20 recipes that use groundnut oil, with photos, step-by-step instructions and cook times. The quickest, Sabudana khichdi, takes 25 minutes. It is most often cooked with coriander, turmeric and curry leaves.
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Papdi atta (papdi no lot) is a soft, steamed rice-flour dough cooked in water seasoned with cumin, ajwain, sesame, cinnamon and cloves, then shaped into little rounds and steamed until tender. It's a much-loved Gujarati snack, eaten hot with a drizzle of raw oil and khichi sambhar masala.
Sabudana khichdi is the dish that sees Maharashtra through every vrat (fast), from Navratri to Ekadashi, but it's so good that people eat it any day of the week. Soaked sago pearls are tossed in a pan with crushed roasted peanuts, cubes of potato, cumin and green chilli until each pearl turns glassy and separate, then finished with lemon and coriander. It's soft, chewy, nutty and gently hot. Fasting rules vary from family to family, so check yours; this version uses rock salt and no asafoetida, onion or garlic. Traditionally it's cooked in ghee; use ghee instead of oil if you aren't keeping it vegan. Chef's tip: soak the sago in just enough water to cover by the height of the pearls themselves, no more; too much water is the reason khichdi turns into one sticky lump.
Sarva pindi, also called ginne appa or tapala chekka, is a thick, crisp rice-flour bread from rural Telangana, pressed by hand into a heavy pan, studded with holes and baked slowly in oil until the base is golden and crunchy. The dough is full of soaked chana dal, peanuts, sesame, green chilli, curry leaves and coriander, so every bite is savoury and nutty. It is the snack that waits on the stove when children come home from school, and a favourite for Sankranti and long train journeys because it keeps well. Chef's tip: press the dough into a cold pan, not a hot one; it spreads evenly and the holes stay open as it heats.
No Tamil meal is really finished without thayir sadam. It's the last course on a banana-leaf lunch, the comfort food packed for train journeys and school tiffins, and the prasadam handed out in some Tamil Nadu temples. Soft, mashed rice is mixed with cool yogurt and a splash of milk, seasoned with ginger, green chilli and curry leaves popped in hot oil, then dotted with pomegranate, grated carrot or green grapes. It's eaten slightly cool with a spoonful of pickle or a fried vathal on the side. Chef's tip: mix a little milk in with the yogurt; it keeps the rice creamy and stops it turning sour if you pack it for lunch several hours ahead.
Lasaniya bataka is a dhaba favourite along the highways of Kathiawad, where it lands on the table next to bajra rotla, a lump of white butter, raw onion and a glass of chaas. Baby potatoes are boiled, lightly fried, then coated in a thick paste of pounded garlic and red chilli that has been cooked down until it smells sweet rather than sharp. It is hot, garlicky and a little tangy, the kind of side dish that turns plain flatbread into a meal. Make it for a winter lunch with Kathiawadi kadhi and khichdi. Chef's tip: pound the garlic and chilli in a mortar instead of blending; a slightly coarse paste clings to the potatoes and gives you little bursts of garlic.
Every December and January, farms around Surat roast bundles of young green jowar heads over embers and thresh out ponk, soft, sweet, pale-green grains that last only a few weeks. Surtis turn the trip into a picnic, eating ponk by the handful with lemon-pepper sev and garlic chutney, then frying the leftovers into these crunchy vada. The grains are crushed coarsely with chilli and ginger, bound with a little gram and rice flour, and fried until the outside is lacy and crisp while the inside stays tender and grassy-sweet. Look for frozen ponk in Gujarati grocers outside the season. Chef's tip: crush the ponk only roughly; whole grains popping through the crust is what makes these vada special.
Aamti is the everyday dal of Maharashtrian homes from Pune to Kolhapur: toor dal cooked soft, soured with kokum, sweetened with a little jaggery and seasoned with goda masala, the dark, aromatic spice blend of the state. It's thinner than a Punjabi dal and has a gentle sweet-sour-hot balance. Before the tempering goes in, many cooks scoop out a bowl of the plain cooked dal for varan bhaat, the simple turmeric-yellow dal with rice, ghee and lemon that every Maharashtrian child grows up on and that starts every festive thali. Chef's tip: add the kokum near the end and taste after 5 minutes; it keeps releasing sourness, and it's easy to overshoot.
