Most people think of the freezer as long-term storage. I think of it as insurance. Not for emergencies exactly. More for those evenings when enthusiasm for cooking has quietly left the building.

There are a handful of things I almost always keep frozen.

The first is stock. Homemade if possible. A few cubes can rescue a soup, a risotto, or a rather uninspiring pot of vegetables.

The second is bread. Good bread freezes remarkably well. Slice it before freezing and you can pull out exactly what you need.

Third, ginger. I freeze it whole and grate it straight from the freezer. No peeling. No planning.

Fourth, leftover tomato sauce. Every time I make a large batch, I freeze some. Future me is always grateful.

And finally, peas. Not because they're glamorous. Because they're useful. They find their way into pulao, soups, stir-fries, pasta, and countless last-minute dinners.

The freezer isn't where food goes to be forgotten. It's where good intentions wait patiently for another day.

Not every herb needs to be fresh. I know that sounds slightly controversial. But it's true.

If I'm finishing a salad, scattering basil over tomatoes, or adding coriander to a bowl of dal, fresh herbs make all the difference. They're bringing brightness, fragrance, and freshness to the plate. Dried herbs simply can't do the same job.

But if I'm making a long-simmered stew, a tomato sauce, or a slow-cooked braise, dried herbs can be perfectly wonderful. In fact, herbs like oregano, thyme, and rosemary often hold up beautifully when dried.

The mistake is assuming one is always better than the other. They're simply different ingredients. Fresh coriander and dried coriander seeds don't taste remotely alike. Fresh oregano and dried oregano behave very differently too.

So rather than asking which is superior, ask what role the herb is playing. Sometimes you want freshness. Sometimes you want depth. And sometimes the answer is both.

Coriander has a remarkable ability to wilt the moment you bring it home. You buy a beautiful bunch on Sunday and by Tuesday it's looking deeply disappointed with life.

Over the years, I've tried most methods. The one that works best is surprisingly simple.

First, remove any damaged leaves. Then give the bunch a gentle wash and dry it thoroughly. Thoroughly is the important word here. Too much moisture is usually what causes the trouble.

Wrap the coriander loosely in a kitchen towel or paper towel and place it inside a container or zip bag in the refrigerator. That's it.

Some people store it like flowers in a glass of water. That works too, though I find it requires more attention than I'm willing to give coriander.

The bigger lesson is not to chop herbs before storing them. The moment you start cutting, bruising, and exposing those delicate leaves, the countdown begins.

Treat coriander gently and it will reward you. Neglect it and it will collapse dramatically within days.

Recipes often tell you to use stock. Then somebody else says broth. And eventually someone insists water works just fine. The truth is that all three have their place.

Stock is made primarily from bones, vegetables, and time. Its job is the body. It adds richness and depth.

Broth is usually lighter. It may contain meat, vegetables, and aromatics, but it's intended to be enjoyed on its own as well.

Water, meanwhile, gets unfairly criticised. Good ingredients cooked well in water can still produce excellent food. Many traditional Indian dishes rely largely on water and taste perfectly wonderful.

Where stock earns its keep is when flavour needs support. A risotto benefits from stock. Many soups benefit from stock. A simple vegetable stew may benefit from stock.

But before you rush out to buy expensive cartons, remember this: A mediocre stock doesn't automatically improve a dish. And good cooking has managed perfectly well with water for centuries.

I don't buy many canned foods. Partly because I enjoy cooking. Partly because fresh ingredients are often easy to find where I live. But there are a few tins that have earned permanent residency in my pantry.

The first is tomatoes. Not always. But there are times when fresh tomatoes are disappointing, watery, or simply out of season. A good can of tomatoes can produce a better sauce than a bad fresh tomato ever will.

The second is beans. Particularly on days when I forgot to soak them and am suddenly full of ambitious dinner plans.

Then there are chickpeas. Hummus doesn't care whether you planned ahead.

And occasionally, I keep canned tuna. It's useful. It lasts forever. It has rescued more lunches than I care to admit.

That's about it. I have nothing against canned food. I just don't believe every ingredient needs to arrive with a pull-tab attached. For me, the best pantry is the one that balances convenience with common sense. Not convenience alone.

I am generally not a fan of spending money simply because a label says “premium.” A prettier jar does not automatically contain a better ingredient. That said, there are a few things where quality genuinely makes a difference.

Olive oil is one of them. Not necessarily the bottle you'll use for everyday cooking, but the one you drizzle over a salad, soup, or piece of grilled fish. When an ingredient is front and centre, quality becomes much easier to taste.

Spices are another. I'm not suggesting you mortgage the house for saffron. But fresh spices from a place with good turnover will outperform dusty jars that have been sitting on a supermarket shelf since the previous government.

Good vanilla is worth it. Good chocolate is worth it. And if you're a tea or coffee drinker, I'd argue those are worth it too.

Interestingly, some of the most expensive ingredients in the supermarket are often the easiest to skip. Fancy salts, exotic berries flown across continents, miracle powders with impressive marketing budgets. I can live quite happily without them.

Spend money where flavour lives. That's usually a better investment than spending it where fashion lives.