French fries sandwich
Every foul and ta'meya shop in Cairo also sells sandwich batates, a pocket of baladi bread stuffed with hot, salty fries, and it is one of the cheapest and best late-night bites in the city. In Downtown, around Talaat Harb Square and along Champollion Street, the counters stay busy after midnight as cinema crowds and students order them by the handful, with garlicky tahini, crunchy pickled turnip and cucumber and a hit of chilli. Egyptian baladi bread is a wholemeal flatbread; wholemeal pitta is a good stand-in. It contains sesame and wheat. Chef's tip: salt the fries the moment they leave the oil, while they are still glistening, so it sticks.
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Chunky skewers of pineapple, banana, strawberry, peach and nectarine drizzled with balsamic vinegar and dark muscovado sugar, then grilled over charcoal until the sugar caramelises. Warm, sticky and a little tangy. Serve hot as a barbecue dessert, with ice cream if you like.
All over India, fruit sellers with handcarts chop a plate of fruit chaat to order, and in Kolkata the evening carts near New Market and Gariahat pile guava, apple, papaya, banana, pomegranate and cucumber into a leaf bowl with chaat masala, black salt and lime. During Ramzan it appears at iftar, and in summer it is sold with a sprinkle of chilli. It is sweet, salty, sour and a little hot all at once, so it tastes nothing like a dessert fruit salad. Chef's tip: use at least one crunchy fruit (guava, apple or pear) and one soft one (banana or papaya) for contrast.
On Christmas Eve, in kitchens from Split to Dubrovnik and out on the islands, bowls of fritule are fried by the dozen: small, airy doughnut drops scented with orange and lemon zest and studded with raisins, rolled in sugar while still warm. Many families add a splash of rakija or rum to the batter, but fresh orange juice works just as well and keeps them child-friendly. They are eaten all through Advent and the carnival season, often from paper cones at Christmas markets. Chef's tip: keep the oil at about 170°C; too hot and the fritule brown outside while the middle stays raw and doughy, the most common mistake.
Ask anyone from Heilongjiang what their grandmother cooked when guests arrived and this is the likely answer: a farmyard chicken stewed in a big iron pot with dried hazel mushrooms gathered from the forests of the Greater Khingan range. The mushrooms give a deep, woodsy flavour to a dark, lightly sweet soy gravy, and glass noodles go in at the end to drink up the juices. Bone-in chicken keeps it rich and tender. Serve in big bowls with steamed rice or cornbread, and a crunchy cabbage salad on the side. Chef's tip: let the soaking water from the mushrooms settle, then pour it gently into the pot and leave the grit behind.
These are the dumplings north-eastern families make together on New Year's Eve and on any snowy Sunday, with the whole household rolling, filling and boiling around the kitchen table. Tangy fermented cabbage, chopped fine and squeezed dry, is mixed with fatty pork and sizzling Sichuan-pepper oil, so the filling is juicy, sour and warmly numbing at the same time. The wrappers are slightly thick and chewy, the way Dongbei cooks like them. Pile them on a plate and serve with black vinegar, garlic and a spoon of chilli oil; a bowl of the cooking water to drink afterwards is a northern habit. Chef's tip: pour the hot pepper oil straight onto the spring onions in the filling; the sizzle releases their fragrance into every dumpling.
Named after the Hortobágy puszta, Hungary's great grassland in the east, these savoury pancakes are a favourite starter in Hungarian restaurants and a clever family meal. Thin palacsinta are filled with finely chopped paprika chicken, folded into parcels, and baked in the paprika-soured cream sauce until bubbling. Chef's tip: chop the cooked chicken very finely or pulse it briefly; a fine filling makes neat, tight parcels.
In the villages of Crete and the mountains of Epirus, hortopita is what cooks make from whatever greens are growing on the hillsides: wild fennel, sorrel, poppy leaves, nettles and chard. Many families bake it during Lent, when cheese and eggs are put aside, so the filling relies on olive oil, leeks and a big handful of herbs for flavour. It is earthy, a little bitter and very fresh. This version uses easy-to-buy chard, spinach, fennel fronds and leeks, with a spoonful of rice to soak up the juices. Serve warm or cold with olives and a glass of something cold. Most shop fillo is made without butter or egg, but check the label to keep it vegan. Chef's tip: salt the chopped greens and leave them for 20 minutes before squeezing; skipping this is the most common mistake, and it makes hortopita watery.
Across north-east China, autumn means packing crocks with salted napa cabbage to ferment through the long winter, and this hearty stew is the reward. Thin slices of boiled pork belly lie in a pale broth with shreds of sour cabbage and slippery glass noodles; the tang cuts the richness, and the broth tastes both clean and deeply savoury. It is everyday winter family food in Harbin and Shenyang, often served in a clay pot at the centre of the table with rice and a garlic-soy dip for the pork. Chef's tip: let the boiled pork cool for 15 minutes before slicing; warm belly crumbles, slightly cooled belly cuts into neat, thin slices.
Frites are a fixture of French brasseries and street stalls, served in paper cones at markets and beside every omelette and salad in Paris cafés. The secret is frying twice: once gently to cook them through, then hot to make them crisp. In Provence, the dip would be aïoli, a thick, garlicky sauce that gave its name to the region's Friday feast. Our aïoli is made the old-fashioned egg-free way, with a little boiled potato to hold the garlic and olive oil together. Children usually prefer it with less garlic. Chef's tip: dry the cut potatoes thoroughly before frying; wet chips are the common mistake that make the oil spit and leave the chips soft.
