Browse recipes

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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 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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

Maple syrup infused with chili and a little vinegar until it is sweet, hot and sharp all at once. The vegan answer to hot honey, and it goes on everything.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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

A thick, gently spiced lentil stew softened with squash-sweet carrot and finished with a hard squeeze of lime. Everyday Peruvian home cooking: cheap, filling and quietly excellent.

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.

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

Warm coconut-sweetened glutinous rice with cold ripe mango and a salty coconut sauce poured over. The salt is what makes it.

Fresh pineapple blended with ginger and lime into a thick, golden punch. Sweet, sour and hot all at once, and it takes ten minutes.

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

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

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

The Provençal summer-vegetable stew, cooked the honest way: each vegetable browned so it keeps its character, then folded together to melt into a glossy, herby whole.

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.

Very ripe plantains fried until the sugars caramelize into dark, sticky edges and the middles turn to custard. Three ingredients and about ten minutes.

A spicy vegetable relish of onion, pepper, carrot and beans in a curried tomato base. Served hot or cold alongside almost anything, and better the next day.

Giant white beans baked slowly in a sweet tomato sauce with dill and plenty of olive oil, until the top catches and the beans turn to cream. Greek taverna cooking at its simplest.

A dark, herby, aggressively savory spiced water: mint, cilantro, tamarind and roasted cumin. Drunk as an appetiser, and it genuinely works as one.

Tortillas toasted flat until they snap, spread with warm cumin-spiked black beans and topped with avocado, red onion and lime. Fifteen minutes, mostly from the cupboard.

Ripe mango blended with plant yogurt and a pinch of cardamom into a thick, cold, barely-sweet drink. The traditional partner to anything 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.

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