
I grew up in a home where Sunday afternoons smelled like roasted cumin, sizzling mustard seeds, and the deep, earthy perfume of a pot of something long-simmering on the back burner. My grandmother — a woman who never once used a measuring spoon in her entire cooking life — could tell if a curry was ready by the way the oil separated at the edges of the pan. She’d just tilt the kadhai slightly, peer in with half-squinted eyes, and say, “Aur do minute.” Two more minutes. Always two more minutes. And she was always, always right.
I’ve been cooking and documenting Indian vegetarian curry recipes for over a decade now, and I still think about her when I’m standing at my own stove. What strikes me most — what I want you to understand before we go into the recipes — is that “Indian curry” is not one thing. It’s a hundred things. It’s a thin, tangy rasam from Tamil Nadu that you pour over rice like soup. It’s a thick, brick-red rajma from Punjab that you scoop up with a torn piece of roti. It’s a pale yellow Gujarati kadhi with floating pakoras that tastes nothing like the Punjabi kadhi your Delhi neighbour makes. Every state, every community, every household has its own grammar.
This post is my attempt to take you on a proper tour — a regional guide to 30 of the most beloved and authentic Indian vegetarian curry recipes from across India. Whether you’re a home cook who wants to go beyond butter paneer, someone in the diaspora trying to recreate your mom’s dal, or a complete beginner who wants to learn how to make Indian curry from scratch — you’re in exactly the right place. Pull up a chair. Let’s cook India.
Before we get into individual recipes, let’s talk about the foundation ingredients that almost every Indian vegetarian curry shares. Understanding these will help you cook more intuitively.
I’ve organized these as a true regional guide — North, South, East, West, and Central India. Within each region, I’ve given you the full method for 2-3 anchor recipes and detailed notes on the rest. This way you’re getting both a cookbook and a crash course in Indian food geography.
North Indian curries are what most of the world pictures when they hear “Indian food.” Rich, tomato-onion bases, generous use of cream or yogurt, warm whole spices, and that gorgeous orange-red colour. Punjabi cooking dominates here, but Uttar Pradesh, Rajasthan, and Himachal Pradesh all have distinct voices too.
If I had to pick one recipe to represent all of Indian home cooking, it would be dal tadka. Humble. Nourishing. Deeply comforting. The yellow dal (split pigeon peas or arhar/toor dal) is pressure-cooked until soft, then finished with a sizzling tadka — a tempering of ghee, cumin, garlic, red chili, and asafoetida that you pour dramatically over the top right before serving. It crackles and hisses and smells extraordinary.
Key flavors: Earthy, garlicky, smoky (especially if you do the dhungar charcoal smoke trick — mildly blowing my own trumpet here, but my dal tadka tutorial has saved many a homesick student in London).
See my full restaurant-style dal tadka recipe here for step-by-step photos and the dhungar method.
Blanched spinach pureed with spices and fresh cottage cheese cubes — this is probably the most recognized Indian vegetarian curry recipe in the world. And yet, most restaurant versions do it a disservice. The real trick is NOT to cook the spinach to death. Blanch it briefly in salted boiling water, shock it in ice water immediately, then blend. That’s what keeps it bright green rather than army-khaki colored. My mother adds a spoonful of cream and a tiny pinch of sugar right at the end. I know purists will disagree, but it rounds out the flavors beautifully.
Key flavors: Verdant, fresh, milky, lightly spiced.
Dark red kidney beans slow-cooked in a deeply spiced tomato-onion gravy. Rajma chawal — rajma with steamed white rice — is the ultimate North Indian comfort food. Sunday lunch. Every. Single. Week. In my house growing up, rajma meant we’d been good that week.
The secret to excellent rajma masala: cook it long and slow. The beans need to give up some of their starch into the gravy for it to get thick and glossy. Don’t shortcut this. Also, soak your rajma overnight. Always. And add a pinch of baking soda to the soaking water if they’re old beans. Old beans are the enemy of a good rajma.
Key flavors: Deep, tomatoey, warming, rich.
Let me say this clearly: paneer butter masala and butter chicken are the same gravy. The base is identical. It’s a cashew-tomato sauce with loads of butter and cream, sweetened slightly, and deeply aromatic. When you use paneer instead of chicken, you get this — one of the world’s most beloved Indian veg curry recipes. The key is making the tomato-cashew-onion paste ahead and really letting it fry in butter until the oil separates. Don’t skip that step.