Houskové knedlíky are the sliced bread dumplings that sit beside almost every sauce in a Prague pub, from mushroom svíčková-style cream sauces to sweet-sour dill gravy. Unlike the round German Semmelknödel, these are a soft yeast dough rolled into a log with crisp cubes of stale roll inside, simmered whole, then cut into thick, spongy slices that drink up gravy. Czech grandmothers still slice them with a length of thread rather than a knife, which keeps the crumb open instead of squashing it. Chef's tip: cut the cooked loaf with a piece of cotton thread wrapped around it and pulled tight; a knife presses the slices into dense, gluey discs.
Frikadeller are the everyday comfort food of Denmark, fried up for Monday suppers in Copenhagen, packed cold on rye bread for lunch and served at nearly every children's birthday. The mix is mostly pork, with some veal, so this is a pork dish, loosened with milk and bound with egg and a spoonful of flour to make soft, flattened ovals with a crisp brown crust. Danes eat them hot with boiled potatoes, brown gravy and sweet-sour pickled red cabbage, or cold the next day with pickled beetroot. Where people go wrong is frying them on too high a heat; the outside burns before the middle is cooked. Chef's tip: let the mixture rest in the fridge for 30 minutes before shaping; it firms up and the patties keep a neat shape in the pan.
A pot of frijoles negros simmers on the back of the stove in Cuban homes from Havana to Miami's Little Havana, ladled over white rice for lunch most days of the week. The beans cook until creamy, then a sofrito of onion, green pepper and plenty of garlic goes in with cumin, oregano, a pinch of sugar and a dash of vinegar, which gives the stew its gentle sweet-sour finish. Venezuelans make a very close cousin, caraotas negras, for pabellón, so this page covers both. Chef's tip: mash a ladle of beans against the side of the pot near the end; it thickens the broth naturally without any flour.
Lucknow's galouti kebab is said to have been created in the kitchens of the Nawabs of Awadh for a ruler who had lost his teeth, and 'galouti' means something that melts. The minced lamb is ground again until it's almost a paste, tenderised with raw papaya, scented with a dozen spices plus rose water and saffron, and fried gently on a flat griddle. In the old city around Aminabad they are sold all day on small, flaky ulte tawe ka paratha with sliced onion and mint chutney, and they are a must at Ramadan iftars. Chef's tip: chill the mixture well before shaping; the patties are meant to be fragile, and a cold mixture is the only way to get them into the pan in one piece.
Hủ tiếu came to southern Vietnam with Teochew Chinese and Cambodian influences, and in Saigon it's as everyday as pho, sold from street carts at dawn and again late into the night. The broth is light and clear, sweet from pork bones, daikon and dried shrimp, and the bowl is loaded with sliced pork, minced pork, prawns and often quail eggs. Clear, chewy noodles and a spoon of crispy garlic oil set it apart. Many people order it khô, dry, with the noodles tossed in sauce and the soup on the side. Chef's tip: toast the dried squid over a flame before it goes in the pot; it gives the broth a sweet, savoury depth that's hard to place.
Tianjin people queue on winter mornings for these small steamed buns, famous since the 1850s for their many fine pleats and for the burst of savoury juice inside. The filling is minced pork beaten with ginger and spring onion water until it holds a surprising amount of liquid, so the first bite is soupy and the soft, slightly springy wrapper soaks up the rest. Bakers aim for 18 pleats arranged like a chrysanthemum. Eat them hot for breakfast with a dish of vinegar, crushed garlic and a bowl of millet porridge or soy milk. Chef's tip: use pork with about 30 per cent fat; lean mince gives dry, crumbly filling however much water you add.
Sheermal is a soft flatbread made with milk and ghee instead of water, lightly sweet, and brushed with saffron milk so it bakes to a glossy amber colour. In Lucknow's old quarters like Chowk and Aminabad, bakers still make it in tandoors each morning, and families buy it for Eid, weddings and Ramadan iftar, eating it alongside rich kormas or simply with a cup of milky tea. It sits halfway between bread and pastry. The usual mistake is adding too much flour while kneading because the dough feels sticky; a dry dough gives a tough, crumbly sheermal. Chef's tip: oil your hands instead of flouring the surface, and let the rich dough rise until it is truly doubled.
Breakfast in Guiyang means a steaming bowl of rice noodles at a counter, and the version from the Huaxi district on the city's southern edge is the one people queue for. Silky noodles sit in a clear, deeply beefy broth under slices of slow-cooked shin, and each diner finishes the bowl at the table from pots of tangy pickled mustard greens, toasted chilli and fresh herbs, so it is sour, spicy and savoury exactly to taste. The broth is light enough for the morning but rich in flavour. Serve it as a whole meal; a few extra pickles on the side are all it needs. Chef's tip: blanch the beef and rinse it before the long simmer; skipping this is the common mistake that leaves the broth cloudy and scummy.
