saffron-marinated quails’ eggs. The stuffed goats were then placed on a bed of biryani rice and meatballs, and the cooking pot was sealed with pastry to capture the aromatic flavours of the dish as it was finished off. A truly amazing biryani that you are unlikely to find in any cookery book (so I just had to include it in this one, see page 179)!
After experiencing the rich and indulgent food of the north, I went in search of back-to-basics cooking, and in unfamiliar territories. My travels took me to the poor, remote district of Bastar in the central state of Chhattisgarh. Here the local speciality is chakra, a delicious hot and tangy chutney made with chopped red chillies, salt, ground fresh ginger and a secret key ingredient: local ants! For obvious reasons I haven’t included the recipe in this book, but the local tribe has taught me what it really means to live off the resources of the land. Every single ingredient is sourced locally, and with the lack of refrigeration there is a strong emphasis on fresh produce.
This simple and honest approach to food was echoed in Nagaland and Assam, two of the Seven Sister States I visited in the remote northeastern corner of India. Dried spices, so ubiquitous in mainstream Indian cooking, are virtually absent from recipes there; instead, fresh chillies, ginger and garlic are the predominant flavourings. Meat and fish are hunted and cooked on the bone, resulting in very little wastage, and every part of an animal is eaten. I was also intrigued by the prevalent use of bamboo shoots in Nagaland, both in the fresh, smoked and dried forms, which link the cuisine to those of neighbouring China and Myanmar. Naturally, rice is the staple food of the region, and it comes in various forms. A local favourite is glutinous rice roasted in segments of fresh bamboo over an open fire. Talk about low-impact eco-cooking!
Next, my travels took me to the coastal areas of Kerala. With its beautiful and lush waterways, it is a much calmer and more relaxed part of India – exactly what I needed after an exhausting couple of weeks criss-crossing the country. Naturally, rice and fish are their staples, but as there is a sizeable Syrian Christian population in the area, pork and beef were also back on the menu. The food is lighter, as coconut milk is used in place of butter and cream, and more fragrant with the liberal use of spices and fresh curry leaves. One of the tastiest dishes I tried was karimeen pollichathu (see page 70). Karimeen is a much loved local freshwater fish, dubbed the ‘Fish of Kerala’, and in this dish it is smothered with a spice paste and roasted in banana leaves. The fish had a sublime flavour that reminded me of a sweet Dover sole; it is a real shame we can’t get it in England.
No trip to Kerala is complete without a visit to a spice market, and I was extremely impressed with the multi-coloured markets of Cochin. The image of giant piles of ginger, turmeric, cinnamon, cardamom and saffron (as well as the intoxicating fragrance) will always be embedded
in my memory. Standing in the middle of the market was a defining moment for me, it was then that I realised that one of the most important things to learn about Indian cooking is the delicate art of spicing. Although the use of various spices differs according to the region, religious beliefs or simply personal preference, the creative use of spice is what binds all Indian food together. Indian dishes may not always blow your head off in terms of heat (although many will), but they will always be fragrant and flavourful. The secret is in understanding how to draw out the natural flavours of a spice or change its characteristic and basic flavour profile – either through frying in oil, dry roasting or grinding – and using it to enhance the central ingredients of a dish. Spice combinations cannot be taught; you have to taste and experiment as you go along and learn from trial and error.
My culinary adventure ended in Mumbai (formerly known as Bombay), the capital of India. The city is such a key economic and cultural hub that nearly 200 different languages or dialects are spoken throughout the metropolis. At first glance it was disheartening to see the vast, seemingly never-ending stretches of slums surrounding the city. (Apparently, 55 per cent of the city’s population lives in shanty-towns or slums.) On closer inspection, however, it was amazing to see a thriving community working and living within the buildings with their corrugated-iron roofs. I spent a day in the Dharavi slum, home to more than a million people, learning how to make sambar from an enterprising chef and caterer aptly called Sambar Mani. Sambar is a classic lentil and vegetable dish that is delicious, light and nourishing (see page 213). It is one of the most loved vegetarian dishes in South India, and it is eaten with either plain rice or steamed fermented rice cakes called idli. I was truly impressed with the care and attention to detail that went into making the sambar. Most importantly, the dish tasted fantastic (even to a die-hard carnivore like myself) and is far superior to any vegetarian food we have in Britain. My wife, Tana, has been trying to get the family to have a meat-free day once a week, and with food like this I’m sure she would come up with little resistance.
My final challenge, the culmination of this whole trip, was to cook a southern Indian feast for 25 high-society guests at the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel in Mumbai. As many people will remember, the hotel was badly bombed and attacked by terrorists in 2008. It was amazing to see how they have bounced back after such a terrible show of aggression, and what I found there was a passionate and thriving business. I decided to cook a trio of karimeen dishes for the main course. (One of the benefits of doing a television programme is that I had the luxury of being able to have fish flown in from Kerala.) The dishes were made with Indian spicing, of course, but with slight European twists in the cooking methods. I was glad that the guests loved the food, but on a personal level I felt that I had come full circle.
I may not have covered every classic dish of every region during my relatively short culinary tour (indeed this book contains some recipes that were simply inspired by my travels and some of these classic dishes), but the knowledge that I have gained from the trip is immense. I am truly grateful to all those people who entertained, inspired and put up with me during what was, I can safely say, the most exciting thing I have ever done. India is a place of passion – both for food and for life. The cuisine is reflective of the people and culture, which is wonderful, vibrant and multi-faceted. I will never forget my time in this incredible country, and I can’t wait to return.
Ajwain – Also known as carom seeds, ajwain resemble small cumin seeds but they have a strong fragrance of thyme and a slightly bitter and pungent flavour. They are always roasted in the oven or fried in oil or butter in Indian cooking.
Amchur/Amchoor – Green mango powder made by grinding pitted unripe mangoes that have been left to dry out in the sun. It has a greyish colour and a distinctive tart flavour, hence its use as a souring agent for food. It does not require cooking but may be added to dishes or sprinkled over snacks in place of lemon juice or vinegar.
Asafoetida (Hing/Heeng in Hindi) – A spice made from the resinous gum of the Ferula assafoetida plant. Mostly sold in powdered form, asafoetida is used in tiny quantities as a digestive aid to fight off indigestion and flatulence. It is often added to dishes at the beginning of the cooking process to be cooked out with other spices. Raw asafoetida has a very pungent, rather disagreeable odour that seems to disappear once cooked to leave a mellow, slightly sweet tang that is similar to that of roasted onions and garlic. Because it is not widely sold in supermarkets and you would only use a pinch in any dish, I have made it optional in the recipes here.
Atta/Chapatti flour – A wholewheat flour rich in fibre and protein that is used to make many classic unleavened Indian breads, such as chapatti and paratha. It can be bought from specialist Indian shops and some major supermarkets. If you can’t find it, use equal quantities of wholemeal and plain flours.
Chaat masala – A dry spice blend with a distinctive sour flavour that is mostly used as a condiment. It is often sprinkled over Indian snacks, raw fruit salads and tandoori dishes, and it can also be used to ‘liven’ up fruit juices. The specific blend of spices may vary according to the brand (or individual tastes) but chaat masala usually consists of dried mango powder, dried ginger, black salt, ground dried mint and asafoetida. Ready-made packets are widely available at Asian grocers.
Chai