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Prince Charles joked on his trip to India last year that Britain's national dish is curry.

He has a point. We've been meddling with Indian food since the days of the Raj.

Balti restaurants, chicken tikka masala, madras and phall were invented here. Curry powder is a British concoction, too.

An Indian extravaganza: Hyderabad is a city of culinary flavours, known for its biryani curries

We're a nation obsessed with Indian food, so the chance for a food tour of the sub-continent was too good to miss.

My first stop is Hyderabad, slap bang in the middle of Southern India. Once famous for selling pearls and diamond mining (the Koh-i-noor was found here), it is now renowned for the best biryanis.

This is where I meet Jonty Rajagopalan. She is passionate about regional Indian cuisine and street food - which most nervous travellers avoid.

We have lunch in a scruffy working man's cafe. The local dishes - ragi sangati (a porridge-like mash made from millet and ghee), pappu (dhal lentils with greens) and a sour tamarind side dish have clean, subtle flavours. But what surprises me is the price - less than a Starbucks coffee.

I buy red gourd crisps with a surprisingly fiery bite. A sweet shop across the way dazzles like a jeweller's, with displays of nutty confectionery and gilded dumplings.

But what I really want is a cuppa. Beware, Indian chai is sweet and sticky.

Tired and replete, I return to my hotel, the Taj Falaknuma Palace, which oozes Raj glamour and contrasts vividly with my time spent in the city. 

As I enter the vast marble edifice it starts to pour down; bucket loads of scented rose petals rather than Bollywood torrents, a wonderful effect that leaves me feeling utterly bridal.

Next morning, Jonty takes me to taste street food. Nahari, a traditional Hyderabadi breakfast stew of slow-cooked mutton and heaps of mint and coriander, with tongues and trotters on the side.

The broth is tasty, but I wimp out on trying the offal.

There is barely a pause between meals. Elevenses are dosas, crispy pancakes made from rice batter, and vada, a spicy doughnut. I wash them down with Zeera soda — a cumin and rock salt drink that is, frankly, an acquired taste. Then it's back to Falaknuma Palace for a biryani lesson.

The great thing about Indian cuisine is its diversity, and the best way to get a handle on authentic taste is to travel around the country. In Cochin on India's southernmost tip, I discover the lighter, fishier fare that Rick Stein raved about in his TV show.

A country that loves its cuisine: A tour of southern India equates to endless opportunities to widen your palate

I soon learn modern India is a land of extremes. While my hosts still make masala by hand, their son likes nothing better than a KFC or McDonald's.

Thankfully, other traditions are alive and well. The Spice Coast houseboats continue to drift slowly through the backwaters, providing a gentle way of sightseeing in glorious solitude.

After cruising past brightly coloured villages, we dock in a quiet spot with a fruit bat grappling the branches like a discombobulated umbrella.

My supper is fresh coconut milk in a prawn curry and a dhal that tastes perfumed.

The last stop on the culinary tour is a leap from this sleepy backwater to Mumbai: vast, busy, hard to comprehend.

Happily, a car whisks me to the sleek calm of the ITC Grand Central Hotel. It becomes my Bombay bubble, insulated and luxurious, yet only a hop from the street food downtown.

Pani puri, a local speciality, is the size of a ping-pong ball, deep-fried and stuffed with chickpeas, chutney and flavoured water.

It's messy to eat, but marvellous: a fitting mouthful to finish off my culinary safari.