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Frikandel speciaal
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Frikandel speciaal

Sausage with mayo and onion

The frikandel is the snack-bar sausage of the Netherlands, fried from frozen in every cafetaria and eaten at football matches and after a night out: a long, skinless sausage of finely minced meat, and 'speciaal' means split open and topped with mayonnaise, curry ketchup and raw chopped onion. Factory frikandellen use a mix of meats; this homemade version uses beef and pork mince, so it contains pork. A common mistake is skipping the poaching step, so the sausages break up in the fryer. Chef's tip: roll them in cling film and poach first, then chill; they hold their shape and fry crisp in minutes. Minced meat must reach 71 °C.

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Latest recipes

Maple cream

Crème d'érable is sold in little jars in every Quebec market from Jean-Talon to the Beauce farm stands, and despite the name there is no cream in it: pure maple syrup is boiled to the soft-ball stage, cooled without stirring and then beaten until it turns pale and creamy. It is spread on toast, crêpes and warm bagels. Patience and a thermometer are the whole trick. The common mistake is stirring the syrup while it cools, which sets off large grainy crystals instead of a smooth cream. Chef's tip: use a light, golden syrup; dark syrups taste stronger but can stay runny.

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Defo dabo (Ethiopian festive pot bread)

For Genna (Christmas), Fasika (Easter), weddings and christenings, cooks in Gondar and Gojjam bake defo dabo: a huge, tall round loaf whose dough is wrapped in enset or banana leaves and baked slowly in a heavy covered pot, traditionally with coals above and below. The leaves leave a faint green aroma and a pale, soft crust, and the crumb is fine and close, scented with black cumin, korerima and a little niter kibbeh. On feast days the loaf is blessed and cut before it is shared out. At home a cast-iron casserole in the oven does the job; allow about 2 hours of rising on top of the times given. Do not cut it hot: the crumb is still setting and turns gummy. Chef's tip: bake until the inside reads 94 °C on a probe thermometer; this dense loaf can look brown long before the centre is cooked.

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JulskinkaChristmas glazed ham

Julskinka, the Christmas ham, is the centrepiece of the Swedish julbord: a lightly cured pork leg poached slowly, then brushed with a glaze of mustard and egg, scattered with breadcrumbs and browned in the oven. This is a pork dish. Swedish families cook it a few days before Christmas Eve and eat it cold in thin slices with mustard, and the cooking broth is used for 'dopp i grytan', dipping bread into the broth on Christmas Eve. Use a mild cured gammon. A common mistake is boiling it hard, which makes the meat stringy. Chef's tip: keep the water at a bare tremble, about 85 °C, and take it out when the centre reaches 71 °C; it stays juicy.

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Gomen kitfo (Gurage minced collards with spiced butter)

Meskel in the Gurage highlands is the year's great feast, and next to the beef kitfo on the table there is always gomen kitfo, the meat-free 'kitfo' of greens. Collards are boiled until tender, squeezed hard and chopped so finely they become almost a paste, then worked with warm niter kibbeh, mitmita and a little korerima. The result is dark green, silky and rich, with a sharp chilli kick and a deep, slightly bitter leafy flavour. It is eaten with kocho and a heap of fresh ayib, and is also made on its own on non-fasting days. The usual mistake is leaving water in the greens, which makes it soggy and dilutes the butter; wring them out in a clean cloth. Chef's tip: chop with a heavy knife, rocking it again and again, rather than blending; a blender turns it into a purée and loses the fine, almost-minced texture.

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Lao iced coffee

High on the Bolaven Plateau above Pakse, the coffee towns around Paksong grow most of Laos's beans, and roadside stalls there brew them dark and strong through a long cloth sock, all day long. Ordered cold, it arrives as a glass of ice with a thick layer of sweetened condensed milk at the bottom, the black coffee poured over and stirred to a caramel brown, often with a free cup of weak tea to sip afterwards. It is bitter-sweet, chocolatey and much richer than a café latte, made for hot afternoons on the plateau or a morning stop in Pakse. A French press or a fine sieve lined with a paper filter stands in for the cloth sock. Pouring hot coffee straight onto ice before adding the milk is where it goes flat: the condensed milk won't dissolve in cold coffee and sinks in a gluey lump. Chef's tip: stir the condensed milk into the hot coffee first, then pour over the ice.