Hudut is the heart of Garifuna cooking on the Caribbean coast of Honduras, in towns such as Trujillo and La Ceiba, and in Belize and Guatemala's Livingston: whole fish or fish steaks simmered in a coconut broth (sere) with garlic, onion and herbs, served with a pounded mash of green and ripe plantains (fufu) that is dipped into the soup. The mistake is mashing only green plantain, which is heavy; a mix of green and a few ripe ones gives a slightly sweet, smooth mash. Chef's tip: fry the fish briefly before it goes into the broth so it holds its shape.
When the first cold winds blow through Beijing, old restaurants around Dongcheng light their chimney-shaped copper pots and diners start swishing paper-thin lamb through plain, gently bubbling water. Unlike fiery Sichuan hot pot, this one is all about the meat: the broth stays clear and mild, and the flavour comes from a creamy dip of sesame paste, fermented tofu and chive flower sauce. Everyone cooks their own slices for a few seconds, then adds cabbage, tofu and glass noodles to the pot as the evening goes on. It is a slow, sociable meal for winter weekends, with sesame flatbreads on the side. Chef's tip: half-freeze the lamb for 1–2 hours and it slices thin as paper with a sharp knife; or buy ready-rolled hot-pot lamb from an Asian grocer.
Ask for a galão in a Lisbon café and it arrives in a tall glass, not a cup: one short espresso (a bica, in the capital's slang) topped up with about three times as much hot, frothy milk, so it is pale, mild and creamy. It is the breakfast and mid-morning drink of the city, ordered at the counter with a pastel de nata or a tosta mista, and the glass is held by the rim because it gets hot. A galão escuro has less milk, a galão claro more. Chef's tip: heat the milk only until it steams and the jug is too hot to hold for more than a moment, about 65 °C; boiled milk tastes flat and loses its sweetness.
Huevos a la mexicana is the everyday scrambled egg breakfast cooked in homes and fondas all over Mexico, named because its red tomato, white onion and green chilli match the colours of the Mexican flag. The vegetables are cooked just long enough to soften and release their juices, then the eggs are stirred through gently into soft, juicy curds with a fresh chilli kick. Serve with warm corn tortillas and refried beans, and make tacos at the table. Chef's tip: take the pan off the heat while the eggs still look a little wet; they keep cooking on the plate.
Frijoles de la olla, beans cooked slowly in a pot (traditionally clay) with just onion, garlic and a sprig of epazote, are the backbone of Mexican home cooking from north to south. Served brothy in a bowl with chopped onion, chilli and lime, they are a meal on their own; mashed and fried in oil they become frijoles refritos, the creamy refried beans that go into tacos, tortas, sopes and molletes. This recipe makes both: one pot, half served as it is, half refried. We fry in vegetable oil rather than lard, so it is vegan. Chef's tip: salt the beans only once they are tender; salting at the start won't stop them cooking, but adding it late seasons the broth better and saves you from oversalting as it reduces.
Around Monterrey in Nuevo León, no carne asada is complete without a pot of frijoles charros keeping warm at the side of the grill. Soupy pinto beans cook down with smoky bacon, chorizo, tomato and fresh chilli until the broth is rich and brick-coloured, and they are spooned into small cups next to grilled beef, guacamole and flour tortillas. Some cooks in the north add sliced frankfurters too; we keep that optional. Chef's tip: cook the beans plain until they are fully soft before the tomato goes in, because acid stops beans softening.
In Medellín and across Antioquia, red cargamanto beans simmered for hours are the heart of the bandeja paisa and of everyday lunch. The beans cook with grated green plantain and carrot, which melt in and thicken the pot, and are finished with hogao, the tomato and spring onion sauce. This version leaves out the pork hock and gets its depth from a long simmer and a smoky pinch of paprika. Serve with white rice, avocado and an arepa. Chef's tip: grate the plantain on the fine side of the grater; it dissolves into the beans and makes them creamy.
Huevos rancheros, 'ranch-style eggs', is the big country breakfast eaten all over Mexico: corn tortillas briefly fried in oil, topped with fried eggs and drowned in salsa ranchera, a warm, chunky sauce of charred tomatoes and serrano chillies, with refried beans on the side. The runny yolks mix with the spicy tomato sauce and the soft tortilla soaks it all up. Serve with avocado and coffee. Choose queso fresco made with vegetarian rennet. Chef's tip: fry the tortillas only for a few seconds a side; you want them pliable with crisp edges, not hard like tostadas, so you can cut them with a fork.
In Salta, Jujuy and Tucumán in Argentina's Andean northwest, humitas are made in late summer when the corn is young and milky. Fresh kernels are grated off the cob and cooked with onion, red pepper, squash and a little sweet paprika, then bound with cheese, wrapped in the fresh green husks (chala), tied with strips of husk and simmered. They come out soft, sweet and savoury, like a delicate corn pudding. Chef's tip: grate the corn on a box grater; it releases the milky juice that sets the humita, which cut kernels never will.
Fricassé are the small, soft fried rolls sold from glass-fronted counters in Tunis and the coastal towns, split while still warm and filled to order with tuna, boiled egg, olives, boiled potato, mechouia salad and a smear of harissa. They are an afternoon snack, a beach lunch and a Ramadan favourite. The mistake is frying the dough when the oil is too cool, which makes it greasy and heavy; keep the oil at 170 °C. Chef's tip: give the shaped rolls a full second rise so they puff and stay light inside.
