Our Range.

A weeknight pan of rice that tastes like it sat next to a pot of beans. Cumin and ancho, a little tomato, oregano that actually smells of Mexico. Tear it in when the water hits a simmer.

The shot you cook when someone is coming over and the fridge is honest. Bright lemon, soft herbs, no chilli. Rice that sits next to fish without arguing.

Creamy without cream. Toasted coconut and lime leaf go in with the steam, so the grains pick up the fat and the perfume together.

Not a full paella — the saffron-paprika base you wish jarred stock tasted of. A pinch of rosemary. The rice comes out gold, not yellow dye.

The green heat of a street stall, packed for a saucepan. Basil stays fragrant because it only meets the steam, not a long fry.

Whole spices, not a curry powder. The rice should smell of a proper dum pot even if you cooked it in a lidded saucepan on a Tuesday.

The shot that makes leftover rice a side worth putting on a plate. Real garlic, enough parsley, a grind of pepper. Butter note without the fridge.

Louisiana heat that still lets you taste the rice. Cayenne is honest; thyme and oregano keep it from being only fire.

A Japanese rice seasoning, timed for the pot instead of the table. The nori blooms in the steam; sesame stays nutty.

The expensive pinch, portioned. Saffron and a little rose so the rice smells of a proper tahdig night without a mortar.

Sweet-savoury North African warmth. Cinnamon is a background, not a pudding. Rice that wants a handful of herbs and a spoon of yoghurt.

The heat of the coast, lemon-forward so it stays food. Built for a pot of rice under grilled chicken, not a dare.

Dried porcini, ground so it behaves in a saucepan. The rice comes out brown and savoury, like a risotto without the stirring.

Yard heat with the allspice first, chili second. Rice that can stand next to a proper jerk, not a pale copy.

The late-summer pan. Tomato that has been in the sun, oregano, a little basil. Rice you eat from the pot with a fork.

Golden rice without a tin of powder dumped in. Pepper is there because turmeric needs it. Quiet, useful, every night.

The flavour of a kimchi stew, packed for plain rice. Chili, garlic, sesame. Fold through leftover rice the next day and it still holds.

A small, serious shot. Real truffle in the mix, chives for green. For a Friday pan, not a student hall.

Smoke first, heat second. A little cocoa for depth, the way a good mole hints without becoming dessert.

Pesto logic for a rice pot: basil that survives the steam, garlic, lemon. The grains come out green-flecked and oily in a good way.