10 minLaoDrinksGluten free
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Atmit (warm barley gruel with spiced butter and honey)

When a baby is born in an Amhara household, visiting women bring or cook atmit for the new mother, and the same soft, sippable gruel is made for anyone recovering from illness. Roasted barley flour (or oat flour) is whisked into water and simmered until it thickens to the texture of a thin custard, then enriched with a spoon of niter kibbeh, honey and a pinch of korerima. It tastes nutty, sweet and buttery, and is drunk warm from a cup rather than eaten with a spoon. Some homes add a little milk for extra richness. A common mistake is tipping the flour straight into hot water, which makes lumps; slake it in cold water first. Chef's tip: keep it thinner than you think; atmit thickens as it cools, and it should still pour easily from the cup.

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Khubz ahmarRed date bread

In the palm groves of Al-Ahsa in Saudi Arabia's Eastern Province, bakers slap rounds of khubz ahmar onto the walls of tannour ovens, and its colour, a deep reddish brown, comes from date syrup kneaded straight into the dough. Locals eat it for breakfast and with tea, often spread with cream cheese or dipped in more syrup. Fenugreek and black seed give it a warm, almost maple-like perfume, and the crumb is dense and soft with a chewy crust. A common mistake is adding too much flour because the dough feels sticky; the syrup makes it tacky, and extra flour turns the bread heavy. Oil your hands instead. Chef's tip: bake on a very hot stone and pull the breads once the edges darken; the sugars burn quickly after that.

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Bak chor meeMinced pork noodles

Queue at almost any Teochew noodle stall in a Singapore kopitiam before work and the order you hear most is a bowl of bak chor mee, dry, with extra vinegar. Springy flat mee pok is tossed at the bottom of the bowl in black vinegar, chilli paste, soy and a spoon of pork lard, then crowned with loosely poached minced pork, slices of pork liver, fish balls and sweet braised mushrooms, with a small bowl of clear pork soup on the side. It should taste sour first, then hot, then rich, and the noodles must stay bouncy rather than soft. Where most home cooks go wrong is cooking the noodles in one long boil: they turn limp and soak up the sauce instead of carrying it. Chef's tip: blanch the noodles twice, plunging them into cold water in between, which is how the hawkers get that al dente snap.

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Bein montJaggery coconut rice pancake

When the November nights cool down for the Tazaungdaing festival, food stalls outside pagodas in Yangon and Mandalay start cooking bein mont in small, lidded iron pans with embers piled on top, so the cake bakes from above and below at once. The batter is rice flour sweetened with dark jaggery, so it cooks into a thick, springy, brown pancake with a crisp base, studded on top with shreds of coconut and sliced peanuts; some vendors still scatter poppy seeds, the bein that may have given the snack its name. It is eaten warm in wedges with hot green tea. High heat is what usually goes wrong: the base scorches while the centre stays raw, so keep the flame low and the lid on. Chef's tip: a small cast-iron pan finished under the grill copies the charcoal top heat at home.

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Pumpkin millet porridge

Autumn in central Ukraine means piles of grey-skinned pumpkins in every yard, and the first thing many grandmothers make with them is this golden breakfast porridge. Diced pumpkin is simmered until it collapses, then millet and milk are added and the pot is left to cook down into something thick, creamy and faintly sweet, finished with butter and a spoon of honey. In villages around Cherkasy and Vinnytsia it was once baked for hours in the clay stove; a heavy pan on a low heat gives a very similar result. Serve it hot in deep bowls, with extra honey and a few raisins for children. The usual slip is skipping the rinse: millet carries a bitter dust, and only washing it in several changes of hot water takes it away. Chef's tip: choose a dense, deep-orange pumpkin such as butternut or a Ukrainian 'muscat' type; watery Halloween pumpkins make a thin, pale kasha.

