I’m a fan of scooping up relatively dry but still succulent, gently spiced minced (ground) meat with pliable, puffy or flaky bread. Even more so if eggs are involved. When craving this sort of thing, makhlama lahm (sometimes called ‘Iraqi eggs’) hits the spot every time.

This is a dish, a family favourite, that I cooked moreorless straight after I’d got off the plane after two months on the road, to signal and celebrate that I was truly home. It’s a simple one pot dish that brings comfort and joy, and it is my pleasure to share that with you. It’s so hard to be utterly precise and specific with this kind of cooking: if you’re feeding small children, for example, you may not want to add the chilli flakes. Similarly, you may want to use just one lemon, rather than the two I like. Your chicken may weigh more or less: the ones I get tend to vary between 1.5kg and 1.7kg / 3½lb and 3¾lbs. And although I have specified the casserole I have used, and always use, you obviously will use the one you have, which will make a difference to how quickly everything cooks, how much evaporation there will be, and so on. Don’t let these things trouble you unduly: this is a simple recipe that brings profound pleasure. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

Bear with me — as telephonists like to say — while I gush for a bit. This has to be the world's best omelette. I call it Corsican not because it stems from any in-depth research into, or indeed intimate knowledge of, the food of Corsica but because it is the adaptation, from memory, of the best thing I ate there on a holiday many years ago. In Corsica, the cheese used would be Brocciu, a soft, sharpish cheese made with ewe's milk and whey, but I find the best subsitute to be goat's cheese over here. Think of this more as a lunch or supper dish, although I wouldn't turn it down at any time of day. And please read the Additional Information section at the end of the recipe before proceeding. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

I thought I had exhausted the culinary possibilities of a pack of frozen peas, but my friend, and excellent cook, Alex Andreou, led me by the hand — it does take a leap of faith — to his method of using them, still frozen, as the first layer of a traybake. It’s a life-changer. The peas become soft and sweet in the heat — duller in colour, but so much more vibrant in flavour — and the steam they produce as they bake makes the chicken beautifully tender, its skin crackly and crisp on top. What’s key here is the size of the roasting tin. I wouldn’t go any smaller — measuring from inside rim to inside rim — than about 38 x 28cm / 15 x 11inches (a little larger is fine) as there needs to be space around the chicken thighs for the magic to happen. And please read the Additional Information section at the end of the recipe before proceeding. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

Orzo pasta is a non-negotiable staple in my kitchen. Simply dressed in butter and salt, and maybe a dusting of nutmeg or grated Parmesan, or indeed both, it often serves at my table as a substitute for rice or potatoes, and I regularly use it to cook what in Italian is pasta risottata, a kind of pasta risotto. It makes for wonderful, cosy one-pot dishes, of which this is a pre-eminent example. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

This chilli sauce is big — big flavour, big kick, big reward. The name, however, derives from the fact that the recipe was given to me by my brother-in-law, Jim, Jimbo to me, but often known teasingly as Jumbo due to his compact size. I cannot have enough of this. I love it with prawns, with cold chicken, with chips, with everything. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

These are rather like Eastern Mediterranean meatballs in sausage form, though you can come across them as fat burger-like patties, too. As loose-packed sausages, they’re formed around skewers and turned over an open flame. Since I rarely use a barbecue, but just stare at it being rained on in the garden, I simply fry them in a pan. And much as I like the long lollipop approach, I can’t make a skewer fit in the frying pan, so sausages — albeit highly seasoned and juicy sausages — it is. I don’t wish to be too prescriptive as to how you should eat them, but I roughly chop some tomatoes and parsley and mix them together in a bowl, to be brought to the table along with some shredded iceberg lettuce and an eye-poppingly intense garlic sauce. Eat them, hot-dog-style, wrapped in warm flatbread. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

