Indian

These pickled limes use Vadouvan spice blend, sometimes labeled French curry, a combination of Indian spices often including curry leaves, fenugreek, mustard seeds, coriander, shallots, and garlic. The exact blend depends on who makes it. It is aromatic and gives a haunting depth of flavor to the finished pickles. They are wonderful with fish, pork, and roasted vegetables and add a subtle tang to sauces, rice pilafs, or creamy grits. Lime pickles can be finely chopped into a condiment, used whole in braises, or thinly sliced and gently fried. Once you taste them, a world of possibilities opens up before you.

A mixture of aromatic (and generally expensive) spices that according to the ancient Ayurvedic system of medicine are meant to heat the body. This is the only spice mixture that I ask you to make at home and keep in storage. Its aroma is unsurpassed if mixed and ground at home in small quantities. Also, it will not contain cheap “filler” spices, such as coriander seeds, as many commercial mixtures do. I do keep the store-bought mixture in my cupboard as well for use in certain dishes that require less perfume. My recipes will tell you which one to use.

This is made in the same way as in the last recipe, only it has a layer of sliced bananas at the top.

The Parsi community of India is of Persian descent. When the Parsis fled Iran in the tenth century, they settled on India’s west coast, where they managed to preserve not only their religious traditions—they are Zoroastrians—but many of their culinary traditions as well. This delicately sweet-and-sour dish of chicken cooked with dried apricots is part of that tradition. I have a Parsi friend who puts in a healthy glug of Madeira toward the end of the cooking. Parsis picked up many customs not only from their Gujarati neighbors but also from their neighbors and masters in nineteenth-century Bombay, the British. This dish is generally served with a mountain of very fine, crisp potato straws—you can just buy a large packet of them—but may also be served with rice.

This recipe is very similar to the last, only a bit grander.

In India and Pakistan a very fine pasta, known as seviyan, is used for this quick pudding. Most grocers in the West sell it laid out in long, slim boxes, but in cities like Lahore you can find it in open markets—all exposed, in the shape of little nests of thin pasta piled up into a mountain. The pasta is broken up and lightly browned before it is cooked into a pudding. I find that angel-hair pasta, which often comes in the shape of nests, makes a very good substitute for seviyan, and that is what I have started to use. This pudding may be eaten hot, warm, or at room temperature. In Pakistan, it is known as sheer korma and in India as seviyan ki kheer. On a cold wintry day in North India or Pakistan there is nothing nicer than a warm version of this pudding. The nuts and raisins are optional. You may leave them out altogether and then, if you like, just sprinkle some chopped almonds or pistachios over the top.

This dense, intense yogurt custard is a specialty of Bengal, where it is called bhapa doi—steamed custard. Bengalis have quite a sweet tooth, and this is one of the hundreds of sweet things they buy from the market, all set in terra-cotta pots, to have at the end of their meals. Here is a quick, easy version that I learned from a Bengali friend. It can be eaten by itself or with fruit. You may double the recipe, using a 4-cup dish. The cooking time should be the same.

This sweet cream, which tastes a bit like crème fraîche, only with a more flowing, creamy texture, is a simple Gujarati dessert, so cooling during Gujarat’s hot summer days. In May and June, when mangoes are in season, thick mango puree is folded in. A teaspoon of saffron threads, roasted and soaked in milk, may be added at the same time as the sugar (see method on page 289) or dried fruit (golden raisins, soaked in boiling water for an hour and squeezed), nuts (chopped pistachios or almonds), fresh fruit (chopped mangoes, bananas, berries), and fruit purees.

This rice pudding is known as kheer in North India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh, and eaten under different names throughout South Asia. It consists, in its basic version, of nothing more than milk, cardamom for flavor and aroma, rice, and sugar. In villages and towns, rice harvests are generally celebrated with a kheer. In some communities, new husbands and wives feed each other a spoonful of kheer during the final part of the wedding ritual. It may be served lukewarm, at room temperature, or cold. Because it is associated with celebration, expensive ingredients are often added, such as saffron, nuts, and dried fruit. Here is the basic version, the one I love the most; you may scatter a tablespoon of chopped pistachios over the top before serving.

This pudding is cooked just like the preceding one but with a few additions.

What is required here is not a cream that one can go out and buy. This “cream” is really a kind of pudding or kheer, thickened by boiling milk down, not by adding starch to it. In order to take some of the labor out of the process, Indians have taken to adding condensed milk. This works very well indeed. This is a thinnish cream, ideal to serve with fruit. I put the cut-up fruit (mangoes, guavas, pears, peaches, and bananas are ideal, but I have used berries as well) in individual bowls, or in old-fashioned ice cream cups, and then pour the flavored cream over the top.

Tapioca pearls and sago pearls are made from two completely different plants, the first from the starchy tapioca/cassava root and the other from the starchy pith removed from the trunk of the sago palm. One originated in the New World, the other in Southeast Asia. Yet the two are endlessly confused. Since their starch is very similar, it hardly matters where cooking is concerned. Indian grocers often put both names, tapioca pearls and sagudana or sabudana (sago pearls), on the same packet. I grew up with this kheer, or pudding. When I came home from school in the middle of a hot afternoon, my mother would have individual terra-cotta bowls of this waiting in the refrigerator. It was very simple and basic, nothing more than milk, sago, cardamom for flavor, and sugar. We called it sagudanay ki kheer, or sago pearl pudding, though it may well have been made with tapioca pearls.

At all of India’s roadside stalls, Masala Chai is served already sweetened. I have added about 1 teaspoon sugar per cup in this recipe, which makes the tea just mildly sweet. You may double that amount, if you prefer.

I like to refrigerate this lassi, covered, with all the seasonings in it, for a couple of hours. Then I strain and serve it. It is particularly good at the very start of a meal, served in tiny glasses to whet the appetite. (You may also strain and serve it as soon as it is made, with a couple of ice cubes. The flavors will be mellower.) You can easily double or triple the recipe.

This is best made when good fresh mangoes are in season. When they are not, very good-quality canned pulp from India’s excellent Alphonso mangoes may be used instead. Most Indian grocers sell this.

When I first ate this Sri Lankan pickle, known simply as Singhala Achcharu, it was made with green beans and carrots, but it may be made with other vegetables as well, including green papaya, found in East Asian and South Asian markets, and cauliflower. You may combine all these vegetables if you like, cutting each of them so the pieces are more or less the same size.

Here is a condiment that I just cannot live without. You can add a dollop to curries or use it as you might any prepared mustard. It perks up hot dogs, my husband smears it on bacon and ham, it goes with roast beef, and it is a lovely, pungent addition to sandwiches. We always keep a jar in the refrigerator. Try smearing it on fresh pineapple slices to serve with a curry meal or a ham or pork roast (see next recipe), or use it to make Vegetable Pickle (see page 258).