South Asian

This is a sweet, mild, but very complex curry powder; you can add a bit of cayenne if you want some heat. You can chip pieces off a whole nutmeg with the blunt edge of a heavy knife or crack the whole thing by pressing on it with a heavy skillet.

Generally speaking—but not always—garam masala is milder than curry, containing little or no pepper or chile. Again, it’s a matter of taste. This garam masala has a load of cardamom in it, because that’s the kind I favor. It’s delicious with fish.

You can probably buy premade chaat masala more easily than you can find some of its ingredients, which may include ground pomegranate seeds and other exotica. But this is a good, simple version, contributed by my friend chef Suvir Saran. The sourness, which is its defining characteristic, is provided by the distinctive amchoor, a powder made from dried mangoes. If you have the time, toast together in a dry skillet (as for Hot Curry Powder, page 592) whole cumin and coriander seeds, then grind them before mixing them with the other ingredients.

Lighter than Mint Chutney with Yogurt (following recipe), and, with its fresh ginger and garam masala, spicier. I’d serve it with grilled chicken or lamb.

Hot enough to counter the yogurt’s blandness and sweet enough to offset its sourness, complex with spice and bright and sparkling with a load of mint, this is the model mint chutney, a refreshing counterpoint to simple grilled lamb, beef, eggplant, salmon, even hamburger.

This can be served, with rice, alongside any dal (page 433) or as a condiment with spicy stewed dishes. It can also be mixed into yogurt to make a kind of Raita (page 175).

Thin and crisp, the distinctively large and cylindrical dosa are the famous crispbreads of southern India. Made from a base of ground lentils and rice, they’re delicious and, paired with a simple raita or chutney, the basis of a meal for many people. I ate dosa with amazement throughout India, but I learned how to make them here, with help from Monica Bhide and Suvir Saran, both friends who have written wonderful books about Indian cooking. Note that the difficult part of the dosa-making process—soaking and pureeing—can easily be bypassed if you have an industrial milling machine that can pulverize the lentils and rice into flour straightaway. And a couple of companies do just that, adding salt and fenugreek for flavor, add baking soda to give them a little puff, and sell the resulting mix throughout India and in the States. This mix makes dosa a convenience food you can fry up at the drop of a hat. I think it’s still worthwhile to give this recipe a try, but if the soaking and pureeing are going to keep you from trying dosa, by all means use the mix. Soak the lentil and rice flour in water as directed on the back of the package, and when the batter’s ready, start with step 4. (You can use the mix for the uttapam on the next page as well.)

Kulcha are like doughier, softer paratha and are absolutely delicious. Combined with basmati rice, dal (page 433), and an Indian vegetable dish, like the cauliflower on page 451 or the eggplant on page 457, kulcha are a perfect centerpiece for a vegetarian meal. Chaat masala is a deliciously sour-tasting spice mix you can buy at Indian markets (it’s possible to make it yourself, but almost no one does).

Although there’s something lost in translation between the scorching heat of a tandoor—the clay oven of northern India—and the relatively tame 500°F of a home oven, you can indeed make creditable, even delicious naan at home. With their slightly sour flavor and ultrasoft texture, they’re the perfect accompaniment to dal (page 433) or any Indian meat dish.

When they’re hot from the pan, it’s hard not to fill up on paratha alone, though they’re usually served in the context of a larger Indian meal. I learned this spicy, delicious lamb filling from Suvir Saran, an Indian chef and friend who lives and works in New York and whose book, written with Stephanie Lyness—Indian Home Cooking: A Fresh Introduction to Indian Food—is one of the best on the topic written for the American audience.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but this is one of my favorite foods ever. Fifteen years ago, Julie Sahni, the great Indian cook and cookbook writer (her Classic Indian Cooking remains the best book on the subject published in the States), showed me how to make aloo paratha. I continued to follow her recipes for years and never ate a better one until I traveled to India (and even then I may have been influenced by the atmosphere, a truck stop near a mountaintop fort). This is essentially Julie’s recipe, with a few changes I’ve incorporated over the years. Cooked paratha will keep at room temperature for up to twenty-four hours and can be served without reheating or can be reheated quickly in a dry skillet or even a microwave. But there is nothing like one fresh from the skillet. Ajwain comes from carom seeds, which look like celery seeds but taste like very strong, slightly coarse thyme.

These simple, flaky breads are easy to make, but there is one caveat: you must not treat them (or any Indian bread) as you would European breads, which is to say that although the dough can be prepared in advance (indeed, it’s better if it rests for a while), the breads themselves must be cooked at the last minute before serving. Serve with any dal (page 433) and a dish like Tandoori Chicken (page 291).

Rice and lentils are both daily fare in much of India, but rarely are they cooked together. An exception is made for the quite-quick-cooking red lentils, which are prepared in a manner not unlike that used in the Middle East.

The creamy, rich, and mildly spicy flavor of this soup makes it a great starter before Indian entrees like Crunchy Curried Shrimp or Fish (page 217) or Patra ni Machhi (page 231).

Originally an Indian vegetable soup, this became popular among British colonialists, who added chicken to the mix. I like it better in something approaching its original form, but see the variations for more substantial versions.

A recipe from my friend Sumana Chatterjee, whose family lives in Calcutta. The ingredient list, obviously, could not be shorter, but don’t be deceived: This is a labor-intensive dish, best made on a cool day (we made it on a hot one and lost about five pounds each) when you are going to be in the kitchen for a long time. Having said that, it is wonderful stuff, creamy and delicious, representative of the scores of different milk desserts made throughout India.

An unusual appetizer, in both its meat (lamb ribs, while delicious, are not seen that frequently) and its spicing. Ask the butcher for a lamb breast, cut into ribs; give him a couple of days’ notice to make sure he can get one.

Like many dishes from India, this one contains a lot of ingredients and requires a fair amount of precooking work but is easy to assemble. If you can find fresh paneer—the simple cheese that appears in many Indian dishes—by all means use it. But tofu makes a great substitute. Serve over rice or as part of a larger Indian meal.

Crisp-fried ladyfish are a specialty in India, and even though ladyfish themselves are part of the reason they’re so great and we don’t see them here, we can come pretty close to duplicating the dish; both batter and marinade are spicy, distinctive, and exciting. Plan on serving immediately.

Similar to Tempura (recipe follows), these are usually made only with vegetables—but a very wide assortment—and the batter is best when prepared with chickpea flour (also called besan or gram flour and available at Indian and many Asian markets and most health food stores). Traditionally, the batter also often contains anardana, a powder made from ground pomegranate seeds—if you can find some (try the same stores that have besan), add a teaspoon to the batter, along with the garam masala. Pakora batter can also be fried on its own, as a fritter; mix a medium onion, chopped, into it, and drop it by the tablespoon into the hot oil.