Mithai for Diwali, festivals and guests, ready in 45 minutes or less. (59 recipes)
A quick, rich sweet of dates melted down in butter, then mixed with milk chocolate, chopped nuts, coconut and rice krispies and pressed into a tray. It's chewy, chocolatey and crisp. Makes about 30 diamonds; keep them in the fridge and serve cold.
The sweet shops of Bhuj and Mandvi in Kutch sell gulab pak in pale pink slabs that smell of summer roses, and it is a favourite to carry home after a trip to the Rann or a family wedding. Mawa is cooked down with sugar and gulkand, the sun-cured rose-petal preserve, so the fudge is soft and grainy with little chewy flecks of petal through it. The mistake to watch for is adding the gulkand too early: cooked for long, it darkens and turns the fudge brown and toffee-like. Chef's tip: a few drops of rose water stirred in right at the end lift the perfume without making it taste soapy.
Bellam paramannam is the naivedyam of Telangana and Andhra homes, cooked for Sankranti, Ugadi, Varalakshmi Vratam and almost any puja, a soft rice-and-moong pudding sweetened with jaggery and glossed with ghee. Its colour is a warm caramel and its taste deeper than a sugar kheer. The classic mistake is adding jaggery to milk that is still on a high boil, which can split it; take the pot off the heat, let it stop bubbling, then stir the jaggery in. Chef's tip: roast the moong dal in a spoon of ghee until it smells toasty before cooking; it gives the paramannam its homely flavour.
On Ekadashi, Navratri and other fast days, Gujarati homes make this quick sheero from rajgira (amaranth) flour, which is allowed when grains are not. It is roasted in ghee until nutty, then cooked with milk and sugar into a soft, spoonable pudding with cardamom and a few nuts. It is ready in 20 minutes and is often offered to the Mataji before the family eats. The common mistake is adding cold milk to the roasted flour, which seizes into lumps. Chef's tip: heat the milk and sugar together first and pour it in slowly while you whisk.
In Gujarat, when two families agree on a match, a plate of gol dhana is passed around before anything else, and the engagement itself is often simply called 'gol dhana'. The same mix appears on auspicious days, at a griha pravesh and at the start of a new venture: soft jaggery rubbed together with dhana dal, the split, lightly roasted coriander seeds sold in every Gujarati grocery. It takes five minutes and needs no cooking. The common mistake is using whole coriander seeds, which are hard and bitter; buy dhana dal, or split and toast the seeds yourself. Chef's tip: choose a soft, golden Kolhapuri-style jaggery that crumbles between your fingers, so it coats the seeds instead of staying in lumps.
Kutch grows some of India's best dates, and in Bhuj and Anjar homes khajur pak is the sweet made for Diwali boxes and for Ekadashi and other fast days, since it needs nothing but dates, ghee, nuts and coconut. The dates melt in warm ghee into a sticky paste, the nuts give crunch, and the log is rolled in poppy seeds and sliced into neat coins. The common mistake is cooking the dates too long, which dries them out so the log cracks when you slice it. Chef's tip: for a harder winter version, swap a third of the soft dates for chopped kharek (dry dates) soaked overnight in a little milk.
At Parsi weddings and navjotes in Surat, Navsari and Mumbai, the boi, a fish, is a symbol of good luck, and a tray of small pink mawa fish travels with the sagan gifts. There is no fish in them at all: they are a simple sweet of fresh mawa cooked with sugar, tinted the palest pink and pressed into carved fish moulds, with a raisin or a silver ball for the eye. The common mistake is cooking the mawa too long, so it turns crumbly and cracks in the mould instead of taking a clean imprint. Chef's tip: lightly grease the mould with ghee and dust it with a pinch of icing sugar so each fish slips out with sharp scales and fins.
In Saurashtra a new mother is handed a tin of sooth pak within days of giving birth, and the rest of the family quietly helps themselves when winter colds arrive. It is a small, potent square: plenty of dry ginger roasted in ghee, softened by jaggery and wheat flour, with a little puffed gum and coconut for texture, so one piece warms you right through. The mistake to avoid is roasting the ginger powder on its own in very hot ghee, which scorches it in seconds and leaves the pak bitter. Chef's tip: grind dry ginger root yourself in a spice grinder just before cooking; the flavour is far brighter than old packet powder.
At midnight on Janmashtami, when Gujarati and Rajasthani families sing to baby Krishna, the prasad handed round is this fragrant panjiri of ground coriander seeds roasted in ghee and mixed with powdered sugar, coconut, makhana and dry fruit. Because it contains no grain, it is also eaten by those who keep the Janmashtami fast. It tastes warm, sweet and surprisingly floral. The common mistake is roasting the coriander powder on high heat; it burns in seconds and turns bitter. Chef's tip: grind the seeds yourself just before roasting, and stop when the kitchen smells like warm citrus, not toast.
