Creamy grilled chicken pieces
Karachi's BBQ joints, from the big family restaurants on Shahrah-e-Faisal to the tikka stalls of Hussainabad, nearly all have malai boti on the menu, and it is the order for anyone who wants flavour without fire. Chunks of chicken thigh sit overnight in cream, soft cheese, yogurt, white pepper, green chilli and a hint of cardamom, then go over the coals until the outside chars in creamy, golden patches and the inside stays very juicy. It is eaten hot off the skewer with naan, raita and a squeeze of lemon, and children ask for it by name. Too fierce a heat is the trap: the dairy burns black before the chicken cooks, so grill over medium coals. Chef's tip: brush the skewers with melted butter in the last two minutes for the glossy finish you see at the grills.
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Zanzibar's famous street bowl (urojo): a thin, tangy, golden soup of gram flour, raw mango, coconut and chilli, filled with little lentil fritters and potato balls and topped with crushed cassava crisps and coconut, green and red chutneys. It's sour, spicy and crunchy all at once. Make the fritters, potato balls and chutney ahead, then assemble the bowls at the table.
In Xi'an's Muslim Quarter, cooks peel liangpi off steaming trays all day, cut it into wide ribbons and toss it with chilli oil, black vinegar, garlic water and cubes of springy gluten. It's eaten cold, often with a flatbread, as a summer lunch. Gansu's niangpi, from Lanzhou and Tianshui, is the same dish with thicker sheets and more garlic, so it's covered here too. You wash a flour dough to split the starch from the gluten, so allow 4 hours for the starch to settle. Chef's tip: stir the starch water every time before you ladle it, because the starch sinks fast.
Satti is how Zamboanga City starts the day: small skewers of grilled chicken or beef, smoky from charcoal, drowned in a thin, spicy, slightly sweet red sauce and eaten with ta'mu, little rice cakes cooked in woven palm-leaf pouches. Satti houses near the port open before sunrise and are busiest on weekend mornings. It is a cousin of Malaysian and Indonesian satay, but the sauce is runnier and spiced with chilli and a little peanut. Pressed rice cubes or plain rice stand in well for ta'mu at home. Chef's tip: thread the chicken in small, flat pieces and close together; they cook fast and stay juicy before the outside dries.
Sattu paratha is a Bihari breakfast that keeps farmers going until lunch. Sattu, roasted bengal gram ground to a fine flour, is mixed with onion, garlic, green chilli, carom seeds and a dash of pickle masala, then rolled into wholemeal dough and cooked on a hot tawa until blistered. The filling is savoury, punchy and high in protein, and the bread stays soft for hours, which is why it's packed for long journeys. Serve with curd or chokha and a pickle. Chef's tip: moisten the filling just enough to clump; a dry sattu filling bursts through the dough and burns on the tawa.
On scorching May afternoons in Patna, handcarts with steel pots and heaps of lemons sell sattu sharbat by the glass: roasted gram flour whisked into cold water with black salt, roasted cumin, lemon and a bit of raw onion and chilli. It is filling enough to stand in for lunch and is the drink rickshaw pullers and farm workers swear by to beat the loo, the hot summer wind. It tastes savoury, nutty and sharp all at once. Chef's tip: whisk the sattu into a little water first to a smooth paste, then dilute it; tipping it straight into a full glass leaves dry lumps.
In Uruguay, a grey rainy afternoon has one answer: torta frita and mate. These thin discs of dough, pierced with a hole in the middle, are fried until puffed and golden and either sprinkled with sugar or eaten plain, still hot, between sips passed around the circle. In Montevideo you'll smell them from street stalls on wet days; at home they're made with butter or beef fat, here with butter. Chef's tip: the hole in the middle isn't decoration; it lets the centre cook through at the same speed as the edges.
Til pitha is the essential sweet of Magh Bihu, the January harvest festival, when Assamese homes stay up late around the fire, frying and toasting. Fresh flour of soaked bora (sticky) rice is spread thin on a hot pan into a round, filled with roasted black sesame and jaggery and rolled into a cigar while still soft; it crisps as it cools. Tins of til pitha are carried to every house visited during Bihu. Chef's tip: the flour must be freshly ground from soaked sticky rice and still slightly damp; dry shop rice flour won't fuse into a sheet.
