Browse recipes

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

A blender sauce of soaked cashews and nutritional yeast that clings to every elbow of pasta: properly creamy, savory and comforting, with not a plastic slice of vegan cheese in sight.

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

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.

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

The most shareable thing in the booklet: a tray of tortilla chips scattered with cumin-spiced black beans, drizzled with blender cashew queso, then loaded with salsa, avocado, pickled jalapeños and cilantro.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

Raw almonds roasted low until fragrant, then tossed warm with smoked paprika, cumin and a pinch of cayenne. Filling and full of healthy fats. Portion them out.

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

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.

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

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.

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

Chickpea flour toasted in butter until it smells like biscuits, then rolled into sweet cardamom balls. No baking, no setting. Just patience at the pan.

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.

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

A fragrant, coconut-rich curry that comes together in the time it takes to cook rice. Sweet, salty, sour and hot, all balanced in one pan.

Pourable, molten and properly cheesy, with enough jalapeno to keep it interesting. It sets as it cools and loosens again with a splash of water.

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.

Numbing, savory and fast. Mushrooms stand in for the pork and nobody misses it. The chili bean paste and Sichuan pepper are doing the real work.

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

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.

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

Dense, short and deeply peanutty, marked with the traditional fork crosshatch. The fastest cookie here: there is no butter to cream.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Semolina toasted until it smells nutty, then cooked into a soft savory porridge with mustard seeds, curry leaves, ginger and cashews. It comes together in one pan in under half an hour.

Sesame paste and hot sugar syrup worked together until it sets into a dense, flaky slab that melts on the tongue. Three ingredients, one critical temperature.

Cool rice noodles under a pile of herbs, raw vegetables and crisp tofu, with a sharp lime-and-chili dressing poured over just before eating. A hot-weather dinner that never feels heavy.

Flattened rice rinsed until it softens, then tossed through a quick tempering of mustard seeds, curry leaves and turmeric with onion, potato and peanuts. Light, fast, and the standard weekday breakfast across much of western India.

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.

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.

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

Thick discs cut from king oyster stems, scored in a crosshatch so they drink up a nori and miso brine, then seared hard until the cut faces caramelize. The sea flavor comes from the brine, not the shape, which is the step most versions leave out.

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

Twenty minutes from fridge to foil. Black salt is what makes it taste unmistakably of eggs. Don't skip it.

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.

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

Coffee-soaked sponge layered with whipped cashew cream and a heavy dusting of cocoa. Assembled in twenty minutes, transformed by a night in the fridge.

Silky, garlicky and thick enough to coat every strand of pasta. Blended rather than cooked, so it takes about as long as boiling the water.

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

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.

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