Indian · dinner
70m
Total time
4
Servings
—
kcal
medium
Difficulty
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FAQ · Things people ask
Yes — chuck roast works well. Cut into 3/4-inch cubes. Avoid very lean cuts like round or sirloin; the fat content is essential to the final texture and to prevent the beef from drying out completely during the long roasting stage.
Simmer in a covered pot with about 1/2 cup water for 45–60 minutes until very tender. The liquid will reduce naturally; top up with small amounts only if it threatens to catch before the beef is tender. Then proceed with Stage 2 exactly as written.
Indian or Asian grocery stores sell fresh or frozen coconut. You want pieces or strips, not grated. Cut fresh coconut from the shell into small wedges about 1 cm thick and 2 cm long. Frozen desiccated coconut is not a substitute — it will turn to powder in the pan.
No — ularthiyathu has no gravy. If you have gravy, either the beef released a lot of liquid or you did not reduce it fully before the stir-fry stage. Return to medium-high heat and stir continuously until completely dry. This is not a disaster — it just needs more time.
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Kofta curry is what you make when the vegetable drawer needs using up and you want the meal to feel like a celebration. The premise is simple: boil whatever vegetables you have, mash them with besan (gram flour) and spices, roll them into balls, fry until golden, then lower them into an onion-tomato gravy fragrant with whole spices. The result is special enough for a festival and unpretentious enough for a Friday night. This recipe gives you two paths. The vegetable path — the one North Indian home kitchens have been making for generations — uses a mix of carrot, potato, peas, and beans. Potato is the essential binder that holds everything together; the rest is whatever you have. The egg kofta path, a Mughal-influenced variation beloved in Uttar Pradesh and Lucknow, encases hard-boiled eggs in spiced mashed potato — a different dish entirely, but the same gravy. Both are offered here. This is not malai kofta, the rich restaurant classic of paneer-potato balls in a cream-nut sauce. That is a different dish designed for a different occasion. This is the home-kitchen version: straightforward, adaptable, and built on the everyday masala of browned onions and cooked-down tomatoes. Two rules separate a great kofta curry from a disappointing one. First: the vegetable mixture must be bone dry before shaping — squeeze cooked vegetables hard to remove all moisture. A wet mixture cracks during frying and disintegrates in the gravy. Second: add the fried koftas to the gravy only right before serving. Three to five minutes is the maximum; any longer and they absorb the curry, lose their shape, and soften into mush. Make the gravy and fry the koftas separately, then bring them together at the last moment.
Kadala curry is how Kerala starts the day. At temple canteens, roadside eateries, and family breakfast tables across the state, a mound of puttu — steamed, cylindrical rice cakes with a grainy, pressed texture — arrives alongside a dark, nutty, deeply spiced chickpea gravy and a ripe banana. The combination is a complete breakfast and a cultural institution, the Malayali equivalent of something so fundamental it barely needs explaining to anyone who grew up with it. This recipe makes the varutharacha version — varutharacha meaning "roasted and ground" in Malayalam — which is the traditional benchmark. The defining technique is simple to describe and easy to underestimate: fresh grated coconut is dry-roasted in a skillet until it turns a deep, dark golden-brown, then ground with whole spices into a paste that forms the body of the gravy. This is not a coconut milk version; coconut milk produces a different dish, pleasantly creamy but structurally flat. The roasted-coconut paste adds a layer of toasted, almost caramelized complexity that no can or carton can replicate. The other essential: black chickpeas (kala chana), known in Malayalam as kadala. They are smaller, earthier, and denser than the white kabuli chana used in North Indian cooking, and they hold their shape while absorbing the flavors of the gravy. They must be soaked overnight — the structure is too dense for a quick soak — and pressure-cooked to complete tenderness. Both foundational steps take time. Neither can be rushed. Everything else about the recipe is straightforward.
Pindi chole takes its name from Rawalpindi, one of the great dhaba cities of Punjab before Partition. Unlike the saucier Punjabi chole most people know, this version contains no onion, no garlic, and no tomato. Its color comes from black tea; its tang from anardana (dried pomegranate seeds); its smokiness from black cardamom. The result is a nearly-dry, deeply-spiced chickpea dish where every layer of flavor is built from spice architecture alone. Serve with bhature or kulcha the traditional way, or alongside steamed rice. Note: chickpeas need an overnight soak - plan ahead.