Sauce graine, palm-nut sauce, is the Sunday stew of southern Côte d'Ivoire, made in villages from freshly pounded palm fruit and in Abidjan from tins of palm-nut cream. It is deep orange-red, rich and slightly smoky from the smoked fish that goes in with the chicken, and is eaten with foutou banane, rice or attiéké. The mistake to avoid is boiling it hard at the end; palm-nut sauce should simmer gently until the oil rises to the top, which is how you know it is done. Chef's tip: use bone-in chicken; the bones give the sauce body.
Bite carefully: inside each pleated parcel is a pork meatball floating in hot broth, which comes from a pork-skin jelly that melts as the dumplings steam. Shanghai's teahouses and the old town around Nanxiang have served them in bamboo baskets for well over a century, usually for breakfast or a late lunch with a saucer of black vinegar and threads of ginger. The wrapper should be thin enough to see the soup move but strong enough to lift with chopsticks. Make the jelly the day before (or use the gelatine shortcut in the ingredient note), then the folding takes about an hour with a little practice. Chef's tip: keep the filling in the fridge until the moment you wrap; cold jelly stays solid and the dumplings are far easier to pleat.
Bagara baingan is a Hyderabadi wedding dish of small aubergines cooked whole in a dark, tangy gravy of roasted peanuts, sesame, dried coconut and tamarind. Unlike a Gujarati stuffed brinjal, the aubergines here are only quartered at the base and fried until silky, then left to soak up a thin-but-rich sauce that is finished with a tempering, the 'baghar' that gives the dish its name. It's sour, nutty and gently spiced, and is served with biryani, bagara rice or plain rice. Chef's tip: choose small, glossy purple aubergines that feel heavy for their size; soft, light ones are full of seeds and turn mushy before the gravy has a chance to cling.
Across Xinjiang, from Kashgar's bazaars to Urumqi's backstreets, bakers slap rounds of dough onto the walls of clay tandoors and pull them out a few minutes later, golden and stamped with patterns. The centre is pressed thin and crisp while the rim stays soft and chewy, and the onion version is scattered with cumin and sesame. Nang keeps for days and is eaten with tea, kebabs and salads. Chef's tip: get your oven and tray as hot as they'll go; nang bakes quickly in fierce heat.
Sauerbraten is the Rhineland's Sunday roast, from Cologne to Düsseldorf, and in the old days it was a way to keep beef for a week. A joint of topside sits for three days in a spiced vinegar marinade, then is braised slowly and served with a sweet-sour gravy thickened with crumbled gingerbread (Printen or Lebkuchen) and raisins. Red cabbage and potato dumplings are the classic plate. Many families put red wine in the marinade; this version uses red wine vinegar and stock, so it is alcohol-free, and you can swap 250 ml of the water for red wine if you like. A common mistake is serving it too soon: give the meat the full three days in the fridge so the vinegar reaches the middle. Chef's tip: dry the beef very well before browning, or it will steam and stay grey.
In Armenian villages lavash is still slapped onto the hot clay wall of a tonir by women working in pairs, one rolling and one stretching, and the craft is on UNESCO's list of intangible heritage. The sheets come out blistered and soft, then dry to a cracker that keeps for months; a sprinkle of water brings them back to life. Lavash wraps grilled vegetables and herbs, carries cheese to the mouth, lines the pot for a crusty plov and is laid on the table at every meal and wedding. This version is unleavened and cooked in a heavy frying pan, the easiest way to get close to the tonir at home. Chef's tip: roll on a lightly oiled worktop rather than a floured one; the dough clings a little, so it stretches thinner without tearing.
Bafauri comes from the same Chhattisgarhi home kitchens that make fara and chila, and it is the region's answer to a fried pakora without the frying. Soaked chana dal is ground coarse with ginger, garlic and chilli, mixed with onion and herbs, then steamed into little dumplings that are firm, nubbly and high in protein. They are eaten hot at teatime with tomato chutney, and many families also toss them in a quick mustard-seed tadka. Chef's tip: grind the dal with only 2–3 tablespoons of water; a wet paste spreads flat in the steamer and loses the rough texture that makes bafauri good.
