Why dal will always be India’s ultimate comfort food

From Harappan jars to home kitchens, this simple dish has comforted emperors and commoners alike for centuries.

dal, indian lentils, pulses, history of dals in India

Lentils and pulses have been part of Indian kitchens since the Indus Valley Civilisation. (Photo: Freepik)

Few foods are as easy to store, travel with, cook, and eat as dal or pulses. To prepare a comforting bowl of yellow dal, you need little more than the lentils themselves, some water, salt, a pinch of turmeric, perhaps a tomato or onion, ginger or garlic (optional), and a few coriander or curry leaves. In ten minutes, you have a sustaining, delicious meal that carries you through the day.

Lentils and pulses have been part of Indian kitchens since the Indus Valley Civilisation. Archaeological findings show that peas, chickpeas, green gram, and black gram were staples of that era. Granules of these lentils were found inside storage jars at the Harappan site of Farmana in the Ghaggar Valley, Haryana — no wonder dal makhni, made with black and green gram, remains so popular in the region.

If you love dal, as most Indians do, you’re in good company — Chandragupta Maurya shared your taste. Ancient texts record multiple dal recipes served at feasts and festivals. At Chandragupta’s wedding in 303 BC, guests were served a special dal — an early version of Bengal’s ghugni — made with large split peas. Ghugni, unlike most dals, isn’t eaten with rice. It’s often paired with luchi (puffed bread) or eaten on its own, spicy and tangy with onions, chillies, and lime, sometimes even with mutton. It’s a street food favourite and a beloved breakfast dish in eastern India.

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In medieval India, the revival of the dum pukht (slow cooking) technique brought chana dal (Bengal gram) into royal menus. Panchmel or Panchratna dal — made with five lentils: moong, chana, toor, masoor, and urad — rose to fame in Mewar’s royal kitchens. Legend has it that Jodha Bai, who loved the dish, introduced it to Akbar’s Mughal court.

The Mughals’ love for food matched their love for conquests. Akbar’s great-grandson, Murad, was fond of Rajasthani toor dal, which led to the creation of the smooth, aromatic Moradabadi dal. One of his cooks, experimenting with moong dal over a low flame, achieved a texture similar to that. Served in bowls made of dried betel leaves and topped with amchur, onions, and green chillies, the dish became the now-iconic Moradabadi dal.

Slow-cooked for hours and finished with butter and cream, dal makhni became a modern classic. (Photo: Freepik)

Of course, the dal that has won over even the most sceptical foreigner is dal makhni — rich, buttery, and unapologetically indulgent. Invented by Kundan Lal Gujral, founder of the Moti Mahal chain, dal makhni used the same tomato-and-cream base as butter chicken, but paired it with urad dal, chana dal, and rajma. Slow-cooked for hours and finished with butter and cream, it became a modern classic.

Some of my favourite dal dishes include maacher muror dal — masoor dal cooked with fried fish heads; Parsi dal with coconut milk; Sri Lankan dal, thick and mashed rather than soupy; and Andhra’s spicy, tangy dal pappu, flavoured with tomato.

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Then there are dishes that disguise dal altogether. Take dhokar dalna, a Bengali delicacy from the “widow cuisine” of Bengal — a remarkable culinary tradition born of austerity. Made from boiled and ground chana dal shaped into spiced cakes, steamed, and cooked in a light gravy with potatoes and coriander, it’s a labour-intensive but deeply satisfying dish.

A simpler alternative is moong dal chilla — thin, savoury pancakes made from ground moong dal batter, spiced and crisped in a pan. Eaten with curd or pickle, they make a wholesome North Indian breakfast.

When I began living alone after college, dal was my go-to meal. I’d soak moong or masoor, rinse it till the water ran clear, and cook it with double the water, a tomato, turmeric, chilli powder, sugar, and salt — two whistles in a pressure cooker, and lunch was ready. Sometimes I’d make a quick tadka of ghee with red chillies, nigella seeds, garlic, and curry leaves, and pour it over the dal. Pure comfort food — simple, nourishing, and infinitely forgiving.

Next week, I’ll be writing on the widow cuisine of Bengal with all its delicacies, and how necessity is indeed the mother of invention. Leading to the creation of some of Bengal’s finest delicacies, which are part and parcel of everyday and festival cooking.