Browse recipes

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

A clear, savory broth with silken tofu, shiitake and seaweed. The one rule is never to boil it once the miso goes in: that is what turns it flat and grainy.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Deep brown, glossy and savory enough to stand up to anything you pour it over. Built on properly browned mushrooms rather than on a stock cube.

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.

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.

Hot sauce, chickpeas and something creamy, baked until it bubbles at the edges. The thing that vanishes first at every gathering it turns up to.

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

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.

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