called nolen gur that’s
used to create the many milkbased desserts that are the pride of the region.
The School of Small Bites. Wherever my 80-yearold father, Amartya Sen, travels in India, a scrum of
students encircle him, eager to shake his hand. As popular as a Bollywood star or pop singer, he came to
his fame through his work as an economist: He was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1998. But he was not
always a dutiful student, he told me when I joined him on a recent visit to his alma mater, Presidency
College, in Calcutta. In fact, he spent most of his college years playing hooky at a café across the street.
My father started his studies back in 1951, four years after India won its sovereignty. He was on his way
to register for classes when a friend, Sukhamoy Chakravarty, stopped him. “Forget that,” Chakravarty
said. “I’m taking you to the Indian Cofee House.” The two crossed College Street, climbed a dingy
staircase, and entered a broad, smoky hall where waiters carried cofee cups and vegetable fritters
paired with tangy chutneys on steel trays. The bubbling stream of conversation was so loud that one had
to shout to be heard. India is mostly a teadrinking country; the Coffee House, now a worker’s
cooperative, was established in the early 1940s by the coffee industry to promote this alternative brew.
Countercultural from its founding, it became a temple to the Bengali concept of adda—chatting sessions
that swoop from poetry to politics, grand theories to local gossip. Over potatof lled samosas and strong
coffee, my father discovered a world where books were handed around like priceless treasures, where
the writings of American economist Kenneth Arrow and Marxist historian Eric Hobsbawm were as
eagerly parsed as romantic exploits. By his final year, my father had skipped so many classes to go to the
Cof ee House that sitting for his qualifying exam required some negotiation. For my father and his
classmates, this adda nurtured revolutionary ideas that went on to def ne the subcontinent over the
next half century. The flmmaker Satyajit Ray and the singer Manna Dey were denizens of the Cof ee
House, too, and Chakravarty, the boy who first brought my father there, later helped design India’s Five-
Year Plan economy. Sixty-three years after his first cof ee with Chakravarty, my father and I strolled
across College Street, climbed the stairs, and settled in at a table. As a waiter brought over a tray of
milky coffee and sandwiches, police guards held a crowd angling for cellphone photos of my father at
bay. But within a few minutes, the hubbub outdoors was drowned out by the familiar din of adda. —
Indrani Sen, freelance writer.
lovely lassis Traveling in India as spring was lapsing into torpid summer, I was grateful to fi nd creamy
chilled lassis everywhere to sip in the heat. On city streets and in village shops, in homes palatial and
humble, people rolled the wooden handles of star-shaped churners between their palms, frothing
glasses of milk- or water-thinned yogurt to mix with fl avorings for the cooling drink. At a canteen in
Delhi, I indulged in a sugary lassi that was milkshake-thick with mango purée and a thinner one drizzled
with Rooh Afza, a scarlet syrup fragrant with rose and screw pine. In Lucknow, a savory version was
briny with black salt and pungent with cumin. And in the Himalayan foothills, mulberries were blended
into a sweet-tart elixir topped with a layer of cream. Indeed, lassis are as varied as India’s geography. In
Punjab, crushed pistachios and dried fruit might be added as garnish, while in the south, a mix of ginger,
mustard seeds, curry leaves, and cilantro seasons the drink. Delicious. But none of them matches the
one found at Lingaraj Lassi in Bhubaneshwar, Odisha. Here, the lassi is made solely with milk, heated
ever so slowly so that its sugars caramelize, its fl avor deepens, and its complexion turns the color of
honey. Topped with chopped cashews, it is a lassi of which legends are made. —Betsy Andrews.
REQUIRED EATING. “i don’t like f sh,” my grandmother would say, reaching for a f llet in tangy broth. her
insistence on eating a disliked food refl ected her Bengali identity, for no Bengali meal is complete
without maacher jhol, (see page 36 for recipe), rohu or another local river f sh simmered in mustard oil–
scented curry. to eat the oily fl esh, you must f rst discard every tiny bit of the skeleton. “Why eat it if
you don’t like it?” we’d squeal. “don’t talk,” she’d chide. “Just look for the bones.” —I.S.

Preserving Culture When I go home to India, I look forward to one thing in particular: my mother’s
homemade pickles. As is true of most great Indian cooks, her repertoire is seemingly endless. With
yellow dal, she might serve a lime version, fantastically sour and peppy with green chiles and ginger. To
slather on faky paratha fatbreads, she could make a quick pickle of green mango simmered with
cardamom and clove (see page 35 for recipe). And I always ask for her sun-cured green mango pickle;
fragrant with curry leaves, it’s delicious alongside her appams, crispy rice-four crêpes. When she pickles,
my mother is undertaking one of India’s most ancient and universal methods of preservation.
Everywhere, fruits and vegetables are salted, sun-cured, and then bottled in spiceinfused oil, where
their favor intensifes, transforming into condiments that perk up meals. There is generally one fne cook,
like my mom, who will pickle for her entire clan. But markets also ofer a wide array—fg and date pickle
(top row, far right), chile-spiked mixed vegetables (third row, second from right), spicy lemon pickle
(second row, second from left; see page 36 for recipe), and more—displayed in big glass jars. As I see it,
these pickles safeguard far more than just seasonal produce. They preserve our heritage. — Smita
Chandra, author of Cuisines of India (Ecco Press, 2001).
heavenly Meal. The Hindu deity Lord Jagannath, creator of the universe, is worshipped all over India, but
with particular intensity in puri, odisha, where Jagannath Temple is located. on the day of my visit there,
late one hot, spring morning, Brahmin priests gathered in the temple kitchen to oversee the preparation
of steamed white rice and dalma, a common odisha-style stew of lentils bolstered with the ingredients
fundamental to the cooking of the region. The dish is offered to Jagannath and then distributed among
visitors to the temple as prasad. For worshippers, the meal is a means of bringing the divinity of the
temple into themselves, the act of eating a form of prayer. as devotees received their meal, I, too, was
handed a platter of food. The lentil dalma (see page 35 for recipe) was fragrant with coconut and
enriched with silky, thinly sliced cooked onions and long-simmered sweet potatoes that fell apart at the
touch of my spoon. enraptured, I ate every blessed drop. —James Oseland.
sweet country i sit on my bike near my family’s home in the Bengal village of santiniketan. i am waiting
for the mishti wallah, the sweets vendor Pintu Roy, who pedals a bicycle with a glass-encased dessert
cart, housewives running to greet him. Bengal, renowned for its date-palm sugar, is obsessed with
mishti—particularly milk-based ones, eaten after meals or scooped up with a chapati for breakfast. i
picture Pintu’s wares: fudgy shondesh, cottage-cheese bonbons; kalojam, fried milk curd dunked in
syrup; silky malai cham cham, curd logs bathed in cream. Finally, i hear the honk of an old-timey horn. i
ride manically to catch him. he doesn’t need to ask what i want. he wraps a dozen pantua, cottage-
cheese fritters soaked in syrup, in newspaper for me. then he hands me a sample. i devour it, syrup
dripping down my fngers, as he slowly pedals away. —I.S.
travel guide east india. BHUBANESHWAR Stay at the fvestar Trident Hotel ( tridenthotels.com). Eat
homestyle Odisha dishes like kankada tarkari, whole crabs in gingergarlic curry, at Dalma
( dalmahotels.in), and sample the lassis at Lingaraj Lassi (near Saheed Nagar Mandap). ExplorE the 12th-
century Jagannath Temple, where MiShTi Mecca Home to hundreds of sweets shops, Calcutta is one of
the best places to taste India’s sugary snacks. GiriSh Chandra dEy & nakur Chandra nandy
(girishnakur.com), open since 1844, is known for jolbhora shondesh, paneer confections with gooey
palm-sugar centers. Try cham cham—milk curd, heavy cream, and safron dumplings—at the 150-year-
old Balaram mulliCk & radharaman mulliCk (balarammullick.com). At Chittaranjan miStanna Bhandar
(rasogolla.com), sixth-generation confectioners make rasogollas, spongy cottage cheese and semolina
balls in syrup. —Sunita Singh, Kensington Tours tr av el gu ide east india Hindu worshippers partake of
prasad, food oferings, in the afternoon. Shop for Indian pickles at Capital Market, the main bazaar, or
drive two hours south to the City Market Area of Brahmapur to shop for the city’s famed achar pickles.
CALCUTTA Stay at the Taj Bengal (tajhotels.com). Eat the east coast’s renowned fsh dishes, including
maacher jhol, Bengali fsh stew, at 6 Ballygunge Place (savourites.in/fag ship.asp). ExplorE stunning
architecture at the Ramakrisha Movement’s Belur Math Shrine (belur math.org). Shop at the New
Market on Lindsay Street, a 19th-century structure abuzz with cloth vendors, cheese shops, and
restaurants. See itineraries and more at saveur .com/india.

Récipes.
aamba Khatta (Sweet and Sour Mango Pickle) makes 3 cups To make this tangy, spicy condiment
(pictured on page 34), use f rm, unripe mangoes. 1⁄4 cup canola oil 2 tsp. black mustard seeds 1 1⁄2 tsp.
green cardamom pods 1⁄2 tsp. whole cloves 12 fresh or frozen curry leaves 5 chiles de árbol, stemmed 1
stick cinnamon, halved 1 tsp. ground turmeric 1⁄2 tsp. red chile powder, such as cayenne 2 green, unripe
mangoes, unpeeled, pitted, quar- tered, and sliced 1” thick 1⁄2 cup sugar 1 tbsp. kosher salt Heat oil in a
4-qt. saucepan over medium-high. Cook mustard seeds, cardamom, cloves, curry leaves, chiles, and
cinnamon until seeds pop, 1–2 minutes. Add turmeric, chile powder, and mangoes; cook until mangoes
are tender, 8–10 minutes. Add sugar, salt, and 11 ⁄4 cups water; simmer until sugar is dissolved, 2–3
minutes, and let cool.
Caramel lassi serves 4–6. The honeyed taste and caramel hue of this drink (pictured on page 25) come
from the lactose in the milk, which caramelizes as the milk reduces, deepening and intensifying it in
color and f avor. To make it, boil 8 cups whole milk in a 6-qt. saucepan. Reduce heat to medium-high;
cook, stirring occasionally, until reduced by two-thirds, 40–45 minutes. Stir in 1 ⁄4 cup sugar; cook until
sugar is dissolved, 2–3 minutes. Let cool; pour into glasses. Garnish with chopped cashews, golden
raisins, and pomegranate seeds.
Chingudi Chhecha (Odisha-Style Shrimp Curry) serves 4–6. Sweet shrimp are fried with fragrant spices
and aromatics, then ground to create this toothsome dish (pictured on page 34). 1⁄2 cup mustard or
canola oil 2 tbsp. black mustard seeds 2 tsp. cumin seeds 15 fresh or frozen curry leaves 5 chiles de
árbol, stemmed 15 cloves garlic, thinly sliced 1 small red onion, sliced 2 lb. medium shrimp, peeled and
deveined, tails off 1 tsp. ground turmeric 3 small green Thai chiles or 1 1⁄2 serranos, minced Kosher salt,
to taste 1⁄3 cup packed cilantro leaves Heat oil in a 12” skillet over medium-high. Cook mustard and
cumin seeds, curry leaves, and chiles de árbol until seeds pop, 1–2 minutes. Add garlic and onion; cook
until golden, 6–8 minutes. Add shrimp, turmeric, chiles, and salt; cook until shrimp are pink, 3–4
minutes. Transfer to a food processor; add half the cilantro and pulse until coarsely ground. Transfer to
a bowl; stir in remaining cilantro.
Dalma (Lentil Stew with Coconut) serves 4–6. This lentil stew (pictured on page 31), full of vegetables
and coconut, is an everyday staple on Odisha’s tables. 1 cup toor dal (yellow pigeon peas), rinsed,
soaked 30 minutes, and drained 1 tsp. ground turmeric 1 carrot, cut into 1” pieces 1 plum tomato,
minced 1 small Japanese eggplant, peeled and cut into 1” pieces 1 small sweet potato, peeled and cut
into 1” pieces 1 small Yukon Gold potato, peeled and cut into 1” pieces 1 2 1⁄2” piece ginger, peeled and
mashed into a paste 1⁄2 small daikon radish, peeled and cut into 1” pieces Kosher salt, to taste 1 cup
fresh or frozen grated coconut 3 tbsp. sugar 1 tsp. asafoetida 1 drumstick, trimmed and cut into 2”
pieces 1⁄4 cup ghee 1 1⁄2 tsp. cumin seeds 1 small green Thai chile or 1⁄2 serrano, halved Bring dal and 8
cups water to a boil in a 6-qt. saucepan. Reduce heat to medium; stir in turmeric, carrot, tomato,
eggplant, potatoes, ginger, daikon, and salt; cook until dal is mushy, about 45 minutes. Stir in coconut,
sugar, asafoetida, and drumstick; cook until drumstick is tender, 20–25 minutes. Melt ghee in an 8”
skillet over medium-high; cook cumin seeds and chile until seeds pop, 1–2 minutes; stir into stew.
Garam Masala makes 1 ∕2 cup. This raw, ground spice mix from cookbook author Madhur Jaf rey lends
potency to stews and curries. To make it, combine 1 ⁄4 cup cardamom seeds, 1 1 ⁄2 tsp. each black cumin
seeds, whole black peppercorns, and whole cloves, plus 4 sticks cinnamon and 1 whole nutmeg, cracked
into pieces, in a spice grinder. Grind into a powder. Store in an airtight container up to 3 months.
ghanta tarkari (Mixed Vegetable Coconut Curry) serves 4–6. Coconut and sugar sweeten this ghee-
enriched curry of squash, potatoes, and gourds (pictured on page 34) from West Bengal. 1⁄3 cup ghee 6
green cardamom pods 6 whole cloves 5 small green Thai chiles or 2 serranos, halved 2 Indian or regular
bay leaves 1 stick cinnamon, halved 1 lb. kabocha or butternut squash, peeled, seeded, and cut into 1”
pieces 1 lb. Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and cut into 1” pieces 6 potol (pointed gourds) or 2 medium
zucchini, peeled and cut into 1” pieces 1 loofah (ridge gourd) or 1 large cucumber, peeled and cut into
1” pieces Kosher salt, to taste 1⁄2 cup fresh or frozen grated coconut 1 tsp. sugar Melt half the ghee in a
6-qt. saucepan over medium-high. Cook cardamom, cloves, chiles, bay leaves, and cinnamon 1–2
minutes. Add squash and potatoes; cook until golden, 8–10 minutes. Stir in gourds and salt; cook until
just tender, 4–6 minutes. Reduce heat to medium; cook, covered, until vegetables are very tender, 12–
15 minutes. Stir in remaining ghee, the coconut, and sugar; cook 2 minutes.