Chickpeas in a bold, sour-spicy gravy. What makes Punjabi chole different from other chickpea curries is the use of anardana (dried pomegranate seeds) or amchur (dry mango powder) for that characteristic sourness, and often a tea bag while boiling the chickpeas to darken them slightly. Chole bhature is the dish that makes people drive across cities in Delhi on Sunday mornings. It’s that good.
Green peas and paneer in a tomato-onion gravy. Simple, weeknight-friendly, incredibly satisfying. Use fresh peas in winter — frozen work fine the rest of the year. Don’t overcook the peas; they should still have a slight bite.
Potatoes and peas in a thin, home-style gravy. This is the everyday dal’s companion — what you eat on a Tuesday when you don’t want to think too hard. Lighter than matar paneer, equally delicious.
Gram flour dumplings cooked in a tangy yogurt-based gravy. This dish is the genius of desert cooking — made entirely without fresh vegetables, using only dried pantry ingredients. It’s sour, spiced, and unlike anything else in Indian cooking. The yogurt gravy is tempered with cumin, coriander, and red chili, and has a gorgeous rust-orange colour.
Baby potatoes deep-fried and then braised in a yogurt-fennel gravy. Kashmiri cooking has almost no onion or garlic — it relies instead on fennel seeds (saunf), dry ginger (soonth), and the famous Kashmiri red chili which is mild but breathtakingly red. This curry is deeply aromatic, slightly sweet, and absolutely stunning. Dum aloo has an interesting culinary history that spans both Kashmir and Bengal.
South Indian curries are a completely different universe from North Indian ones. Coconut is king. Mustard seeds and curry leaves are the starter pistol for almost every recipe. Tamarind provides the sour note that tomatoes do in the North. And the heat — oh, the heat is real. Tamil, Kerala, Andhra, Karnataka, and Telangana all have wildly distinct cooking styles, and I could write a separate 5,000-word post on each. For now, here are the ones you absolutely must know.
A mild, coconut milk-based stew with potatoes, carrots, beans, and green peas. Ishtu is what Malayalees serve with appam (lacey rice pancakes) for Sunday breakfast, and it’s one of the most gentle and beautiful curries in Indian cooking. No chili powder. No turmeric (or just a whisper). Just coconut milk, whole spices, green chilies, and fresh coconut oil poured over at the end. Don’t substitute the coconut oil. It makes the whole dish.
The great South Indian lentil and vegetable curry that goes with everything — idli, dosa, rice, vada. Every household has a different sambar recipe, and everyone thinks theirs is the definitive version. (Mine is my amma’s, obviously, and I’m biased.) The key ingredient is sambar powder — a complex spice blend that you can buy ready-made or make at home. Freshly made sambar powder changes this dish completely.
From the Chettinad region of Tamil Nadu, this is one of the boldest, most complex curry recipes in all of India. It uses a freshly ground spice paste with kalpasi (stone flower), marathi mokku (dried flower pods), and other regional spices you may need to hunt for in specialty stores. Worth every bit of effort. Traditionally made with meat, the vegetarian version uses baby potatoes or raw jackfruit to brilliant effect.
Black chickpeas in a roasted coconut gravy. Served with puttu (steamed rice cylinders) for breakfast in Kerala, and it’s one of those flavor combinations that makes complete sense once you eat it. The coconut is dry-roasted until deep brown before grinding — this is what gives the curry its characteristic nutty, dark gravy.
Stuffed small eggplants cooked in a sesame-peanut-tamarind gravy. Andhra food is famously spicy — this dish is no exception. The stuffing is a paste of roasted sesame seeds, peanuts, coconut, and tamarind that gets pushed inside each little eggplant and then the whole lot is slow-cooked in a masala. Rich, complex, and slightly addictive.
A two-stage dish — lentils are pressure-cooked with greens, the cooking water is used to make a thin, rasam-like soup (the bassaru), and the solid cooked dal and greens are tempered separately to make a thick side dish. Two dishes from one pot. Karnataka ingenuity at its finest.
A thin, buttermilk-based curry with vegetables (usually ash gourd, yam, or okra) and a coconut-cumin paste. Think of it as the South Indian answer to North Indian kadhi — light, digestive, perfect over rice on a hot afternoon. My husband calls it “summer food” and he’s not wrong.
Technically a soup, but served as a thin curry over rice in South Indian meals. Tangy tomato, tamarind, and black pepper with a fiery mustard-cumin tadka. This is medicinal food — what you make when someone in the family has a cold or an upset stomach. Also what you make when you want something that’s ready in 15 minutes and tastes incredible.