These are breakfast pancakes summer-style, ridiculously light, and lemony somehow even without the addition of lemon. If you imagine the flavour of cheesecake combined with a texture that's best, if wordily, described as a kind of souffled griddle cake, you're somewhere near getting the measure of these. My tip, however, if to cut to the chase and make them yourself. Serve, outside if weather and property ownership permits, with some chopped ripe strawberries, partially crushed with a fork, tumbling on top. There is a vocal syrup-dousing contingent in my house, but in my view it mars their fabulous delicacy and, besides, the accompanying fruit allows you to delude yourself that these are healthy. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

This recipe is an ode to sumac — originally from Palestine, where they serve a whole chicken flavored with sumac on bread, topped with a whole lot of sumac-spiced onions. Using the same ingredients, I make a Syrian version by shredding the chicken, then frying it with onion and sumac and rolling it up in flatbread.

This has always been the Italian antipasto, and though you are more likely to come across it as the traditional combination of tonno and cannellini, I love the flecked terracotta of borlotti beans, giving you the colours of Tuscany on a plate. This makes a simple, speedy supper for two; all I'd want alongside is some good bread. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

My Yorkshire puddings have developed a reputation of their own on the blog, so naturally, they had to be in this book. Everyone loves them because they rise even more than muggle Yorkshire puds and they’re super crisp on the outside. Oh and they only need 3 simple ingredients! Vegetarian Low fodmap Dairy-free: use dairy-free milk | Lactose-free: use lactose-free milk TIP: You could use tapioca starch instead of cornflour. This recipe also works perfectly for toad in the hole!

This is an old favourite — chicken cooked "the hunter's way" — which grants a certain amount of culinary licence, although Italians might not agree. My version is traditional enough, only speeded up and simplified. The unexpected deviation lies in the addition of a can of cannellini beans, which, in effect, turns it into a quick, one-pot, all-inclusive supper. Having said that, I also adore it — as do my children — with plain steamed rice. Whatever, when I cook this, I know I can count on getting tea on the table from scratch in about half an hour. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

I would be remiss if I didn’t include a leche flan recipe in this book! Although there’s a wide array of renditions of this dessert from around the world, I believe Filipino leche flan is the richest of them all. I’m relieved that my dad was able to write down his recipe for me when I first released my zine, flipped: matamis. My friend Meghan also graciously shared her nani Ramila’s chai masala recipe to incorporate into this flan. The mix of warm spices complements the sweetness of this egg custard. You can bake the leche flan in classic llaneras, the traditional oval-shaped metal pans from the Philippines, but I like using a heart-shaped aluminum pan for the cuteness of it.

This is not only the best way to start the day, but the best way to end it, too. You can make it even more of a meal by serving some refried beans alongside, but I love it just as it is. It also happens to be one of the greatest hangover cures around. You know, I'm tempted to consider overdoing it partywise just to have an excuse to whip up a batch of these. But then, they are so good that there is always a reason to eat them; no need to scout around for excuses. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

You can easily ask a butcher to spatchcock the chicken for you, but it isn’t difficult to do at home and can be curiously pleasurable. Just sit the chicken, breast-side down, on a board and press down a little until you hear a gratifying crunch. With a good pair of kitchen scissors or poultry shears, cut along each side of the backbone. Remove the backbone, then flip the chicken over and press down on the breast, to flatten it a little. The marinade infuses the chicken overnight with a deep and musky saltiness, but not spikily so; intense though miso most definitely is, it works subtly, bringing its caramelly saltiness to the meat. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

This is one of my favourite special suppers, and it's a fantastic way of making the treat of a steak go a lot further. And please read the Additional Information section at the end of the recipe before proceeding. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

It was in Australia — in Melbourne to be precise — that, under the auspices of George Calombaris, I ate the most fabulous chips: they’d been fried in garlicky oil and came sprinkled with dried mountain oregano and feta. It’s a sensational combo. Now, if you felt like doing some deep-frying, you could certainly make a panful of Tuscan Fries giving them this particular Greek spin by replacing the thyme, rosemary and sage with fresh oregano and scattering feta over them to serve, but for ease — and equal deliciousness — this is how I proceed. I chop unpeeled potatoes into small cubes, toss them in a shallow roasting tin — the shallowness is essential — with olive oil, garlic and dried oregano, and when they emerge from the oven burnished and crisp, I crumble feta over them and — should the season allow — and strew with fresh oregano. No deep-frying involved: deep happiness achieved. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