The frappé was invented by accident at the Thessaloniki International Fair in 1957, when a coffee rep shook instant coffee with cold water because there was no hot water to hand. Within a few years it was the drink of every Greek café and beach bar, sipped slowly through a straw for an hour or more. Instant coffee, sugar and a little water are shaken or frothed into a thick, light-brown foam, then topped up with cold water, ice and, if you like, milk. Order it sketos (no sugar), metrios (medium) or glykos (sweet). Chef's tip: use only a splash of water for the first shake; adding all the water at once is the common mistake and you get thin coffee with no foam.
Hu pi jian jiao, 'tiger-skin peppers', is everyday home cooking in Hunan, the province famous for loving chilli even more than Sichuan does. Long green peppers are pressed into a hot, dry wok until their skins blacken in stripes like a tiger's coat, then glazed with soy, black vinegar and a touch of sugar. In Changsha it's eaten with plenty of rice, which tames the heat. Chef's tip: press the peppers flat with a spatula as they cook so the whole skin touches the iron and blisters evenly.
Hünkar beğendi is a dish from the Ottoman palace kitchens of Istanbul; its name means 'the sultan was pleased', and a well-known story links it to a royal banquet of the 1860s. Today it is a special Sunday or guest dish in Istanbul homes and old-style lokanta restaurants. Tender chunks of lamb are braised slowly with tomato and peppers, then spooned over beğendi, a silky purée of fire-charred aubergine whisked into a light cheese sauce. The smoky, creamy base against the rich stew is the whole point. Chef's tip: char the aubergines directly over a gas flame until the skins are black and collapsing; the oven alone won't give that smoky flavour.
Every spring, when Spanish mackerel run off the Shandong coast, Qingdao families fill the kitchen table with flour and fish for these large boiled dumplings; restaurants by the harbour serve them by the plate all year. The filling is whipped with peppercorn-infused water until it turns light and almost mousse-like, with chives for freshness and a little fatty pork for richness. Bitten open, they are juicy, briny and sweet rather than fishy. Eat them straight from the pot with black vinegar and crushed garlic, with a pot of jasmine tea. Chef's tip: if you can't find Spanish mackerel, ordinary mackerel or a mix of mackerel and cod works well.
Frango à zambeziana comes from Quelimane and the Zambezia province of central Mozambique, where coconut palms line the coast: chicken is marinated in coconut milk, lime, garlic and piri-piri chilli, then grilled over coals and basted with the marinade, boiled down into a sauce. It is served with rice or xima (maize porridge) at weekend lunches. The mistake is basting with raw marinade right up to the end; boil it first so it is safe and turns into a creamy sauce. Chef's tip: spatchcock the chicken or use pieces so it grills evenly.
The francesinha ('little French girl') belongs to Porto, where it was dreamed up in the 1950s by a cook inspired by the croque monsieur, and it is now the city's famous late-night and match-day meal. This sandwich contains pork: thick bread is layered with steak, ham and fresh sausage, covered in cheese slices, then drowned in a spicy tomato sauce made with beer and port-style fortified wine. For an alcohol-free sauce, use alcohol-free beer, or beef stock with a teaspoon of honey. Serve with chips and a fried egg on top if you dare. Chef's tip: simmer the sauce for at least 20 minutes and blend it smooth; it should be thick enough to cling, not run off.
Every year on 3 October the city of Leiden celebrates Leidens Ontzet, the end of the Spanish siege of 1574, and the whole town eats hutspot. The story goes that a hungry boy found a pot of stewed root vegetables left behind in the abandoned Spanish camp. Today it is a rough, orange mash of winter carrots, onions and potatoes boiled together in one pot, then stamped coarsely with butter. In the rest of the Netherlands it turns up all autumn and winter as a weekday supper. It is traditionally served with slow-braised beef (klapstuk); here it goes with a fried egg or a spoon of piccalilli, which suits it just as well. Chef's tip: layer the vegetables with the potatoes on top and the carrots at the bottom, in just enough water to reach the potatoes; the potatoes steam, the carrots soak up the flavour of the onions, and nothing turns watery.
Irani chai came to Hyderabad with Persian migrants who opened cafés across the old city, and it is now the city's signature drink, poured at all hours in places around the Charminar, often with Osmania biscuits or a bun maska. Unlike masala chai, it has no spices: strong tea is brewed slowly in a sealed pot (dum), while full-fat milk is simmered separately with a little khoa until thick and creamy. The two are mixed only in the cup, giving a rich, mellow, slightly sweet tea. Chef's tip: seal the tea pot lid with a little dough or foil, as the cafés do, so the brew steeps without losing steam or strength.
Fosolia takes its name from the Italian fagioli, a reminder of the Italian occupation of the 1930s, but it is now completely Ethiopian and a regular on fasting platters in Addis Ababa and Dire Dawa. Green beans and carrot batons are cooked with lots of onion, garlic and ginger until tender but still bright, then served warm with injera or rice. It is quick, mild and colourful. Chef's tip: cut the beans and carrots to the same length and thickness so they cook evenly.