Valley of the Dals. The word dal refers to both a spiced lentil-based stew and an array of dried, split,
hulled beans and legumes. There are dozens of types of dal, each of which is prized for particular
preparations. Chana dal, mild-tasting yellow split peas, add body to dishes such as shami kebabs, stuffed
ground beef patties (see page 89 for recipe). They are also roasted to bring a savory crunch to tarka,
fried spice blends, and used as a garnish for soups in the south. Red split lentils, masoor dal, make a
smooth, creamy base for such dishes as malika masur dal, red lentils with green mango (see
saveur .com/india). Urad dal, skinned split black lentils, are mainly used in savory breads and crêpes. In
south India, they’re soaked, puréed, and fermented with chana dal and rice to make the batter for crispy
dosas (see page 72 for recipe). Dark green split mung beans, moong dal, add depth and balance to
sakkarai pongol, sweet rice pudding (see page 74 for recipe). Toor dal, yellow pigeon peas, have an
earthy intensity that holds up well in fl avorful dishes such as dalma, lentil stew with coconut (see recipe
at left) from India’s eastern odisha region. To purchase dals, visit kalustyans.com. —Judy Haubert.
Maacher Jhol (Bengali-Style Fish Stew) serves 4. The sharp taste of mustard is at the heart and soul of
this classic Bengali dish (pictured on page 24). 1 lb. boneless, skin-on catfi sh, trout, or salmon, cut into
2” pieces 1⁄4 tsp. ground turmeric Kosher salt, to taste 1 1⁄2 tbsp. black mustard seeds 1 tbsp. cumin
seeds 1⁄3 cup mustard oil 2 tsp. panch phoran (Bengali fi ve-spice powder) 2 small green Thai chiles or 1
serrano, halved 1 small red onion, minced 3 cloves garlic, mashed into a paste 1 2” piece ginger, peeled
and mashed into a paste 2 plum tomatoes, chopped 1⁄3 cup packed cilantro leaves Rub f sh with turmeric
and salt in a bowl. Heat a 6-qt. saucepan over medium-high; cook mustard and cumin seeds until they
pop, 1–2 minutes. Grind in a spice grinder into a powder. Add oil to pan; heat over mediumhigh. Cook f
sh, f ipping once, until skin is crisp, 4–5 minutes; transfer to a plate. Add f ve-spice powder and chiles;
cook 1–2 minutes. Add onion; cook until slightly caramelized, 8–10 minutes. Add reserved spices, the
garlic, ginger, and 11 ⁄2 cups water; boil. Add tomatoes; cook until thickened, 8–10 minutes. Stir in f sh
and the cilantro.
nimbu Ka achar (Spicy Lemon Pickle) makes about 4 cups. A salt and spice cure transforms fresh citrus
into tart, briny pickles (pictured on page 28). 10 small lemons, preferably Meyer, quartered, seeded, and
sliced 1⁄4” thick 1⁄4 cup kosher salt 1 tsp. ground turmeric 1⁄2 cup canola oil 1⁄2 tsp. brown mustard seeds
1⁄2 tsp. cumin seeds 1⁄2 tsp. fenugreek seeds 12 small green Thai chiles or 6 serranos, halved 8 cloves
garlic, thinly sliced 1 2” piece ginger, peeled and thinly sliced 1⁄2 cup white vinegar 1⁄4 cup sugar 1 tbsp.
red chile powder or cayenne Rub lemons with salt and turmeric in a bowl; pack into a sterilized 1-qt.
glass jar. Cover with lid; place near a window with direct, warm sunlight. Let sit 1 week; shake jar daily to
disperse brine. After 1 week, heat oil in a 10” skillet over medium-high; cook mustard, cumin, and
fenugreek seeds until they pop, 1–2 minutes. Add chiles, garlic, and ginger; cook until golden, 4–6
minutes. Stir in vinegar, sugar, and chile powder. Pour over lemons; reseal lid. Shake to combine; chill 1
week to infuse f avors. Keeps up to 1 year.
Samosas (Fried Potato-Filled Pastries) makes 24. The recipe for these iconic Indian snacks (pictured on
page 22) comes from cookbook author Raghavan Iyer. 3 cups fl our 8 tbsp. unsalted butter, cubed and
chilled Kosher salt, to taste 3⁄4 cup ice-cold water 1⁄2 lb. russet potatoes, peeled and roughly chopped 2
carrots, roughly chopped 2 tbsp. canola oil, plus more 1 tsp. cumin seeds 1 small yellow onion, minced 1
1” piece ginger, peeled and minced 3⁄4 cup frozen peas, defrosted 1⁄4 cup minced cilantro 1⁄4 cup minced
mint 1⁄2 tsp. garam masala (see page 35 for recipe) 2 small green Thai chiles or 1 serrano, minced
Tamarind and coconut- cilantro chutneys, for serv- ing (see recipes at right and on page 54; optional) 1
Make the dough: Pulse f our, butter, and salt in a food processor into pea-size crumbles. Add water;
pulse until dough forms. Divide into 12 balls; chill 1 hour. 2 Make the f lling: Boil potatoes and carrots in
a 4-qt. saucepan of salted water until tender, 8–10 minutes. Drain; coarsely mash. Add 2 tbsp. oil to pan;
heat over medium-high. Cook cumin seeds until they pop, 1–2 minutes. Add onion and ginger; cook until
golden, 4–6 minutes. Let cool; stir into potato mixture with peas, cilantro, mint, garam masala, chiles,
and salt. 3 Form and fry samosas: Working with 1 ball at a time, roll dough into a 6” round; cut in half.
Gather straight edges of 1 half-round together, overlapping by 1 ⁄4” to form a cone. Moisten seam with
water; press to seal. Spoon 1 tbsp. filling into cone. Moisten edges of cone with water; pinch to seal.
Heat 2” oil in a 6-qt. saucepan until a deepfry thermometer reads 350°. Fry samosas until crisp, 8–10
minutes. Drain on paper towels; serve with chutneys if you like.
Sevaya Kheer (Vermicelli Milk Pudding) serves 4 Home cook Yamini Joshi gave us the recipe for this
Punjabi dessert (pictured on page 34) made with cardamom-spiced milk and bolstered by toasted
noodles, dried fruit, and nuts . 2 tbsp. ghee 3 oz. vermicelli pasta, broken into 1” pieces 5 cups whole
milk 1⁄2 cup sugar 1⁄4 cup pistachios, minced 3 tbsp. golden raisins 3 tbsp. sliced almonds 1⁄2 tsp. ground
cardamom Melt ghee in a 4-qt. saucepan over medium-high. Cook pasta until reddish-brown, 3–4
minutes. Add milk; boil. Reduce heat to medium; cook, stirring occasionally to prevent scorching, until
thickened, 15–17 minutes. Stir in sugar, pistachios, raisins, almonds, and cardamom; cook 2–3 minutes.
Serve warm.
Tamarind Chutney makes 1 1⁄2 cups The recipe for this tangy dipping sauce (pictured on page 22) for
samosas (see recipe at left) comes from cookbook author Smita Chandra. To make it, heat a 2-qt.
saucepan over mediumhigh. Cook 1 ⁄2 tsp. ground cumin until fragrant, 1–2 minutes. Add 1 cup
tamarind paste (see “Making Tamarind Paste,” page 56), 3 ⁄4 cup sugar, 1 ⁄2 tsp. each ground ginger, kala
namak (black salt), and red chile powder, such as cayenne; cook until thickened, 12–15 minutes.
Hands On. when traveling in India, you’re likely to fi nd yourself sitting down to a meal without a piece
of cutlery in sight. our advice? Dig in. But follow these local rules of etiquette: wash your hands before
and after a meal, and use only your right hand for eating, as the left is reserved for hygiene purposes
and considered unclean. —J.H.
1. For soupy curries or dals, mix them into rice to soak up excess liquid. Bring the tips of your middle and
index fi ngers and the thumb of your right hand together, with fi ngers pointing down. 2. Use your fi
ngers to scoop up a small portion of food. pinch the food between your fingers and thumb, forming a
loose ball. Devour. Repeat.

West.
From barren swaths of desert to a verdant coast, west India is a tale of opposites. In the state of Gujarat,
known as the Jewel of the West, it is the thali—a meal of various dishes composed in a
compartmentalized tray—that holds iconic status. Far from the capital of Ahmedabad, resourceful
Gujarati villagers in the Raan of Kutch’s dry plains bulk up simple meals with dairy, wheat, and corn.
Farther south, lush Maharashtra and Goa abound with fresh seafood and produce all year round, and
coconut-enriched sauces are adored. Dynamic Mumbai, Maharashtra’s capital, is the world’s second
most populous city; its urban cacophony is refected in an eclectic assemblage of regional foods from all
over India and a bustling culture of street snacks, hawked at ubiquitous chaat stands.
FRAGRANT CITY. mumbai is a city of cramped apartment blocks and slums. among its nearly 20 million
people, space is so scarce and expensive that everyone lives huggermugger , inevitably sharing some of
the sights, sounds, and, yes, smells of their lives. this isn’t all bad, especially when it comes to the
aromas that drift from the kitchens each day. you just need to stick your nose out to determine what
neighbors are making. pressure cookers, found in most indian kitchens, are effi cient aroma diffusers—
when steam shoots out of the valve, everyone in the vicinity knows what’s for lunch. these smells are as
varied as mumbai, which, as the country’s fi nancial capital, draws people from across india. mustard
seeds and green chiles frying in sesame oil are the perfume of the south indians; cumin in hot ghee is
the rich smell of the gujarati population. a sulfurous aroma can only be the pure asafoetida that sindhis
use, while that distinctive waft of warm, woody herbaceousness is surely bottle masala, a mix of more
than 20 spices concocted by east indian Christians . large quantities of onions frying hint at a muslim
biryani. and that earthy, intense aroma is unmistakably the Bengali panch phoron, a whole spice mix
dominated by fennel and fenugreek. mostly these scents, like their owners, peacefully coexist, but there
can be clashes. Due to the high number of jains, members of a religion that prescribes strict
vegetarianism, the city has many nonmeat-eaters, and they can be forthright in their disdain of meat-
cooking neighbors. “We can’t stand the smell,” is their refrain, and they have made apartment blocks,
even some neighborhoods, almost meat free. this is also a coastal city, and a passion for seafood is
ingrained. still, when the fi shing community, which resides in the heart of mumbai , lays out shrimp and
small fi sh to dry on the shore, it faces protests from the residents of much-prized sea-facing fl ats. the
smell can, indeed, be overwhelming; the British, in their time, tried to stop it and failed. But chances are
those rich homeowners will have to get used to this essential mumbai sensory experience, just as
everyone else who settles here learns to live with , and even value, the scents of the city. —Vikram
Doctor, an editor at the economic times.
Lunch and a Movie. on the set of his hit TV show, Diya Aur Baati Hum, actor Gautam Gulati (above)
breaks for a lunch of chicken curry and salad. he’s just one of roughly 180,000 people working in India’s
101-year-old film industry, a massive business that turned out 1,724 productions in 32 languages last
year. Intimately entwined with this community is the one that feeds it around the clock. Studio catering
is as old as the f lm industry itself; it started as an extension of falm makers’ households, with wives
overseeing the cooking of communal meals for casts and crews. A century later, some A-listers might
bring something from home or order a special meal for delivery, but among the crews, only freshly
made homestyle comfort food will suff ce : curried vegetables, tandoori chicken, dals, crispy pappadum
crackers, and syrupy desserts. —Roshni Bajaj Sanghvi, food columnist, MumbaiBoss.com.
SUPPORTING CAST at the indian table, a barrage of condiments elevates and balances main dishes .
Yogurtbased raitas mollify the tongue-searing eff ect of chiles. One of the more basic versions is the
cooling 1. kheera ka raita, cucumber-tomato yogurt, while 2. kaitha chaka pachadi, spicy pineapple
yogurt, a raita from Kerala on the Malabar coast, is amped up with sweet pine apple and piquant chiles.
Chutneys layer on a range of fl avors—sweet, savory, and beyond. 3. Hara dhaniya ki chutney, coconut-
cilantro chutney, is rounded out with a mix of earthy spices and beans. For 4. karipatta chutney, curry
leaf chutney, sesame seeds add nuttiness to the herbaceous blend. (see pages 54 and 56 for recipes.) —
Mari Uyehara.
Plains food. On a brutal summer day, when scorching temperatures soared to 110 degrees Fahrenheit in
Bhirandiyara village, I visited Gujarat’s Meghwal tribe, considered lowly untouchables in India’s caste
system. Former nomads, the Meghwal still shepherd goats, cows, and buffalo, so the hallmark of their
meals is dairy, including glasses of fresh buttermilk or maavo, sweetened milk solids. There is little
agriculture—the closest vegetable market is in the capital city of Bhuj, 35 miles away. Accordingly, the
cuisine is spare, but it is delicious in its simplicity. For lunch, we shared a spicy cabbage-and-potato curry
and millet rotla, a fl atbread, all cooked over a wood fi re. After our meal, we made our way past
weavers embroidering bright and intricate patterns against the backdrop of a tawny, parched landscape.
—Gautam Popat, tour guide, Kensington Tours.