This is an Italian-inspired recipe that comes to me from Australia via Brazil. To explain: a Brazilian friend, and the best cook I know, Helio Fenerich made it for me, and I had to keep (rudely) asking him to carry on making it for me. Eventually, I begged him for the recipe, which he told me he’d found in Australia. The journey was certainly worthwhile: it is a complete winner; I go into auto-Parmesan-shortbread mode whenever I have friends coming for supper, as not only is it perfect with drinks, but it can be made in advance. Indeed, you can make the dough, wrap it and then leave in the fridge for up to 3 days before slicing and baking it as instructed below, although you will need to let these cheese-scented cylinders sit out on a kitchen surface just long enough to get the fridge-chill off them before slicing. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

Keema is a fantastically hangover-salving dish of spicy (usually lamb) mince; this version uses minced turkey and, more significantly, its heat is provided by the gochujang, the Korean chilli paste that I keep on hand to pep up a jaded palate or a pallid-flavoured ingredient. Being minced does not generally do turkey many favours, but the aromatic richness of the paste makes it sing. Supper's on the table in a matter of minutes; if you wanted to make it speedier, you would have to buy rice that's already been steamed and needs no more than a few turns in the microwave to heat it. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

This comes from the children’s food chapter of How to Eat, but it should certainly not be confined to the Kids’ Menu. It is a de-stressingly easy, fabulous tasting, one-pot meal that provides instant comfort. When my children were little, I didn’t add any parsley to this (one of them had nothing but affronted disdain for Green Bits) but please add a scattering of freshly chopped parsley to serve if you wish. And I pour over mine some fierce and glowingly orange chilli oil. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

These are those thick, spongy American pancakes that are often eaten with warm maple syrup and crisp fried bacon. I love them with the syrup alone, but if you do want bacon, I think streaky is best. You can easily cook these pancakes by dolloping the batter onto a hot griddle (smooth, not ridged, side) or heavy based pan. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

This is possibly one of the most ubiquitous pastries across the Middle East, and one of the most intimidating to Western cooks because of the stringy, vermicelli-like kataifi pastry that is used to make it. In fact, kunafa is such a simple dessert to make that it can be on the table within an hour of turning the oven on to heat. Traditionally, kunafa is made with akawi cheese, a salty, halloumi-like cheese common in the Middle East, but as it requires 48 hours of soaking time to draw out the salt I have suggested the more readily available mozzarella, which gives a similar result.

There are a few meals I can say I'm making that will make my children excited (or pretend to be), and this is one of them. Alongside there must be Pie Insides (which is what my daughter has always called leeks in white sauce) and for ultimate gratification, roast potatoes although I usually use goose fat for roast potatoes, I feel the pork belly allows, indeed encourages, the substitution of lard. I'm not convinced that with all that fabulous crackling you do need roasties as well, but I like to provide what makes people happy. I have advised an overnight marinade, but if I'm making this (as I tend to) for Sunday supper, I often prepare it in the morning and leave it in the fridge loosely covered with baking parchment, or midday-ish and leave it uncovered in a cold place (but not the fridge) for a few hours. And please read the Additional Information section at the end of the recipe before proceeding. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

If I hadn’t eaten the Turkish eggs at Peter Gordon’s restaurant, The Providores, I most certainly wouldn’t be tempted by the idea of poached eggs on Greek yogurt. I say that only to pre-empt any hesitancy on your part. For çilbir, pronounced “chulburr”, is a revelation and a complete sensation. If you can’t get the Aleppo pepper, also known as pul biber or Turkish red pepper flakes, which has a mild, almost sweet heat and a distinctive lemoniness, you could substitute paprika, adding a pinch of dried chilli flakes. But, in these days of online grocery shopping, I’d encourage you to go for the real thing. This is the recipe that helped me overcome my fear of poaching eggs (see additional info below). And please read the Additional Information section at the end of the recipe before proceeding. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