Khatti dal, 'sour dal', is the everyday dal of Hyderabad's old city, cooked in Muslim and Telugu homes alike and ladled over plain rice with a fried papad and a dry vegetable on the side. Toor dal is cooked with tomato and green chilli, mashed smooth, soured with tamarind and finished with a sizzling bagaar of garlic, dried red chillies, cumin and curry leaves. It is thinner and sharper than a north Indian dal, and on Fridays it often sits next to a biryani as the comforting partner. Chef's tip: let the garlic in the bagaar turn properly golden before pouring it over; pale garlic tastes raw and harsh in a sour dal.
Lukhmi are Hyderabad's answer to the samosa: flat, square, crisp little pastries with a filling of spiced mutton keema, fork-crimped at the edges. In the Deccani homes of the old city they are a fixture of wedding dinners and the evening iftar table in Ramadan, and a plate of them often arrives with Irani chai at the city's old cafés. They can be shaped a day ahead and fried just before guests come. Chef's tip: cook the keema until completely dry and let it cool fully; a damp or warm filling makes the pastry burst in the oil.
Moitié-moitié means half and half, and in Fribourg it names the canton's own fondue: equal weights of nutty Gruyère and soft, buttery Vacherin fribourgeois melted with dry white wine in a glazed earthenware caquelon. Families light the burner in the middle of the table on cold evenings from October to March, and ski huts above Gruyères serve it after a day on the slopes. The Vacherin makes it silkier and milder than a Gruyère-only fondue, so it clings to the bread in a thick, glossy coat. Serve with day-old bread, a plate of cornichons and small boiled potatoes, and drink white wine or warm black tea with it; locals say cold water sits badly with all that cheese. Traditional Gruyère and Vacherin are made with animal rennet, so for a vegetarian table look for wheels labelled with microbial or vegetarian rennet, or ask a cheesemonger for a similar Alpine cheese that uses it. Chef's tip: grate the cheese rather than cubing it and let it come to room temperature for 30 minutes; it melts evenly and the fondue stays smooth.
For generations, travellers passing through Dezhou station in Shandong bought this chicken in a paper wrap from the platform sellers, and boxes of it are still a favourite gift to take home. A whole bird is trussed with its legs tucked into the body, glazed and fried to a reddish gold, then barely simmered for hours in a stock of soy and a dozen spices. The result is fragrant, savoury and so soft that a gentle shake loosens the bones. Eat it warm or cold, torn into pieces, with steamed buns, a cucumber salad or plain congee. Chef's tip: keep the stock at the barest shiver, never a boil; that is how the skin stays whole while the meat turns meltingly tender.
Focaccia di Recco has nothing to do with the thick, bubbly focaccia most people know: it is two sheets of unleavened dough stretched almost transparent, with blobs of soft, tangy cheese in between, baked in a blisteringly hot oven for a few minutes. It comes from the seaside town of Recco, east of Genoa, where bakeries sell it in the morning and families eat it as a first course. At home, use stracchino or crescenza, the creamy fresh cheeses closest to Ligurian prescinseua. Chef's tip: stretch the dough over the backs of your hands like a pizzaiolo; rolling alone never gets it thin enough.
Walk through Police Bazaar in Shillong in the morning and you will find small jadoh stalls serving bright yellow rice cooked with pork, ginger and plenty of local Lakadong turmeric. For Khasi families it is breakfast, lunch and festival food all at once, usually eaten with a pork side such as doh khlieh and a sharp chutney. Village versions add pork blood or offal; this home version keeps to pork shoulder. Chef's tip: let the rice rest, covered, for ten minutes after cooking; the grains firm up and stop being sticky.
On Jinan's banquet tables a whole carp, its tail curled up as if leaping the Dragon Gate on the Yellow River, is a wish for success, so it turns up at weddings, exam celebrations and New Year. The fish is scored deeply, coated in a thin starch batter and fried until the skin crackles, then a hot glaze of sugar, vinegar and soy is poured over so it sizzles at the table. Inside, the flesh stays white and moist. Serve with steamed rice and a stir-fried green vegetable. Chef's tip: carp has fine bones, so if you are cooking for children use sea bass or tilapia; the method is the same.
At Mori, a small fishing town on the railway north of Hakodate, ikameshi has been sold as a station lunchbox since the war years, when rice was scarce and squid was plentiful. It is still one of Japan's best-known station bentos and a star of the regional food fairs that department stores hold all over the country. Small squid are stuffed with soaked glutinous rice, pinned shut and simmered in a sweet soy sauce until the rice swells into a sticky, savoury filling. Slice them into rounds to serve warm or at room temperature. Chef's tip: use small squid with bodies about 15 cm long, as larger ones need longer cooking and turn rubbery before they soften again.
Night markets and seaside stalls from Port Dickson to Kuantan announce ikan bakar by smell long before you see the charcoal: whole fish or stingray wings smeared with red sambal, laid on banana leaf and grilled until the leaf blackens and the paste caramelises onto the flesh. The leaf keeps the fish moist and lends a faint tea-like smokiness, while the sambal brings shrimp-paste depth, tamarind sourness and steady heat. It is eaten with the fingers, with plain rice, cucumber and a sharp dip called air asam made from tamarind, chillies and shallots. Chef's tip: score the fish right down to the bone so the sambal seeps into the cuts and the thickest part cooks at the same pace as the tail.
