South Asian

We sat on cushions at an open-air, rooftop restaurant in Peshawar, Pakistan. As it was winter, we had been offered quilts to cover our legs and small individual braziers to keep at our sides. The glow of tandoor clay ovens just a few paces away offered added consolation. It was from there that this fish dish emerged. It was a river fish caught nearby, cooked whole in the tandoor until its outside was browned and the inside was flaky and soft. It was the spices that gave the fish its kick. I asked the chef for the recipe, and here it is. I have had to make a few changes. Instead of the river fish I have used Spanish mackerel (you could also use filleted trout); instead of quick-roasting in a tandoor I pan-fry; instead of ajowan seeds, I have used dried thyme (both contain thymol); and instead of sour oranges I have used a mixture of lemon and sugar. It still tastes marvelous. In Peshawar, this was served with a simple Vinegar-Chili-Onion Dipping Sauce. That recipe is on page 242. You could serve this Western style with boiled parsley potatoes and some green beans, or with Carrots with Cilantro and Potatoes with Cumin and Mustard Seeds.

Somewhere between the famous Mulligatawny Soup of the mixed-race Anglo-Indians and the soupy lentil-tomato-pasta dish, dal dholki, of the vegetarians of the western state of Gujarat, lies this soup. It is made with red lentils and tomatoes and may be served with a dollop of plain white rice or with some cooked pasta (pappardelle, noodles, macaroni) added to the soup just before it is heated for serving. This soup, plus a salad, makes for a perfect lunch or supper. There are three simple steps to follow here. First you boil up the lentils. As they cook, you sauté the seasonings. Then you combine the two and blend them.

I make this a lot when tomatoes are in season. It makes for a simple, nutritious lunch or first course.

This has always been a favorite soup of mine. I made it very recently with the last of the bell peppers on my plants. The leaves had shriveled already, but the peppers were still hanging on. It was such a cold, damp day that I decided to add some warming ginger to the soup for added comfort.

Here is a soup that is perfect for cold winter days, the ginger in it providing lasting warmth. The ginger also helps if you have a cold and acts as a stabilizer for those who suffer from travel sickness. Apart from all its health-giving properties (which Indians always have in the back of their heads), this is a delicious soup that can be served at any meal.

Gujaratis in western India do not actually drink soups as such. They do have many soupy dishes, which are meant to be eaten with flatbreads, rice, or spongy, savory, steamed cakes known as dhoklas. Here is one such dish. It makes for a gorgeous soup. I serve it with a little dollop of cream and a light sprinkling of ground roasted cumin (page 284), though these are not at all essential. In the summer months, I make my own tomato puree and use that to make the soup. Store-bought puree is perfectly good too. In Gujarat a similar dish is served with homemade noodles in it. It is known as dal dhokli. I sometimes throw small quantities of cooked pasta bow ties or even macaroni into the soup.

Here is a soup of colonial, British-Indian origin, born in the early days of the Raj and a favorite among the dwindling mixed-race Anglo-Indian community of India. All the ingredients and seasonings are completely Indian. It is just the way it is served (in a soup plate) and eaten (with a soup spoon) that is British. This soup may be served at the start of a meal, but it may also be offered as the main course for a Sunday lunch, the way the Anglo-Indians do. At such times, plain rice is served on the side, with diners adding as much as is desired to their soup plates, a little at a time so as not to solidify the soup in one go. I like to give my guests individual bowls of rice so that a single large bowl of rice does not have to move around the table like a whirling dervish.

Here is a soup that I had in Pakistan’s most famous northwestern city, Peshawar. Many of the grander Muslim families, in both India and Pakistan, offer some form of aab gosht, or meat broth, at the start of a meal. Sometimes it comes in cups even before one is seated and requires just sipping. This is a variation of that and requires a spoon. What I was offered on a rather cold day was a steaming bowl of well-seasoned goat broth in which floated oyster mushrooms and slices of river fish. It was so delicious that I decided to come up with a version myself. I have used beef stock, though lamb stock would do as well. If you cannot get fresh oyster mushrooms, use the canned ones, sold by all Chinese grocers, or canned straw mushrooms. Just drain them and rinse them out.

The French drop a dollop of spicy, garlicky rouille in the center of fish soups. It perks them up. Well, this is its Indian incarnation, a quick version of the southern Yogurt Rice, perfect for placing in the center of not only the preceding Cold Cucumber Soup, but all manner of bean and split pea soups. I like to serve the soups in old-fashioned soup plates, which are shallower than soup bowls. This way the dollop of garnish stands up and is not drowned.

Before cooking, the meat-spice mixture requires a rest in the refrigerator to bring all the flavors together and to give the kebabs their requisite melt-in-the-mouth tenderness. If you cannot get a baking pan of just this size, something a bit smaller or a bit larger will do. (You could also use a 6-inch-square cake tin and cut the kebabs into rectangles—in which case, bake for only 30 minutes.) Serve these pâté-like kebabs with drinks, offering flatbread pieces or crackers to eat them with, or serve them as part of a meal with vegetables or salads. They need an accompanying chutney, such as the Peshawari Red Pepper Chutney, page 243, or the Bengali-Style Tomato Chutney, page 244.