THE BREAD OF LIFE. i’ve cooked indian food since i was young, and fl atbreads are the delicious
cornerstone of most meals. On tables where utensils are rare, they sop up soupy dishes and wrap
morsels of food. Our everyday fl atbread is chapati(pictured on page 54; see page 54 for recipe), a pliant
round made from whole wheat fl our dough, which is cooked on a dry skillet and then infl ated and
browned over an open fl ame. From the same dough comes chewy paratha (above), dry-cooked with
ghee in a skillet. ajwain seeds lend puri (below right), a deep-fried puff , a faint fl oral musk. and i
particularly love fl uff y naan (sometimes strewn with toppings like chopped cilantro, below left). unlike
its whole wheat brethren, it’s made from all-purpose fl our and slapped against the chimney wall of a
clay tandoor oven to bake. it is best savored hot and slathered with ghee. (see SAVEUR.COM/INDIA for
more indian bread recipes.) —Raghavan Iyer, author, indian Cooking unfolded (Workman, 2013).
Persian roots. When I was growing up in Mumbai, Sunday lunch with my family was always dhansak:
caramelized rice walled in by mutton kebabs and drowned in a dal cooked with green chiles and garlic
and spiced with turmeric and cumin (top right). We ate it with a plate of condiments (top left) that
included sliced onions, limes, and cilantro. My family is Parsi, followers of the prophet Zoroaster who
began immigrating to India around the eighth century from Persia. The cuisine still bears that ancient inf
uence: meats and vegetables paired with sweet and sour f avors and lavished with diverse spices. My
Sunday family lunches are a thing of the past now. But when I pine for the old days, I make my way to
Ideal Corner, a Parsi restaurant in Mumbai’s Fort district, where most of the world’s Parsis live. They
serve kheema pattice, mutton-potato patties (middle left); veg dhansak, brown rice with dal and
vegetables, like eggplant and pumpkin (bottom left); and kolmi papeto capsicum, prawns with tomatoes
and chiles (bottom right). I always order a dish my mother used to make: jardalu ma marghi, chicken and
dried apricots in gravy (middle right; see page 56 for recipe). The sharp, sweet notes of the fruit, and the
spices that infuse the rich gravy—chiles, cinnamon, ginger, and cardamom—make for a complex
interplay of tastes: sweet, sour, piquant. The currents of flavor transport me back through the years. —
Lyla Bavadam, deputy editor, Frontline magazine.
FEEDING MUMBAI. In the middle of the night, when the sky is pitch black and the rest of Mumbai is fast
asleep, the wholesale produce market in the neighborhood of Byculla is a hive of frenetic activity. I frst
discovered it at the end of a long night out, but each time I return, its rhythm is the same. Trucks loaded
high with watermelons, eggplants, and long beans rumble by, their hauls to be unpacked by an army of
workers, like the men pictured here, who carry woven baskets overhead. The deliveries, hailing from
Nashik, Maharashtra’s agricultural heartland, about 100 miles away, supply this city of 20 million people.
By 3:30 a.m., vendors have said their daily prayers and are on to a brisk business, selling fresh produce
to middlemen for neighborhood markets and home-delivery services. Damaged goods don’t go to waste
—they are fed to the cows ambling about in return for good karma. As the sky brightens, the din starts
to fade, and by 10 a.m., it’s a leisurely murmur. –Harshvardhan Tanwar, Mumbai-based freelance writer.
good and plent. Across India, an assortment of produce is common to kitchens. 1Coconut is integral in
coastal regions, used in sliced, grated, and liquid forms, while 2 green, unripe mangoes are everywhere,
cured as pickles and added for tartness in dals and curries. Indian cooks don’t shy away from bitter
ingredients, such as 3 cluster beans, 4 fenugreek leaves, and 5 bitter melon, salted to mitigate their
punch or mixed in with mellower ingredients. Some vegetables are used in both sweet and savory
dishes, particularly 6 carrots and 7 beets. Others are ideal for fritters, including 8 caulifower and
eggplants like 9 bharta and 10 rhim jhim.A slew of other vegetables familiar in the West are also
popular: 11Cucumber and the sweeter 12 Indian yellow cucumber are eaten raw, 13 cabbage is
shredded and stir-fried, 14 green peppers punctuate pilafs, and 15 okra is beloved fried and stewed.
Leafy greens like 16 Indian spinach, an indigenous climbing perennial distinct from the Western plant,
and hearty 17 amaranth greens are added to stir-fries and curries.The long pods known as 18 drumsticks
are favored in the spicy lentil-based stew sambar. Gourds, including 19 bottle, 20 pointed, 21 ivy, and 22
snake, are prepared in a number of ways: stir-fried, stued, or simmered in soups. 23 Taro root is fried
like potatoes, while 24 fat beans are found in dals and spiced stir-fries. 25 Tomatoes and 26 potatoes,
introduced by the Portuguese, have become curry staples. —R.I.
Christmas on the Coast Every December, Goa, a coastal state bordered by azure waters and beaches
dappled with palm trees, is decorated with mangers and fve-pointed stars hung on porches. While the
majority of the population is hindu, many Goans converted to Catholicism under the Portuguese rule
from 1510 to 1961, and Christmas is a beloved celebration. Goa has a distinctly hybrid cuisine, and
Christmas meals there are elaborate affairs, featuring diverse dishes like red pork balchao curry, roasted
duck with spices, and crispy baked mussels. often the beloved regional specialty, sembharachi kodi,
shrimp in a coconut curry (see page 58 for recipe), makes an appearance on the holiday table. It is
prepared a number of ways, but always with the freshest local shellfsh simmered in a rich, chile-spiked
coconut sauce—a fittingly vivacious dish for a tropical celebration. —Mari Uyehara.
trAvel Guide west india. MUMBAI STAY at the ITC Grand Central (itc hotels.in) for culinary pampering:
organic teas, jams, and cookies in-room at tea time; honey-soaked almonds at turndown; fve acclaimed
restaurants; and champagne with caviar on the spectacular rooftop, featuring 360-degree views of the
skyline and the Arabian Sea. At the Taj Mahal Palace (taj hotels.com), rare wines and whiskeys are sold
under a private label, and Shamiana, one of 10 restaurants, holds extravagant Indian brunches. At the
Oberoi’s (oberoi hotels.com) Ziya restaurant, Michelinstarred chef Vineet Bhatia serves modern Indian
dishes. ExpEriEncE the manic energy of the Byculla Market, the city’s largest vegetable market. Later,
head to historic Metro Big Cinema (bigcinemas .com) to watch the latest Bollywood flm. EAT local snacks
at Chowpatty Beach’s chaat stands. Come hungry to Ideal Corner (12 F/G, Hornby View), where the Parsi
menu changes daily. See itineraries and more at saveur.com/ india.
GOA About the size of Rhode Island, this tiny state is famous for its 75 miles of white sand beaches. STAY
at one of the four seaside Taj hotels, from the Indo-Portuguese-inspired Vivanta in the north to the
exclusive Exotica in the south (tajho tels.com). Hire a taxi and ExplorE coastal villages on a drive down
the shoreline. EAT Goan and colonial classics, like prawn curry and pork vindaloo, at Britto’s along
Calangute-Baga Road, the oldest restaurant in the state, opened in 1965. Head to the town of Nerul and
enjoy daily specials (there are no menus), such as mushroom rawa and baby corn curry, prepared by the
D’Souza family at the restaurant Bhatti Village, near Bhatti Waddo. In Panjim, sample regional dishes at
Mum’s Kitchen (mumskitchengoa.com), where the chef has collected recipes like ambotik curry, a sour
vegetable stew; tamre bhaji, red spinach with onions and tomatoes; and fve types of prawn curry from
home cooks in the state.
Récipes.
Aloo Chana Chaat (Potato and Chickpea Snack) serves 2–4. Along with tamarind chutney, this street
snack (pictured on page 41) is sometimes also dressed in yogurt and cilantro or mint chutney. 3 tbsp.
canola oil 1 tsp. black mustard seeds 1 tsp. cumin seeds 8 fresh or frozen curry leaves 3 chiles de árbol,
halved 8 oz. Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and cut into 1” pieces 1⁄2 tsp. ground turmeric 5 cloves garlic,
mashed into a paste 1 1” piece ginger, peeled and mashed into a paste 1 small red onion, roughly
chopped 1 15-oz. can chickpeas, rinsed and drained Kosher salt, to taste 1 cup tamarind chutney (see
page 36 for recipe), mixed with 1⁄2 cup water 1⁄2 cup sev (fried chickpea noodles) Heat oil in a 4-qt.
saucepan over medium-high. Cook mustard and cumin seeds, curry leaves, and chiles until seeds pop, 1–
2 minutes. Add potatoes, turmeric, garlic, ginger, and 1 ⁄2 the onion; cook until golden, 8–10 minutes.
Add 1 cup water; boil. Reduce heat to medium; cook, covered slightly, until potatoes are tender, 15–20
minutes. Stir in chickpeas and salt; cook until thickened, 15–20 minutes. Ladle into bowls; drizzle with
chutney mixture. Garnish with remaining onion and the noodles.
Bund Gobhi Aur Aloo Ki Subzi (Spicy Cabbage-and-Potato Curry) serves 4. This vibrant curry (pictured on
page 46) comes from the Meghwal tribe of the Tar Desert. 3 tbsp. canola oil 1 1⁄2 tsp. cumin seeds 1⁄2 tsp.
red chile powder, such as cayenne 1⁄2 tsp. ground turmeric 3 small green Thai chiles or 1 serrano, sliced
1⁄2” thick 2 Indian or regular bay leaves 1 small red onion, quartered and cut into 1⁄4” wedges 1 1⁄2 lb.
Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled, quartered, and sliced 1⁄4” thick 4 plum tomatoes, chopped 1⁄2 small head
green cabbage, cored and cut into 1” pieces Kosher salt, to taste Heat oil in a 12” skillet over medium-
high. Cook cumin seeds until they pop, 1–2 minutes. Add chile powder, turmeric, chiles, bay leaves, and
onion; cook until onion is soft, 3–4 minutes. Stir in potatoes, tomatoes, cabbage, and salt; cook, covered,
until potatoes are tender, about 30 minutes.
Chapatis (Whole Wheat Indian Flatbread) makes 10. The recipe for this chewy fatbread (pictured above),
an Indian staple, is adapted from one given to us by cookbook author Smita Chandra. To make it, place 1
⁄2 cup atta (durum wheat four) in a bowl. In another bowl, stir 3 1 ⁄4 cups more four and 11 ⁄4 cups water
until dough forms. Knead dough briefy until smooth; divide into 10 balls. Working with 1 ball at a time,
coat in reserved four; roll into a 7” circle, about 1 ⁄8” thick. Heat a 12” cast-iron skillet over high. Cook
dough, fipping once, until pufed and charred in spots, 2–3 minutes. Serve hot.
Hara Dhaniya Ki Chutney (Coconut-Cilantro Chutney) makes 2 cups. Tarka, a fried blend of spices and
aromatics, garnishes this chutney (pictured on page 44) from New York–based homecook Yamini Joshi.
To make it, purée 1 ⁄4 cup roasted chana dal (yellow split peas), 1 ⁄2 tsp. cumin seeds, 3 small, stemmed
green Tai chiles or 11 ⁄2 serranos, and one 3”-piece peeled and thinly sliced ginger in a food processor
into a paste. Add 1 cup fresh or frozen grated coconut, 1 ⁄3 cup chopped cilantro, 1 ⁄3 cup water, 21 ⁄2
tsp. Tamarind paste (see “Making Tamarind Paste,” at right), and salt. Purée until smooth; transfer to a
bowl. Melt 2 tbsp. ghee in an 8” skillet over medium-high. Cook 1 tsp. black mustard seeds, 1 ⁄4 tsp. each
chana and urad dal (skinned, split black lentils), 5 fresh or frozen curry leaves, and 2 chiles de árbol, 2–3
minutes; pour over chutney.
Jardalu ma Marghi (Parsi-Style Chicken Curry with Apricots and Shoestring Potatoes) serves 4–6. This
lush chicken curry (pictured on page 48) is adapted from a recipe in Niloufer Ichaporia King’s My
Bombay Kitchen (University of California Press, 2007). 1 lb. russet potatoes, peeled and fi nely julienned
Kosher salt, to taste 2 tbsp. canola oil, plus more 2 cups dried apricots 2 cups unsweetened apple juice 6
chiles de árbol, stemmed 4 cloves garlic, peeled 1 2” piece ginger, peeled and thinly sliced 2 lb. bone-in,
skin-on chicken thighs 1⁄2 tsp. cumin seeds 5 whole cloves 3 green cardamom pods 2 sticks cinnamon,
halved 1 large yellow onion, sliced 1⁄4 cup madeira 1 Soak potatoes in salted water 1 hour; drain and dry
using paper towels. Heat 2” oil in a 4-qt. saucepan until a deep-fry thermometer reads 350°. Working in
batches, fry potatoes until crisp, 2–3 minutes. Transfer to paper towels to drain; season with salt. 2
Bring apricots and juice to a simmer in a 6-qt. saucepan over medium-high heat; cook until apricots are
plump, about 10 minutes. Transfer apricots and half the juice to a bowl. Place remaining juice in a food
processor; add chiles, garlic, and ginger and purée into a paste. 3 Wipe pan clean and add 2 tbsp. oil;
heat over medium-high. Season chicken with salt; cook, f ipping once, until skin is crisp, 6–8 minutes,
and transfer to a plate. Add reserved paste to pan; cook until golden, 2–3 minutes. Add cumin seeds,
cloves, cardamom, and cinnamon; cook until seeds pop, 1–2 minutes. Add onion; cook until caramelized,
10–12 minutes. Add reserved apricots and juice, plus 1 ⁄4 cup water, and salt; boil. Reduce heat to
medium-low and return chicken to pan; cook, covered, until chicken is cooked through, 18–20 minutes.
Stir in madeira; cook 2 minutes. Transfer to a serving platter; garnish with fried potatoes.
