Browse recipes

Red lentils collapsed into coconut milk with cumin and ginger. No soaking, no technique, and it thickens itself while you set the table.

Twenty-five minutes, one pan, mostly cupboard. The beans break down just enough to make the sauce creamy without a drop of cream.

The classic dry curry of potato and cauliflower, steamed gently under a lid with turmeric and coriander, then finished uncovered so the edges catch and crisp. The side dish that quietly steals the plate.

Shredded jackfruit cooked down in smoky barbecue sauce until sticky, piled into a soft roll with a sharp vinegar slaw. The slaw is what stops it being too rich.

Two crumbling cornstarch cookies with caramel between them, edges rolled in coconut. They dissolve rather than crumble.

Whole carrots roasted buried in salt until they collapse to a silky, translucent texture, then peeled, sliced on a long diagonal and steeped in smoke, oil and vinegar. The salt crust does the work: it seasons and dehydrates at once.

Blueberries cooked down with maple and thyme until they slump into a loose jam, spread under melting vegan cheese and griddled in butter until the edges go lacy and brown. Sweet against salt, the way fruit and cheese have always worked.

Torn oyster mushrooms dipped in a quick plant-milk buttermilk, dredged in seasoned flour and cornstarch, and fried until shatteringly crisp. The texture lands somewhere very close to fried chicken.

Cauliflower roasted with curry powder until the edges char, then folded through warm lentils and yogurt. One tray, one can, very little attention.

Game-day wings, baked not fried. Cauliflower florets dipped in a simple seasoned batter, baked until crisp, tossed in buffalo sauce and returned to the oven until sticky. Served with celery sticks and vegan ranch.

Pineapple cut into rings, dried, dusted and dropped through a thin sparkling batter into hot oil, so the outside shatters and the fruit inside turns hot, syrupy and startlingly sharp against the sugar.

Tamarind loosened in hot water and sweetened into a sour-brown cooler with a long, mouth-watering finish. Sharper and more savory than it looks.

A no-cook chickpea chaat that's tangy, fresh and ready in ten minutes. Chickpeas tossed with red onion, cucumber and tomato, brightened with lemon and chaat masala.

A cheap, batch-friendly workhorse: mixed peppers cooked down until silky with sweet onions and tomato, then folded through chickpeas and finished with red wine vinegar and parsley.

Jackfruit braised in a dark, spiced tomato consomé until it shreds, then folded into tortillas that have been dipped in the braising liquid and griddled until the edges crisp. Serve the consomé alongside for dunking.

Everything good about Mexican street corn, taken off the cob and into a bowl: charred kernels, a tangy lime dressing, chili, and a shower of herbs.

Black garlic mashed into miso and butter until it becomes a dark, jammy paste, then loosened with pasta water into a glossy sauce that clings. Sweet, deeply savory, and on the table in the time it takes the water to boil.

The Punjabi chickpea curry that earns its place in every weeknight rotation: deeply spiced, made almost entirely from the store cupboard, and better on day two.

A revithada-style chickpea stew: soft, warming and quietly spiced with cumin and smoked paprika. Ready in half an hour and lovely spooned over rice.

Broccoli roasted hard until the edges char, then tossed hot in a creamy sweet-chili sauce with a sriracha kick. Sweet first, hot second, sharp underneath.

Smoky roasted sweet potato, spiced black beans, and enough lime to wake it all up. The roasting tray does most of the work.

Firm tofu pressed and torn (never cut) into craggy nuggets, dipped in mustardy plant milk and coated in seasoned panko. Fry them or bake them; either way they're built for dipping.

A crunchy swap for chips: chickpeas dried hard, roasted until deep golden, then tossed hot with smoked paprika, cumin and garlic powder. Protein and fiber for very few calories.

Fakes, the Greek lentil soup that's the gentlest way back to solid food. Brown lentils simmered soft with tomato, oregano and bay, then lifted at the end with a slug of red wine vinegar and good olive oil.

Mashed spiced black beans and corn folded into tortillas and pressed in a dry pan until crisp. Fifteen minutes and mostly from the cupboard.

Dried hibiscus steeped briefly, sweetened while hot and chilled hard: tart, cranberry-deep and an almost unreasonable red. The most common agua fresca in Mexico.

