Indian food is not a cuisine but a continent of cuisines that resist any summary. The North Indian tandoor tradition — naan baked on the wall of a clay oven, seekh kebab, rogan josh — is one register. Coastal Kerala's fish curry in coconut milk and tamarind, eaten on a banana leaf with red rice and four accompanying relishes, is another. Tamil Nadu's Chettinad cooking, the most complex spice system on the subcontinent, using kalpasi (stone flower) and marathi mokku (dried flower pods) that appear nowhere else, is a third. The Mumbai vada pav (a spiced potato fritter in a bread roll with green chutney) eaten at a footpath stall for less than a euro, is as serious a food as anything in the country's restaurant culture. The chai culture — heavily milked, heavily sugared, simmered on a roadside stall and poured into clay kulhars — runs through the entire country as the social fabric. No rush.