Kaitha Chaka Pachadi (Spicy Pineapple Yogurt) makes 2 cups. Pineapple adds sweet tang to this raita
(pictured on page 44) adapted from Madhur Jaff rey’s A Taste of India (Wiley, 1988). To make it, grind 11
⁄2 tbsp. fresh or frozen grated coconut, 1 tbsp. water, and 1 tsp. cumin seeds in a spice grinder into a
paste. Cook 2 cups chopped pineapple, 1 ⁄2 cup water, and 2 tbsp. sugar in a 12” nonstick skillet over
medium-high until slightly dry, 8–10 minutes. Add paste; cook 2–3 minutes. Transfer to a bowl and let
cool; stir in 1 cup plain, full-fat yogurt , 3 small minced green T ai chiles or 1 serrano, and salt. Wipe
skillet clean and add 1 tbsp. canola oil; heat over medium-high. Cook 1 ⁄2 tsp. black mustard seeds until
they pop, 1–2 minutes. Add 10 fresh or frozen curry leaves and 3 chiles de árbol; cook 1–2 minutes. Let
cool; pour over yogurt mixture.
Karipatta Chutney (Curry Leaf Chutney) makes 3 ⁄4 cup. This fragrant sauce (pictured on page 44) from
chef Raghavan Iyer is great with dosas (South Indian fermented lentil and rice crêpes; see page 72 for
recipe). To make it, heat a 10” skillet over medium-high. Cook 1 tbsp. sesame seeds until toasted, 1–2
minutes; transfer to a blender. Add 2 cups fresh curry leaves, 1 ⁄2 cup water, 1 tbsp. grated jaggery or
brown sugar, 1 ⁄2 tsp. tamarind paste (see “Making Tamarind Paste,” at right), one 1”-piece peeled and
thinly sliced ginger, and salt; purée until smooth.
Kheera ka Raita (Cucumber-Tomato Yogurt) makes 2 cups. Adapted from a recipe in Foods of the World:
T e Cooking of India (Time, Inc., 1969), this cooling condiment (pictured on page 44) is a counterpoint to
f ery foods. To make it, toss 1 medium minced cucumber and 1 ⁄2 small chopped yellow onion with salt
in a colander; let drain 5–10 minutes, then squeeze dry. Heat an 8” skillet over medium-high; cook 1 tsp.
cumin seeds until they pop, 1–2 minutes. Grind in a spice grinder into a powder; transfer to a bowl. Stir
in reserved cucumber mixture, 11 ⁄2 cups plain, full-fat yogurt, 1 ⁄3 cup minced mint, 2 small minced
green T ai chiles or 1 serrano, and 1 minced plum tomato.
Patra ni Muchchi (Steamed Banana-Wrapped Fish) serves 4. This Parsi fish dish (pictured on page 54) is
adapted from a recipe in Raghavan Iyer’s 660 Curries (Workman, 2008). 1 cup chopped cilantro 1 cup
grated fresh or frozen coconut 1⁄4 cup chopped mint 1 tbsp. grated jaggery or brown sugar 1 tsp. cumin
seeds 1 tsp. tamarind paste (see “Making Tamarind Paste,” at right) 7 small green Thai chiles or 3 serra
nos, stemmed 4 cloves garlic, peeled Kosher salt, to taste 4 fresh or frozen and defrosted banana leaves,
or 4 sheets parchment paper 4 6 oz. boneless, skinless fi llets sole, fl ounder, or cod Purée cilantro,
coconut, mint, jaggery, cumin seeds, tamarind paste, chiles, garlic, salt, and 1 cup water in a blender into
a smooth sauce. Trim each banana leaf into a 9” square; wipe clean with a damp paper towel. Spread
1 ⁄4 cup sauce in center of each leaf; place 1 f llet over sauce on each leaf and season with salt. Spread
1 ⁄4 cup sauce over each f llet; fold sides of leaves over f llets, then tuck open ends under to form
packets. Boil 2” water in an 8-qt. saucepan f tted with a steamer basket. Place packets in steamer; cook,
covered, until fish is cooked, about 20 minutes.
Making Tamarind Paste tamarind, a red-fl eshed, podlike fruit, adds sweet-sour notes to dishes such as
spicy goanese pork stew (see recipe below). instead of using a ready-made concentrate, which can be
bitter, cooks make a paste from blocks of pure tamarind pulp. here’s how to do it. place an 8-oz. block of
tamarind pulp in a nonreactive bowl; add 2 cups boiling water and let sit 30 minutes. pour into a fi ne-
mesh sieve set over a bowl. squeeze pulp to extract a smooth, thick paste; discard fi bers. scrape paste
from bottom of sieve into the bowl. store chilled up to 2 weeks or frozen up to 3 months. makes 2 cups.
–Kellie Evans.
Pork Vindaloo (Spicy Goanese Pork Stew) serves 4. Vinegar and tamarind provide the traditional
sourness for this sumptuous classic (pictured on page 58), adapted from Lizzie Collingham’s Curry
(Oxford University Press, 2007). 2 lb. boneless pork shoulder, cut into 2” pieces 1⁄3 cup white wine
vinegar Kosher salt, to taste 1 tsp. cumin seeds 1 tsp. poppy seeds 10 whole black peppercorns 6 chiles
de árbol, stemmed 4 whole cloves 1 tbsp. tamarind paste (see “Making Tamarind Paste,” page 56) 1⁄2
tsp. ground turmeric 8 cloves garlic, 4 peeled, 4 roughly chopped 3 small red Thai chiles or 2 red
jalapeños, stemmed 1 2” piece ginger, peeled and thinly sliced 1⁄3 cup canola oil 1 tsp. black mustard
seeds 1 stick cinnamon, halved 2 small green Thai chiles or 1 serrano, halved 1 large yellow onion, sliced
1 tsp. grated jaggery or brown sugar 1 Toss pork, vinegar, and salt in a bowl. Cook cumin and poppy
seeds, peppercorns, chiles de árbol, and cloves in an 8” skillet until seeds pop, 1–2 minutes. Let cool and
transfer to a spice grinder; grind into a powder and add to pork. Purée tamarind paste, turmeric, peeled
garlic, red chiles, and ginger in a food processor into a paste and add to pork. Toss to coat; cover and
chill 4 hours. 2 Heat oil in a 6-qt. saucepan over medium-high; cook mustard seeds and cinnamon until
seeds pop, 1–2 minutes. Add chopped garlic, green chiles, and onion; cook until slightly caramelized, 8–
10 minutes. Stir in pork and its marinade; cook until paste begins to brown, 5–7 minutes. Add salt and
11 ⁄4 cups water; boil. Reduce heat to medium-low; cook, covered and stirring occasionally, until pork is
tender, about 1 hour. Stir in jaggery; cook until thickened, 8–10 minutes.
Sembharachi Kodi (Goanese Shrimp Curry) serves 4. This signature Goan shrimp dish (pictured on page
52) is accented with the vivid taste of green cardamom. 1 lb. medium shrimp, peeled and deveined, tails
on 1 cup grated fresh or frozen coconut 1 tsp. cumin seeds 3 chiles de árbol, stemmed 2 plum tomatoes,
chopped 1⁄4 cup canola oil 5 whole cloves 4 green cardamom pods 2 Indian or regular bay leaves 1 stick
cinnamon, halved 1 medium yellow onion, chopped 1 tbsp. ground coriander 1 tsp. ground turmeric 1⁄2
tsp. ground black pepper 2 cloves garlic, mashed into a paste 1 1” piece ginger, peeled and mashed into
a paste 1 14-oz. can coconut milk 1⁄2 cup chopped cilantro 2 tsp. sugar 2 small green Thai chiles or 1
serrano, thinly sliced Kosher salt, to taste Remove and discard tails from 6 shrimp; place in a food
processor. Add coconut, cumin seeds, chiles de árbol, tomatoes, and 2 tbsp. water; purée into a paste.
Heat oil in a 12” skillet over medium-high. Cook cloves, cardamom, bay leaves, and cinnamon until
fragrant, 1–2 minutes. Add onion; cook until golden, 6–8 minutes. Add coriander, turmeric, pepper,
garlic, and ginger; cook until fragrant, 1–2 minutes. Stir in reserved paste; cook until oil separates, 8–10
minutes. Stir in coconut milk; boil. Reduce heat to medium; add remaining shrimp, half the cilantro, the
sugar, and green chiles. Cook until shrimp are pink and sauce is slightly thickened, 6–8 minutes; garnish
with remaining cilantro.
Fired Up. In England, vindaloo (see page 56 for recipe) is a tongue-searing curry, but it wasn’t always
that way. The word vindaloo is a garbled pronunciation of the popular Portuguese dish carne de vinha
d’alhos (meat marinated in wine-vinegar and garlic), which made its way to India in the 15th century
along with Portuguese explorers. The dish was tweaked to local conditions: There was no wine-vinegar
in India, so Franciscan priests fermented their own from palm wine. Local ingredients like tamarind,
black pepper, cinnamon, and cardamom were also incorporated. But the most important addition—chile
peppers—was a legacy of Portugal’s global empire, imported to India from the Americas. When the
British occupied India from 1797 to 1813, they were delighted to discover this East-meets-West food, as
well as Christian Goan cooks, who, free of caste and religious restrictions, were happy to make beef and
pork dishes beloved by expats. In early British India cookbooks, vindaloo recipes remained close to the
Goan original. But the dish gradually met the same fate as many Indian dishes when it was exported to
England: It became another hot curry. The tang of vinegar disappeared along with the practice of
marinating the meat, and the balance of diferent spices was lost under a blistering excess of chiles.
Luckily, in Goa many versions still hark back to old days when cinnamon and cardamom provided an
earthy elegance, and the heat was kept in check. —Lizzie Collingham, author of Curry (Oxford University
Press, 2006).

South.
On IndIa’s southern peninsula, the Deccan plateau separates the coast of Andhra Pradesh on the Bay of
Bengal from that of Karnataka and Kerala on the Arabian Sea. On the high, dry plains, chiles, legumes,
tea, and oil seeds like mustard are cultivated, while shorelines are rimmed with coconut palms, mango
trees, and rice paddies, as well as plantations where black peppercorns and other spices fourish. The
lure of the region’s fecundity is strong; the south is home to some of India’s oldest ports, and across the
region, farming and trading have given rise to vibrant cooking refected in the complex vegetarian food
of Tamil Nadu, the meaty biryanis of Andhra’s capital, Hyderabad, and watery Kerala’s fsh curries. The
area’s beloved peppery soups—tamarindbased rasam and the spicy lentil-based stew sambar—embody
the southern dictum that you must “eat the heat to beat the heat.”
MARKET SHARES. Syed Waseem brings down a cleaver, reducing a whole mackerel to a pile of slices. He
is precise, unsmiling. Waseem works at the Russell Market in an imposing Indo-Gothic building. Like
many markets in India, this Bangalore institution, established in 1927 by the British, contains in its
mazelike warrens endless baskets heaped with bright produce, colored hillocks of spices, and hanging
meat. The fsh market, 35 stalls that receive as much as 22,000 pounds of fsh daily from coastal India,
echoes with the chik-chik-chik of fsh being scaled. English isn’t Waseem’s frst language, but he named
his stall “Fisheries” to attract upper-middle-class customers. One of them is my sister Shaila, who lives in
Bangalore. As is typical of this fast-moving city, the two never meet. When Shaila wants fsh, she calls
Waseem; her driver retrieves her order from his stall. Waseem is 32 years old. He frst made his way to
Russell when he was 12 years old. He learned how to scale, slice, and source fsh. He learned how to
speak Kannada, Tamil, Hindi, and English to make a sale. When the city is still dreaming, he dials
fshermen in Mumbai and other coastal cities. Then the sun cracks open the night sky, and the market is
loud with impatience. Waseem’s employees compete for attention. “We have the best prices!” they
holler in half a dozen tongues. —Sonia Faleiro, author, Beautiful Thing (Black Cat, 2012).
SOUTHERN COMFORT. My grandmother was from Kerala, so she made dosas (see pag 72 for recipe), the
savory crepes that are a staple of south india. for these, she pounded soaked rice and black lentils on a
grinding stone ca ed a quern till a creamy paste formed. the paste was left to ferment. then the bat er
was spread on a hot griddle and fried until it bubbled and crisped, an earthy base for sweet-sour
tamarind sambar, coconut c utney, spiced mashed potatoes, and more. Today querns are giving way to
motorized food processors, tools so essential that governments distribute them for free. My
grandmother eventua y got one; until she died last year at 94 it ran daily in her kitc en with a muted,
slurring whir. --vikram doctor, an editor at the economic times.

HEART OF THE SOUTH. I am in raja hmundry, a town on the banks of the mighty Godavari River, as part
of a slow, delicious journey to explore the many, varying cuisines of Andhra Pradesh. I am just about to
eat in a mess. Andhra messes (short for mess halls) serve freshly made vegetarian food very cheaply.
Hotel Vasavi is a dark, basement joint where, for a dollar, I am off ered two types of rice: one plain and
one f avored with a well-spiced tomato sauce. Rice is the base of the meal. To add variety of f avor,
texture, and nutrients, there’s majjiga pulusu, mixed vegetables cooked in a buttermilk sauce; palakoora
vepadu, a stir-fried spinach (see page 74 for recipe); a curry made from jackfruit; and sambar, a spicy
lentil-based stew. Since fried foods are essential to the soft, wet meal I’m having, I order kosu vepadu, a
crispy cabbage fritter, which looks a bit like Medusa’s head, with the strands of shredded cabbage
providing a crunchy, unruly halo. All of the foods are startlingly, marvelously hot. Andhra Pradesh, near
the Bay of Bengal, is known for its chiles, which are cultivated in the Guntur district, along the state’s
southeast coast, and are used to f avor the rice grown in the area’s countless patties. Along with rice,
there’s a passion here for the pungent and sour. T e sourness, which perks up meals and seems
necessary to combat the soupy tropical climate, can come from limes, tamarind, vinegar, green
mangoes, sour oranges, star fruit, and other local plants. Seafood also f gures prominently here. On a
small island in the Godavari River, which runs through Andhra Pradesh to the bay, I watch as a home
cook named Ramanna sets up an open wood-burning f re outside her thatched hut. She squats in her
printed blue sari, cooking a simple dish of gongura, red, sorrel-like sour leaves with tiny river shrimp, the
two main ingredients f avoring each other. I drive farther west to join other af cionados at the Babai
Hotel, a small but popular eatery in the city of Vijayawada known for the softest idlis, f ying saucer–
shaped steamed cakes made with rice and urad dal, black lentils. Large steamers huff and puff in the
kitchen, turning out dozens of idlis at a time. Each is anointed with ghee and served with a pat of butter.