Chickpeas simmered in coconut milk with thyme and allspice, finished with spinach. Mellow, quick, and entirely from cans and a bag of leaves.

Oat-flour pancakes built on a scoop of vanilla plant protein and soy milk, sweetened by a mashed ripe banana rather than sugar. Cooked as small rounds so the soft batter flips cleanly. Light to eat but genuinely filling. Batch a pile of them and reheat through the week.

Soda chanh: lime juice and sugar syrup in a tall glass, topped with soda water and stirred at the table. Three ingredients, correctly assembled.

A one-pot Louisiana classic, plant-based. The "holy trinity" of onion, celery and green pepper softened in oil, then rice toasted with Cajun seasoning and smoked paprika and simmered with tomatoes, kidney beans and stock until every grain is tender. Optional vegan sausage pushes the protein higher.

Rice cooked in coconut milk with kidney beans, thyme, allspice and a whole chili left in for perfume rather than heat. The side dish that turns any plate Caribbean.

Chia seeds left to swell in vanilla-sweetened plant milk until thick and spoonable, layered with crushed berries. Five minutes of work the night before.

Canned tomatoes and white beans simmered with garlic then blended smooth, so the beans do the work of cream. Fifteen minutes of cooking and almost nothing to chop.

Dried chrysanthemum flowers and goji berries steeped into a pale gold, honeyed-floral tea, served cold with the softened berries still in the glass.

Choux-style dough piped straight into hot oil, rolled in cinnamon sugar and dipped in thick drinking chocolate. Crisp ridges, soft middle.

Chickpeas, tahini, garlic and lemon blended smooth, loosened with aquafaba (the liquid from the chickpea can) so it stays creamy without extra fat. Served with carrot, cucumber and pepper sticks.

A crunchy chopped salad of tomato, cucumber and herbs with shards of toasted pita, dressed in lemon, sumac and pomegranate molasses. Sharp and refreshing.

A fierce, unfermented ginger beer: fresh ginger blended, steeped and strained into a syrup, then topped with soda water. All of the heat, none of the waiting.

Chickpea flour whisked into a spiced onion base until it becomes a thick, smoky, deeply savory stew. One of the fastest genuinely great things you can cook from a cupboard.

Chunks of fresh coconut boiled in ginger sugar until the syrup thickens, then dropped in spoonfuls and left to set hard. Chewy, sticky and very Jamaican.

Lemon juice and a whole bunch of mint blitzed with ice into a pale-green frozen slush. The drink of every Levantine summer street.

Eggplants burnt black over a flame until the flesh collapses, then beaten with tahini, lemon and garlic. Smoky, loose and nothing like a puree of raw eggplant.

Red lentils collapsing into coconut milk with Caribbean curry powder, thyme and sweet potato. Ready in half an hour and thick enough to eat with a fork.

Chewy, dense squares of glutinous rice flour and coconut milk, baked rather than pounded, with a clean bitter edge from good matcha.

Sharp apples baked under a thick, buttery oat rubble until the juices bubble up the sides. The one everybody actually wants.

Ripe watermelon blended with water and lime into something lighter and more drinkable than juice. Five minutes of work and it tastes like the middle of summer.

Indian lemonade, made savory with black salt and roasted cumin. Sweet, sour, salty and faintly smoky. The fastest cure there is for a hot afternoon.

Egypt's national dish: rice, lentils and pasta layered together under a sharp spiced tomato sauce and a heap of crisp fried onions. Carbohydrate on carbohydrate, and completely justified.

Griddled corn cakes with a crisp shell and a soft, steamy middle, split open and stuffed with cumin-spiked black beans and mashed avocado.

Green mango simmered soft, pulped, and spiced with cumin and black salt into a pale, tart-savory cooler. Drunk across North India specifically to survive the summer.

Green beans blistered in a hot pan until they wrinkle and char in places, then tossed with garlic, soy and sesame. Ten minutes, one pan, and they disappear.

Crisp at the edge, soft in the middle, with seams of melted dark chocolate. Chopping a bar instead of using chips is what gives you the puddles.

Fudgy, properly dark brownies with ribbons of tahini swirled through the top. The sesame cuts the sweetness and makes them taste grown-up.

