2799 Jain recipes with no onion, garlic, potato, carrot, fresh ginger or other root vegetables, and no mushrooms, eggs or honey. Hing, dry ginger and turmeric powder are fine. Each has photos, step-by-step instructions and cook times. The quickest, Apfelschorle, takes 2 minutes. Most take around 40 minutes.
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Mamri, better known as mandazi, are lightly sweet East African fried breads made with coconut milk and cardamom. They puff up golden and hollow and are soft inside. Serve warm with pigeon peas in coconut milk (mbaazi) for a classic Zanzibar breakfast, or with tea.
Small, round Swahili rice pancakes made from a yeasted batter of rice flour, coconut milk, grated coconut, sugar and cardamom. They're crisp and golden outside, soft and spongy inside. Serve hot with tea.
Injera is the soft, spongy, slightly sour flatbread eaten with Ethiopian stews: you tear it and scoop the food up with it. This home version uses rice and plain flour fermented with a home-made starter over a few days, then cooked on one side until covered in tiny holes. Serve rolled and sliced with missir wat, azifa and atter kik. Any fermented batter left over keeps in the fridge for the next batch.
A soft, savoury pie of blended boiled maize folded into a peppery white sauce and baked until golden on top. It's mild and comforting, a little like a corn pudding, and children love it. The eggs are optional: they make it set firmer. Serve hot with a salad or tomato stew.
Oyaki are the everyday snack of Nagano's mountain villages, where rice was scarce and wheat and buckwheat grew better. The plump dumplings are filled with whatever the season gives: pickled nozawana greens in winter, aubergine and miso in summer, sweet squash in autumn. Old farmhouses baked them in the ashes of the irori hearth; today they are browned in a pan and steamed, so they come out crusty on both faces with a soft, chewy middle. They travel well, which made them the lunch of farmers and hikers on the trails around Zenkoji temple. Chef's tip: let the dough rest for at least 30 minutes. A relaxed dough stretches thin around the filling without tearing.
Chunky skewers of pineapple, banana, strawberry, peach and nectarine drizzled with balsamic vinegar and dark muscovado sugar, then grilled over charcoal until the sugar caramelises. Warm, sticky and a little tangy. Serve hot as a barbecue dessert, with ice cream if you like.
Big pieces of sweet red pepper and fennel tossed with lemon, black pepper and olive oil and roasted until soft and just starting to brown, then topped with black olives, toasted pine nuts and fresh herbs. It works as a side or a light starter, warm or cold. The vegetables can also be roasted on the barbecue jiko.
All over India, fruit sellers with handcarts chop a plate of fruit chaat to order, and in Kolkata the evening carts near New Market and Gariahat pile guava, apple, papaya, banana, pomegranate and cucumber into a leaf bowl with chaat masala, black salt and lime. During Ramzan it appears at iftar, and in summer it is sold with a sprinkle of chilli. It is sweet, salty, sour and a little hot all at once, so it tastes nothing like a dessert fruit salad. Chef's tip: use at least one crunchy fruit (guava, apple or pear) and one soft one (banana or papaya) for contrast.
Whole bananas roasted on the barbecue until soft and sweet, cut into quarters, put on skewers, half-dipped in melted dark chocolate and rolled in chopped almonds, pistachios and cashews. It's a quick barbecue dessert that children love to help make. Serve them straight away while the chocolate is still soft.
Chunks of tender corn on the cob tossed in hot oil with cumin, green chillies, fresh coriander, turmeric, black pepper and lemon until every kernel is coated. It's hot, tangy and messy to eat with your fingers. Serve hot from the barbecue.
Chakuli pitha is Odisha's breakfast pancake and the first of the pithas a child learns to love; it is offered to Lord Jagannath and made at home on Sundays and for Manabasa Gurubar in the month of Margasira. Rice and a little urad dal are soaked, ground and fermented overnight, then poured onto a hot pan into a pancake that is thinner than an uttapam but softer and thicker than a dosa, with a lacy, holey top. It is eaten with aloo bhaja, ghuguni or simply with jaggery. Chef's tip: cook only on one side under a lid; the steam sets the top and keeps the holes.
When the monsoon arrives in Kolkata, the telebhaja shops at every para corner start frying beguni: long, thin slices of aubergine dipped in a spiced gram-flour batter and fried until the coat puffs and turns golden. It is eaten with muri and a cup of tea, or alongside khichuri on a wet Saturday. The inside should be soft and creamy, the shell thin and crackly. Chef's tip: a spoonful of rice flour and a pinch of nigella in the batter keep it crisp long after frying. This is a different dish from begun bhaja, where the slices are fried bare with turmeric and salt.
Chhena poda means 'burnt cheese', and it is Odisha's most famous sweet. It was first made in Nayagarh district, where a sweet maker is said to have left chhena and sugar overnight in a cooling wood oven. Fresh chhena is kneaded with sugar, a spoon of rice flour or semolina, and cardamom, then baked slowly until the outside caramelises into a dark, sticky crust and the inside stays moist and fudgy. It is offered to Lord Jagannath and sold in slabs at every Odia sweet shop. Chef's tip: line the tin with ghee-brushed banana leaf if you can; it adds the smoky note of the original.
Pootharekulu ('coated sheets') come from Atreyapuram village in the Godavari district, where women make translucent rice-starch films by dipping a cloth in batter and wiping it over a hot, upturned clay pot. Those whisper-thin sheets are then layered with ghee and powdered sugar or jaggery and folded into neat parcels that melt on the tongue. True rekulu need the special pot and years of practice, so this home method spreads a very thin rice batter on an upturned wok or non-stick pan and peels off the dried film. Sheets can also be bought ready-made in Indian shops; then just do the filling. Chef's tip: work with the sheets dry; brush ghee on, never sugar syrup, or they turn soggy and tear.