I adore simit and it really is the most quintessential Turkish snack. You can have simit for breakfast with a cup of çay (Turkish tea), sliced cucumber, tomatoes, beyaz peynir (our feta) and olives, or you can enjoy them for a mid-morning or afternoon snack. Turks mostly prefer savoury accompaniments to simit, although I must say it is also lovely with some butter and jam. Simit has always been so widely available that no one really attempted to make it at home, especially while I was growing up. Moving abroad in my late twenties, I greatly missed simit and was delighted to come across dear Leanne Kitchen’s recipe in her beautiful book, Turkey: Recipes and Tales From the Road. I have adapted Leanne’s simit recipe and have been making simit successfully thanks to her for over 13 years. Each time it brings a huge dose of home and joy back to me. It really is easy to make once you get the hang of the shaping — a popular one at my cookery classes.

Anytime I can produce a recipe that swaps out meat for a vegetable but gives equal satisfaction, I feel I have achieved something. Although I am not a vegetarian, I don’t want to eat meat every day, and with such abundance of fresh fruits and vegetables where I live, I like to take advantage of it. Also, it just makes you feel good to eat a lot of vegetables. Even if they are crumbed and fried in clarified butter. This could be served with so many things, but I would probably opt for a nice radicchio or rocket (arugula) salad.

This recipe for an easy, throw-it-all-together weekday supper or bolstering weekend breakfast comes from my long-time kitchen companion, Hettie Potter, and very grateful I am, too. Impressively, she makes this a single portion. I, no modest eater, feel it is perfectly substantial for two, though it is a little tricky to divide. Think of this as a pie that uses flour tortillas in place of pastry and, although I have given precise measures for what to chuck in, consider them guidance only. The same goes for the ingredients themselves: replace the ham with sliced leftover sausages or leave it out altogether, and use any cheese you like. All that really matters is that you can form a pie: whatever size tortillas you use, they have to be able to line your dish, and come at least 2cm / ¾ inch up the sides. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

I first came across these in a tapas bar in Barcelona about 100 years ago. Pa amb tomàquet in Catalan, they are, I suppose, a version of an Italian tomato bruschetta, but instead of having roughly chopped tomatoes tumbled onto the bread, the tomatoes are halved and rubbed onto it or, often pushed through a box grater. Here, however, and with apologies to all Catalans, the tomatoes are finely chopped to a fuzzy mush with which the bread is merely anointed. You want them practically pulverised, so by all means use a box grater as tradition dictates; I prefer to go at the tomatoes with a mezzaluna (a double-handled knife with a half-moon-shaped blade) and then mix them with the oil for ease. So long as you have a good, ripe, flavoursome tomato to start off with, you’ll produce glorious Catalan toasts no matter whether you grate or chop. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

It’s no secret that I love a chicken traybake — or sheet pan dinner, if you prefer — as those of you have made my Chicken Traybake with Bitter Orange and Fennel, Chicken and Pea Traybake, and One Pan Sage and Onion Chicken and Sausage know only too well. But this is another absolute favourite in my house, and I’m thrilled it has now found a home on the website. There is just something incontestably relaxing about bunging everything in a roasting tin and thence into the oven where it can cook merrily away without any input from you. And there is much less washing up at the end, too. Easy as this recipe is, I do require you to peel the potatoes. Now, I’m not one for peeling potatoes if I can get away with it generally, but here you want the cubes of potato not to crisp up in the oven but to drink in the spiced lime and chicken juices as they cook, becoming soft and soused. And should you have any chicken leftover, you can make one of my favourite sandwiches: for one chicken thigh (take the meat off the bone and then shred or chop it), you mix together a tablespoonful of mayo, a pinch of salt and a teaspoon each of garam masala and mango chutney; stir your shredded chicken into this and clamp between two pieces of bread. Finally, although you can make the pink-pickled onions just before you assemble the traybake, I like to do it a few hours in advance or even the night before. And to make these, simply cut a small red onion (or half a larger one) into fine half moons, cover with lime juice, and leave to steep, removing them from the lime juice to serve. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