Short-grain rice simmered slowly in coconut milk until it collapses into something thick, creamy and barely sweet, scented with cinnamon and vanilla.

Herby, crisp-edged falafel baked instead of fried, piled into a bowl with salad and a swoosh of tahini. All the flavor, none of the pan of hot oil.

Collards braised slowly with onion, garlic, ginger and turmeric until they turn silky and sweet. Mild, garlicky and green. The calm dish on an Ethiopian plate.

Greens stewed down with coconut milk, thyme and okra until soft and glossy. Mellow, rich and green. The Caribbean answer to creamed spinach.

Boricha: roasted barley simmered into a nutty, toasty, faintly sweet brown tea, drunk cold all summer instead of water. No sugar at all.

Soft yellow lentils finished with a tadka: whole spices bloomed in hot oil and poured over at the last second, so it hits the surface and sizzles.

Smoky, garlicky and thick enough to stand a spoon in. Cheap store-cupboard beans turned into something that tastes like it simmered all day.

Bruised lemongrass and ginger simmered into a fragrant, faintly citrus syrup, then chilled and lengthened with lime. Clean and grassy rather than sweet.

Very ripe bananas mashed into a spiced batter and fried into soft, craggy rounds. Ten minutes, and the blacker the bananas the better.

Sweet, slowly-sweated leeks and floury potatoes blended into a thick, comforting soup. No cream needed: the potato does all of it.

Frozen edamame pods boiled for five minutes and tossed with flaky salt, chili flakes and a little toasted sesame oil. One of the highest-protein snacks you can make from a freezer bag.

Five minutes, one blender, no cooking. Ripe avocado and cocoa whipped into a mousse so dark and silky nobody will guess the base. Chill it and it sets like the real thing.

Elderflower cordial cut with lemon, cucumber and mint over a lot of ice. Barely a recipe, and the most refreshing thing in the book.

Gunpowder green tea brewed strong over a fistful of spearmint, sweetened hot and poured over ice. Bracing, fragrant and very sweet, as it should be.

A pale, fragrant cordial of lemon, sugar and rose water, diluted to order. Floral and cold and old-fashioned, and it keeps for weeks.

Soft olive-oil-poached potatoes and onion set in a chickpea-flour batter, cooked slowly until the middle is just custardy. Good hot, better at room temperature.

Deeply browned mushrooms in a creamy, smoky, mustard-sharpened sauce over pasta. The whole dish turns on getting real color on the mushrooms first.

A smooth, golden lentil soup finished with paprika butter and a hard squeeze of lemon. Cheap, fast, and one of the most comforting bowls there is.

Cold buckwheat noodles in a nutty sesame dressing, loaded with edamame and crunchy raw vegetables. Fifteen minutes, and it is better after an hour in the fridge.

Cool, herby and thick enough to cling, with the sharpness that makes ranch worth having. Better after an hour in the fridge, and better still the next day.

Soft-centered, crisp-edged and rolled in sugar rather than iced, with lemon zest cutting the sweetness. Pale is the point.

A dark, spongy apricot-jam pudding that has hot cream sauce poured over it the moment it leaves the oven and drinks the lot.

Tortillas crisped in a pan and then folded through warm salsa verde just long enough to soften at the edges without collapsing. Topped with black beans, avocado, onion and lime.

Shop-bought gnocchi roasted straight from the packet with cherry tomatoes until the gnocchi crisp at the edges and the tomatoes burst into a sauce. One tray, no boiling.

Gnamakoudji: raw ginger blended, steeped and strained, then sharpened with lime and sweetened. Sold ice-cold on every roadside from Bamako to Abidjan.

Green beans in a proper mushroom cream sauce made from scratch, under a lid of crisp fried onions. No condensed soup anywhere near it.

A generous vegetable soup with beans and small pasta, built on a slowly softened base of onion, carrot and celery. The kind of pot that improves every time you reheat it.

A silky, deep green spinach curry with cubes of golden pan-fried tofu folded through it. All the comfort of palak paneer with none of the dairy.

A plain sponge drenched in three milks until it is barely holding together, topped with whipped cream. Soaked, not soggy. The distinction is everything.

Strawberries crushed into lemonade with a handful of basil. The basil sounds odd and is the entire reason to make it.