Foutou is the pounded staple of the Baoulé country around Bouaké and Yamoussoukro: boiled plantain, often mixed with cassava, pounded in a wooden mortar into a smooth, stretchy, slightly sweet ball. It is eaten with the fingers, pulled off in pieces and dipped into sauce graine (palm nut), sauce arachide or okra sauce. A food processor followed by a short knead does the job at home. Chef's tip: pound while everything is steaming hot; cold plantain will not come together and stays lumpy.
Flammkuchen comes from the borderlands of Alsace, Baden and the Palatinate, where farmers baked it on bread day to test the heat of the wood oven. The dough has no yeast and is rolled almost as thin as paper, spread with crème fraîche or quark and baked hot and fast so the edges blister and char in spots. The classic topping is onion and bacon; around Strasbourg and Freiburg the leek and mushroom version is a popular meat-free choice, often eaten with a glass of new wine in autumn. Chef's tip: bake it as hot as your oven will go, on a preheated tray or stone; a Flammkuchen baked at a moderate heat turns out bready instead of crisp.
In Batac and Vigan, in the Ilocos region, empanada is not a baked pastry but a big, crunchy, bright-orange turnover fried to order at night markets and by the plaza. The thin rice-flour crust gets its colour from annatto, and inside goes shredded green papaya, mung bean sprouts, crumbled Vigan longganisa (a garlicky pork sausage) and a whole egg. Vendors fold it in seconds and slide it into hot oil, then hand it over with a little bowl of spiced sugarcane vinegar to pour in with every bite. It is a pork snack for evenings out. Chef's tip: roll the dough very thin on a banana leaf or baking paper; the leaf lets you flip the dough over the filling without tearing it.
In Imereti, the region around Kutaisi in western Georgia, this flat round cheese bread is everyday food, and it is the one most families make at home: a tender, quick dough leavened with matsoni (Georgian yogurt) and soda, wrapped around a cheese ball and cooked in a dry frying pan. It is cut into wedges like a pizza and set on the table for breakfast, for a feast, or packed for a long car journey. Georgian imeruli and sulguni cheeses are hard to find outside Georgia, so this uses mozzarella with feta for the salty tang. Choose cheeses labelled vegetarian (microbial rennet). Children love it plain, still warm. A common mistake is rolling it out with heavy pressure, which tears the thin dough so the cheese leaks and burns in the pan. Chef's tip: press it out gently with your fingertips from the centre outwards, and if a small hole appears, pinch a scrap of dough over it before it reaches the pan.
Ambul thiyal means 'sour stew', and it comes from the fishing towns of the south coast, around Matara, Galle and Tangalle. Fishermen once cooked it so the tuna would keep for days without a fridge: almost no liquid, plenty of goraka and black pepper, slowly reduced in a clay pot until each chunk is dark and coated. Today it is a favourite rice-and-curry dish on Sundays and holidays, and people often pack it for long journeys. It is sharp, peppery and firm, so a little goes a long way with rice and a coconut sambol. Chef's tip: cut the tuna into big 4 cm chunks; small pieces fall apart during the long, slow reduction.
Kagoshima, at Kyushu's southern tip, is Japan's sweet potato heartland. The crop is so closely tied to the region that the Japanese word for sweet potato, satsuma-imo, means 'Satsuma potato', after the old name of Kagoshima. Imo kenpi are its simplest snack: thin batons of sweet potato fried until crisp, then tossed in a syrup that sets into a glassy shell. Kids grab them from bags at the corner shop, and grandparents make them at home with the autumn harvest. They are crunchy, sweet and a little salty. Chef's tip: fry the potato twice, slowly first, then hot. That drives out the water and gives a snap that lasts for days.
No Filipino party table is complete without a platter of lumpiang shanghai, the pencil-thin pork spring rolls that disappear first at birthdays, Christmas Eve (Noche Buena) and family reunions. They came from the Chinese-Filipino cooks of Manila, and the filling is seasoned minced pork with carrot, onion and water chestnut, rolled tight in thin wrappers and fried until they crackle. Dip them in sweet chilli sauce or banana ketchup. Chef's tip: roll them no thicker than your finger; thin rolls cook through in the time the wrapper takes to turn golden.
Jinan restaurants have served this Shandong classic for more than a century, and its name, 'nine turns', borrows from Taoist alchemy to praise how many times the flavour seems to change on the tongue. Sections of pork intestine are cleaned thoroughly, simmered until tender, fried golden and then braised in a dark glaze that is sweet, sour, salty, peppery and gently spiced all at once, finished with a dusting of cinnamon and white pepper. The texture is soft and rich with a slight chew. It is banquet food in Shandong, eaten with plain rice or steamed buns and a green vegetable. Chef's tip: buy intestines already cleaned by a butcher if you can; you will still give them a wash, but the hard part is done.
Fara is what a Chhattisgarhi kitchen does with yesterday's rice: it is kneaded with rice flour and hot water into a soft dough, rolled into little fingers, steamed and then tossed in a crackling tadka. Served at teatime or packed for long bus journeys, it is soft and chewy inside with spots of crispness from the pan. Some families spoon it into a thin, tangy curry instead, but the dry tempered version is the one sold in Raipur's snack corners. Chef's tip: knead the dough while it is still hot from the water; cold rice dough cracks and the fara split as they steam.