They melt in the mouth. T ey may be eaten with a dry chutney known as podi or with sambar. Equally
loved here is the pesarattu, Andhra’s savory pancake. Made with a batter of whole mung beans, soaked,
blended, and spread out thinly on a griddle, pesarattu is large, crisp , nutritious, and quite addictive. I eat
mine with a creamy coconut chutney and some sweet, milky coff ee on the side. But the foods of Andhra
are not all beans and vegetables. To feast on meat, I travel to the city of Telangana, in the northwestern
part of the state. Since the 14th century, Muslim emperors from Delhi sent governors to rule the
Telangana area, now known as Hyderabad state. T e governors often rebelled and set up their own
kingdoms, and the region slowly developed a unique cuisine that was part northern Muslim and part
southern Hindu. A Telangana-style chicken cooked today by a Hindu might well have both the south’s
coconut milk and the north’s yogurt; southern seasonings like curry leaves and lime juice, and northern
spices like mace and cardamom. It was the Nizams, the drippingin-diamonds-rich rulers of the Asaf Jahi
dynasty, starting in the 18th century, that had both the money and the leisure to become active patrons
of this composite cuisine at its most elaborate. To taste it, you have to visit one of India’s grandest
hotels, the Falaknuma Palace. It’s here I watch the making of a kacchay gosht ki biryani, a dish where
rice and raw marinated meat are cooked together so magically that these disparate ingredients are done
at the same time. Better yet, you have to be invited by one of Hyderabad’s ever-courteous old families. I
was lucky enough to receive a welcome from one aristocratic family while visiting. T ere I watched a
housemaid named Rehana prepare a wonderful nihari, slow-cooked beef trotters, seasoned with potli ka
masala, rare expensive spices, including sandalwood and rose petals, tied in a muslin bouquet garni.
Rehana also prepared khatti dal (see page 72 for recipe), soured with tamarind and seasoned with curry
leaves and mustard seeds. Pressure cookers whistled and hissed, and when we sat down to eat, there
was plenty of rice for the dal, naan for the nihari, and pickles to eat with everything. —Madhur Jaff rey,
author of Madhur Jaffrey Indian Cooking (Barron’s, 2003).
COOKING COUSINS. My in-laws’ house in southwest india, on Kerala’s coast, is normally very quiet. But
whenever Jayanti, my mother-in-law shyamala’s cousin, is in town , it comes alive as the two women
bond over cooking Kerala’s most traditional dishes. arriving one afternoon, famished and excited, i find
Jayanti hovering over a boiling pot of tamarind soup known as rasam (see page 74 for recipe). Beside
her, shyamala arranges beetroot thoran(see page 72 for recipe), the rubyhued roots stir-fried with
chiles, curry leaves, and coconut oil. i watch as she fries bullseye, flaky, crimson-scaled local fish,
seasoning them with turmeric and chile powder. On a table sits a huge pot of sambar , a spicy lentil-
based stew exuding aromas of asafoetida , turmeric, coriander, and garlic. My fatherin-law, Mohanan,
sets the table, and my wife, shyba, and i sit down with our young son Leo. We dig into a communal bowl
of rice with our hands, drench it in sambar, and roll it into small, soggy spheres before popping them
into our mouths. We scoop up more rice, adding pinches of the thoran. We grab pieces of fish, and ladle
out the rasam. Once my belly is full, i lean back with an audible sigh as shyamala and Jayanti look at each
other, smiling. —VK Sreelesh , journalist, Thalassery.
THE LAST TAPPERS. since the 14th century, toddy tapping has been a traditional job among the thiyya
caste, one of hundreds of hindu social classes, in the south indian state of Kerala, where i grew up. the
job involves scaling palm trees, cutting open the fowers, and collecting the white sap that drips out. that
sap is fermented, turning from a syrupy liquid to a sour alcoholic beverage known as toddy, a fxture of
workingclass taverns. tapping is a perilous job. some people fall. some people die. For those reasons and
more, Kerala’s young men are turning to other jobs—to tech work in the united states, to data entry in
the Middle east. Fifteen years ago, there were more than 100,000 tappers in Kerala; now there are
around 40,000. Many wonder if the occupation will survive the next few decades. i, too, ponder its fate,
perhaps more than most. i started working alongside my father as a tapper when i turned 18. this went
on for seven years, until one evening, when everything changed. it was monsoon season, and our village
had an outbreak of viral fever. i was laid up for days. Just as i started to recover, dad came down with
the fever and asked me to pick up his slack. that evening, as i slowly scaled a tall palm, everything below
started churning. My hands and knees went weak; a cold shiver ran down my spine. i managed to fnish
the work, but a fear was born within me. i knew my life as a tapper was over. today i work as a
journalist. as i sit in my ofce, typing my latest story, i think about dad up in the trees, gambling with his
life for that potent sap. —V.S.
King of fruits Above: Toddy tappers in from left: james oseland (11); james roper Pinarayi, kerala. Each
summer, mango season brings India to its knees. It’s a time when everyone comes together to celebrate
the fragrant, yellow-feshed fruit. People eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Street vendors slice it
and serve it chilled and spiced. More than a thousand varieties of mango are indigenous to India.
Everyone loves the creamy Alphonso, which grows abundantly in the south, but there are turf wars over
which region has the best, and people anxiously read the newspapers for the latest updates on price and
availability. When the season is over, pantry shelves are stocked with mango chutneys, pickles, powders,
and dried fruit—wistful reminders of the best days of summer. —Laura Grahame.
the Love of tea. Wherever you are in India, you’re never far from a tea vendor peddling chai, a sweet,
milky tea, from trays of steaming glasses. India is the top consumer of tea on the planet, but this wasn’t
always the case. While tea is native to the subcontinent—an indigenous variety, Camellia sinensis var.
assamica, grows in the northeastern state of Assam—it wasn’t until after the British had established
plantations to supply the UK that the Indian tea plant was cultivated. For decades, nearly all of India’s
tea was exported. In 1881, however, the Indian Tea Association was formed to promote tea drinking
within the country, and Indians embraced it. Each region puts its stamp on the drink. In the north, a chai
wallah might infuse the brew with a smashed nub of ginger and fnish it with a sprinkle of pink salt or
threads of safron. And in the northeast, epicenter of India’s tea industry, you’ll fnd an extravagantly
spiced version known as masala chai sufused with ginger, clove, cardamom, cinnamon, and black pepper
(see recipe at saveur.com/india). Yet here in the south, they like their chai favors pure: just milk and
sugar, double brewed with a fstful of fragrant black tea. —Karen Shimizu.
Travel guide south india. Hyderabad Stay in aristocratic style at Falaknuma Palace (tajhotels.com), a
hotel on lease from the royal family. ExplorE Indo-Islamic monuments, like the Mughal dynasty’s Qutb
Shahi Tombs, then head to nearby Golconda Fort ruins, which overlook the city. Eat delicately spiced
Hyderabadi mutton biryani at a local favorite, like 61-year-old Paradise Hotel in Paradise Circle; Shadab
Hotel near Madina Circle in the old city; or the bustling Cafe Bahar inside the Old MLA Quarters.
bANgAlore Stay at the ITC Windsor ( itchotels.in). ExplorE Cubbon Park, built by the British in the 1800s,
then Eat rava idli, a variation of the steamed lentilfour dumplings made with semolina four and served
with coconut chutney at Mavalli Tifn Rooms ( mavallitifnrooms .com). kozhIkode Stay at Vivanta by Taj
Malabar (vivantabytaj .com), then Shop for Kan chipuram silk at Nalli (nallisilks.com), open since 1928.
Sip toddy, fermented palm sap, and Eat karimeen pollichathu, fried pearl spot fsh slathered in garlic-
chile paste, and refried in a banana leaf, at Mullapanthal Toddy Shop ( mullapanthal.in). See itineraries
and more at saveur.com/india.
Chennai: Dosa City Chennai, formerly called Madras, is famous for its dosas, fermented lentil and rice
crêpes (see page 72 for recipe), made and enjoyed here like no place else. Explore south India’s favorite
snack at hotels, street stalls, and historic haunts. WoodlandS (chennaiwoodlands.blogspot.com), which
claims to have invented the spiced potato-flled masala dosa in the 1930s, now serves 24 other varieties,
from the sada, or plain, dosa, to specials like the Chettinadu dosa, made with coconut, peppercorns,
peanuts, and garlic paste. rayar’S MESS (31 Arundale Street), a ramshackle 60-year-old side-alley shop,
was once a famous hangout for Indian actors when India’s flm industry was centered here. While its
stardust days are over, it still serves a mean rava dosa, a semolina version served with chopped red
onion). Behind the pondy Bazaar is a nameless stall serving nei podi dosai, a dosa soaked in ghee and
sprinkled with a peppery spice blend known as gunpowder.

Récipes.
Aloo Masala (South Indian Masala Potatoes) serves 4-6. Mashed spiced potatoes (pictured below) often
fll dosas (south Indian fermented lentil and rice crêpes; see below for recipe). 2 lb. Yukon Gold potatoes
1⁄4 cup canola oil 1 tsp. black mustard seeds 1⁄2 tsp. asafoetida 1⁄2 tsp. fenugreek seeds 20 fresh or frozen
curry leaves 4 cloves garlic, chopped 3 small green Thai chiles or 1 serrano, halved 1 large yellow onion,
roughly chopped 1⁄2 cup frozen peas 1 1⁄2 tbsp. ground coriander 1 tsp. ground turmeric 1 2” piece
ginger, peeled and grated Kosher salt, to taste 1⁄3 cup chopped cilantro Cook potatoes in boiling water
until just tender, 25–30 minutes; drain, peel, and cut into 2” pieces. Heat oil in a 6-qt. saucepan over
medium-high. Cook mustard seeds until they pop, 1–2 minutes. Add asafoetida, fenugreek seeds, and
curry leaves; cook 1 minute. Add garlic, chiles, and onion; cook until golden, 8–10 minutes. Add
potatoes, the peas, coriander, turmeric, ginger, salt, and 1 ⁄2 cup water; boil. Reduce heat to medium-
low; cook, covered, until potatoes are tender, 8–10 minutes. Uncover and stir, mashing lightly; cook
until slightly dry, 4–5 minutes. Stir in cilantro.
Beetroot Thoran (South Indian Beet Stir-Fry) serves 4-6. Tender beets are spiced with chiles and
turmeric in this vibrant dish from Kerala (pictured on page 67). 1 1⁄2 lb. beets, peeled and cut into 1⁄4”
pieces 1⁄2 tsp. ground turmeric 2 small green Thai chiles or 1 serrano, halved 1 small red onion, minced
1⁄3 cup fresh or frozen grated coconut 1 tbsp. coconut or canola oil 12 fresh or frozen curry leaves Kosher
salt, to taste Bring beets, turmeric, chiles, onion, and 1 cup water to a boil in a 4-qt. saucepan. Reduce
heat to medium; cook, covered, until beets are just tender, about 20 minutes. Uncover and stir in
coconut, oil, curry leaves, and salt; cook, stirring occasionally, until mixture is slightly dry, 8–10 minutes.
Dosas (South Indian Fermented Lentil and Rice Crêpes) makes about 24 dosas. When preparing this
recipe (pictured on page 63) it’s important to spread the batter quickly, from the center of the pan to
the edges, to ensure wide, thin, and evenly cooked crêpes. 3 cups long grain white rice 1 1⁄4 cup urad dal
(skinned split black lentils) 1⁄4 cup chana dal (yellow split peas) 2 tbsp. kosher salt 1 tsp. sugar Melted
ghee, for cooking Masala potatoes, for serving (see recipe at left; optional) Coconut and coconut-
cilantro chutneys, for serving (see recipes on pages 74 and 54; optional) 1 Rinse rice and dals in a bowl
until water runs clear; cover with 8 cups water and let sit 3 hours. Strain mixture through a fne-mesh
sieve; transfer to a blender. Add 31 ⁄2 cups water and purée until smooth to create a slightly thick, grainy
batter. Cover; let sit at room temperature 6 hours to ferment. 2 Heat a 12” nonstick skillet over
medium-high. Stir salt and sugar into batter. Brush skillet lightly with ghee. Using a ladle, pour 1 ⁄2 cup
batter into center of pan. Immediately and in a circular motion, spread batter from center toward edge
of pan, creating a thin pancake (some holes are fne). Drizzle 1–2 tbsp. ghee around edges and on surface
of dosa. Cook until golden and crisp, 3–4 minutes. Slide spatula around edges of dosa and fold in half;
slide onto a plate. Repeat with remaining batter, brushing skillet with ghee between dosas. Serve with
masala potatoes and chutneys if you like. Leftover batter can be chilled 1 week or frozen up to 3
months.
Khatti Dal (Hyderabadi-Style Lentil Stew) serves 4. A tarka, fried spices and aromatics, is stirred into this
soupy dal (pictured on page 66), a specialty of Hyderabad. 1 cup toor dal (yellow pigeon peas), rinsed,
soaked 30 minutes, and drained 1⁄4 tsp. ground turmeric 3 tbsp. chopped cilantro 1 tsp. tamarind paste
(see “Making Tamarind Paste,” page 56) 1⁄4 tsp. red chile powder, such as cayenne 12 fresh or frozen
curry leaves 7 cloves garlic, 1 mashed into a paste, 6 peeled 2 plum tomatoes, peeled and minced 2
small green Thai chiles, or 1 serrano, thinly sliced 1 1⁄2” piece ginger, peeled and grated Kosher salt, to
taste 3 tbsp. canola oil 1⁄2 tsp. cumin seeds 1⁄4 tsp. brown mustard seeds 3 chiles de árbol Bring dal and 8
cups water to a boil in a 6-qt. saucepan. Reduce heat to medium; stir in turmeric and cook until dal is
mushy, about 45 minutes. Stir in cilantro, tamarind paste, chile powder, curry leaves, garlic paste,
tomatoes, sliced chiles, ginger, and salt; boil. Reduce heat to medium; cook until slightly thickened,
about 15 minutes. Heat oil in an 8” skillet over mediumhigh. Cook cumin and mustard seeds until they
pop, 1–2 minutes. Add peeled garlic and the chiles de árbol; cook until garlic is golden, 6–8 minutes, and
stir into stew.