Unniyappam are small, round sweet dumplings that Kerala families make for Vishu and Karthika, and they are a well-known temple offering at Guruvayur and Sabarimala. A batter of ground rice, ripe banana and jaggery, studded with ghee-fried coconut bits and sesame, is fried in the round hollows of an unniyappa chatti until crisp and dark brown outside and soft and spongy in the middle. They keep for a couple of days in a tin and are perfect with tea. Chef's tip: let the batter rest for an hour; it softens and puffs a little, giving lighter unniyappam.
Sawhchiar is Mizoram's comfort food and community food at once: rice and chicken slowly cooked together until thick and soft. In Aizawl huge pots are made for church gatherings, festivals such as Chapchar Kut and for neighbours in times of mourning, and smaller pots at home for anyone feeling unwell. It is gently seasoned with ginger, garlic and pepper and eaten with a fiery chilli on the side. Chef's tip: stir from the bottom every few minutes near the end; once the rice thickens it catches quickly.
Armenian harissa has nothing to do with the North African chilli paste. It is a thick, smooth porridge of whole wheat and chicken, cooked for hours until both break down, then beaten hard with a wooden spoon. It is tied to Musa Dagh and the village of Anjar, where it is cooked in huge cauldrons for the September feast, and many families also make it for Easter and cold winter Sundays. The taste is gentle and comforting, lifted by browned butter and cumin poured on top. Cooks often stop stirring once the wheat has softened, but the long beating at the end is what gives harissa its creamy, stretchy texture. Chef's tip: soak the wheat the night before; it halves the cooking time.
No Sankranti in coastal Andhra Pradesh is complete without ariselu. In the days before the January harvest festival, women gather to pound soaked rice into damp flour, cook it into a thick jaggery syrup, and press the dough into rounds on sesame seeds before frying. Each ariselu is chewy, dense and caramel-sweet, with a crisp sesame coat; after frying they are squeezed between two wooden spatulas to push out the excess oil. They keep for two weeks and are shared with every neighbour. Chef's tip: use home-made flour from soaked rice that is still slightly damp; dry shop flour gives hard, cracking ariselu.
Walk into any soda (small family diner) in San José at lunchtime and the board will offer a casado: one plate where rice and beans are 'married' to salad, sweet plantain and a main. The meatless version is just as common, with a fried egg and a slice of fresh white cheese, plus a little picadillo of chopped vegetables. It's a full, balanced lunch, and every element is simple. Chef's tip: cook the plantain only when it's deeply black-skinned and soft; ripe plantain caramelises to sticky dark edges, green plantain just goes dry.
Caracas named this filling after a beauty queen: in 1955 a family running an arepera in the city made it for Susana Duijm, Venezuela's first Miss World, and called it 'the curvy queen'. Shredded chicken is mashed with ripe avocado, a little mayonnaise, lime and coriander, then stuffed into a hot, crisp-skinned arepa split down the side. Venezuelans eat it for breakfast, at lunch from areperas and late at night after a party. The usual mistake is cooking arepas over too high a heat: the outside blackens while the middle stays raw and doughy. Chef's tip: an arepa is done when it sounds hollow when you tap it; if it doesn't, give it a few more minutes in the oven.
Cong you bing are sold from griddles on street corners across northern China, and every Shanghai breakfast stall has its own version. The dough is rolled thin, brushed with a flour-and-oil paste, scattered with spring onion, rolled up like a snail and flattened again, so it fries into dozens of crisp, chewy layers. Children love tearing them apart. Chef's tip: make the dough with hot water; it scalds some of the flour so the pancakes stay soft and roll out without springing back.