A proper chicken shawarma — the spiced meat cooked on a spit, then stuffed with pickles, sauces, tomato and other salads into a flat bread wrap — is truly right up top on the God Tier of sandwiches. This, my improper version, is another proposition, but headily delicious in its own right. I marinate the chicken with lemon, garlic, oil and all the right spices but, for an easy meal at home, I cook it in the oven. I do serve it with pitta or other flatbreads, along with a divine sauce made simply by mixing together yogurt, tahini and more garlic, adding a sprinkle of pomegranate seeds if I have some. As you can see, I serve the chicken on a mound of shredded iceberg, and you could easily put a bowl of sliced tomatoes out on the table too and, if it took your fancy, another of pink-pickled onions (you can see the method for this in step 1 of the fish finger bhorta. Of course, you are free to add anything you may want alongside — you can never have too many pickles, in my book! — but whatever you do, provide plenty of napkins, and allow everyone to roll up or stuff their pittas as they wish. It’s the perfect indoor picnic! For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

Even if you have never baked anything in your life, you will be able to make these with untroubled ease. And I hate to say this — as someone with a once-serious Bahlsen habit — but they are so much better than anything out of a packet. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

On days when I want the warmth of the hearth rather than the hurly burly of the city streets I stay in and read cookery books, and this recipe comes from just the sort of book that gives most succour, Classic Home Desserts by Richard Sax. The cake itself is as richly and rewardingly sustaining: a melting, dark, flourless, chocolate base, the sort that sinks damply on cooling; the fallen centre then cloudily filled with softly whipped cream and sprinkled with cocoa powder. As Richard Sax says, "intensity, then relief, in each bite". For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

This magnificent addition to my eating life comes courtesy of Yasmin Othman (who has brought much deliciousness my way over the years) and I glow with gratitude every time I eat it. This — called masak lemak telur in Malaysian — is very far removed from the egg curries I remember from my early youth, and would much prefer to forget. What we have here are eggs poached in a rich, aromatic, turmeric-tinted, tamarind-sharp, coconutty sauce or soup. This has definite heat, but not eye-wateringly so. If you’d like it a bit milder, do not pierce the three whole finger chillies. And if you’d like it a lot milder, then you could de-seed the finger chilli that goes in the paste, and dispense with the whole ones in the soup. But even if, like me, you love fiery food, I don’t advise eating the whole chillies. I won’t stop you, but you have been warned. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

Qaranqasho is an Omani celebration that takes place on the 14th day of Ramadan, mainly across the north coast. Children dress up in traditional clothing and mothers prepare lots of nibbles and sweet baskets, then open up their doors to all. We call it Omani Halloween, where all the kids go “trick or treating” — but without the tricks! Everyone heads out after prayer time to visit friends, family and neighbours and collect sweets, little gifts and sometimes, if we’re very lucky, money. I got to celebrate one Ramadan as a child in Oman, and I still remember the excitement as we ran through the streets, looking to see how many sweets we could collect. Ramadan, specifically on Qaranqasho, is the only time of year you’ll see khaliat nahal. My Auntie Nasra always made this bread instead of sweets. She’d set out whole trays of it on a table and wait for the children to run up, tear away their part and eat it on the go. Even as adults, we still want this bread at Ramadan; we know what’s hidden inside, but there’s still a joyful element of surprise. Khaliat nahal (which means “honeycomb”) is a sweet, yeasted bread known for its honeycomb shape. This recipe is found in both Oman and Yemen; it’s always filled with cheese, but the syrups drizzled over differ from family to family.