Faloodeh is the summer treat of Shiraz: thin rice noodles frozen in a rosewater syrup to make an icy, crunchy, chewy sorbet, sold in ice-cream shops across the city and in Tehran on hot evenings. Each glass is finished at the counter with a squeeze of fresh lime and, for many, a spoon of sour cherry syrup. It is very different from Indian falooda, which is a creamy milk drink; this one is dairy-free, sharp, floral and refreshing. Chef's tip: scrape the mixture with a fork every 30 minutes while it freezes, so you get snowy crystals rather than a solid block.
Fakes (say 'fah-KES') is the weekday soup of Greek homes, often made on a Wednesday or Friday, the traditional fasting days. Small brown lentils are simmered with onion, garlic, carrot, tomato and bay until thick and soft, then brightened at the table with red wine vinegar. It is cheap, filling and ready in well under an hour. Greeks eat it with olives, a wedge of feta for those who eat dairy, raw onion and bread. Chef's tip: add the vinegar off the heat just before eating, not while it cooks; boiling it is the usual mistake and flattens the sharp lift it is meant to give.
Liuzhou, an industrial city in Guangxi, turned its late-night snail noodle stalls into a national obsession, and the smell alone makes luosifen famous: sour fermented bamboo shoots give it a funky, love-it-or-hate-it aroma that fills the kitchen. The broth itself is rich and savoury from pork bones and river snails, red with chilli oil, and the bowl is piled with crunchy fried tofu skin, peanuts, pickled beans, greens and slippery rice noodles. Taste-wise it is hot, sour and deeply savoury all at once. It is a meal in a bowl, best eaten with the window open and a cold drink. Chef's tip: use only snails sold ready-cooked and cleaned, frozen or canned, never wild-gathered ones, and still boil them in the broth for at least 15 minutes; if you can't find them, dried shrimp make a good snail-free broth.
No children's birthday party in Australia, and in New Zealand too, is complete without a plate of fairy bread, a tradition going back about a hundred years. Soft white bread is spread with butter and pressed face-down into a pile of hundreds and thousands, the tiny round coloured sprinkles, then cut into triangles. It's sweet, crunchy, buttery and gloriously bright, and children love making it as much as eating it. Many sprinkles are coloured with insect-based carmine (E120) or glazed with shellac (E904); for a vegetarian plate, choose a brand that uses neither. Chef's tip: use soft, spreadable butter right to the edges; it's the glue that holds every sprinkle.
Fabada is the great midday stew of Asturias, on Spain's green, rainy north coast, eaten in winter at long lunches in village casas de comida and cider houses, usually followed by a quiet afternoon. Big, buttery fabes (Asturian white beans) cook slowly with the compango: smoked Asturian chorizo, morcilla, pork belly and lacón (cured pork shoulder). The beans should end up creamy inside and whole outside, in a thick, orange broth coloured by the chorizo. Large dried white beans such as judión or butter beans are the closest substitute if you can't find fabes. Chef's tip: make it the day before; it thickens and tastes better after a night in the fridge.
Gaziantep gave Turkey this hearty soup, named after Ezo, a bride from a village near the city whose sad story is still told in folk songs. Unlike the smooth mercimek soup, ezogelin keeps some texture: red lentils, bulgur and a little rice simmer together with tomato and red pepper paste until thick and soft, and plenty of dried mint goes in at the end. In southeast Turkey it is a winter staple, eaten in the morning and as a light supper with bread and a squeeze of lemon. It thickens as it stands, so add a splash of water when you reheat it. Chef's tip: rub the dried mint between your palms over the pot to release its oils just before you serve.
In Lagos, ewa agoyin is the breakfast you buy from a woman with a big cooler of soft, mashed beans and a second pot of almost-black pepper sauce glistening with palm oil. The name points to the Agoyin, people from neighbouring Togo and Benin who made the dish famous in Lagos markets, and it is eaten with soft, chewy agege bread or fried plantain. The beans are the small, naturally sweet brown 'honey beans' (ewa oloyin), cooked until they collapse. The sauce is the star: dried chillies and onions fried slowly in palm oil until deep brown, smoky and slightly bitter-sweet. Chef's tip: don't rush the sauce; the onions need to go from soft to very dark brown slowly over a medium-low heat, which is where the smoky depth comes from.
Fanesca is cooked in Ecuador only once a year, in the days before Easter, and families spend a whole day shelling, peeling and stirring. Traditionally it gathers twelve grains and legumes (said to stand for the apostles) in a thick soup of squash, milk and peanut, with salt cod in the pot. This version leaves the fish out and keeps the festival garnishes: hard-boiled egg, fried ripe plantain, fresh cheese and parsley. It's rich and very filling; small bowls are enough. Chef's tip: cook everything the day before and reheat; like many big feast soups, fanesca tastes better on day two.
Esquites are the cup version of elote, sold by street vendors across Mexico City from big pots: corn kernels sautéed with butter, onion, green chilli and epazote, simmered in a little salty water, then spooned into cups and topped with mayonnaise, lime, crumbled cheese and chilli powder. Each spoonful is sweet, buttery, tangy and warm, with a splash of the corn broth at the bottom. They make a great snack or side for tacos. Choose cotija or feta made with vegetarian rennet. Chef's tip: let the kernels brown slightly in the butter before adding the water; those toasty bits give esquites their depth.
