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Chicken thighs are marinated briefly with turmeric, ginger-garlic paste, yogurt and a pinch of red chilli. A dry-roast of poppy seeds, sesame seeds, coconut, fennel, coriander and dried red chillies is ground with a splash of water into a coarse paste. The base is built with shallots, curry leaves and tomato; the chicken is browned in stages; and the masala paste is folded in for the long, gentle simmer. Tamarind and a curry-leaf temper finish.
Lamb mince mixes with grated onion, parsley, allspice, baharat, pine nuts (optional) and salt. Pita pockets split open along one side; the filling presses thin (5-6 mm) into both halves. Brushed with olive oil; pan-fried or grilled hot 3-4 minutes per side until the bread is crisp and gold and the meat is just cooked.
Chicken poaches in a heavily spiced broth (saffron, ginger, cinnamon, lemon). The shredded meat returns to a reduced sauce thickened with beaten eggs to make a soft set. Toasted almonds with sugar and cinnamon form a layer. Everything wraps in butter-brushed filo, baked golden, and dusted with icing sugar and cinnamon.
Beef Bourguignon is the quintessential French braise, tender beef cubes slow-cooked in a Burgundy wine sauce enriched with pearl onions, mushrooms, and lardons. The combination of wine, beef stock, and a delicate flour thickening creates a deeply savory sauce that clings to the meat. This dish exemplifies classic French technique: patient cooking, careful skimming, and the balance of richness with restraint.
The defining British dinner-party showpiece, somewhere between French haute cuisine and English roast tradition, made famous in the modern era by Gordon Ramsay even if the Iron Duke himself probably never ate it. You sear a centre-cut beef fillet hard for colour, smear it with English mustard, wrap it in a tight blanket of mushroom duxelles and prosciutto, then encase the lot in all-butter puff pastry and roast at high heat. The pastry insulates the beef so it cooks gently to medium-rare while the crust crisps to deep mahogany above. The one technical trick the recipe insists on is drying the duxelles thoroughly so the pastry stays crisp underneath rather than going soggy from leaking mushroom water. Sliced at the table into thick rosy rounds, with a red-wine jus and roasted root vegetables on the side, the kind of plate that makes the evening feel like a special occasion before anyone says it.
Each vegetable cooks separately and gets dressed with sesame oil, garlic and soy. They arrange in colourful piles around a mound of rice; an egg fries on top. Gochujang sauce on the side. Diners mix vigorously before eating.
Bread is soaked in milk; mince is browned with onions; curry powder, turmeric and Cape Malay spices bloom. Apricot jam, mango chutney, vinegar and lemon balance the spice with sweet-sour notes. Raisins, toasted almonds and the soaked bread are folded through. The mixture is pressed into a baking dish; eggs are whisked with the leftover milk and poured over; bay leaves are stuck into the surface; the lot is baked until the topping is just-set with a faint wobble.
The Burmese take on the South Asian samosa, with a thinner, crisper pastry and a milder filling than its Indian cousin. You make a hot-water dough that rolls out very thin so the fried shell ends up glassy and crisp rather than bready. The filling is mild by Indian standards: turmeric, ginger, fried onion and a whisper of cumin folded into mashed potato and peas, finished with crushed peanuts for the nuttiness that marks the Burmese version. The triangles fry at moderate heat until amber and crackling, the pastry blistering as it goes. Eaten hot dipped in tamarind sauce, or torn into chunks for a samusa-thoke salad later.
The Southern Sunday dinner that defined a region. You start the night before, sinking bone-in chicken pieces into a buttermilk brine spiked with hot sauce and garlic so the acid tenderises the meat and the seasoning works its way deep. The next day comes the double-dredge: a roll through heavily-seasoned flour, a brief dip back in the buttermilk, then another roll through the flour, which is what gives the finished bird its craggy, almost lacy crust. Into 175°C oil for twelve to fifteen minutes per piece, turned every few minutes so the crust browns evenly. You're done when the coating is deep mahogany and a thermometer in the thigh reads 75°C. Drain on a wire rack rather than paper so the steam escapes and the crust stays shattering. Eat hot with a stack of pickles, a soft biscuit and a bottle of hot sauce on the table; cold the next day at the kitchen counter is its own justified American ritual.
Aubergine cubes are salted to weep, fried hard in olive oil to deep gold, and reserved. A separate pan is used to soften diced onion and sliced celery in olive oil; garlic joins briefly; chopped tomatoes simmer with red wine vinegar and sugar to make the agrodolce base. Green olives, capers, sultanas (optional) and toasted pine nuts are stirred in. The fried aubergine is returned and simmers for 10 minutes to meld. Off heat, fresh basil is scattered. Rested at least 2 hours (ideally overnight) before serving at room temperature.
When cooking Chinese food, it's essential to think about the flavours and textures of ingredients working in harmony. Juicy chicken combined with succulent baby corn, tender vegetables, and salty, crunchy cashew nuts create a balanced dish where each element complements the others. A glossy sauce ties everything together without overwhelming delicate flavours.
A bright and spicy Sri Lankan-inspired curry with a curry-house spin, featuring aromatic spices, coconut, and fresh curry leaves. It works beautifully as a banquet dish and can be extra hot with extra bird’s eye chillies and chilli powder. The subtle sweet-tang tuning makes it a favorite with rice and mild dhal.
A creamy, nutty British-Indian korma that uses both block coconut and coconut flour for depth and body. This curry is rich yet balanced, with mild heat and a hint of sweetness from sugar, banana and rose water. Serve with white rice and a mild dhal for the full experience.
This is a hugely popular dish at Thai restaurants and takeaways, and my family love it. It is important to cut the chicken pieces so that they are about the same size as the cashews (although this is more for presentation as large chunks also work fine). You can mix the sauce and fry the cashews, chillies and chicken a day or so in advance, making this a dish you can cook up very quickly after work with little mess. The first time I tried making this recipe, I burnt the cashews and chillies. Don’t make the same mistake or you’ll have to start all over again. They don’t take long to colour in the oil and cashews aren’t cheap, so keep an eye on them. Although there’s nothing stopping you from doing so, the dried and fried chillies are not meant to be eaten. I like to serve this curry with jasmine rice.
A xacuti masala is built by dry-roasting fresh coconut to a deep mahogany brown alongside a long list of whole spices (Kashmiri and byadgi chillies, coriander, cumin, fennel, peppercorns, cinnamon, cloves, star anise, mace) and grinding them with onion, garlic and ginger into a black-brown paste. The chicken is browned briefly, the paste added, water poured in to cook the chicken through, and tamarind stirred in to finish. The trick is in the roast: the coconut should be almost-burnt, with the bitterness offset by the tamarind.
Two-stage flavour build: first a spice infusion (whole spices soaked briefly in water, then simmered slowly in vegetable oil with spring onion and ginger), then a sizzle (the hot strained oil poured over a heat-proof bowl of chilli flakes, smoked paprika, soy and Chinese vinegar). Cooling. Mixing in the textural elements: caster sugar, salt, chicken stock powder, crispy fried shallots and crispy fried garlic. Jarred, rested 24 hours so the flavours marry, stirred vigorously before each use because the oil and solids separate.