Koli Milagu Masala (Chettinad Pepper Chicken) serves 4. This spicy chicken dish (pictured on page 72) is
adapted from a recipe in Madhur Jaffrey’s Flavors of India (West 175 Publishing, 1995). 1 2 1⁄2–3-lb.
chicken or 2-lb. boneless, skinless chicken thighs 1⁄4 cup canola oil 3 tbsp. coriander seeds 1 1⁄2 tbsp.
cumin seeds 1 1⁄2 tsp. fennel seeds 1 1⁄2 tsp. urad dal (skinned split black lentils), rinsed, soaked 30
minutes, and drained 10 fresh or frozen curry leaves 3 Indian or regular bay leaves 3 whole cloves 1 stick
cinnamon, halved 1 tsp. ground cardamom 1⁄2 tsp. ground turmeric 5 cloves garlic, mashed into a paste 1
large yellow onion, minced 1 2” piece ginger, peeled and mashed into a paste Kosher salt, to taste 2
plum tomatoes, minced 1 1⁄2 tbsp. coarsely ground black pepper 1⁄4 cup chopped cilantro Cooked white
rice, for serving (optional) 1 Cut chicken into 18 pieces: Cut chicken into 8 pieces; cut drumsticks, thighs,
and wings in half and breasts crosswise into thirds. 2 Heat oil in a 12” nonstick skillet over medium-high.
Cook coriander, cumin, and fennel seeds, dal, curry and bay leaves, cloves, and cinnamon until dal are
golden, 2–3 minutes. Stir in cardamom, turmeric, garlic, onion, and ginger; cook until slightly
caramelized, 6–8 minutes. Add tomatoes; cook until broken down, 4–5 minutes. Add chicken and 1 ⁄2
cup water; boil. Reduce heat to medium-low; cook, covered, until chicken is cooked through, about 25
minutes. Uncover and increase heat to medium-high. Stir in pepper; simmer until slightly thickened, 3–4
minutes. Garnish with cilantro; serve with rice if you like.
Palakoora Vepadu (Andhra-Style Sautéed Spinach) serves 2–4 Fresh spinach is sauteéd with a host of
aromatics in this dish from southeastern India (pictured on page 72). 1⁄4 cup canola oil 1 tsp. cumin seeds
1⁄4 tsp. fenugreek seeds 12 fresh or frozen curry leaves 9 cloves garlic, 3 halved lengthwise, 6 minced 1
large yellow onion, minced 1 tsp. ground coriander 1 tsp. red chile powder, such as cayenne 1⁄2 tsp.
ground turmeric 1 2” piece ginger, peeled and grated Kosher salt, to taste 3 lb. baby spinach Heat oil in a
12” nonstick skillet over medium-high. Cook cumin seeds until they pop, 1–2 minutes. Add fenugreek
seeds, curry leaves, and halved garlic; cook until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add onion; cook until golden,
10–12 minutes. Add minced garlic, the coriander, chile powder, turmeric, ginger, and salt; cook until
garlic is golden, 2–3 minutes. Stir in spinach; cook until wilted and slightly dry, 6–8 minutes.
Sakkarai Pongal (Tamil-Style Sweet Rice Pudding) serves 4. Cashews and raisins adorn this rice pudding
(pictured on page 73), traditionally served at Pongal, a south Indian harvest festival. 1 cup long grain
white rice, rinsed 1⁄4 cup moong dal (dried mung beans), rinsed, soaked 30 minutes, and drained 3 cups
whole milk 1 stick cinnamon 1⁄4 cup ghee 1⁄2 cup cashew halves 3 tbsp. golden raisins 1 1⁄4 cups grated
jaggery or brown sugar 2 tsp. ground cardamom Bring rice, dal, and 41 ⁄2 cups water to a boil in a 4-qt.
saucepan. Reduce heat to medium; cook until rice is tender, 12–14 minutes. Add milk and cinnamon;
cook, stirring occasionally to prevent scorching, until dal is mushy, 20–22 minutes. Melt ghee in an 8”
skillet over medium-high; cook cashews and raisins until raisins are plump, 2–3 minutes. Stir into rice
with jaggery and cardamom; cook, until jaggery is melted and pudding is slightly thickened, 3–4 minutes.
Serve warm or at room temperature.
Smita Chandra’s Rasam (Spicy Tamarind Soup) serves 4. Cookbook author Smita Chandra developed the
recipe for this soupy south Indian dish (pictured on page 72). 2 tbsp. toor dal (yellow pigeon peas),
rinsed, soaked 30 minutes, and drained 1⁄2 tsp. ground turmeric 6 plum tomatoes, chopped Kosher salt,
to taste 2 tsp. rasam powder 2 tsp. tamarind paste (see “Making Tamarind Paste,” page 56) 1 tsp.
ground black pepper 1 tsp. ground coriander 1 tsp. ground cumin 1⁄2 tsp. red chile powder, such as
cayenne 2 tbsp. canola oil 1⁄4 tsp. black mustard seeds 1⁄4 tsp. cumin seeds 1⁄4 tsp. fenugreek seeds 15
fresh or frozen curry leaves 2 chiles de árbol, stemmed 2 cloves garlic, minced Bring dal, turmeric,
tomatoes, salt, and 5 cups water to a boil in a 4-qt. saucepan. Reduce heat to medium-low; cook until
dal is mushy, about 45 minutes. Stir in rasam powder, tamarind paste, black pepper, coriander, cumin,
and chile powder; cook 5 minutes. Heat oil in an 8” skillet over medium-high. Cook mustard, cumin, and
fenugreek seeds, curry leaves, and chiles de árbol until seeds pop, 1–2 minutes. Add garlic; cook until
golden, 3–4 minutes, and stir into soup.
Thengai Chutney (Coconut Chutney) makes 2 cups. This ivory-colored, nuttyfavored chutney (pictured
on page 63) is traditionally served with dosas, (south Indian fermented lentil and rice crêpes; see page
72 for recipe). To make it, rinse and soak 2 tbsp. chana dal (yellow split peas) 30 minutes. Drain and
place in a spice grinder; grind into a paste and transfer to a food processor. Add 1 cup fresh or frozen
grated coconut, 1 cup water, 2 tsp. fresh lime juice, and 2 small stemmed green Tai chiles or 1 serrano;
purée until smooth and transfer to a bowl. Heat 2 tbsp. canola oil in an 8” skillet over medium-high.
Cook 1 ⁄2 tsp. black mustard seeds until they pop, 1–2 minutes; stir into chutney.
THE YEAR’S SWEETEST TASTE. In recent decades, the farmlands of Molasur near my home in Tamil Nadu
have lapsed to colleges and concrete. Yet, the January harvest festival, Pongal, endures. For it, the
Reddiar family, whose ancestors ruled 85 villages here, hosts 5,000 locals for a vegetarian feast: sautées
of broad beans, yams, pumpkin, and banana; peppery rasam (see page 74 for recipe); and, best, sakkarai
pongal (see page 74 for recipe). Made with the season’s frst rice and milk mixed with jaggery, raisins,
and cashews, this annual pudding is so enticing that no one waits to eat it. Between bites of the savory
dishes, it is scooped up by hand and relished. —Akash Kapur, author, India Becoming (Penguin-
Riverhead, 2012).

North.
Even four millennia ago, inhabitants of the north’s fertile Indus Valley enjoyed ingredients that
characterize the cooking of the region now: cereals and basmati rice, pulses, dairy, spices like mustard
and fenugreek. Across the growing felds of Uttar Pradesh and eastern Rajasthan, northward through the
Punjab, and up into mountainous Kashmir, ancient cooking techniques survive, too. Breads bake inside
clay tandoor ovens, and spiced meats, such as the chile-brothed lamb dish mirchi qorma (see page 88
for recipe), simmer atop wood fres. Invaders added to the cuisine: Alexander brought cumin, fennel, and
coriander from the Mediterranean, and the Mughals, from Central Asia, introduced toothsome kebabs
and dishes, like the syrupsoaked royal toast (see page 89 for recipe), lavished with dried fruits or nuts,
and the safron that thrives in Kashmir’s Himalayan foothills.
Amid the flock. Harvest season had begun in Rajasthan. Mustard, chickpeas, and okra were ripening in
felds beside the Aravalli mountains. Bullock carts trundled wheat sheaves to a threshing ground. Girls
pumped drinking water into clay pots at a temple well. A boy pushed along a tire with a stick, frewood
balanced atop his head. And after a day of prodigious heat, an elderly goatherd from the Rabari tribe
turned his fock homeward. These nomads traversed the Thar Desert on camels for more than a
thousand years; many have since settled in villages. “What are you doing here?” he asked, bemused by
the appearance of an outsider on the road into his house, as animals pressed around us. In India, there
is a saying, often quoted from the Mahabharata: atithi devo bhava, the guest is god. Soon the goatherd
was lounging on a rope cot as his married daughters in saffron saris pulled me into their kitchen
courtyard. Excited children gathered. Fires were lit. Dough was rolled. Chai was offered in clay cups.
Meals in rural Rajasthan are shaped by the sere landscape, so the same rustic goat stew, heavy with
black cardamom, cinnamon, chiles, and garlic, will be served in a mud-caked hut as well as a prince’s
hunting tent. But it was precious ghee lavished on a single fre-singed fatbread, obviously all they could
spare, that was the sign of a devout generosity to a stranger on their doorstep. —Shane Mitchell, saveur
contributing editor.
Kitchen Assistants. Although dishes and ingredients vary widely from one region of India to another,
there are particular tools that nearly all Indian cooks— restaurant chefs, street vendors , home cooks—
cannot do without. Degchi, bulbous pots fashioned from clay, tinned copper, or iron, are designed to
nestle into concave openings in stoves, where their rounded bottoms are swathed in fi re from burning
wood, charcoal, or dried cow dung. Lest anyone get burned on those live flames, a pair of long-handled
metal tongs, called pakkad, are always at the ready for grasping degchi and other vessels and moving
them onto and away from the fi re. The Indian wok, or karahi, has a set of handles for maneuvering it
into position atop the heat. Though traditionally made of cast iron, karahis today may be formed from
stainless steel, copper, or a nonstick material. All of them are used to simmer stews, fry spices, or deep-
fry foods like the stuffed pastries called samosas (see page 36 for recipe). When deep-frying, the metal
perforated spatula called jaleedar karchi is useful for turning and removing items, as the hot oil drains
out the holes. To prepare whole wheat chapatis (see page 54 for recipe) and other unleavened fl
atbreads, as well as the south’s fermented lentil and rice dosas (see page 72 for recipe), cooks use a
tawa, a large, slightly concave griddle with a long, covered handle. The dough for chapatis is rolled out
with a traditional chakla and belan; this small, round board and sturdy rolling pin are quite heavy,
making for stable rolling. To grind herbs and spices, Indians squat on the floor over a sil-batta, rolling the
cylindrical batta grinding stone across the flat sil, whose rough-hewn surface helps crack seeds and
break down tough plant fibers. —Farideh Sadeghin.
PeRfect UNioN. It is May, wedding season in Kashmir, and I am sitting on the carpeted foor of a house in
Srinagar while, all around me, women are chanting: She is so beautiful. She looks like a doll. She’s going
to a rich house. They are singing about the bride, Shafa Jeelani, an acquaintance of mine. We are all
gleeful, not just for Shafa, but because we’re about to dine like queens. Out in the courtyard, Khurshied
Khan is sorting cuts of meat. Tall and intense, Khan is a waza, a caterer whose occupation has been
handed down through ten generations. He specializes in the elaborate meal called a wazwaan,
undertaken for auspicious occasions such as marriage. His repertoire encompasses 36 courses, nearly all
of them lamb. Nearby, his army of cooks tends to copper pots bubbling over blazing logs. They stir stews
like mirchi qorma, lamb shoulder swimming in a vermilion chile broth (pictured at right; see page 88 for
recipe), or splash mustard oil to fry shami kebab patties stuffed with onion and ginger (see page 89 for
recipe). Others wield mallets, pounding shank meat to a paste for the springy meatballs called
ghushtaba, whose appearance in a rich, yogurt-based gravy later in the evening will signal the end of the
banquet. Then guests will fle out toting decorative plastic bags bought at a bridal shop and distributed
empty at the start of the feast, bulging now with the wazwaan’s abundant leftovers, an obligatory
parting gift from the hosts. —Betsy Andrews.

Just Before Dawn. In the wee hours of the morning, while darkness still swaddles Dal Lake, which seeps
into the porous edges of the old quarter of Srinagar, the call to prayer beckons worshippers to mosque.
No sooner are the observant roused than the birds awaken to pour their songs across the water. It is at
this hour that the 50,000 Kashmiris who live on Srinagar’s lakes—in houseboats and on man-made
islands—gather in their narrow wooden vessels to haggle at the foating market. Much of what they sell
or trade— kohlrabi, whose greens Kashmiris love; lotus root, which gets simmered in yogurt sauce for
the remarkable dish called nadru yakhni (see page 88 for recipe)— they grow themselves on buoyant
gardens they can tow from spot to spot. Other produce has been brought from shore, trucked up from
warmer parts south. But no matter their cargo, it is these waterwise marketeers who, at dawn’s frst
light, truly witness Kashmir as the “heaven on earth” that the 17thcentury Mughal ruler Jahangir
famously dubbed it. As the sun rises, illuminating the snowy caps of the nearby Himalayas, the men,
wearing woolen tunics to ward against the cold, conclude their business. Using long paddles, they
maneuver their boats, called shikaras, along the lake’s western edge and through the canals of a city
that is beginning its new day. —B.A.
