Moilee probably originates with the Nasrani Christians of Kerala, who usually cook it with fish. Our minimalist yet refined recipe showcases similarly delicate, assertive plant-based ingredients, from kale to nutty chickpeas. Vibrant aromas of curry leaf and turmeric harmonise with our spice tarka's depth and intrigue.

Paneer is an unaged savoury cheese with a unique texture that stands up to high temperatures without melting. Barbecue-esque Indian home cooking has inspired this fiery roasted paneer and peppers in a mouth-watering tandoori marinade, balanced with a soothing yoghurt and herb dip.

Tender Okra, fluffy potato, a three-layer base of tarka herbs, spices and chilli, all simmered in coconut milk and squeezed with lime for a sauce that is refreshing, riotous and reassuring in equal measure.

Known elsewhere in India as lauki, ‘Doodhi’ is the Gujarati name for the bottle gourd, and means ‘milky’, probably due to the vegetable’s mild taste and creamy texture. Combined with the nuttiness of shelled, split black chickpeas (channa dal), it’s a soothing, buttery alchemy of nutritious plant-based ingredients.

Makhani is a Hindi term meaning ‘with butter’. Our vegetarian dhal makhani is therefore a tantalisingly black lentil curry packed with flavour and served with traditional roti breads

Teriyaki is almost as ubiquitous as ketchup, its acidic smack of salty-sweet, caramel-dark flavour making it a versatile seasoning, condiment or dipping sauce. Gently spiced sweet potato and clean, crisp pak choi are the perfect side dishes for these grilled and glazed Japanese pork skewers.

Known in China as yuxiang or ‘fish-fragrant’ aubergines, this tender, spicy and vibrantly red dish doesn’t actually smell of the sea. One of the official flavour combinations of Sichuan cuisine, ‘fish-fragrant’ sauce is so-called because of its historic use in fish dishes. These days, however, aubergines are the most popular partner for this sour, sweet and pungent mix of chilli paste and black vinegar with lashings of chopped garlic, ginger and spring onion. Though typically spicy, the key to fish-fragrance is allowing time for its mouth-coating, gently complex flavours to soak into the tenderly braised aubergines

Before the war, chicken was a delicacy in Korea, stewed with gentle aromatics like ginseng for special occasions. But starting in the 1960s, chicken came to symbolise post-war abundance and stability— the latter is perhaps ironic, given that it’s typically served as an anju (drinking food) and nicknamed chimaek (‘chicken with beer’). Many chicken hofs (pubs) deep-fry their wings, but for a less hectic weeknight dinner we recommend roasting! There are plenty of variations on Korean chicken, from lightly battered to rotisserie-roasted, but this sticky, spicy yangnyeom glaze is our favourite way to grapple with these iconic crispy wings.

In many ways, the idea of poaching chicken goes against what our cooking schools or celebrity chefs might teach you— it doesn’t produce any crispy brown skin or roasty aroma. But in parts of Asia it’s not just a cooking method but an art form, with meat gently simmered until it is fully cooked yet utterly succulent, carrying a flavour that is somehow both delicate and intense. In Singapore this dish is known as ‘Hainanese Chicken Rice’ and served with a chilli dipping sauce, but we wanted to concentrate on a careful Cantonese-style balance of tender chicken, fragrant chicken-flavoured rice and tingly spring onion and ginger sauce.

Jjigae is based on the philosophy that the best way to feed a hungry table is by throwing every possible flavour and food group into one big potful of broth— a technique that has proven very popular among busy home cooks! Despite its rough-and-ready charm and simple ingredients, jjigae is a complex dish, both awakening and soothing the tastebuds with every spoonful. The fermented flavours of the smoky-sweet gochujang and soy sauce are essential to giving this version its enveloping mouthfeel and satisfying savouriness, helping to draw out the full tenderness of the slow-simmered pork belly.

