Indian condiments are quietly doing what global sauces never could

Indian condiments have, more often than not, been the unsung heroes of any meal. Take the garlic or peanut chilli chutney in a vada pao that most people request vendors to add a little extra of, for instance. The chutney is what elevates the otherwise simple snack, making people come back for it. 

“Indians have mutli-dimensional tastebuds and are never just happy eating a plate of rice or a bowl of pasta. They need their tastebuds to be tantalised, and that’s where condiments come in,” says Mumbai-based chef Niyati Rao, co-owner and head chef, Ekaa, Bombay Daak, and KMC Mumbai.

“Due to the depth of the [flavour of] the Indian condiments, formed over time in the likes of achaar, one can’t eat too much of it. So, condiments are microdoses of extra spice, salt, or fat, which add a punch to every mouthful,” adds Rao, who grew up eating green pepper pickle, made by steeping the peppers in the juice of a hundred lemons. It’s sharp and hits the throat, and is ideal when paired with curd rice, a meal that is otherwise bland. 

“A lot of staple Indian meals are plain-tasting. Like the sada varan bhaat, which is just boiled rice with yellow dal that has minimal flavouring of jeera and asafoetida, no tadka. Or, even khichdi. It’s also why the Bohris have some salt before beginning their meal—it makes the food taste better,” explains food critic and commentator Kunal Vijaykar. 

Indian condiments—a means of preserving seasonal produce

In India, condiments came into being out of necessity. For example, in Kashmir, where winters are harsh, preserved meats and vegetables are the only source of flavour as meals comprise just rice and some curd. “They also provide nutrition—nadur(lotus root) is full of fibre and acts as the much-needed roughage for Kashmir’s lamb-rich diet. It also adds texture because dried vegetables are meaty and chewy,” says Prateek Sadhu, chef-owner, Naar, who grew up in Kashmir’s Baramulla, watching his parents and grandparents dry chains of vegetables like gobhi and turnip, and then pickle them. The kohlrabi pickle is quintessential,found in every Kashmiri home. 

In many other parts of India, using condiments were a form of naturally sustainable practices. Historically, Mangloreans use vegetable peels to make chutneys, like the Ridge Gourd Peel Chutney. “It wasn’t for clout or to follow zero-waste cooking or for an Instagram hashtag, but because sometimes it was impossible to eat a whole jackfruit in one go! And so, Mangaloreans brine jackfruit and used it to make condiments like Uppad Pacchir, where the jackfruit is cooked into a sukka condiment eaten with rice,” informs Chef Shriya Shetty, co-founder of BuCo., an artisanal bakery and cafe in Mangaluru, where she grew up.  

“In India, meals are layered and often rich—gravies, fried snacks, hearty breads. Condiments cut through this heaviness, refresh the palate, and add contrast. For instance, pakoras without green chutney feel incomplete; idlis cry out for chutney and podi; kebabs need pickled onions or chutney to shine,” says Megha Kohli,  chef-partner at Delhi-based restaurants Pendulo and Mezze Mambo, whose book, India in a Bowl, has a whole section on condiments. 

The Jain community in Mangaluru is known for its Kanchala Gassi, a jam-like condiment where bitter gourd is cooked with spices, jaggery, and tamarind. There’s also a market for the oft-ignored murabbas—or traditional sweet fruit preserves—eaten as condiments. “There are sweet pickles and chutneys too, which has really been possible due to the usage of sugar on a large scale. Had sugar been expensive, that wouldn’t have been the case,” says archaeologist and culinary anthropologist, Dr Kurush F Dalal. 

Most pickling uses natural preservatives like salts, sugar, and spices in order to ensure the produce lasts two years. “Gunda fruit (gumberry), karonda (Carissa carandas, an Indian berry), mango, and lemon are most commonly pickled, and can either be cooked or uncooked. Among pickles, mangoes are ubiquitous to most of India. But, making pickles is a labour of love—you only know if you got it right a year later,” says Dalal. 

While the sweet-and-sour Chunda, is innate to Gujarat, it is also quite popular in Maharashtra. Rao, whose maternal grandmother would make it, shares, “The bottle had to be taken to the terrace for the sugar to melt, and then brought down at sunset. The exposure to the sun makes all the difference—that’s absent in store-bought versions.” 

The powdered punch: Podi, thecha,and dry regional Indian condiments

Condiments are a major element of any South Indian meal. There are fermented or pickled ones which are water- or oil-based; the dry, powdered podis which are mixed with oil or yoghurt while eating; and the fresh Thogayal Thokku (a thick, coarse paste and spicy, pickle-like thick chutney or relish) to be consumed within 24 hours. 

Kerala and Karnataka are both home to several pickles made using mussels, beef, and chicken, besides mango ginger, raw tamarind, lemon, amla, and karonda. “The water-based ones are made by adding mustard powder, salt, and vegetables and work as a cold pickle to be consumed within a week. It’s great for the gut, and is often eaten as a side too,” says Ruchira Hoon, chef-owner of Draavin Canteen in Delhi. 