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Barley water

Ask for 'barley' at any drinks stall in a Singapore kopitiam and you get a tall glass of cloudy, faintly sweet barley water, the drink older relatives swear by on the hottest afternoons because it is said to cool the body. Home cooks simmer pearl barley for an hour with knotted pandan leaves, and in Teochew and Cantonese households chunks of winter melon go in as well for a gentle, cucumber-like sweetness. The result is light and clean, ideal beside a plate of chicken rice, char kway teow or anything greasy and salty. The usual mistake is boiling it hard, which turns the liquid starchy and slimy instead of smooth and pale; keep it at a gentle simmer. Chef's tip: don't throw away the softened barley grains; spoon some into each glass, as the stalls do, or eat them warm with a little rock sugar as a light dessert.

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Kocho (Gurage enset flatbread)

Across the green Gurage and Sidama highlands, the enset or 'false banana' plant feeds whole families, and its scraped, fermented pulp becomes kocho, the dense flatbread that is the only proper partner for kitfo. Fermentation happens over weeks or months in leaf-lined pits, so outside Ethiopia you start with ready-fermented kocho, sold frozen or chilled in Ethiopian shops; there is no real substitute. The pulp is squeezed, chopped fine, patted into a round on enset or banana leaves and baked slowly on a griddle. The bread is chewy, slightly fibrous and pleasantly sour, with a faint fermented aroma, and it is torn and used to scoop kitfo, gomen kitfo and ayib, especially at Meskel. Too much moisture is the classic mistake, giving a gummy, raw-tasting middle; wring the pulp out well. Chef's tip: cook it low and slow under a lid, so the centre dries and sets before the leaves burn.

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Kabab-e-daygiPot-cooked lamb kebab

Daygi means from the pot, and this is the kebab Kabul families make when there is no grill or the weather is too cold for one: chunks of lamb browned hard, then left to cook slowly with onions, tomato, garlic and green chilli in a covered deg, with barely any water, until the meat is soft and coated in a thick, concentrated sauce. It is a Friday lunch and party dish, set out with stacks of naan, raw onion and radishes and a bowl of yogurt. The flavour is deep and meaty with black pepper and coriander seed. Adding water early to stop it sticking just boils the lamb; trust the onions and tomatoes to give up their juice and keep the heat low. Chef's tip: uncover for the final 10 minutes and let the sauce fry in the rendered fat, which gives the glossy finish that makes it a kebab rather than a stew.

120 minAfghanMeatGluten free
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Moringa leaf stew (Konso shiferaw)

On the stone terraces of Konso, moringa trees grow beside almost every house, and their young leaves are picked daily for a simple green stew eaten with sorghum dumplings or injera. The leaves are stripped from their stems and simmered with onion, garlic, a little green chilli and oil until soft, giving a deep green, slightly peppery dish that tastes a little like spinach crossed with watercress. It is plain, nourishing and naturally vegan, so it fits any fasting day. Fresh or frozen moringa leaves are sold in many Indian and Asian grocers; if you cannot find them, use spinach with a squeeze of lemon. Leaving the stems in is the usual mistake; they stay woody, so strip the leaves off. Chef's tip: add the leaves in handfuls and stop cooking as soon as they are tender, so they keep their colour and their gentle bitterness does not deepen.

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Khmer pickled vegetables

Cambodian cooks keep a jar of chrouk in the fridge the way others keep ketchup. These quick pickles of green papaya, carrot, cucumber and a little ginger come on the side of broken-rice breakfasts in Phnom Penh, with grilled food at night markets and tucked into num pang baguettes, adding crunch and a sweet-sour snap to anything rich or smoky. The brine is simply rice vinegar, sugar and salt, which keeps the vegetables pale and crisp. Pouring the brine on boiling hot is the classic slip: it softens the cucumber and dulls the colours. Chef's tip: salt the papaya and carrot for 15 minutes and squeeze them before jarring; they stay crunchy for a week instead of turning floppy by day two.