Rasoi Heena Patel A native of Gujarat, India, Heena Patel has been cooking for as long as she can
remember. She and her husband emigrated from England to California to fulfll their American Dream
and opened two successful businesses, which they later sold due to the fagging economy. However,
Patel cites this obstacle as a blessing in disguise, as she was then able to turn her 30-year passion for
food into reality. Patel opened Rasoi (“kitchen” in Guajarati) in the Bay Area, with the dream of
becoming the number one mobile vendor of her native Gujarati Indian food. These days, she replicates
her original recipes including Pav Bhaji (roasted vegetable stews), Gulab Jamuns (Indian doughnuts), and
Kachori (deep-fried dumplings), all with outstanding adherence to tradition. Thinking of her native
Gujarat, Heena comments, “I’m excited to fll the void of Gujarat cuisine in mobile food. With my
husband and the La Cocina family lending a helping hand, we want people to feel like they are traveling
the world. Rasoi will be a great addition.” www.rasoikitchen.strikingly.com
El Buen Comer isabel CauDillo While growing up in Mexico City, Isabel Caudillo blushingly confesses that
she did not always enjoy cooking. Trained in the craft by watching her mother in the kitchen, it was not
until her move to the U.S. in 2003 that she began to appreciate cooking for friends and family. From a
restaurant erected in her living room, word of Caudillo’s delicious Mexican cuisine spread and laid the
foundation for a thriving business. After seeing a TV interview with Verónica Salazar, chef and owner of
El Huarache Loco and the frst La Cocina participant to open a restaurant, Caudillo joined La Cocina’s
program on a mission to open her own restaurant beyond the walls of her living room. Today, Isabel
runs a successful catering business around the Bay Area and is a farmer’s market favorite. In 2014, she’ll
be opening her own restaurant after 11 years in business in San Francisco’s booming Bernal Heights
neighborhood, serving her famous tostadas con nopales (crispy tortillas topped with cactus), cazuelas,
and moles. www.elbuencomersf.com.
Zella’s Soulful Kitchen Dionne Knox Zella’s Soulful Kitchen is a tribute to Dionne Knox’s grandmother,
who taught her the value of a great meal. Knox baked and cooked alongside her grandmother and
attributes the decision to transition into the culinary world to her—serving home-cooked meals in her
grandmother’s name. Dionne’s grandmother showed her the importance of cooking with the freshest
ingredients and taught her that a great meal is the perfect setting for gathering loved ones together.
Chef Dionne brought this philosophy to life when she started Zella’s Soulful Kitchen in 2005, leaping into
Zella’s full-time as a full service catering company. She has quickly expanded her business, now serving
prepared foods at Whole Foods Market hot bars. These days, Dionne is gearing up to launch her own
deli space at Mandela Food Cooperative in West Oakland, offering high-quality, healthy, impeccably
handcrafted Southern and American comfort food while developing an employment program for at-risk
youth. “It’s such a blessing to have the opportunity to combine two things that I’m most passionate
about: sharing my grandmother’s dishes with others and working with young people. It’s what inspires
me and yields tasty results!” www.zellassoulfulkitchen.com.

Soul of the palace. Dignified a nd animated, my friend Sulaiman Khan, the raja of Mahmudabad, opens
an Urdu dictionary and reads me the defnition of masala: “things conducive to good; occupations;
honor, glory; ingredients; spices; a border of a garment such as gold or silver lace.” He could be
describing the courtly culture of his ancestors, Arab nobility that ruled Mahmudabad, 35 miles from
Lucknow, from the 16th century until 1947, when Sulaiman was a child. Tat’s when Independence and
the Partition of India and Pakistan changed the fate of the Muslim aristocracy, including the Khans.
Although the court is long gone, some of its culture, especially its cuisine, lives on. Lavished with ghee
and favored with costly masalas, it is food that once displayed the wealth and generosity of the nobility.
At his deteriorating yet grand palace, Sulaiman still occasionally entertains. Today he has promised a
banquet. For hours, his chef, Afzal Ahmad, cooks outside in a courtyard. He layers tender goat leg and
whole chicken thickly with spices and scents them with fowery screw-pine essence. He fries bread until
it’s crisp, soaks it in safron-infused cream, and tops it with shimmering silver leaf for shahi tukra, royal
toast (see page 89 for recipe). A sumptuous feast for a small gathering of guests, it is one of the ways
that Sulaiman maintains his noble culture. As Ahmad tends wood fres, imbuing dishes with smoke,
Sulaiman quotes lines from the 18th-century poet Mir Taqi Mir: “Where is the smoke originating from?
Is it from the heart, or the soul?” —Holly Shafer, freelance writer.
Good Karma. ajay Jain is one of india’s nearly 5 million Jains, adherents of the belief that good karma—
the kind that releases the soul from rebirth and leads it to nirvana—can be attained only through non-
violence. Jains are such strict vegetarians that they won’t eat garlic or onions, lest these roots harbor
tiny insects that Jains hope not to harm. this doesn’t mean that Jain food is bland. When i lunched at
ajay’s lucknow home, i was enraptured by the favors. Cooking over a hot plate, ajay’s mother, shashi,
and his wife, neelan, whipped up okra pungent with asafoetida, potatoes heaped in lipsmacking green
mango powder, dal bittersweet with fenugreek. then they turned to the curry. soupy, sun-bright with
turmeric, and snappy with mustard seeds, it held airy chickpea fritters (see page 88 for recipe). “at the
end of lunch, a sweet is a must,” said ajay’s dad, ramesh, as assuredly as he’d described the Jain way of
avoiding “the sins of worldly things.” the ladoos he offered, crumbly bonbons of buttery chickpea four,
were a worldly pleasure indeed, but a prescribed one. they “make digestion very easy,” he said, biting
into one with relish. —B.A.

Récipes.
Besan Curry (Chickpea Fritters in Curry) serves 4–6. This Jain-style curry (pictured on page 86) pairs airy
chickpea fritters with a creamy, tangy sauce. Canola oil, for frying 1 1⁄4 cups besan (chickpea four) 1 tsp.
cumin seeds 1⁄2 tsp. asafoetida 1⁄2 tsp. black mustard seeds 1⁄2 tsp. fenugreek seeds 1⁄2 tsp. ground
turmeric 1⁄2 tsp. white poppy seeds 2 cups plain, full-fat yogurt Kosher salt, to taste Heat 2” oil in a 6-qt.
saucepan until a deep-fry thermometer reads 350°. Stir 1 cup chickpea four and 1 cup water in a bowl to
make a batter. Working in batches, fry tablespoon-size amounts of batter until pufed, 4–6 minutes;
transfer fritters to paper towels. Discard all but 3 tbsp. oil from pan; return to medium-high. Cook cumin
seeds, asafoetida, mustard seeds, fenugreek seeds, turmeric, and poppy seeds until seeds pop, 1–2
minutes. Whisk remaining four, the yogurt, salt, and 3 cups water in a bowl; add to pan, along with
fritters. Cook until thickened, 15–20 minutes.
Bhindi Masala (North Indian Okra Stir-Fry) serves 4. Okra is cooked until crisp for this dish favored with
garam masala (pictured on page 89). 1⁄2 cup canola oil 12 cloves garlic, thinly sliced 4 chiles de árbol,
chopped 1 small red onion, sliced 1 lb. okra, sliced 1⁄3” thick 1 1⁄2 tbsp. garam masala (see page 35 for
recipe) 1 tbsp. ground coriander 1 plum tomato, chopped Kosher salt, to taste Heat oil in a 12” skillet
over medium-high. Cook garlic, chiles, and onion until golden, 4–6 minutes. Add okra, garam masala,
coriander, tomato, salt, and 1 cup water; cook until okra is crisp-tender, 3–4 minutes.
Mirchi Qorma (Kashmiri Lamb in Chile Sauce) serves 4–6. Tender lamb simmers in a fery sauce in this
recipe from Adhoo’s in Srinagar, Kashmir (pictured on page 81). 6 dried Kashmiri chiles or pasilla chiles,
stemmed 2 small red Thai chiles or 1 red jalapeño, stemmed 2 lb. lamb shoulder, trimmed and cut into
2” pieces 1 tbsp. black peppercorns 4 green cardamom pods 1 stick cinnamon 1⁄4 cup canola oil 1 tsp.
kala jeera (black cumin seeds) 10 cloves garlic, mashed into a paste 2 Indian or regular bay leaves 1⁄4 cup
tamarind paste (see “Making Tamarind Paste,” page 56) 3 tbsp. dried mint 1 tbsp. red chile powder,
such as cayenne Kosher salt, to taste 1 Heat a 6-qt. saucepan over medium-high. Cook dried chiles until
lightly toasted, 1–2 minutes. Transfer to a food processor; add fresh chiles and 1 cup water. Purée until
smooth and return to pan. Add lamb, peppercorns, cardamom, cinnamon, and 3 cups water; boil.
Reduce heat to medium-low; cook, covered, until lamb is very tender, about 1 hour. Transfer lamb
mixture to a bowl. 2 Wipe pan clean; heat oil over medium-high. Cook cumin seeds, garlic, and bay
leaves until seeds pop, 1–2 minutes. Add reserved lamb mixture, the tamarind paste, 1 tbsp. mint, the
chile powder, and salt; boil. Reduce heat to medium; cook until thickened, about 1 hour. Garnish with
remaining mint.
Nadru Yakhni (Lotus Root in Yogurt Sauce) serves 4 Porous lotus root sops up spiced yogurt gravy in this
Kashmiri specialty (pictured above). 14 oz. fresh, frozen, or canned lotus root, sliced 1⁄2” thick Kosher
salt, to taste 3 cups plain, full-fat yogurt 1⁄4 cup besan (chickpea four) 5 tbsp. ghee 4 cloves garlic,
mashed into a paste 1 1” piece ginger, mashed into a paste 1⁄2 small red onion, minced 1 tsp. garam
masala (see page 35 for recipe) 1⁄2 tsp. cumin seeds 3 green cardamom pods 2 black cardamom pods 1
whole clove 1 stick cinnamon 1 tsp. dried mint Boil lotus in a 4-qt. saucepan of salted water. Reduce
heat to medium; cook until tender, 1 1 ⁄2–2 hours if fresh, and drain. Whisk yogurt, chickpea f our, and
11 ⁄2 cups water in a bowl. Add 3 tbsp. ghee to pan; melt over medium-high. Cook garlic, ginger, and
onion until golden, 3–4 minutes. Add yogurt mixture; boil. Reduce heat to medium; simmer until
thickened, 8–10 minutes. Stir in lotus, the garam masala, and salt; cook 2 minutes. Melt remaining ghee
in an 8” skillet over mediumhigh. Cook cumin, cardamoms, clove, and cinnamon until aromatic, 1–2
minutes; stir into lotus mixture with mint.
Shahi Tukra (Royal Toast) serves 4. This syrup-soaked toast is slathered in a sweetened reduction of milk
f avored with saf ron (pictured on page 85). 8 cups whole milk 5 green cardamom pods 1 tsp. saffron
threads 1 1⁄4 cups sugar 1 cup ghee 1 1 lb. Pullman loaf, crusts removed, sliced 1” thick 1⁄2 cup sliced
almonds, toasted Edible silver leaf, for garnish (optional) 1 Boil milk and cardamom in a 6-qt. saucepan.
Reduce heat to medium; cook, stirring occasionally to prevent scorching, until thick and creamy, 1–11 ⁄2
hours. Mix saf ron with 1 tsp. water in a bowl and add to pan. Stir in 1 ⁄3 cup sugar; cook until sugar is
dissolved, 2–3 minutes. 2 Melt ghee in a 12” skillet over medium-high. Working in batches, cook toast, f
ipping once, until crisp , 2–3 minutes; transfer to a plate. Wipe skillet clean; add remaining sugar and 1
cup water, and boil. Cook until sugar is dissolved, 2–3 minutes ; let cool. Return milk mixture to a
simmer. Working in batches, dip toast in syrup; transfer to milk mixture. Cook until toast is softened, 4–
6 minutes. Transfer toast to a serving platter; spoon remaining milk mixture over the top; garnish with
almonds, and silver leaf if you like.
Shami Kebabs (Spiced Ground Beef Patties) makes 28 patties. The recipe for these kebabs (pictured on
page 88), which can also be made with lamb, is adapted from Charmaine O’Brien’s Recipes from an
Urban Village (T e Hope Project, 2003). 3 tbsp. canola oil 1 tsp. cumin seeds 1 large red onion, 2⁄3
minced, 1⁄3 thinly sliced 1⁄2 cup chana dal (yellow split peas), rinsed, soaked 30 minutes, and drained 1⁄3
cup roughly chopped mint 1⁄2 tsp. ground turmeric 2 cloves garlic, mashed into a paste 2 small green
Thai chiles or 1 serrano, minced 1 2” piece ginger, peeled, 1⁄2 mashed into a paste, 1⁄2 minced Kosher salt,
to taste 2 lb. ground beef 1⁄2 cup minced cilantro 1 tbsp. garam masala (see page 35 for recipe) 1 tsp. red
chile powder, such as cayenne 1⁄2 cup ghee Lime wedges, for serving 1 Heat oil in a 6-qt. saucepan over
medium-high. Cook cumin seeds and half the minced onion until golden, 6–8 minutes. Add dal, mint,
turmeric, garlic, chiles, ginger paste, salt, and 1 1 ⁄2 cups water; boil. Reduce heat to medium-low; cook
until dal is mushy and mixture is slightly dry, about 1 hour. Let cool and transfer to a food processor.
Add beef, half the cilantro, the garam masala, chile powder, and salt; purée into a thick paste. 2 Stir
remaining minced onion and cilantro with minced ginger in a bowl. Using wet hands, divide beef mixture
into twentyeight 11 ⁄2 oz. balls. Working with 1 ball at a time, press index f nger into center to create a
pocket. Place 1 ⁄2 tsp. onion mixture inside; pinch edges to seal. Roll into a ball; f atten into a patty. Melt
1 ⁄3 cup ghee in a 12” skillet over medium-high. Working in batches and adding more ghee as needed,
cook patties, fipping once, until cooked through and crisp, 4–6 minutes; serve with sliced onion and lime
wedges.