Podis, made with dal—moong, chana, or arhar—came around as a means of convenience, because not everyone had the time to cook. “Podiscan just be added to rice and ghee or sesame oil, working as a quick nutritious meal, as podi is a minor source of protein. Podis are integral to meals in Andhra Pradesh, Telangana, Tamil Nadu, and Karnataka. Andhra Pradesh has Paruppu Podi, made with two-three different dals to amplify the protein,” says Hoon. But not all podi has dal; some contain coconut or peanuts. 

Kerala’s wet version of podi, called Chammanthi, has the same dal and  coconut composition, which can be eaten with hot rice and ghee or with dosas or appams. The powdered Maharashtian Thecha came about as a practical way to add flavour. Farmers and workers would wrap up thick bhakri (made with jowar or bajra) and an unpeeled onion with dry thecha and eat it whilst working in the fields. “The coarse peanut, roasted besan, garlic, and red mirchi powder on top of a smashed onion and bhakri, paired with cold salted buttermilk, is very nutritious. Chances are that the vada pav chutney at some point had besan in it,” says Rao, who’s had some excellent bacon thecha recently.  

Thecha is a condiment that can be made throughout the year. “States in North East India consume condiments seasonally: Fresh chutneys in the summer and dry or oil-based condiments like bamboo shoots and meats in the winter,” says Tanisha Phanbuh, chef and founder of pop-up kitchen Tribal Gourmet. “Tree tomatoes are in season in October; they will be charred, then ground with dried fish and chillies using a Khasi stone or wooden silbatta. There are green chutneys made with garlic, mint, coriander, local sawtooth coriander, or fish mint roots (which makes a pink chutney),” says Phanbuh, who grew up in Shillong. 

Fresh, seasonal, signature chutneys

Besides seasons, chutneys are also specific to regions: Chhattisgarh’s Chapora Chutney received a Geographical Indication (GI) tag in 2024. Made using red ants and their eggs, along with spices, chillies, and salt, it was a condiment born out of necessity, as locals wanted a highly nutritious punch in their food, and red weaver ants were available. 

Kashmir is known for an array of chutneys. A dried sour pomegranate chutney goes well with rajma chawal, or a radish and yoghurt chutney that’s consumed more regularly. “Walnut chutney, made with radish to add some zing, is crucial at weddings and special occasions. It’s a little fancy for households and a little expensive too,” explains Sadhu, adding that the condiments are only made using a stone mortar and pestle, made at Kashmir’s Saderkote Bala village. 

Condiments also form the flavour base of many cuisines: The Kachampuli, a dark vinegar souring agent, is a signature of Coorgi cuisine. “It’s added to dishes like the Pandi Curry right at the end, because it stops the meat from cooking,” says Vijaykar. Or Gojju, a tamarind-based chutney from Karnataka, that’s used as the base to flavour the rice in Puliyogare (tamarind rice). 

A lot of chutneys are made by charring the fruit or vegetable and then treating it with salt, sugar, and jaggery. “Like the Bihari Moringa chutney, where small pieces of drumstick are roasted on a tawa, after which the pulp is mixed with chopped onions, chilli, coriander, and lemon juice,” says Rao. In Bihar, a red tomato chutney is popularly served with Liti Chokha. The tomatoes are chargrilled on an open fire or tawa, after which raw mustard oil is added, along with garlic, chillies, and then ground with some cilantro. 

An overlap of fermented Indian condiments and other regional Indian condiments

Given that most condiments are aiming to add an umami flavour to a meal, and how far and well ingredients have travelled, overlaps are inevitable. Kerala’s wet podi, made with carrots, capsicum, coconut, raw mango or tomatoes, is similar to the Sri Lankan pol sambol, made to consume fresh in every meal. “Sri Lanka has non-vegetarian versions of the sambal. Indonesia has a green chilli sambal, which is similar to a hari mirch ki chutney with pandan leaves,” informs Hoon. 

In Malaysia, a type of sambol comprises roasted onion and cooked chillies that are hand-pounded with dried shrimp. Meanwhile, dried shrimp and anchovies are used heavily as condiments in Kerala. “That same dried fish becomes ‘mas’ in Lakshadweep Islands, where multiple umami condiments are made using it,” adds Hoon. 

In Maharashtra, the Koli community, whose meals primarily comprise seafood, has a dried shrimp condiment to make up for the lack of fish during days when there’s no way to get fresh catch: Sukha Kolim has small shrimps cooked in oil and masalas, and a sour taste because of the addition of kokum. “It’s different from the Goan Kismur that is made with dried seafood, coconut, and spices,” says Rao. 

Dried fish chutneys are popular in Mangaluru too. “It goes well with kanji—every region has a variety of boiled rice served with starch water it’s cooked in, which is super healthy. And every state has their own version of it,” says Shetty. 

