Bento, silog, thali? Why Asia loves a good modular meal
Across Asia, meals have long resisted the tyranny of the single, unified dish. Instead, they arrive in components—rice here, protein there, sauces on the side—arranged not for indecision but for agency. A modular meal, from the past till now, reflects agricultural rhythms, social hierarchies and the practical logic of feeding many people well, often from the same base ingredients. These meals reward attentiveness: you calibrate each bite, adjust heat and salt mid-meal and learn the cuisine through contrast rather than being overwhelmed. Long before tasting menus made curation fashionable, Asia was already eating this way—quietly, efficiently and with deep cultural fluency.
Here are some modular meal traditions worth revisiting and enjoying to this day.
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Bento (Japan)
A boxed meal that treats balance as both nutrition and philosophy (Photo: Marvin Sacdalan/Pexels)
Perhaps the most famous modular meal of all time, bento emerged from Japan’s agrarian past, where farmers packed rice and preserved foods for long days in the fields, eventually evolving into the lacquered boxes associated with travel and workday lunches. The meal is defined by proportion: rice anchors the box, while pickles, simmered vegetables and small portions of fish or meat provide contrast in colour and texture. Nothing bleeds into anything else; even sauces are restrained, absorbed rather than pooled. Eating bento is an exercise in pacing—you move deliberately from bite to bite, never rushing, never lingering too long.
Thali (India)
A metal platter that turns a region’s pantry into a map (Photo: Simanta Saha/Unsplash)
This modern meal is often communal, but it was designed for individual enjoyment. Thali traces its roots to temple meals and community feeding, where nourishment had to be scalable, seasonal and inclusive. Arranged on a round tray, small bowls hold lentils, vegetables, chutneys, yoghurt and pickles, with rice or bread acting as the constant. The logic is tactile: sour wakes up the palate, spice builds gradually, dairy restores equilibrium. Thali is eaten with the hands, not out of ritual, but practicality—you mix, tear, scoop and adjust ratios in real time. The meal teaches you how a cuisine thinks, not just how it tastes.
See more: The shared table: Asia’s communal dining traditions and why they endure
Dosirak (Korea)
A lunchbox designed to be shaken, not admired (Photo: Defrino Maasy/Unsplash)
Dosirak developed during Korea’s industrial era, packed by mothers and wives for workers and students who ate wherever they could. Rice sits at the bottom, topped with kimchi, vegetables, egg and sometimes Spam or bulgogi, each element clearly visible before the lid goes on. The defining moment comes just before eating, when the box is shaken vigorously to mix everything together. It’s a meal that rejects presentation anxiety in favour of cohesion. By the first bite, hierarchy disappears—everything tastes of everything else.
See more: How Spam took over Asia—and why we’re all the better for it
Cơm tấm (Vietnam)
Originally a working-class meal in southern Vietnam, cơm tấm was made with fractured rice grains unsuitable for export but ideal for local consumption. The rice forms a soft, slightly sticky base, topped with grilled pork, a steamed egg loaf, pickled vegetables and often a fried egg. Nuoc cham is served alongside, added at the eater’s discretion rather than poured over everything. The modularity allows the diner to control sweetness, acidity and heat across the meal. What began as necessity became a blueprint for balance.
Teishoku (Japan)
A set meal that treats repetition as reassurance (Photo: Minchephoto Photography/Pexels)
Teishoku grew out of home cooking and diners catering to workers who wanted a proper meal without decision fatigue. A typical set includes rice, soup, pickles and a main dish, each item fixed but thoughtfully paired. Unlike bento, everything arrives hot, meant to be eaten in a steady rhythm rather than sequence. The structure is conservative by design; variation happens within the main dish, not the format. Set meals are so prevalent in Japan that they have luxury versions in gozen and kaiseki.
Nasi campur (Indonesia)
Nasi campur means “mixed rice”, but the mixing is conceptual rather than literal. A mound of rice is surrounded by small portions of meat, vegetables, sambal, peanuts and sometimes egg, varying widely by region and vendor. The plate reflects Indonesia’s diversity: no two versions are the same, even from stall to stall. Sauces are assertive and unapologetic, meant to be combined according to personal tolerance. Eating nasi campur is an act of selection—what you choose says as much as what you leave behind.
Silog (Philippines)
A breakfast formula that quietly defines a nation’s mornings (Photo: Kenneth Surillo/Pexels)
Silog is shorthand for sinangag, which is garlic rice, itlog, which is egg, and a protein whose name completes the word—tapsilog, longsilog, bangsilog. The format rose with roadside eateries catering to night-shift workers and early risers who needed sustenance without ceremony. Everything arrives on one plate, but each element holds its own: rice fragrant with oil and garlic, egg cooked to preference, meat seasoned boldly. Atsara or pickled papaya is served on the side for an extra lift. Vinegar or ketchup is added as needed, never imposed. Silog is modular not in layout, but in logic—change one element, keep the rest.
Sri Lankan rice and curry (Sri Lanka)
Sri Lankan rice and curry is often misunderstood as abundance when it is really about calibration. A single diner receives a mound of rice ringed by small portions of vegetable curries, sambols, lentils and occasionally meat or fish, each cooked separately and seasoned with a different logic. Coconut milk softens one dish, tamarind sharpens another, while Maldive fish or dried shrimp quietly deepens the background. Unlike Indian thali, this is not a refill-driven performance; the portions are fixed, the intent precise. The diner moves between components deliberately, letting heat, sweetness, bitterness and acidity interrupt one another rather than blend. It is modular dining as daily practice, shaped by home kitchens and lunch packets as much as by restaurants.
Dal bhat tarkari (Nepal)
Dal bhat tarkari is less a dish than a system, repeated daily across Nepal with minor regional shifts. Rice anchors the plate, flanked by lentil soup, seasonal vegetables, a modest protein and a sharp achar meant to be used sparingly. Served individually, often on a metal thali with clear divisions, the meal values order over variety. The dal is poured gradually, the achar applied with restraint, the vegetables eaten as counterpoint rather than centrepiece. While refills are common, the structure never changes, reinforcing rhythm rather than abundance. It is a modular meal built for endurance, shaped by agrarian life and altitude as much as taste.
Biàndāng (Taiwan)
At first glance, Taiwanese biàndāng resembles Japanese bento, but the resemblance is largely visual. Where Japanese bento emphasises balance, seasonality and visual harmony, Taiwanese bento prioritises practicality and flavour preservation. Rice fills the base, topped or bordered by a dominant protein—braised pork chop, fried chicken leg or soy-braised tofu—surrounded by assertive vegetable sides that are meant to hold their own even at room temperature. Compartments are functional, preventing sauces from bleeding rather than creating aesthetic order. Pickled mustard greens, stewed cabbage or soy-braised eggs skew savoury and robust, designed for transit and time. This modular meal is shaped by street life, workdays and railway culture.
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