Good Friday in Jamaica means fish, and escovitch fish is the dish families line up for, though you'll also find it any day at the seaside stalls of Hellshire Beach and Port Royal. Whole red snapper (or thick fillets) are seasoned, fried until the skin shatters, then buried under onion, carrot, chocho and peppers that have been briefly warmed in vinegar with pimento and scotch bonnet. The fish soaks up the sharp, hot pickle as it sits, so it is as good at room temperature as it is fresh from the pan. Serve with bammy or festival. Chef's tip: make the pickle while the fish fries and pour it over hot fish; it sinks in better, and a few hours later the flavour is even deeper.
Erissery is the golden, slightly sweet pumpkin dish of the Onam sadya in Kerala, and a favourite in homes all through the harvest season when the yellow mathanga pumpkins are piled up in the markets. Soft pumpkin and red cowpeas are bound with a coconut, cumin and green chilli paste, and the whole pot is crowned with grated coconut fried in coconut oil until it turns the colour of cinnamon. That crunchy, nutty topping is what makes it erissery. Serve with rice and parippu, or scoop it up with chapati. Chef's tip: keep the pumpkin pieces large so some stay whole while others melt into the sauce.
No Swedish Christmas table, from Gothenburg to Luleå, is complete without a dish of Janssons frestelse, and it often comes back at Easter and midsummer too. Matchsticks of potato and soft onion are baked in cream with Swedish-style spiced sprats (labelled ansjovis in Sweden), which melt into the sauce and season it with a salty, sweet-spiced depth rather than a fishy taste. It is rich, so a spoonful sits beside ham, meatballs and pickled herring rather than being a main course on its own. Many people go wrong by buying Mediterranean salted anchovies; they are far saltier and the gratin turns harsh, so look for the sweet-cured sprats in Scandinavian shops. Chef's tip: cut the potatoes into thin sticks rather than slices; the starch on their many edges thickens the cream as it bakes.
Epis is the jar that lives in every Haitian fridge, in Port-au-Prince flats and in Haitian kitchens in Miami, Montreal and Boston alike, and it's made fresh most weeks. Flat-leaf parsley, spring onion, garlic, sweet peppers and thyme are pounded or blended with a few cloves, a little scotch bonnet, oil and lime into a loose green paste. It is the first thing into the pot for rice and beans, legim and soup joumou, and it's rubbed over vegetables and tofu before they're fried. Raw it smells bright and herby; cooked it turns sweet, savoury and gently warm with clove. Chef's tip: use whole cloves and grind them yourself; just three or four give epis its signature warmth, but more turns it medicinal.
On cold evenings in Busan, the city that made Korean fish cake famous, steam rises from street stalls where folded fish-cake skewers bob in a long tray of broth. You help yourself to a skewer, dip it in soy sauce and sip a paper cup of the hot broth while you stand. Bupyeong market has rows of fish-cake shops, and many families buy a bag there to make this simple soup at home. Radish, dried anchovies and kelp give the broth its clean, sweet flavour. Chef's tip: pull the heads and black guts off the dried anchovies before using them, because the guts make the broth bitter.
Cuban home cooks dress avocado very simply, and in summer around Havana it often meets ripe pineapple and thin rings of red onion in a lime and olive oil dressing. The creamy avocado, juicy sweet-sour pineapple and sharp onion make it the cool, fresh plate beside rice and beans or yuca con mojo. It takes ten minutes. Chef's tip: soak the onion rings in cold water for 5 minutes first; they stay crisp but lose their harsh bite.
The Engadiner Nusstorte comes from the high Engadine valley in Graubünden, where pastry cooks who had emigrated to Italian and French cities brought home their skills in the 1800s, and walnuts arrived from Italy over the passes. It is a shallow, closed tart of rich butter pastry filled with chopped walnuts set in thick, golden cream caramel. Bakeries all over Switzerland sell it, and it keeps for weeks, so families give it as a gift and take it on hikes. Cut it into thin wedges: it is very rich, chewy, crunchy and buttery all at once. Chef's tip: let the caramel reach a deep amber before you pour in the cream; pale caramel tastes only of sugar, dark amber gives the toffee note the tart is known for.
When the sun goes down during Ramadan in Dubai, Sharjah or Muscat, plates of luqaimat appear on iftar tables and in mosque courtyards. The little balls of yeasted batter, scented with saffron and cardamom, are fried until crisp and golden outside and soft as a cloud inside, then drizzled with dibs (date syrup) and scattered with sesame. Unlike syrup-soaked fritters, they are glazed only lightly, so they stay crunchy. Chef's tip: a teaspoon of oil on your thumb and a wet spoon stop the sticky batter clinging, so the balls drop round into the oil.
Jeju's haenyeo, the island's women free-divers, have gathered abalone from its rocky coast for generations, and porridge made with it is a favourite breakfast on the island. Restaurants near the harbours and many hotel breakfast tables offer it, often a soft green-grey from the abalone guts cooked into the rice. It's gentle, warming food, also cooked for anyone who is unwell or tired. Frozen cleaned abalone works well; the porridge is just paler without the guts. Chef's tip: toast the soaked rice in sesame oil with the abalone until the grains turn translucent at the edges before adding any water; it gives the porridge its nutty flavour.
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