This is a recipe for a beautiful Persian khoresh (stew) of hearty spinach and chickpeas flavoured with deeply aromatic black lime, the king of dried fruits. So why can’t we stop thinking about the humble rice dish on the side? Actually, despite its appearance, tahdig is the most coveted part of any Persian meal, a saffron-infused brittle of perfectly crisped up rice that’s peeled away from the bottom of the pot and upturned for serving. Don’t worry if yours doesn’t end up picture-perfect. Cooking tahdig is always a combination of skillful feat and happy accident, and even experienced chefs are at the mercy of its mysterious whims.

Burmese food is often described as a combination of neighbouring Indian, Chinese and Thai cuisines, but perhaps this is just a matter of familiarity— if Burmese food had taken off in Britain first, we’d all be describing lemongrass and turmeric as our favourite Burmese ingredients. Burmese cooks make it all seem effortless, foregoing complicated curry pastes or spice layering techniques in favour of a simple yet carefully balanced approach: decent handfuls of good ingredients thrown into the same pot, as with this deliciously sweet-creamy-fragrant curry and its combined tomato and coconut gravy.

While fried rice can be traced back over a thousand years to China’s Sui dynasty, its reputation as a dish is not exactly auspicious. Originally a way of mixing together the leftovers of the previous night’s various delicacies into one quick, hearty lunch, if fried rice ever appears during a formal meal, it’s usually trotted out at the end, to signal the host’s generosity in serving the more expensive, refined dishes first. Still, no matter how impressive the banquet, we’ll always leave some room for fluffy, crispy fried rice infused with all the meaty flavours from the frying pan, subtly seasoned and scattered with spring onions.

Mapo tofu was named after a pockmarked (ma-zi) old woman (popo) restaurateur in Chengdu. Passing oil sellers carrying their wares to the markets would stop by for a quick meal, handing her their own ingredients and challenging her to improvise. This explosive dish was the most popular result. The black beans and chilli paste offer more than enough umami flavour to make the tofu richly satisfying, its silky textural caress disguising the bold, peppery ma la (numbing heat) waiting to jump out. Our added peas supply just enough of a sweet note to keep you coming back for more of that Sichuan fire

Now a full-fledged celebrity chef with an MBE to boot, it’s hard to believe that Romy Gill opened her first restaurant just 6 years ago. But she spent decades plotting and perfecting her skills. Her journey began when, homesick in the UK, a bad experience at a local Indian restaurant instilled in her the ambition of showing Britain that Indian cuisine should be about fresh ingredients and nuanced, comforting flavour. Zaika is Romy’s debut book, a tribute to the ‘simple yet delicious’ plant-based food she grew up with in West Bengal. This sabzi turns hearty, savoury green banana into the vehicle for a tangy, rich and fragrant flavour bonanza.

In Chengdu, Sichuan, the memory of traditional home cooking is kept alive in small eateries nestled among the back alleys and side streets— so-called ‘fly restaurants’, probably named more for their size than for any concerns about hygiene. ‘Fly restaurants’ offer a warm welcome to all comers, an unpretentious hole-in-the-wall ambience and a full slate of familiar local dishes. This braised pork belly is infused with comforting star anise and cinnamon as well as bracingly spicy chilli bean paste. The carrots absorb flavour until they’re just as meaty as the pork itself, making for a humble stew that is far more than the sum of its parts.

Nasi goreng (‘fried rice’) was never meant to be put on a pedestal— originally, it was simply a means of using up leftover rice and scraps of meat from last night’s dinner. Never ones to waste the opportunity for a good meal, though, Indonesians honed and refined the process until nasi goreng became a world-famous dish for any time of day, flavour-packed with kecap manis, an Indonesian soy sauce boosted with the molasses-like flavour and languid viscosity of native palm sugar. Fried with shallot, crispy onion, plenty of chilli and dark soy-marinated chicken, our nasi goreng is the ultimate in earthy, sticky, sometimes crispy indulgence.