It’s official. I’m now a human samosa. As I wave goodbye to Diwali, I’m entering the Christmas and New Year phase of feasting. It’s the same every year. Once the summer sun sets, I whip out the gram flour and make pakoras in bulk, just as my grandmother once did. The craggy tangle of battered vegetables sizzle in hot oil, releasing aromas that waft into my soul and right the way down the road. I pack an assortment of these, along with snacks like Kenyan chevdo (similar to Bombay mix, but with chilli and lemon vibes) and cardamom-laced sweets into boxes, ready to be sent to faraway friends. We call them “parcels” (said with a Gujarati twang). But the act of sharing now extends beyond delivering boxes of beloved foods in real life. My 500k social media followers await their delicious care packages too, albeit in a virtual sense.

Born and bred in Britain, one thing I treasure is how very easy it is to tailor an Indian meal to any occasion. Given the complex history between Britain and the Indian subcontinent, Indian cuisine has long been woven into the very fabric of British food culture. It’s both everyday food and inherently celebratory.

This year, I shared an impossibly easy Two-Ingredient Ice Cream Barfi recipe (Indian milk fudge) across Instagram, TikTok and YouTube. I almost didn’t post it, speculating what my Nana (maternal grandfather), a confectioner, would have made of such an inauthentic shortcut. There was no ghee, no milk, no sugar; just melted ice cream and milk powder cooked until thick and fudgy. Blasphemous. But every bite melted in the mouth like snow. The barfi video went viral with almost four million views and hundreds of people from the UK and as far away as South Africa and Fiji making it for their Diwali gatherings.

During the 1800s, many Indians were torn from their ancestral lands as they went to work as indentured labourers in British-occupied regions, from Guyana and Trinidad & Tobago to South Africa, East Africa and the Indian Ocean. Food, of course, travelled with them. To be able to share recipes with Indians in diaspora communities around the world helps to strengthen our shared cultural identities. Since the barfi recipe was so accessible, the comments and DMs rolled in, mostly from Indians around the world who yearn to “cook like grandma did”. Over the years, I’ve learnt that sharing through a screen isn’t a one-way street. In fact, it has the power to capture imagination in an altogether different way. It encourages delicious conversation. I think this gives the term “social media feed” a whole new meaning.

Recipes like the Ice Cream Barfi make light work of capturing the essence of classic Indian home cooking. They don’t just whet your appetite – they unlock memories. Do I think every person who watches my videos go on to cook them? I don’t. However, simply watching food being prepared can feel nostalgic too. Sharing the video with friends is bonding. We eat with our eyes and the abundance of viral food videos across social media are testament to our virtual appetites. Cookie and chocolate cake recipes go viral all the time, but when an underrated heritage dish reaches millions of people, and the audience are genuinely interested to learn more… that’s what does it for me. The enthusiastic reception of cultural recipes is what fuels my passion as a content creator of British Indian heritage and East African background.

Recipes don’t just whet your appetite – they unlock memories

For many British Indians, the winter season is synonymous with the aromas of home-cooked daal and the comforting warmth of freshly cooked roti. Dishes like wholewheat roti made with chapati flour (atta) and saag paneer, a mix of spicy greens like spinach, mustard leaves and fenugreek leaves with cubes of paneer cheese, offer a nourishing and soul-warming dinner you can tear, scoop and eat from the comfort of your onesie.

I like to jazz up British comfort dishes with Indian spices: take a tin of baked beans and add ghee-sizzled onions, cumin seeds and garam masala, to make masala baked beans on toast. I’ll often sprinkle vintage Cheddar on top and flash it under the grill for maximum meatiness. I also like laying spicy soy mince keema on jacket potatoes. It’s the equivalent of a weighted blanket for baked spuds.

As I look ahead to my dinner table for Christmas and New Year, I know it’ll be the usual mash-up of masala-laced classics. A paneer wellington reminiscent of Punjabi sandwich pakora, nigella seed-crusted roast potatoes cooked in smoking hot ghee, tempered Brussels sprouts and mouth-puckering cranberry chutney.

For special occasions, I take pleasure in the act of laying on a spread of delectable dishes, not organised by course as western meals are, but thoughtfully assembled in ways that take notice of their textures, colours and flavours (hot, sweet, sour, bitter). I’m a fiend for a steaming pile of deeply savoury pulao served with a glug of cold, sweet raita to extinguish the chilli heat, or warm, coconut-smattered Peshawari naan with vanilla ice cream. It makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?

These are the discoveries I like to make when I gather round the table with family and friends. Mixing and matching dishes to reunite with old flavour companions, as well as finding new complementary flavours to savour, share and surprise. It’s exactly what I’ll be doing this month, when coming face to face with generous “Indian aunty-sized” portions is inevitable.

And in a move from screen to page, I’ve decided to gather my recipes into a book inspired by my Indian heritage, East African family background, and Yorkshire roots: Sanjana Feasts: Modern Indian Meals to Feed Your Soul is due out next year. It contains 80 vegetarian and vegan recipes, from tikka masala to gulab jamun and rasmalai, with twists and turns galore. I’ve fused flavours and influences to represent my identity through food, featuring glorious dishes like ruffled biryani and pasta daal. You’ll even find bourbon biscuit laddoos and Desi pizza. More than just a collection of recipes, it’s a journey through my life, a culinary memoir that captures the essence of growing up British Indian in Yorkshire. With helpful step-by-step photographs for technique-led recipes such as creating layers for the flakiest paratha of your life, it is my own personal celebration of the art of feasting.

“Sanjana Feasts: Modern Indian Meals to Feed Your Soul” is available to pre-order now via unbound.com