Despite what you've read or choose to believe, there are lots of good ways to roast a chicken. This easy, slow-roasted method affords the bird a couple of hours to arrive at a shreddable tenderness reminiscent of rotisserie chicken. The chicken's perch on the oven rack lets heat circulate all around, while a side dish of potatoes, positioned just below, makes magic with all the chicken juices. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

A vital part of the Christmas Eve dinner in Norway, these pork ribs have the tenderest meat and the crunchiest crackling imaginable. You have to take a leap of faith when making them, as the idea of letting the rind get so wet in the course of cooking goes against every bit of advice you may have heard thus far about the importance of keeping it dry. This method is an absolute revelation. You need a big old slab of pork belly on the bone for this, which requires a visit to the butcher. And — this is essential — you will need to ask them to saw through the bones for you, as if about to divide the pork into three equal long strips, cutting through the bones and only a little way into the meat. What this gives you are a couple of narrow troughs, into which you press a paste of dill, garlic and juniper, which flavours the meat as it cooks, and which enable you, on serving, to cut the pork easily into chunky, crisp-topped, succulent slabs. Peeking out between the ribs in this photograph are roast quinces. And to make these — should you be able to lay hands on quince in the first place — you simply cut the quinces into quarters (or eighths if they’re big) and roast these in olive oil (or, indeed, any fat you like) for about 30 minutes a side in a 200°C/180°C Fan/400°F oven. To make my cooking life easier, I like to roast these a day or so ahead of time, and then I just reheat them by popping them (on a baking sheet) on a shelf below the pork for the last 15 minutes of its final blast in the oven, leaving them in there, too, with the oven turned off, while I cut up the ribs. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

While this started off as a little something to pick at over drinks when friends came over, it has long since escaped those confines in my house, for it makes a rather lovely lunch (or indeed supper) in the normal run of things. Of course there’s nothing to stop you just popping each plumptious patty into your mouth just as it is, but I like to wrap mine in a crisp lettuce leaf, like a juicy edible parcel. And there is nothing to stop you wrapping them in warmed flatbread, pitta, a couple of pieces of bread or a bun along with anything else you’d like; and do check out the Lamb Patties and Fried Chicken Sandwich for inspiration! You may need to be rather brutal with the lettuce as you tear the leaves off to provide the edible wrappers for the patties, so I suggest you need one to two icebergs. If you want to perk the leaves up a little, making sure they curve into appropriate respositories for later, leave them in a big bowlful of very cold water (throw in ice cubes too) for 20 minutes or so, or plunge them in before you make the patties, then make sure you drain them well before piling them up on their plate. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

This is a delicately perfumed confection: yes, a cake, but no ordinary cake; the fruit keeps it so tender and damp that it's as if it's been drenched in light, scented syrup. I've been bold with the amount of rosewater here but, with the pears and pistachios, it strikes only the most fluttering of floral notes. True, the amount of rose petals I strew on top makes it look as if you might just as well wear it on your head as eat it, but it's the sort of cake that invites exuberance. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

This cookie tastes like a narcissistic chorus line of citrus, salt and sugar vying for the lime (insert soft eye-roll) light. Let them duke it out and enjoy the full-tilt sherbetty tongue tingle. I like just a whisper of the frosting so the sandwich is more cookie than cream, but there’s some extra frosting if you prefer the converse ratio. This is a great recipe to use up those limes that have ripened to yellow — their humble acidity brings a touch of class to the show. The dough is counterintuitive to mainstream cookie techniques, but it gives these a buttery brittle snap; it’s a cinch to roll while cold and they hold great shape when baked.

This is really a tweaking of a fairly traditional rabbit recipe. The chicken is easier to come by in a supermarket, though, and more likely to please generally. You can leave the skin on or off the thighs, as you wish, but I think it’s important that the bone be left in. This is just my preference (I think it boosts flavour) but bear in mind that this is a pretty easy-going recipe, and you could use thigh fillets if that’s easier, or indeed — at the other end of the spectrum — a whole chicken, portioned. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