Chewy, flaky layered flatbreads shot through with scallion, fried until blistered and served with a sharp dipping sauce. The rolling technique is what makes the layers.

A whole celery root scored deep, rubbed with oil and thyme and roasted slowly until the outside goes mahogany and crackling and the inside turns sweet and custardy. It comes to the table whole and gets carved like a joint.

A patty pressed thin against a screaming hot pan until the whole underside turns to lace and crust. Cheese, pickles, and a bun that has seen butter.

The Egyptian breakfast: fava beans warmed through and crushed roughly in their own liquid, sharpened with lemon and garlic, then flooded with olive oil and scattered with tomato and parsley. Eaten with bread, out of the same bowl.

Peppers and onions softened down with harissa and white beans until jammy. One pan, big flavor, and almost entirely from cupboard and freezer.

A proper Sunday project: a dark, savory lentil and mushroom base under a mash lid, browned hard on top. Feeds six and reheats beautifully.

Crisp cubes of tofu in a sun-dried tomato cream sauce that tastes like it took an hour. It takes half of one, and that is the reason people keep making it.

Thick, dark and sweet, with molasses behind it and enough vinegar to keep it from cloying. The kind that goes on in the last five minutes so it does not burn.

Warm waxy potatoes, sliced into thick rounds and dressed while still hot in a sharp mustard-and-vinegar dressing loosened with stock, sharpened with finely diced yellow onion. No mayonnaise anywhere near it.

Mushrooms browned hard, then a quick miso broth poured over thick udon. Deeply savory for something that takes twenty minutes and five ingredients.

A tangy green broth built from blistered tomatillos and chilies, poured over chewy hominy and white beans. The raw garnishes (cabbage, radish, lime) are half the dish, not decoration.

Whole pears simmered in spiced red wine until stained crimson to the core, then served in their own reduced syrup. Almost no work and looks like a great deal of it.

No cooking, one bowl, fifteen minutes. Chickpeas, cucumber, tomato and kalamata olives tossed in a sharp lemon and red wine vinegar dressing, with plenty of parsley and mint. Holds its own as a light lunch or shrinks to a side.

Bananas simmered in coconut milk with palm sugar and pandan until the syrup goes thick and caramel-brown. A bowlful of warm comfort.

Orzo cooked risotto-style in stock so it comes out creamy without cream, finished with frozen peas, lemon and a lot of mint. One pot, twenty minutes.

Tall, flaky biscuits under a peppery white gravy full of browned sausage. The Sunday breakfast that ruins the rest of the day, in the best way.

Cannellini or butter beans forked into a chunky, garlicky spread with olive oil and lemon, piled onto good toast and topped with sliced tomato, herbs and chili flakes. Ten minutes, and far more filling than it looks.

Fried tofu dragged through a cayenne paste made with the frying oil itself, so the heat goes on hot and stays glossy. Served the proper way, on soft white bread with pickles.

A fragrant tomato, lentil and chickpea soup thick with herbs and finished with lemon. Traditionally eaten to break the fast during Ramadan, and restorative at any time.

The peels people throw away, scraped clean, forked into strands and cooked down with smoked paprika and barbecue sauce until they go dark, sticky and unnervingly meaty. It costs nothing and it convinces almost everybody.

A thick, glossy, faintly sweet curry sauce over rice, with soft potato and carrot. Mild by design and deeply comforting. Japan's favorite home dinner.

A hearty one-skillet breakfast: sweet potato diced small and browned until tender, then folded through smoky paprika, cumin and black beans. High-fiber, high-protein, and it holds you well into the afternoon.

Flaky hand pies filled with deeply browned mushrooms, onion and olives. The filling must be cold and dry before it goes near the pastry, or the parcels burst in the oven.

The North Indian kidney bean curry that's built for batch cooking: onions taken deep golden, tomatoes cooked until the oil separates, and a few beans mashed against the pan for a thick, creamy gravy without a drop of cream.

A parsley salad first and a grain salad second: bright, lemony and green, with just enough bulgur to give it body. The kind of thing that makes everything else on the table taste better.

Garlicky white beans wilted down with kale and lemon in a single pan. Substantial, cheap, and on the table in twenty minutes.