Tinutuan, also called bubur Manado, is what North Sulawesi eats for breakfast: rice simmered with pumpkin until the pumpkin melts and turns the porridge golden, then loaded with sweetcorn, cassava and a big handful of greens and lemon basil at the end. In Manado it comes with small fried fish and a fiery tomato dabu-dabu; this version skips the fish and pairs it with fried tofu. It is filling, gentle and naturally vegan. Chef's tip: add the leafy greens only in the last 3 minutes so they stay green and fresh.
Banosh is the shepherds' dish of the Hutsul highlands in the Ukrainian Carpathians, around Verkhovyna, Kosiv and Yaremche. Coarse cornmeal is stirred into simmering sour cream over a fire until the butterfat beads on the surface, then heaped on plates and crumbled with salty bryndza sheep's cheese and forest mushrooms; tourists queue for it in the mountain kolyba restaurants. Traditionally it is also topped with crisp pork crackling, which this vegetarian version leaves out in favour of extra buttery mushrooms. Bryndza is usually made with animal rennet, so look for a sheep's or feta cheese labelled vegetarian. Chef's tip: stir in one direction only with a wooden spoon, as the Hutsuls insist; it keeps the porridge smooth and helps the fat separate out, which tells you it is ready.
Tire d'érable (maple taffy, or 'tire sur la neige') is the highlight of a spring visit to a Québec or eastern Ontario sugar shack: hot boiled maple syrup is poured in ribbons over clean packed snow, where it firms into a chewy, amber toffee that you roll up onto a wooden stick. It's sold at winter carnivals in Québec City and made at home on a tray of snow or crushed ice. Chef's tip: use a sugar thermometer and stop at 112–114 °C; a few degrees under and it stays runny, a few over and it turns hard as candy.
In Caracas the arepa is not a topped flatbread but a pocket: a thinner, crisp-skinned white-corn round that is split open while hot and stuffed, sold from areperas that stay open late into the night. The dominó is the classic vegetarian filling, named for its black and white look: warm black beans (caraotas) and crumbly salty white cheese. It is a filling meal for breakfast or dinner. Chef's tip: once the arepas have a crust, finish them in a hot oven or let them stand on the griddle until they sound hollow when tapped; that dry, steamy middle is what makes them easy to split and stuff.
Arepa de huevo is the famous fried snack of Colombia's Caribbean coast, sold from the hot oil drums of street cooks in Cartagena, Barranquilla and especially the beach town of Luruaco. A thin yellow-corn arepa is fried until it puffs like a pillow, then slit open, a raw egg is slipped inside, and it goes back into the oil to seal and cook the egg. It is crisp, a little chewy and rich. Street versions often add minced beef; this one keeps it simply egg and salt. Chef's tip: fry the arepas the first time just until they puff, not until golden, or they will burn during the second fry.
Tirokafteri means 'hot cheese', and in Thessaloniki and across northern Greece it's the dip you order with ouzo or tsipouro: feta whipped with chilli, a roasted red pepper and olive oil into something creamy, salty and properly fiery. Every ouzeri makes it slightly differently; some keep it chunky, some silky, some add yogurt to soften the heat. Scoop it up with toasted bread, or spoon it beside grilled vegetables and fritters. Use feta labelled vegetarian. Chef's tip: add the fresh chilli a little at a time and taste; chillies vary a lot, and adding the whole lot at once is the usual mistake that makes it too hot to eat.
No Slovenian Easter or Christmas table is complete without potica, a yeasted dough rolled thin around a honeyed walnut filling and baked in a fluted ring mould called a potičnik. When sliced, each piece shows a tight spiral of pale dough and dark nuts. Families in Ljubljana and across Carniola argue about the best filling, but walnut with honey is the classic one, eaten with coffee from Christmas morning until the tin is empty. Unlike a braided Romanian cozonac, the beauty is all in the thin, even swirl. Chef's tip: spread the filling no thicker than the dough and roll it up tightly; a loose roll or a thick layer leaves a gap between dough and filling once baked, the most common potica fault.