‘Fried', ‘Chicken' and ‘Sandwich’: three alluring enough words on their own; together, they promise pure unbridled pleasure. And frankly, that’s the only kind of pleasure I’m interested in. This is a treat that delivers in so many ways: the crunch of the coating; the tender, juicy, marinated meat; the spice that runs through both. Yes, it does involve deep-frying, which sounds stressful I know, but with only one chicken thigh to fry, it’s surprisingly unflustering. It’s up to you whether you eat this in a burger bun or bread: there are arguments to be made for either. If going for a burger bun, then make sure it’s a good one. And if it’s bread you want, you can’t do better than the Old-Fashioned Sandwich Loaf. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

Without getting into the vexed complexities of colonial history, there is a reason why Indonesian — or, more correctly, Dutch-Indonesian — food plays such an important part in the cultural life of Amsterdam. Dutch traders went to what is now Indonesia at the end of the 16th century — and stayed on, and from 1816 to 1941 it became a colony of the Netherlands government — the Dutch East Indies. It was when I first went to Amsterdam in my twenties, that I encountered (and ate a lot of) Rijstaffel, perhaps the most famous of all Dutch-Indonesian food, from the point of view of the hungry tourist at any rate, and which features rice with a staggering array of little dishes — up to 40, sometimes — which does not make it exactly cut out for a stress-free Christmas feast. But then I remembered a gorgeous Indonesian Biryani by Sri Owen (from her magisterial Rice Book) and thus inspired, I settled on a simplified version that is nonetheless a real party piece. I know a biryani sounds like a daunting undertaking, but it really doesn’t have to be. For one thing, you cook the chicken a day (or up to a couple of days) in advance, which breaks up the process into manageable tasks. Furthermore, not only will the flavours deepen and mellow overnight, but the chicken will be gorgeously tender. On top of which, it leaves you to do no more on the day itself than cook the rice — and for just two minutes! — then layer it up in a pan with the gently reheated chicken and steam it. And the marinade you start the chicken off with is an easy affair that relies predominantly on the punchy Indonesian chilli sauce Sambal Oelek and treacly Kecap Manis (see Additional Information, below). Sorry if I sound stern, but the chicken thighs absolutely must be on the bone, even if you plan to debone them before layering up them up with the rice: if you use thigh fillets the texture will be disappointingly dry and stringy. You have been warned! On a sunnier note, I absolutely urge you to make the Pineapple-Plus Salad with Rujak Dressing as an accompaniment. Its tangy freshness is the perfect complement to the sumptuous biryani. And should you want a vegan version, I have one for you in the form of my beautiful Butternut Biryani! But back to meat-eaters, I do have plans to make a leftover-turkey biryani. My proposed MO here is to mix up the marinade ingredients in a jug, cook the onions as below, and then add the spicy yogurt mixture to the cooked onions, and simmer for 15 minutes until the sauce you have in your pan is darkened and reduced, and beginning to separate. Then add your cold, cut up turkey, stir well together and layer up with the cooked aromatic rice. I shall report back! Please read the Additional Information section at the end of the recipe before proceeding. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

This is the sort of cake you’d find in an old-fashioned diner of your dreams: a majestic creation, frosted with fluffy, super-sweet buttercream, just made to stand aloft and enticingly on the counter. The Ermine Buttercream (often less alluringly known as Flour Buttercream) is a revelation: before you even get on to the butter, you start off by making a roux with flour, sugar and milk, and although I know that the idea of a gluey flour-paste doesn’t sound immediately appealing, trust me that it creates the most divinely light and moussy buttercream. Since this roux must be used completely cold, I advise making this part first, then actually finishing off the buttercream when the cakes have cooled. And those of you who are inclined to be disparaging about the idea of adding vegetable shortening to a cake should know that this is what helps create a gorgeously fluffy sponge, best eaten on the day it's made, though no hardship after. For me this cake is all about its pale vanilla splendour, but I admit that were I making this for a child's birthday party, I would add a vulgar note with a confetti-covering of sprinkles. Indeed, at Christmas, you could scatter over festive red and green sprinkles — and it’s a wonderful alternative for children and others who fail to see the charm of fruit cake — but I still can’t help thinking the simple, snow-covered effect of the unadorned icing wins out. I know this looks like a dauntingly long recipe, but nothing about it is complicated, I promise you. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

I associate Burmese fried chicken with road trips, as when we're travelling around Burma and make a pit stop in any village, it seems that women always come rushing to our rolled-down windows to sell us baskets of their freshly fried chicken (I call them The Chicken Ladies). I'd say BFC is better than KFC and it definitely has far fewer ingredients. It's commonly eaten with a plate of hot rice that's been drizzled with some of the oil used for frying and sprinkled with a little salt. BFC is also great eaten cold...if you can manage to wait that long. Make it once and you're addicted for life.