Cauliflower roasted hard with shawarma spices until the edges blacken, piled into warm pita with pickles, salad and a garlicky tahini sauce.

The Ethiopian red lentil stew. Almost nothing in it, and yet the berbere and a genuinely long onion cook do all the heavy lifting.

Cornstarch-dusted tofu fried until the edges shatter, then tumbled in a glossy teriyaki glaze that thickens around it in seconds. Steamed broccoli and rice make it dinner.

Milk-powder dumplings fried dark and drowned in cardamom-rose syrup, served warm so they are still drinking it in. Sticky, floral and completely over the top.

Grated sweet potato baked slowly with coconut milk and warm spice into a dense, sliceable pudding with a dark, sticky top.

Roasted jerk-spiced jackfruit shreds like slow-cooked meat, over coconut rice and black beans. Big flavors, mostly from a jar and a tin.

Watermelon and mango cut small and salted early so they give up their water in a colander rather than in the bowl, then tossed with red onion, chili, lime and cilantro. Sweet, sharp and hot at once, and it stays a salsa instead of collapsing into juice.

Good bread toasted hard, rubbed with a cut clove of garlic, then with the cut face of a ripe tomato until the crumb is stained red. Salt, olive oil, and nothing else.

Soba, edamame and broccoli in a light soy-sesame dressing, served warm or cold. About as fast as dinner gets.

Hibiscus steeped with ginger, clove and orange peel. The Caribbean Christmas drink, deep red and warmly spiced rather than simply tart.

Chewy, hearty and heavily cinnamoned, with the oats left whole so they keep their bite. Better on the second day.

Rice simmered far past the point of holding its shape, until the grains collapse into a loose, savory porridge. Ginger goes in at the start and scallions at the end, and every bowl is finished with soy and a few drops of sesame oil.

Buttered rye griddled around a plant burger, melting vegan cheddar, deeply caramelized onions and a tangy special sauce. Full indulgence. The diner classic, done plant-based.

Plaited dough fried gold and plunged straight into ice-cold syrup, so the outside stays crisp while the inside floods sweet.

Buttery semolina shortbread stuffed with spiced date paste. Traditionally pressed in carved wooden molds; a fork and a steady hand do fine.

A creamy vegetable and chickpea filling under a lid of puff pastry that shatters when you cut it. Everything about it is comfort, including the smell.

Shan tofu: chickpea flour whisked into water, cooked until it thickens like polenta, then poured out to set into a silken, faintly yellow block. No soy, no coagulant, no pressing. Sliced and dressed, it is nothing like the tofu you know.

Split mung beans simmered soft, then finished with coconut milk and a little sugar until the whole pot turns creamy. A sweet, gentle breakfast eaten across Southeast Asia, warm or at room temperature.

Couscous steamed in a spiced tomato and chickpea broth in the same pot. No draining, no timing, and it is done in twenty minutes.

A deep red paprika stew of mushrooms, peppers and potato, finished with a swirl of plant cream. The paprika goes in off the heat, which is the trick nobody mentions.

A tray of vegetables roasted hard, spooned over shop-bought hummus with lemon and parsley. Assembly more than cooking, and endlessly adaptable.

Smoky, garlicky and the color of terracotta. Five minutes of work that makes fries, burgers and roast vegetables taste like somebody planned ahead.

Lentils and rice cooked together under a heap of deeply caramelized onions, warmed with cumin, coriander and a whisper of cinnamon. The most filling plate in the set: the lentils make it stick with you far longer than rice alone.

A plain, damp cake carried by good olive oil and a lot of orange zest. Keeps for days and is better with coffee than with cream.

Thin, lacy gram-flour pancakes studded with onion, tomato, chili and cilantro. High-protein, naturally gluten-free, and on the plate in twenty-five minutes.

Lentils and finely chopped mushrooms cooked down in a sweet, tangy tomato sauce until they hold together on a bun. Deliberately messy; that is the whole idea.

Curry powder bloomed in oil until it perfumes the whole kitchen, then chickpeas and potato simmered in coconut until soft and golden. Warming, cheap and quietly fiery.

Rice and cinnamon soaked overnight, blended and strained into a cloudy, faintly sweet, milky drink. Served very cold, it is the standard partner to anything spicy.