Qatayef only really appear in Egypt during Ramadan: in the weeks of the fast, street vendors in Cairo and Alexandria set up big griddles and pour rows of small pancakes that are cooked on one side only, then sold by the kilo for families to fill at home. The pale, bubbly side is folded around chopped nuts and raisins (or a creamy ashta filling), sealed into half-moons, baked or fried until crisp and dipped in syrup. They are eaten after iftar with tea. Chef's tip: cook the pancakes on one side only and don't flip them; the uncooked top stays sticky and is what glues the edges shut.
Travellers on the road from Patna to Rajgir stop at Silao, a small town near the ruins of Nalanda, for one thing: khaja, a pastry built from dozens of paper-thin layers that flake apart in the mouth and are glazed with a crackly sugar coat. Silao's halwais have made it for generations, and it is carried home in boxes as a present; it is also offered in temples and at weddings across Bihar and Odisha. It takes patience but no special equipment. Chef's tip: fry at a really low heat so the layers have time to open out like pages before the outside colours; hot oil seals them shut.
These are one of Tianjin's three famous snacks, named after Erduoyan ('ear hole') Lane, where the original shop opened over a hundred years ago. The dough is soft, slightly fermented glutinous rice, filled with dark, sweet red bean paste and fried until the shell is crisp and blistered while the inside stays chewy. Locals buy them for festivals and as a winter treat. Chef's tip: seal the edges thoroughly and fry at a moderate heat; hot oil makes them burst and spit.
The name means 'donkey rolling in the dust', after the golden soybean flour that coats these soft rolls like a donkey that has rolled on a dusty road. It's one of the old Beijing sweets sold at temple fairs and in snack streets near Houhai, often next to pea-flour cakes. Inside is chewy glutinous rice dough spread with red bean paste and rolled into a spiral. Chef's tip: toast the soybean flour yourself until it smells of roasted nuts; the shop-bought kind is often pale and flat-tasting.
Every April and May, when the hard, sour green mangoes arrive, Andhra homes turn into pickle factories. The mangoes are cut, stone and all, with a heavy cleaver, then mixed with freshly ground mustard, fiery red chilli powder, salt and a flood of sesame oil, and packed into ceramic jars to mature. Avakaya is fierce, pungent, salty and sour, and a tiny piece mashed into hot rice with ghee and dal is many Telugu people's idea of perfect lunch. A jar lasts the whole year. Chef's tip: every piece of mango, every knife and the jar must be bone dry; a single drop of water can turn a whole batch mouldy.
In Tamil Nadu the day starts with filter coffee: a strong decoction dripped slowly through a two-tier steel filter, mixed with plenty of hot, boiled milk and sugar, and frothed by pouring it from a height between a steel tumbler and its little bowl, the davara. It's served at every Chennai and Kumbakonam 'hotel' and in nearly every home, and it's thick, sweet and slightly bitter from the chicory in the coffee powder. Chef's tip: press the coffee only lightly in the filter and pour the water in slowly; packed too tight, it drips for an hour, and too loose, the decoction is thin.
On the morning of Thai Pongal in mid-January, families across Tamil Nadu cook new-harvest rice in a clay pot in the courtyard and wait for the milk to bubble over: 'pongalo pongal!'. That pot becomes sakkarai pongal, a sticky, golden-brown sweet of rice and moong dal cooked soft, then simmered with melted jaggery and finished with lots of ghee, cardamom, edible camphor and cashews and raisins fried golden. It's also the classic prasadam at Vishnu temples. It's the sweet twin of the peppery ven pongal. Chef's tip: dry-roast the moong dal until it smells nutty before cooking; it adds a toasty depth that plain boiled dal can't give.
Jaipur's old-city sweet shops fry malpua in wide pans of ghee from winter through Holi and Teej, and serve them stacked in a bowl with thick rabri. The batter is made with milk, a little khoya and crushed fennel, so each pancake turns soft and spongy in the middle with crisp, lacy brown edges, then soaks up a saffron-cardamom syrup. Some families also make them as an offering on Holi morning. The usual mistake is skipping the rest: unrested batter spreads unevenly and stays flat and chewy. Chef's tip: pour the batter into the centre of the pan from close above so it spreads by itself; this is how the lacy edges form.
Zunda is Sendai's signature sweet: young green soybeans mashed with sugar into a coarse, pale-green paste. Farmers in Miyagi made it at the end of summer, when edamame were at their best, and it is still sold everywhere from Sendai station's souvenir halls to small tea shops, now also as zunda shakes and rolls. The flavour is gentle, beany and fresh, closer to sweet peas than to red bean paste. Spoon it over warm, chewy rice dumplings and serve with green tea. Chef's tip: rub the skins off the cooked beans. It takes ten minutes but turns the paste from dull khaki to a vivid jade colour.
Ask a halwai in Ujjain, Indore or Ratlam for something festive and they will point to mawa bati: a fist-sized cousin of gulab jamun, made richer with more khoya, fried slowly to a near-mahogany shell and stuffed with nuts, saffron and cardamom. It turns up on wedding menus across Malwa and in sweet-shop boxes at Diwali, usually served warm with a spoonful of its own syrup. Cutting one open to find the green-gold filling is half the pleasure. Chef's tip: fry on a really gentle heat, with the oil barely shimmering; the bati should take a full 12–15 minutes to darken, which is how the middle cooks through.
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