Whenever she wanted to serve up something truly special for dinner parties at our family home in Mumbai, my mum would always make these masala lamb chops. Adding Worcestershire sauce (a must-have ingredient in a lot of Parsi dishes) to the marinade gives a lovely umami flavour to the lamb along with the garlic, ginger and ground spices. I opt to use a shop-bought chilli-garlic sauce that has a vibrant red colour and the perfect consistency to coat the meat. Adjust the quantity of the chilli-garlic sauce depending on how spicy it is. Cooked in the oven, the rich marinade clings to the lightly charred chops.

These crisp biscuits, made largely with extra virgin olive oil, are a legacy of Spain’s Moorish heritage. Arabs ruled the south of the country for a long time, during the period of Al-Andalus, until 1492, when Catholics conquered the Kingdom of Granada, the last Moorish state. During this period, the settlers came up with many inventions that have had a lasting impact on Spanish culture, but perhaps the most important was the Almazara (oil press) system – or, as I like to say, the extraction of liquid gold from olives. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

This is perfect when you need ballast, comfort and cheer. It’s certainly not light, and you may of course use less sauce per pasta (and indeed less pasta, too) than I advise, but I have very much modelled it, as its title indicates, on that traditional British delight, spag bol, which is always much more heavily sauced than any Italian would condone. I do want to say that this is no second-best meat substitute, but a gorgeously rich sauce in its own right: the aubergine/eggplant melts into the lentils, and the dried mushrooms — predominantly the soaking liquid — bring an intense umami depth. Should you not have any dried mushrooms to hand, you could by all means stir some marmite or vegemite into the 250ml/1 cup freshly boiled water until it dissolves, and add this along with the tins of tomatoes, but if you can get the dried mushrooms, they bring a magic of their own, which I would be unwilling to do without. And please bear in mind that this thick, meaty lentil sauce also makes, when topped with mashed potato, a glorious vegan-friendly shepherd’s pie. And should you wish to eat it as a stew with rice, then I suggest you add another tin of chopped tomatoes when you cook it. This makes 2 litres/8 cups sauce and you will need 1-1½ cups (or enough to come up to 250-375ml in a measuring jug) for 100-125g/4oz spaghetti per person; therefore this amount is enough to feed 4-8 people, using 500g to 750g/1lb to 1½ lbs spaghetti. I know this makes a lot, and many of us are eating in small groups or singly right now, but since you do need to cook everything for a good long time, and would still have to even if you halved the recipe, it makes sense to me to cook up a big batch and freeze portions to make your life easier later. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

I could have called these Cornflake-Crunchy Chicken Cutlets as the crisp coating is provided not by breadcrumbs, but by cornflakes. This is particularly handy if you want a gluten-free crunch, though do check the cornflake packet to be sure. You can buy chicken escalopes already beaten, but otherwise just buy a couple of chicken breasts and, one at a time, place them on a chopping board lined with clingfilm, cover the chicken with another layer of clingfilm and bash the living daylights out of them with a rolling pin. This is a gratifying way to de-stress at the end of a long day. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.

This chilli sauce is big — big flavour, big kick, big reward. The name, however, derives from the fact that the recipe was given to me by my brother-in-law, Jim, Jimbo to me, but often known teasingly as Jumbo due to his compact size. I cannot have enough of this. I love it with prawns, with cold chicken, with chips, with everything. For US cup measures, use the toggle at the top of the ingredients list.