A mixed vegetable curry cooked in a coconut-yogurt sauce with curry leaves and coconut oil. Uses a glorious jumble of vegetables — raw banana, drumstick, yam, raw mango, carrots, beans — all cut into long pieces and cooked together. Avial is the curry equivalent of “use everything in the fridge,” but elevated to an art form.
Maharashtra, Gujarat, and Goa make up the western belt, and each region is utterly distinct. Goa uses coconut and vinegar. Gujarat is famous for its sweet-salty-sour balance. Maharashtra has both the spicy, pungent Kolhapuri style and the coconut-forward Konkan coast recipes.
Sweet and slightly sour toor dal tempered with mustard, curry leaves, and a touch of jaggery. If North Indian dal tadka is the comfort food of the subcontinent’s north, Gujarati dal is its western equivalent. Thinner in consistency, perfectly balanced, and poured generously over rice. The jaggery is non-negotiable. I know some people omit it to reduce sugar, and the result is a completely different dal — still good, but not Gujarati.
A toor dal curry with a characteristic Maharashtrian spice blend called goda masala — which contains dried coconut and kalpasi (stone flower) alongside the usual suspects. Amti has a beautiful sweet-sour-spicy balance, and the goda masala gives it a depth that regular garam masala simply can’t replicate.
Moth beans (matki) cooked in a fiery red Kolhapuri gravy, topped with crunchy farsan, onions, tomatoes, and served with soft bread rolls. Misal pav is Maharashtra’s most loved street food, and the Kolhapuri version is the hottest of them all. I made this for a dinner party once without adequately warning my guests. Someone cried. I’ve never been more proud of a dish.
A rich, complex curry with roasted spices, dried chilies, and coconut. Xacuti uses a paste of roasted coconut, poppy seeds, and a long list of whole spices including star anise, cloves, and nutmeg. Traditionally made with meat, the vegetarian version with raw jackfruit or potato-cauliflower is spectacular. It’s intense and requires effort, but it’s unlike any other curry on this list.
Stuffed eggplants in a peanut-coconut-sesame masala. Maharashtra’s answer to Andhra’s gutti vankaya — different spices, different technique, equally wonderful. The small, round purple eggplants work best here. Score them crosswise at the bottom, stuff them with the masala, and cook them slow in a covered pan until they collapse softly into the sauce.
A slow-cooked mixed vegetable and bean curry from Surat, traditionally cooked upside-down in a clay pot underground. It’s the Gujarati dish — made especially in winter when the vegetables (surti papdi, raw banana, yam, baby potatoes) are all in season. Modern recipes use a pressure cooker or oven, and the result is still magical: deeply savory, herb-packed, and absolutely festive.
Bengali, Odia, and Northeastern cooking round out the eastern quarter. Bengali food has a sophistication that’s quietly breathtaking — mustard oil, panch phoron (the Bengali five-spice), and a subtle sweet note. Odisha’s cooking is temple-food influenced, often without onion and garlic. The Northeast (Assam, Manipur, Nagaland) uses fermented ingredients and bamboo shoots in ways that feel entirely their own.
Split Bengal gram (chana dal) tempered with coconut pieces, raisins, and ghee — a festive dal that is served at pujas and celebrations. The coconut pieces are fried until golden in the tempering, and the raisins plump up and add a gentle sweetness. This dal smells like every Bengali festival I’ve ever been to.
Baby potatoes cooked in a spiced, slightly sweet gravy with panch phoron and a hint of whole spices. The Bengali version is drier and more caramelized than the Kashmiri dum aloo — cooked on a high flame until the potatoes are coated in a thick, spiced crust. Eat with luchi (Bengali fried flatbread) and you’ll understand why Bengalis are so obsessed with this pairing.
Pointed gourd (parwal/potol) cooked in a yogurt gravy. This is quintessential Bengali home cooking — subtle, fragrant, and using a vegetable that is often overlooked outside Bengal. If you can’t find pointed gourd, this preparation works beautifully with zucchini.
A thick dal cooked with mixed vegetables — raw banana, yam, raw papaya, and eggplant — tempered with panch phoron and coconut. No onion, no garlic. It’s temple food at its finest, and the combination of lentils and vegetables cooked together means it’s an all-in-one nutritious meal. The panch phoron tempering in ghee at the end is what ties it all together.