When the winter coriander in the Nashik markets comes in huge, fragrant bunches for a few rupees, Maharashtrian kitchens make kothimbir vadi. A batter that is mostly fresh coriander, held together with gram flour and sesame, is steamed into a cake, cut into squares, then shallow-fried until each piece has a crunchy shell and a soft, herby middle. It's a tea-time snack in Pune homes, a side on the festive thali and a favourite in tiffin boxes because it's good at room temperature. Serve with green chutney or tomato ketchup. Chef's tip: dry the coriander well after washing; wet leaves make the batter loose and the vadi soggy.
Patodi rassa (also called patwadi rassa) comes from the dry, hot districts of Vidarbha around Nagpur and Amravati, where gram flour often takes the place of vegetables. Gram flour is cooked thick like a polenta, spread on a plate, scattered with coconut, sesame and poppy seeds and cut into squares. Just before eating, the squares go into bowls and a spicy, thin rassa of roasted onion and dry coconut is poured over them so they soak it up. It's a dish for a Sunday lunch or a wedding feast in the region, served with jowar bhakri or chapatis and rice. Chef's tip: pour the rassa over the patodi at the table, not in the pot; simmered together, the squares fall apart.
In villages across the Deccan plateau of Maharashtra, pithla bhakri is what a farmer's family eats when the pantry is low and the day is long: a pan of gram flour simmered with garlic, green chilli and onion until it sets to a soft, spoonable curry, with thick jowar bhakri patted out by hand and a raw onion on the side. It became a symbol of rural Maharashtra, served at roadside stalls near Sinhagad fort to trekkers and at political rallies alike. Zunka, the dry version, uses the same flavours but is stirred until crumbly. Serve with thecha or a wedge of lemon. Chef's tip: whisk the gram flour into cold water before it meets the pan; that one step is the whole secret to a lump-free pithla.
At a traditional Maharashtrian wedding lunch in Pune, the masale bhaat arrives in a steel bucket, deep brown-gold with goda masala, studded with tondli, peas and cashews and topped with fresh coconut and coriander. Unlike a pulao it is not delicate: it's spiced, a touch sweet from jaggery, and made with short-grain ambemohor or indrayani rice that turns soft and fragrant. A squeeze of lemon, a spoon of ghee and a bowl of kadhi or mattha (spiced buttermilk) on the side make it a meal. Chef's tip: slice the ivy gourd lengthways into quarters, not rounds, so it holds its shape and stays crunchy through the steaming.
In Nagpur, winter mornings start at a poha stall: soft, turmeric-yellow flattened rice heaped onto a plate and then flooded with tarri, a spicy black-chickpea gravy with a slick of red oil on top, finished with raw onion, sev, coriander and a squeeze of lemon. It's Vidarbha's answer to the plain poha eaten elsewhere in India, louder and hotter, made for a cold morning and a cutting chai. Making it at home takes a little planning because the chana needs an overnight soak, but the tarri keeps for days. Chef's tip: don't skimp on the oil in the tarri; the red layer that floats on top is what soaks into the poha and gives the dish its name.
Across Hubballi, Dharwad, Vijayapura and the dry plains of north Karnataka, a meal means jolada rotti: thin, crisp sorghum flatbreads slapped out by hand, often by the hundred and stored in cloth to eat with everything. Their best-loved partner is ennegai, which means 'oil vegetable': small brinjals slit and stuffed with roasted peanuts, sesame, dry coconut and spices, then cooked slowly in plenty of oil until they collapse into a thick, nutty gravy. It is wedding food, field food and Sunday food, with raw onion, a wedge of lemon and spicy chutney powder on the side. Chef's tip: use boiling water for the jowar dough; it gelatinises the flour slightly, so the rotti holds together without any wheat.