Hot Stuff india, the world’s foremost consumer of chiles, uses hundreds of varieties representing a huge
range of tastes and heat . the spicy peppers fi nd their way into nearly every dish: chutneys and pickles,
curries and stir-fries, even cold drinks. —Farideh Saghedin.
Grassy, earthy, and hot indian red chiles retain their red hue when dried. toasting these small chiles
adds depth of f avor and balances their natural astringency . Widely available Mexican chiles de árbol
are an excellent substitute. Chile powder, ground, dried red chiles, lends color and radiant heat. its
powdery consistency goes great with ground meat, like in shami kebabs (see recipe at right). Fresh,
slender indian green chiles can be puréed for chutneys, thrown into stews, or eaten raw as a condiment,
to add fi erce, herbal heat to foods . select chiles that are bright green, plump, and unbruised. thai
chiles, more commonly found in u.s. markets, are a good substitute. nearly maroon in color, dried
Kashmiri chiles are shorter and wider than indian red chiles, and also less spicy. they lend a smoky
earthiness to dishes like mirchi qorma (see page 88 for recipe). Mexican pasilla chiles are a good
substitute.

North east.
The northeastern states of Assam, Meghalaya, Arunachal Pradesh, Mizoram, Manipur, Nagaland, and
Tripura are a world apart from the rest of India. The region is connected to the subcontinent by a mere
thread of land, and most of the population traces its ancestry back to bordering Bhutan, China, and
Myanmar. The kinship comes through in the cuisine. Pork and bamboo feature prominently, and cooks
rely on ingredients like black sesame paste and salty fermented foods that speak more of Southeast Asia
than the subcontinent. The landscape, too, shapes what is eaten. The Brahmaputra River supplies fsh
and supports rice paddies, while primeval forests are home to wild game, herbs, and greens. For Indians
and non-Indians alike, the cuisine of this place is a delicious discovery.
EATING IN TEA COUNTRY. I have lived in Assam my whole life. It may be best known for its tea, but its
food is also exquisite. Central to Assamese identity is tenga aanja, sour fi sh curry (bottom right)—an
invigorating lunch on hot summer days or the fi nale to elaborate dinners. The banana tree fi gures into
many dishes, such as patot diya maach, fi sh roasted in banana leaf (top right), and koldilere rondha
paro manxo, pigeon with banana fl ower (bottom left; see page 93 for recipe). We even use the trunk,
burning it down to alkaline ashes to make an ingredient called kolakhar. It adds zip to khar, a class of
starter dishes, including posolar khar, a banana stem stirfry (middle left). The region is also fi lled with
bamboo, which is worked into baanhgajor lagot gahori, pork belly with fermented bamboo (middle
right; see page 93 for recipe), a tribal specialty. My favorite dish, however, is a family one: aitar manxor
aanja, my grandma’s mutton curry (top left). —Jyoti Das, cookbook autor.
Joining the tribe. In the city of Guwahati, on the banks of the Brahmaputra river in assam, my Hindu
family’s home was a farm in itself. We had our own pond, where we caught fsh that we roasted over
coals, or used to make maachar muri ghonto, fsh heads with dal. our cows provided milk, and we kept
different varieties of fowl, including ducks, which we used to make hahor mangso kumurar logot, duck
cooked with gourds. While we were a self-sustaining family, I was always fascinated by the various
cuisines that were available in my hometown, an array of tribal dishes—including stir-fries and pork
dishes—heavily infuenced by the surrounding countries of China and myanmar. That fascination kicked
into full gear when I turned 17. Freshly graduated from school, I began visiting different parts of the
northeast looking for the purest versions of the cuisine I enjoyed back home. Luckily for me, many tribes
here consider feeding strangers an honor, so I was invited into a number of homes, where I experienced
unforgettable meals like phak-ok ten nempo, pork cooked in its own fat and mixed with sesame seeds,
and langdung, mashed wild banana fower mixed with potatoes, tomatoes, and dried fsh. While I am
grown now, my passion for traveling this region to enjoy its tribal foods continues. on a recent trip to
sample the foods of the Karbi tribe just outside Guwahati, I happened upon the engti family as they
gathered rice from nearby paddies. They invited me to join them as they shopped for ingredients at a
local market. That night, we feasted on a spicy stir-fry of fern fronds and scrambled eggs served with
rice. and while I had never met the engtis before, I felt like family. —Aiyushman Dutta, journalist.
Travel guide, north east. AssAm & beyond Like many remote places we visited in the making of this
issue, the northeast is best navigated with the help of a local guide. Pradip Chettry, from Kensington
Tours (kensingtontours.com), is one of the best. Make GuwAhATi your base in the region. Stay at the
modest Kiranshree Portico hotel (kiranshree portico.com). Drive to ViSit elephants and greater one-
horned rhinoceroses at the Kaziranga National Park (kaziranga nationalpark-india .com), a wildlife
sanctuary founded in 1905.
Eating in guwahati I was born in Assam and love teaching people about the diverse favors of the
northeast, starting in Guwahati, where I eat aSSameSe cuisine like khorika, barbecued fsh, pork, or
vegetable skewers known as “stick barbecue,” at Khorika Restaurant on GS Road, or baanhgajor lagot
gahori, pork with bamboo shoots, at maihang at Shanti Palace. namsing, opposite Commerce College,
serves miShing, tribal island cuisine from Brahmaputra, like patot diya, chicken roasted in banana leaves.
Sangai Restaurant on Solapara Road serves manipuR dishes of the Meitei tribe like erongba, jackfruit
chutney, with nga-thongba, fsh and ginger curry. —Pradip Chettry.

Récipes.
Baanhgajor Lagor Gahori. (Pork Belly with Fermented Bamboo) serves 4. This braised pork belly
(pictured on page 90) from cookbook author Jyoti Das is inspired by an Assamese tribal dish. 2 tbsp.
mustard or canola oil 11 1∕2 lb. piece boneless, skinless pork belly, cut into 1” strips, about 1∕2” thick 10
small green Thai chiles or 5 serranos, halved 1 small red onion, quartered and thinly sliced 6 cloves
garlic, mashed into a paste 1 2” piece ginger, peeled and mashed into a paste 1∕2 tsp. ground turmeric
Kosher salt, to taste 3∕4 cup fermented bamboo shoots, minced Heat oil in a 12” nonstick skillet over
medium-high. Cook pork belly, stirring occasionally, until fat is rendered, 7–9 minutes. Discard all but 1⁄4
cup fat from skillet. Add chiles and onion; cook until golden, 8–10 minutes. Add garlic and ginger; cook
until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add turmeric, salt, and 1 ⁄2 cup water; boil. Reduce heat to
mediumlow; cook, covered, until pork is very tender, 35–40 minutes. Stir in bamboo; cook until warmed
through, about 5 minutes more.
Koldilere Rondha Paro Manxo (Assamese Pigeon with Banana Flower) serves 4. Traditionally, pigeon is
used in this northeast Indian dish (pictured on page 91), but chicken wings are a great substitute. The
recipe comes from cookbook author Jyoti Das. 2 tsp. cumin seeds 2 tsp. fennel seeds 1 1∕2 tsp. black
peppercorns 8 cloves garlic, peeled 1 2” piece ginger, peeled and thinly sliced Kosher salt, to taste 1
large banana fl ower 1∕3 cup mustard oil 6 green cardamom pods 5 whole cloves 2 Indian or regular bay
leaves 1 stick cinnamon, halved 1 small red onion, minced 1 1∕2 lb. pigeon, cut into 2” pieces, or chicken
wings, halved at the joint, wing tips discarded 1 tsp. ground turmeric 1 tsp. sugar 5 small green Thai
chiles or 3 serranos, sliced 2 tbsp. ghee, melted 1 Combine cumin and fennel seeds, peppercorns, garlic,
and ginger in a spice grinder; purée into a paste and set aside. Fill a bowl with cold salted water. Peel
and reserve the tough outer leaves of the banana f ower until you reach the tender white bulb. Quarter
and thinly slice the bulb; add to bowl with salted water. Within each of the reserved leaves, remove the
pale, tender f owers found inside; discard any tough purple f owers and the leaves. Mince the f owers;
add to bowl with salted water. Using hands, agitate banana f ower in water until clean; drain and spread
out on paper towels to dry. 2 Heat oil in a 12” skillet over medium-high. Cook cardamom, cloves, bay
leaves, and cinnamon until fragrant, 1–2 minutes. Add onion; cook until golden, 4–6 minutes. Add
reserved paste; cook until the oil separates, 2–3 minutes. Stir in pigeon, turmeric, sugar, salt, and 3 ⁄4
cup water; boil. Reduce heat to medium; cook, covered, until pigeon is cooked through, about 15
minutes. Stir in reserved banana f ower and the chiles; cook, covered, and stir occasionally, until banana
f ower is tender and pigeon is falling off the bone, 15–20 minutes more. Stir in ghee.

The Pantry. A Guide to Resources In producing the stories for this issue, we discovered ingredients and
information too good to keep to ourselves. Please feel free to raid our pantry! BY KELLIE EVANS.
Asafoetida, or hing, the ferula plant’s dried sap, comes in powder or lump form. Cooked, it has an onion-
like flavor. kalustyans.com Found in Asian markets, banana flower, or kere kafool, tastes like an
artichoke and is used in salads and curries. melissas.com. High-protein durum wheat flour, or atta, lends
an earthy chewiness to chapati and other Indian flatbreads. amazon.com. Besan, chickpea flour, makes a
toothsome batter for fritters and adds nutty flavor to sweets and salty snacks. amazon.com. Smoky black
cardamom pods, or kala elaichi, lend a camphor-like perfume to rice dishes and sweets. kalustyans.com.
Fresh curry leaves, or kadipatta, lend their resinous fragrance to dishes from chutneys to curries.
patelbrothers usa.com. Drumsticks, or sehjana ki phali, have a thick, ridged skin like okra and a flavor
similar to asparagus. patelbrothersusa.com. Extracted from mature coconuts, coconut oil, is used in
south India for stir-fries like beetroot thoran (see page 72 for recipe). wholefoods.com. Daikon, or mooli,
a crunchy radish that retains its texture and subtle spiciness when cooked, is great in a stew or stir-fry.
melissas.com. Use tasteless, odorless, and tissue-thin edible silver leaves, or vark, to add a striking
garnish to Indian desserts. nycake.com. Fenugreek seeds, or methi, have a bittersweet, musky flavor.
They are often fried and worked into curries.ishopindian.com. Foods of the World: The Cooking of India
(Time Life Books, 1969) offers inspiring recipes and fascinating photos.amazon.com. If you’re not making
your own ghee, a nutty fat derived from clarifying butter, purchase a jar made from pure
butter.amazon.com. In northeast Indian cooking, fermented bamboo shoots add pungency and texture
to stir-fried dishes. asiansupermarket365.com. If fresh mature coconuts are not available, substitute
frozen shredded coconut in curries and sweets.patelbrothersusa.com. Tart, firm green, unripe mangos,
or khatte am, retain some texture when used to prepare pickles, curries, and chutneys. melissas.com.
Native to south India, ground green cardamom, or choiti elaichi, adds a heady perfume to savory and
sweet dishes. kalustyans.com. Fragrant Indian bay leaves, or tez patta, lend herbal intensity to dishes
like Chettinad pepper chicken (see page 74 for recipe). ishopindian.com. In Indian recipes that call for
pumpkin, the firm, orangefl eshed kabocha squash is an excellent substitute.melissas.com. Pushpesh
Pant’s India Cookbook (Phaidon, 2010) presents 1000 recipes for classic dishes from home cooks and
professional chefs. amazon.com. With a maple-like flavor, jaggery or gur, lump cane sugar, is a key
sweetening agent in dishes throughout Indian cooking. kalustyans.com. Earthy, sweet black cumin
seeds, called kala jeera, flavor dishes like Kashmiri lamb in chile sauce (see page 88 for recipe).
kalustyans.com. An essential part of Indian meals, husked, milled, and polished long grain white rice,
such as basmati, is also used in desserts. wholefoods.com. Himalayan black salt, or kala namak, sold
ground or in rock form, lends a pleasing sulfurous note to condiments and drinks.ishopindian.com. The
long, rough-skinned loofah, or ridge gourd, provides a cucumber-like fl avor and texture to vegetable
curries. melissas.com. To store and organize spices, Indian home cooks use a masala dabba, a round
metal tray in which smaller tins nest. amazon.com. Lotus root, or kakadi, a crunchy yet porous rhizome,
soaks up sauces. Asian markets sell it fresh, frozen, or canned. melissas.com. Widely used in northern
India for frying, peppery mustard oil, or sarson katel, mellows as it heats. kalustyans.com. Panch phoron,
a Bengali spice mix of fennel, black mustard, nigella, fenugreek, and cumin seeds, is toasted or fried
before using. kalustyans.com. Black and brown mustard seeds lend a nutty fl avor and crunch when fried
and used to finish soups, sauces, and curries. ishopindian.com. Creamy and tart, plain, full-fat yogurt or
Greek-style yogurt is ideal for raitas, lassis, and the tangy stews called yakhni. wholefoods.com. Rasam
powder, a toasted blend of chana dal, chiles, and whole spices, is used to fl avor soups and chutneys.
ishopindian.com. Fresh pointed gourds, or potol, have a mild zucchini-like flavor. They’re added to
vegetable stews and curries. patelbrothersusa.com. Saffron threads, or kesar, the stigmas of crocuses,
lend a golden hue and earthy flavor to desserts. The most prized is from Kashmir. kalustyans.com.
Preferable to the sometimes bitter concentrate, tamarind pulp adds a sour tang to desserts and savory
dishes. ishopindian.com. In salty snack mixes or as a topping, sev, or fried chickpea noodles, provide a
nut-like taste and crunch.kalustyans.com. The tiffin, a nesting lunch box, is perfect for transporting the
various dishes that compose an Indian meal.happytin.com.