Try these classic Gujarati winter snacks with green pigeon peas

Winter in Gujarat signals the arrival of tuver, fresh pigeon peas tucked inside tiny pale green pods. For a few short months, the legume becomes an obsession, making its way into everything from everyday shaak (vegetable dishes) to celebratory farsan (snacks) and kadhi. Home cooks stuff the peas into ghughra (fried pastry) and kachoris, toss them into undhiyu (mixed vegetables), or stir them into spiced gravies thickened with buttermilk and besan (chickpea flour).

“The earthy sweetness of tuver, captured by slow cooking it with garlic, chilli, and a dash of jaggery, captures the essence of Gujarati comfort food: simple, seasonal, and layered with taste and texture,” says Nimita Shah, a home chef who runs a meal and snack service called Ghar ki Yaad in Mumbai.

Tuver is grown mainly in Gujarat’s central and northern districts, especially in regions like Saurashtra and Patan. Sown at the onset of the monsoon (June-July), the crop reaches maturity by late winter (December-February). Culinary anthropologist Kurush Dalal says tuver is an emotion tied to memory. “It has become a nostalgia-fuelled craze among the Gujarati diaspora as well,” he says.

During the winter months, queues form outside farsan shops in Vadodara, Ahmedabad, Surat and Rajkot, for the first batch of kachoris, crisp, flaky parcels filled with spiced pigeon peas. “The tuver kachori is not to be missed during this time,” says Rajubhai Patel of Saurashtra Chavana and Sweets located in Ahmedabad’s Satellite area. “Better known as the lilva kachori, this seasonal delicacy is best enjoyed with a sweet and spicy green chutney.”

The joy begins in vegetable markets, where fresh pods arrive in mounds, and continues at home where family members sit together shelling peas in the living room. “It’s the sense of community that makes tuver so quintessentially Gujarati,” says Abhay Mangaldas, founder and director of The House of MG, a heritage hotel, in Ahmedabad. Mangaldas grew up in a household where dinner was always a Gujarati thali. “Green tuver appeared everywhere,” he recalls. “In the shaak, or folded into farsan like lilva kachori or tuvar na ghughra, sometimes even kneaded into a thepla. Its delicate sweetness, nutty bite, and freshness made it the flavour of winter and the comfort of home.”

At The House of MG, Mangaldas continues to celebrate the legacy through dishes such as Tuvar na Dana Bataka nu Shaak, Lilva nu Undhiyu, and Lilva Kachori. “To me, sustainability never needed to be declared; it was woven into everyday life,” he says. “Food was always local, seasonal, freshly cooked and shared. Undhiyu, with its medley of tuver dana, root vegetables, and methi muthia, reflects that philosophy; it’s a harmonious blend of what the land offers at the moment.”

The wisdom is reflected in how the community stretches the life of tuver. When the season ends, many families freeze the peas in small packets. The frozen tuver might later find its way into a monsoon shaak or a spontaneous snack.

Tuver is not just a seasonal vegetable; it’s a marker of time, memory, and community. “The freezing and hoarding of the peas is a way of stretching winter’s bounty into the long, hot months ahead,” Shah ends.

Teja Lele writes on travel and lifestyle.