Chitranna, 'colourful rice', is the dish Karnataka mothers make when there is leftover rice and a school tiffin box to fill: cooked rice tossed in a yellow turmeric tempering with roasted peanuts, crunchy dals, green chilli, curry leaves and plenty of lemon. It appears at temple festivals as prasada, on train journeys wrapped in banana leaf, and on every Bengaluru darshini breakfast counter. It tastes even better an hour after it's made, when the lemon has soaked in. Tamil Nadu's elumichai sadam is a close cousin. Chef's tip: spread the rice out on a plate to cool before mixing; warm, steamy rice turns sticky and breaks when you toss it.
Pappu (dal) is the backbone of an Andhra meal, and tomato pappu is the one most Telugu households cook on an ordinary weekday. Toor dal is cooked with plenty of ripe tomatoes, onion, green chillies and a little tamarind, then mashed to a thick, rustic consistency and finished with a fierce garlic and red chilli popu (tempering). It's tangier and hotter than a North Indian dal, and it's mixed into hot rice with a spoon of ghee and eaten with avakaya pickle and a crisp fried vegetable. Chef's tip: mash the dal and tomatoes together with a whisk or a wooden mathu while hot; it gives the creamy, slightly rough texture that blending never does.
Majjiga pulusu is the cooling yogurt curry of Andhra Pradesh, cooked in summer when the buttermilk at home turns a little sour. Unlike Gujarati kadhi, it isn't thickened with gram flour: soaked chana dal is ground with coconut, ginger, green chillies and cumin, stirred into the curd, and simmered gently with soft pieces of ash gourd (or okra, or chayote). It's mild, tangy and creamy, and eaten mixed into rice with a fried vegetable or fritter on the side, especially at Telugu wedding meals. Chef's tip: whisk the yogurt until completely smooth before it goes near the heat; lumpy yogurt splits much more easily.
No Sankranti in coastal Andhra Pradesh is complete without ariselu. In the days before the January harvest festival, women gather to pound soaked rice into damp flour, cook it into a thick jaggery syrup, and press the dough into rounds on sesame seeds before frying. Each ariselu is chewy, dense and caramel-sweet, with a crisp sesame coat; after frying they are squeezed between two wooden spatulas to push out the excess oil. They keep for two weeks and are shared with every neighbour. Chef's tip: use home-made flour from soaked rice that is still slightly damp; dry shop flour gives hard, cracking ariselu.
Mafé is the Sunday-lunch stew of Senegal and Mali: a rust-coloured sauce of roasted peanut paste and tomato, simmered until oil glistens on top and ladled over broken rice. In Dakar it usually carries lamb or beef; this version uses sweet potato, carrot, cabbage and okra, which soak up the sauce just as well. In Côte d'Ivoire the same idea is called sauce d'arachide and is eaten with rice or foutou; make it slightly thinner and add aubergine for the Abidjan style. Chef's tip: use plain, unsweetened peanut paste and cook it long enough that a thin layer of red oil rises to the surface; that is the sign the peanut has lost its raw taste.
Fonio is a tiny ancient grain grown in the Sahel and in southern Senegal's Casamance and Fouta regions, where it is steamed like couscous and eaten with a vegetable or peanut sauce. It cooks in minutes and has a light, nutty taste, which has made it popular again in Dakar restaurants. Here it is fluffed with a little oil and topped with a quick stew of courgette, carrot, aubergine and tomato. Chef's tip: wash fonio in several changes of water and drain it in a fine sieve; it often carries fine sand, and gritty fonio is the most common complaint.
Suya comes from the Hausa north, from Kano and Kaduna, but now every Nigerian city has a mai suya grilling beef over charcoal by the roadside once the sun goes down. Thin slices of beef are threaded onto skewers, rubbed with yaji, a fiery mix of roasted peanut powder, chilli, ginger and stock spices, and grilled until charred at the edges. It comes wrapped in newspaper with sliced raw onion, tomato and extra yaji for dipping. The common mistake is cutting the beef thick; it needs to be thin enough to see light through, so it cooks fast and stays tender. Chef's tip: put the beef in the freezer for 30 minutes first, and it will slice wafer thin with ease.