Tiropita is the cheese pie Greek children grow up on: bought hot from the neighbourhood fourno on the way to school, baked in big trays for birthday parties, and cut into squares for a quick lunch with a glass of ayran-style yogurt drink. The filling is softer and milder than spanakopita's, a creamy custard of feta, a fresh white cheese and eggs set between crisp, buttery fillo. It is good warm from the oven and still good cold in a lunch box. Use a feta labelled vegetarian, as many are made with animal rennet. Chef's tip: crumple the middle sheets of fillo loosely instead of laying them flat; the air pockets keep the pie light, and pressing them flat (the usual mistake) gives a dense, doughy middle.
Swabian potato salad is nothing like the creamy kind. In Stuttgart and across Baden-Württemberg it is made with waxy potatoes sliced while still warm and soaked in hot stock, vinegar, onion and oil until it turns glossy and slightly 'schlonzig', a local word for that loose, juicy texture. It is eaten lukewarm, never fridge-cold, beside Maultaschen or vegetarian schnitzel, and at every summer garden party. This version uses vegetable stock. Chef's tip: pour the hot dressing over the potatoes while they are still warm; cold potatoes won't drink it in and the salad stays dry.
Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte comes from the Black Forest in south-west Germany, a region famous for its sour cherries and the clear cherry brandy, Kirschwasser, distilled from them. Layers of light chocolate sponge are soaked with cherry syrup (and traditionally kirsch), filled with thickened sour cherries and lots of whipped cream, then covered in cream and chocolate shavings and topped with cherries. It's the cake of birthdays, Sunday Kaffee und Kuchen and Konditorei windows. This version leaves out gelatine: the cherries are set with cornflour and the cream with a little mascarpone. Chef's tip: chill the assembled cake for at least 4 hours; cut too early and the layers slide apart.
When the clam beds of the Zuari and Mandovi rivers are full after the monsoon, Goan kitchens cook tisryo (clams) as sukhe, meaning dry: no gravy, just shells coated in a coarse, spiced coconut masala. It is a Saturday-lunch side dish with fish curry and rice, eaten with the fingers, picking each clam out of its half-shell. Chef's tip: grind the coconut masala without water and only briefly, so it stays coarse and clings to the shells.
In the Andean cities of Bogotá, Medellín and the coffee region, breakfast very often means an arepa: a thick, griddled round of white corn dough, split or topped with butter and melting fresh cheese. This Colombian arepa con queso has cheese kneaded into the dough as well as on top, so it comes out soft and steamy inside with a crisp, freckled crust. Serve it with hot chocolate, aguapanela or eggs scrambled with tomato and spring onion (huevos pericos). Chef's tip: the dough should feel like soft play dough; if the edges crack when you flatten a ball, it needs a splash more warm water.
Beskuit grew out of the Voortrekker need for bread that kept on long ox-wagon journeys; today a tin of rusks sits next to the kettle in homes from the Karoo to Pretoria, and they are dunked in early-morning coffee or rooibos. A soft buttermilk dough is baked as a loaf, cut into fingers and then dried in a low oven for hours until rock hard and crunchy. Chef's tip: dry the rusks slowly at a very low heat with the oven door slightly open; they should dry out completely, not brown further.
Buuz are the dumplings every Mongolian family makes in their hundreds before Tsagaan Sar, the Lunar New Year, in Ulaanbaatar flats and countryside gers alike, freezing them outside in the cold to steam for the stream of visitors. A simple dough wraps a juicy filling of chopped mutton, onion, garlic and caraway, pinched into a pleated shape with a small hole at the top, and the dumplings are eaten hot, with salty milk tea. The mistake is lean meat: buuz need some fat, or the filling is dry. Chef's tip: add a few spoons of cold water to the filling so it stays juicy when steamed.
Seco de pollo is the weekday stew of Ecuadorian homes, from Quito to Cuenca, and the dish most lunch places serve on Mondays: chicken simmered in a green-gold sauce of onion, peppers, garlic, cumin and lots of coriander, soured with naranjilla (lulo) juice and often cooked with a little beer. It is served with yellow rice, fried ripe plantain and avocado. This recipe uses beer; for an alcohol-free version replace it with the same amount of chicken stock plus a teaspoon of sugar. The mistake is using too little coriander: the sauce should be fragrant and green. Chef's tip: if you can't find naranjilla, use half orange juice and half lime juice.
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