Dried fish is a crucial ingredient in the cuisines of North East India too. It’s always charred or toasted before being ground into a dry powder, and usually has a flossy texture. “Khasis make a wet chutney by grinding it with tomatoes and chillies, while a dry version has red chillies, garlic, and jaiur (wild Schezwan pepper), making it a tongue-numbing spicy and umami condiment,” says Phanbuh. 

But it’s the fermented bean pastes that are the main umami agents in these regions. Take, for instance, the Khasi Tungrymbai, a twice-cooked fermented bean paste in Meghalaya. “It’s a harsher version of Akhuni (axone), available in Nagaland. Both are cooked with chilli to bring out its smokiness and umaminess more prominently. Chefs across the world are experimenting with its different degrees of maturity. It’s also common in chilli oil, which stems from the Chinese black bean oil,” says Phanbuh. 

This is a far cry from the years most regions in India have refused to accept fermented ingredients owing to their overpowering smell. “But every single achaar is a ferment, albeit a very slow ferment and just as funky as axone. If a person grew up eating fermented condiments, then they will have a palate for it. Shutki maach, or dried fish, is a popular Bengali condiment. In some districts, instead of drying it, people bury the fish to ferment it—it’s called  shidol. Everyone from the other parts of Bengal looks down upon it, but it’s a popular delicacy,” says Dalal. 

The growing urban market for packaged condiments

There’s a huge demand for condiments in India. A 2024 study found that the Indian condiment market is experiencing growth due to increased urbanisation, a rising demand for convenient and ready-to-eat foods, and the global influence of Western food culture. The Indian sauces and condiments market was valued at USD 26.5 billion. 

For nuclear families, condiments often work as a reminder of home. “But the moment you have fragmentation of the family, people have no choice but to buy pickles and condiments. A nuclear family where most members are working won’t be able to make pickles. And, it’s the older people in the household who usually make pickles,” says Dalal. 

Homegrown brands in India have also seen a boom. Ishka Farms’ Kerala Hot Sauce can be drizzled on sandwiches, wraps, salads, and chaat, and also works as a dip for fritters or a base for marinades. “Made using local white and green Kandari chillies (or bird's eye chillies), its moderate heat level—2904 on the Scoville Scale—makes it accessible. It leans towards a Chammathi because it has a subtle smokiness along with flavours of toasted spices and coconut,” says Divesh Aswani, chef-founder at Commis Station, and consultant chef at Ishka Farms.  

What makes a condiment stand out is the many ways it can be prepared, given that most of these are recipes passed down orally. At Mood, a cloud-kitchen run by Nicole Juneja in Delhi, a range of pickles are mainstay: Chicken Pickle, Dallay Paste, Tama Achaar, Mango Chilli, Teel (sesame) Acaar, Dallay Tamatar Achaar, Aloo Achaar, and Pyaaz Tamatar Achaar. The recipes for these were picked up by Juneja's uncle Hirendra from their family elders, as well as her mother, Kusuma, who learned it from her sister, Padma (now 82), who, in turn, learned about them from her late mother-in-law. “[These are] recipes that work particularly well when eating rice or tingmo, especially when mixed with local spices from Darjeeling and Sikkim, such as Timur and Chimphing, which add to the umaminess,” says Nicol. “With age and practice, these recipes have become a family tradition—a representation of us, present and past. Of the ones we love, and the way we spent time together,” adds Nicole.  

Recipes that are crucial at a time when classic dishes are being remixed using condiments to cater to diners: these include Chatpata momo, Laphing, Fambi, and Kurkure momo. It is an audience that is so used to desi condiments that Western ones might not work for them. Like Dalal, who was underwhelmed when he tried the British Piccalilli. “Because I was used to Indian pickles,” he recalls.

This is why the popularity of Indian pickles is predicted to soar, even as mayonnaise is being misused, served with vada pav, steamed momo, lathered on a panki or pizza. “Peri-peri is another condiment that’s really popular, because it suits the Indian palate,” says Vijaykar.  

But the market for Western and Asian condiments is largely urban, Tier-1 cities. “What really unites people are the achaar, murabbas, and chutneys, which are staples in households. With the new generations going back to their roots, we will see a rise in consumption of Indian condiments. The onus is on us to preserve our culture so that we can pass the baton to the newer generations,” says Sadhu. 

“Condiments have today become identity markers. Ask someone about their mother’s mango pickle recipe, and you’ll unlock a flood of memories. They not just preserve food, but heritage—they capture seasonality, terroir, and family tradition. In many homes, summer was synonymous with drying chillies or mangoes on the terrace. They are a way of preserving time, flavour, and memory. That cultural connection is why these condiments endure even in modern kitchens,” says Kohli. 

In a country where thalis are a part of every cuisine, Indians love variety. The more elaborate the thali, the more condiments it has. “They make for 20 per cent of any thali, at least,” says Rao. You can’t have a Bengali thali without kalonji and tomato chutney. 

“At the end of the day, how well you’re eating is determined by the pile of rice on your plate, not the number of portions of curry. And condiments are the tools that make the carbs on the plate more palatable,” concludes Dalal.