This is easily one of my favorite first courses for dinner parties, one that I have served repeatedly over the years. Most of the work—and there is very little of it—can be done in advance, and the last-minute stir-frying, which is the ideal way to cook this, takes just a few minutes. If you wish to do the entire cooking in advance, you may, just remember to reheat the shrimp over a low flame. I have even served this dish with drinks. I just stick a toothpick in each shrimp and hand out napkins! If you cannot find fresh curry leaves, tear up 10 fresh basil leaves and use them instead.

There is nothing quite like sitting at a table by the beach, toes buried in the hot sand, eating these crisp whitebait with a glass of whisky in hand. At least, that is how I love them, but I have also been offered whitebait at a Sri Lankan tea, along with cakes and sandwiches. They were delightful then too. I love to serve them as a first course. To get the fish nice and crisp, they need to be fried twice. The first frying can be done ahead of time, but the second needs to be done just before eating. They may be served just the way they are or with a dipping sambol such as Sri Lankan Coconut Sambol, page 246, or Sri Lankan Cooked Coconut Chutney, page 247.

Although Indians do not eat appetizer courses as such, there are many Indian dishes that can be served as a first course. This eggplant dish is one of them. I often serve it that way, with a slice of French bread on the side and some Pinot Grigio to polish it off. You can, of course, also serve it as the vegetable dish with the main course. (I love it with the Tandoori-Style Duck Breasts, page 103.)

Here is a dish that, as far as I know, was only served in India by my own family. My mother made it; my grandmother made it. It was made only when peas were young and fresh. Even Indians (from other families and from other parts of India) who have dined with us in the pea season are surprised by it. It requires whole, fresh peas in their pods. I grow my own peas, and this is the first dish I make with them when they are ready for picking. You have to eat the peas rather like artichoke leaves: you put the whole pea pod in your mouth, holding on to it by its stem end, clench your teeth, and pull. What you get to eat are not just the peas themselves but also the softened outsides of the shells. You discard the fibrous bits after getting all the goodness out of them. We ate this as a snack or at teatime, but I have taken to serving it as a first course.

Here you simply marinate eggplant slices in a spicy dressing and then grill them. When serving (hot or cold), spoon a dollop of yogurt seasoned with fresh mint on the top. It is cool and refreshing.

I often offer these as an appetizer. I serve them just the way they are, but you could also serve them on toasted slices of Italian bread or just buttered toast.

I love cheese toast the way it is done in India—with some chopped fresh green chilies and cilantro thrown in. We like to serve it with tea, as we seem to love the combination of spicy snacks and very hot tea! You can use any white bread (or brown, if you prefer), any cheese you like (I happen to like sharp cheddar), and the chilies could be fresh green ones (about 1/4 teaspoon, well chopped) but the pickled Greek ones are fine too, and, as I always have them on hand in my refrigerator and I like the tartness they provide, I use them instead. Some Anglo-Indian recipes have the yolks of hard-boiled eggs mixed with mustard spread inside the sandwich as well. I make my sandwich in a frying pan, but a panini press, if you have one of those, would work too.

There is nothing like sitting down for an evening drink with these chickpeas by one’s side. Since they come out of a can, no hard work is involved. I like to use organic canned chickpeas, but any kind will do. If you have access to an Indian grocer, do sprinkle the chickpeas with some chaat masala at the end. It gives them an extra spiciness. But this is not essential. These are best eaten the day they are made.

Known by different names in the north and south of India, these crisp wafers are an essential part of Indian cuisine, as “something with a crunch” completes a meal in many parts of India. Known as pappadoms in the south and papar/papad in the north, they are generally made out of a split-pea dough that is rolled out into paper-thin round discs and dried in the sun (the desert areas of India are ideal for this). The ones I like best are made of urad dal (page 284) and flavored with peppercorns. You buy them from Indian grocers, but they still need cooking. The traditional way was to fry them in very hot oil for a few seconds, which made them expand into marvelous Frank Gehry shapes. Now I just cook them in the microwave oven. They do not expand as much, but they still take on Zaha Hadid shapes and are wonderfully crunchy without being oily. Make as many pappadoms as you wish, and serve them with drinks or as part of a meal.

For me, commercially produced curry power tastes just that: commercial. You would never find prepared curry powder in an Indian restaurant, and because the spices are combined fresh, the flavors are robust and explosive. If you like a light curry flavor, use half the spice mix. If you like a spicy curry—use it all. I won’t be mad at ya. Serve the lamb curry with Perfect Steamed Jasmine Rice (page 240) or basmati rice. This is Bombay the right way.