For Uttarayan, the January kite festival, every Gujarati kitchen turns out trays of chikki, and dalia (roasted split chana, the yellow dal sold for chutneys) is the one that gets forgotten until someone tastes it. It is lighter and crunchier than peanut chikki, with a toasty, slightly savoury edge from the dal. It is all about the jaggery syrup. The common mistake is pulling the jaggery off too early; underdone syrup gives sticky, chewy chikki that never snaps. Chef's tip: drop a little syrup into cold water: when it sets hard and cracks cleanly (hard-crack stage), tip in the dalia straight away.
Gujarati families make anjeer pak for Diwali boxes and for fast days, when it gives quick energy without any grain or refined sugar. Soaked dried figs are cooked down in ghee into a thick jammy paste, mixed with toasted almonds, cashews and pistachios, and rolled into logs that slice into pretty pink-and-green rounds. It keeps for two weeks in the fridge. The common mistake is under-cooking the fig paste, which leaves the logs soft and sticky so they never slice cleanly. Chef's tip: keep stirring until the paste rolls into a ball that no longer sticks to the pan or your greased palm.
Across Marwar, this simple halwa is the one cooked for temple prasad, for Satyanarayan katha and for women in the weeks after giving birth, when ghee and jaggery are thought to build strength. Wholewheat flour is roasted slowly in plenty of ghee until it turns a deep nutty brown, then cooked with hot water and sugar or jaggery until soft and glossy. The whole thing takes 30 minutes. The common mistake is rushing the roast on high heat, which leaves the flour raw-tasting inside and scorched outside. Chef's tip: roast on low heat until the colour is like milky tea and the ghee starts to separate and bubble around the flour.
In Ahmedabad, any good news, from exam results to a new home or a newborn, means a box of kesar penda passed around the office and the street. These are soft, creamy pendas of fresh mawa cooked briefly with sugar and plenty of saffron, so they stay pale gold and fudgy, quite unlike the browned pedas of Mathura or Dharwad. The common mistake is overcooking the mawa once the sugar goes in, which turns the pendas dry and cracked at the edges. Chef's tip: stop cooking as soon as a small piece rolls into a smooth ball between your palms; they firm up as they cool.
Mag na ladva are a Central Gujarat favourite for Diwali and for lunchbox treats, rich with ghee yet light in texture because the moong dal is dry-roasted and ground before it ever meets fat. Cooked slowly in ghee, the ground dal turns sandy and smells of toasted nuts, then powdered sugar, cardamom and chopped nuts bind it into soft, crumbly laddus. The mistake many make is grinding the dal too fine and roasting it too fast, which gives a pasty laddu with a raw, beany aftertaste. Chef's tip: grind the dal to the texture of fine semolina, not flour, for the classic melt-in-the-mouth crumb.
Sing pak is the Gujarati fasting-day fudge: peanuts roasted, skinned and ground coarse, then cooked into a one-string sugar syrup with ghee and cardamom and set in a tray. Because it uses no grain, it is made for Ekadashi, Shravan Mondays and Navratri, and children love it any day. It is soft, rich and a little crumbly. The common mistake is cooking the syrup too far; past one string it sets rock-hard and grainy. Chef's tip: pinch a drop of syrup between finger and thumb (carefully, after cooling it on a spoon): one thin thread should form as you pull them apart.
Kabok are crunchy balls of puffed rice and sesame bound with hot jaggery syrup, made in Meitei homes for Yaoshang, Cheiraoba and temple offerings. Black puffed rice is used in some villages, giving dark, toasty kabok. The key is the syrup: cook it to the hard-ball stage, when a drop in cold water sets into a firm ball, or the balls will fall apart. The common mistake is shaping with dry hands; wet them so the hot mixture doesn't stick or burn. Chef's tip: warm the puffed rice in the oven for a few minutes first so it stays crisp.
Godshe is the quiet sweet of Goan Saraswat and Gaud Saraswat kitchens, made on festival mornings, for a family puja, or simply when there is fresh coconut and good jaggery in the house. Broken rice is cooked until soft and creamy, then sweetened with dark coconut jaggery and loosened with first-press coconut milk, giving a pudding thicker than payasam and deeply caramel in flavour. Many families make the same dish with chana dal instead of rice. The usual mistake is adding jaggery while the rice is still firm, because the sugar stops the grains from softening any further. Chef's tip: a few slivers of fresh coconut and a pinch of nutmeg on top make it taste like a temple offering.