A dish of boiled and mashed vegetables (often potatoes, fermented fish — in the veg version, smoked dried mushrooms), mixed with fermented soya beans and green chili. Eromba is not what most people picture when they think of Indian vegetarian curry recipes, but it’s a deeply important dish from the northeast and deserves to be known more widely. It’s umami-forward, smoky, pungent, and unlike anything in the rest of Indian cuisine.
Mashed potato seasoned with raw mustard oil, green chili, onion, and sometimes a boiled egg (veg version skips the egg). Aloo pitika is technically a side dish, but it can function as a light curry-style accompaniment over rice. The raw mustard oil is essential — it gives it that pungent, nose-clearing bite that is quintessentially Assamese.
Most of these indian vegetarian curry recipes follow a master structure, with regional variations in which oil, spices, and souring agents are used. Once you understand this structure, you can cook almost any Indian curry confidently.
For Jain recipes, skip onion, garlic, potatoes, carrots, and all root vegetables. Replace with raw banana, raw jackfruit, lauki (bottle gourd), or paneer. The Rajasthani gatte ki sabzi and Gujarati dal are naturally Jain-adaptable.
Use asafoetida (hing) to replace the onion-garlic flavor in tadkas. Increase the quantity of fresh ginger, green chilies, and curry leaves for aromatics. Kashmiri dum aloo and Odia dalma are already naturally no-onion-no-garlic.
Most Indian vegetarian curries are already vegan — lentils, vegetables, and coconut milk are the natural base. For recipes that use ghee, substitute a high-quality unrefined coconut oil or cold-pressed mustard oil. For yogurt-based curries like kadhi, use cashew yogurt — it behaves very similarly to dairy yogurt when cooking.
Almost all of these recipes are naturally gluten-free. The one to watch out for: some commercial asafoetida (hing) is mixed with wheat flour as an anti-caking agent. Buy the pure compounded hing from specialty stores, or look for “gluten-free hing” on the label.
Refrigerating: Almost all of these curries keep well in the fridge for 3-4 days in an airtight container. The fat will solidify on top when cold — this is normal and the curry will be perfectly fine.
Freezing: Dal, rajma, chole, and most vegetable curries freeze beautifully for up to 3 months. Avoid freezing dishes with large amounts of yogurt (they can separate) or with potatoes (texture changes). Paneer-based curries freeze okay but the paneer can become slightly crumbly — still delicious, just slightly different texture.
Reheating: Low heat on the stovetop with a splash of water is best. Microwave works too — cover with a damp paper towel to prevent the surface from drying out. Never rush reheating on high heat; the spices can turn bitter.
You might also enjoy my full collection of Indian meal prep recipes for the week which uses many of these curries as a base.
Indian curries are built on a dry-fried masala base — onions, tomatoes, and ground spices cooked until the oil separates. This is fundamentally different from Thai curries (which use fresh herb pastes in coconut milk) or Japanese curry (which is based on a roux). The layering of spices at different stages of cooking, and the regional diversity within India itself, makes Indian curry recipes uniquely complex. Additionally, Indian cuisine’s regional variation is one of the most extensive of any culinary tradition in the world.
Yes — and in fact you should. Most Indian curries taste significantly better the next day as the spices have time to fully bloom and integrate into the gravy. I regularly make rajma, chole, and dal a day before I plan to serve them. For freshness, just hold off on adding fresh coriander and a squeeze of lemon until serving time.
It depends entirely on the regional recipe. Ghee or neutral vegetable oil for North Indian curries; cold-pressed mustard oil for Bengali and Rajasthani recipes (heat it to smoking point first to remove the raw pungency); coconut oil for Kerala and South Coastal curries; groundnut (peanut) oil for many Maharashtrian and Gujarati dishes. Using the right oil is one of the details that makes a regional Indian curry taste authentically “from” its region.
Reduce the red chili powder (not the other spices) and replace some of it with Kashmiri red chili powder, which gives color but almost no heat. A spoonful of fresh cream or yogurt stirred in at the end also dials back the heat significantly. Dairy fats bind to capsaicin — the compound that makes things hot — which is why a cold lassi is the correct response to an unexpectedly fiery curry.
South Asian grocery stores in most major cities (and many smaller ones) in the UK, US, Canada, Australia, and UAE carry virtually everything on this list. Amazon and specialty online spice retailers like Spice Jungle or Diaspora Co. (US) stock fresh-ground single-origin spices that are genuinely excellent. For curry leaves specifically, try to find a plant — they grow easily indoors in a sunny window and you’ll have fresh leaves forever.