Joynagar, south of Kolkata, makes moa only in winter, when the fragrant kanakchur paddy is harvested and date-palm sap is boiled into fresh nolen gur. Puffed kanakchur khoi is bound with the liquid gur, khoya and ghee into soft balls topped with a raisin and a pinch of cardamom, and Bengalis queue for the first boxes each December. The common mistake is overcooking the gur, which sets the moa hard as stone; it should reach only the soft-thread stage so the balls stay tender and squash slightly when bitten. Chef's tip: if you cannot find kanakchur khoi, use the freshest, crispest puffed rice you can buy and warm it briefly in a dry pan.
In the second week of January the sweet shops of Janakpur, Birgunj and Rajbiraj fill with the dull thud of wooden pestles, as tilkut makers pound roasted sesame into hot jaggery for Maghe Sankranti, the festival that marks the end of the coldest month. The result is a brittle, crumbly disc with a rich, toasty flavour and a melting, slightly chewy middle, and families give it to each other and eat it with yoghurt, beaten rice and sweet potatoes on the festival morning. Sesame is believed to warm the body in winter, so it is eaten all month. The thing that spoils it is burning the sesame, which turns the whole batch bitter. Chef's tip: roast the seeds only until they smell nutty and one crushes easily between your fingers; they keep darkening for a minute after they leave the pan.
Kushtia, on the Gorai river in the west of Bangladesh, has been famous for tiler khaja since before Partition, and the long white sticks dusted with sesame are sold at every bus stop and train station in the district, wrapped in paper bags for the journey. The sugar is boiled to a hard syrup, then pulled and folded by hand, often over a hook on the wall, until it turns from clear amber to opaque white and fills with tiny air pockets, so the finished sticks are brittle, crunchy and light, almost honeycombed, with nutty toasted sesame on the outside. They are snacked on with tea and given to children as a treat. The trap is waiting too long to pull, as the sugar sets glass-hard; it should be just cool enough to touch. Chef's tip: wear clean, heatproof kitchen gloves rubbed with a little oil, as hot sugar burns badly.
Kasar is a sweet of good fortune: Bahun and Chhetri families in the hills make it by the basketful to send with a bride to her new home, to hand out at bratabandha thread ceremonies and to fill the Tihar plates. It is the simplest of sweets, puffed rice stirred into bubbling jaggery syrup flavoured with cardamom and pressed into balls while warm, sometimes with sesame, coconut or peanuts added, and it is crunchy, light and caramel-sweet. Children love making it because it is all about quick hands and a bowl of cold water. The pitfall is syrup that is not cooked far enough, which gives soft, sticky balls that collapse in a day. Chef's tip: test the syrup by dropping a little into cold water; when it sets into a firm ball that cracks if you squeeze it, it is ready.
When an Afghan family agrees to a marriage proposal, the shirini-khori, literally the eating of sweets, follows, and trays of sheer pira are cut and handed round to mark that the deal is sealed; it also appears at Eid and Nowruz all over the country. It is a soft, dense milk fudge made in minutes from milk powder and syrup, perfumed with cardamom and rosewater and pressed with green pistachios and walnuts, and it melts slowly on the tongue like a creamy, not too sweet barfi. A syrup boiled too long is what turns it dry, crumbly and grainy, so take it off the heat as soon as it forms a single thread. Chef's tip: sift the milk powder and stir it in all at once, fast, while the syrup is still hot, or it sets in lumps before it is smooth.
When a baby is born in a Punjabi home, one of the first things the grandmothers do is roast a huge karahi of panjiri, loose, golden crumbs of wholewheat flour fried in ghee and mixed with sugar, nuts, seeds, makhana and crunchy fried gond, meant to warm and strengthen the new mother through the forty days after birth. The same mixture is made in every household from Sialkot to Bahawalpur when the winter cold sets in, eaten by the spoonful with hot milk at night or sprinkled over a bowl of milk for breakfast. It tastes nutty, toasty and lightly sweet, with crunch in every mouthful. The usual way it goes wrong is roasting the flour too fast on a high flame, which browns the outside while the inside still tastes raw. Chef's tip: roast the flour slowly until it is the colour of pale biscuit and smells like baking cookies, and add the sugar only once the flour has cooled, so it stays crunchy rather than melting.
Teler pitha, literally oil cake, is the easiest of the winter pithas and the one children wait for at the start of the date-palm season, when the first pots of fresh khejur rosh are boiled down into gur in the villages of Jessore and Faridpur. A batter of rice flour and melted jaggery is poured into hot oil a ladle at a time, and each cake puffs into a round with a little raised hump in the middle, crisp and brown outside, soft and chewy inside, tasting of caramel and fennel. They are eaten warm in the afternoon or packed for a journey. Oil that is too hot gives dark cakes with raw centres, which is where most people go wrong; keep it at a steady medium heat. Chef's tip: rest the batter for at least an hour, ideally two, so the rice flour swells and the cakes rise properly.
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