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Godere (taro with spiced butter and mitmita)

Through the wet south of Ethiopia, from Wolaita to Sidama, taro (godere) grows in garden plots, and boiled and buttered it is the snack that comes out with the coffee pot or the side dish at harvest gatherings. The corms are boiled until creamy, cut into chunks and tossed in warm niter kibbeh with mitmita and salt, so they turn glossy, soft and nutty with a chilli edge. They are eaten with the fingers or alongside kitfo, ayib and greens. Raw taro must never be eaten: it contains irritant crystals that only proper cooking breaks down, and the raw sap can itch, so wear gloves to peel and boil it until fully tender. Chef's tip: boil the taro in its skin for a firmer, less slimy texture, then peel while still warm.

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Frankincense water

Around Salalah in Oman's Dhofar region, where the frankincense trees grow on the dry hills behind the coast, many households drop a few tears of resin into a jug of water at night and sip it the next day, believing it settles the stomach. The water turns faintly milky and tastes cool, piney and slightly bitter. It is drunk at room temperature, in small glasses, often in the morning. Use only food-grade Boswellia sacra resin sold for eating (the pale hojari grade is best), never incense blends, and do not drink it if you are pregnant or breastfeeding, or without asking a doctor if you take regular medication. The mistake is using too much resin, which makes it unpleasantly bitter. Chef's tip: rinse the tears in a sieve first to wash off dust and resin powder, and the water will be clearer and gentler.

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Buticha (whipped chickpea flour dip)

Ethiopian Orthodox kitchens make buticha on fasting days as a plant-based stand-in for scrambled egg or fresh cheese, and it often sits as a pale, fluffy mound on the vegan platters of Addis Ababa's restaurants. Chickpea flour is cooked with water into a thick paste, cooled, then beaten with oil and plenty of lemon juice and mixed with raw red onion and green chilli. The texture is soft, crumbly and light, the flavour tangy and fresh against the rich, red wats. Serve it cool with injera, or as a dip with kita. A common mistake is beating it while still hot, which makes it gluey instead of fluffy; let it cool completely first. Chef's tip: cook the paste a full eight minutes after it thickens, so no raw, beany taste is left.

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Kabachkovaya ikraCourgette spread

Late summer at the dacha means a glut of courgettes, and the answer across Russia is this soft orange spread, once sold in glass jars in every Soviet grocery and still made by the potful at home. Courgette, carrot and onion are fried in sunflower oil, stewed with tomato until they collapse, blended and then cooked down again until thick enough to stand on bread. It tastes sweet, mellow and lightly tangy, and is eaten cold on black rye bread, with boiled potatoes or as part of a zakuski spread. A common mistake is stopping too early: if the purée still looks watery it will taste flat, so keep stirring until a spoon leaves a trail across the pan. This is a fridge recipe, not a canning one. Chef's tip: make it a day ahead; the flavour rounds out overnight.

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KhupluBeef, lamb and potato pie

The Chuvash people of the middle Volga bake khuplu for harvest festivals and to welcome guests: one large, round, closed pie with a thin yeast crust and a deep filling of diced meat, potato and onion, traditionally with a little vent on top and a ring of dough to decorate it. Cut at the table, it spills meaty juice into the potatoes, and it is eaten warm with a glass of cold buttermilk or a bowl of soup. The usual slip is under-baking; a pie this deep needs well over an hour and a thermometer check. Chef's tip: lay the potatoes at the bottom and the meat on top, so the potatoes drink the juices and the base does not go soggy.

150 minRussianMeat
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Senafich (Ethiopian mustard seed paste)

On Ethiopian fasting platters there is often one little dab of yellow among the reds and greens: senafich, a punchy mustard paste that clears the nose and cuts through the oil of the wats. Brown or yellow mustard seed is ground, mixed with warm water and left to rest, which takes the bitterness away, then beaten with lemon, oil, ginger and garlic until it is smooth and creamy. It is served with injera, shimbra asa and boiled vegetables, and some cooks thin it into a sauce for raw chillies. A common mistake is serving it straight after mixing, when it is harsh and bitter; let it stand for at least an hour (it is even better the next day). Chef's tip: use warm water rather than boiling for the soak; very hot water kills the mustard's heat and leaves it flat.

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Kita (quick Ethiopian flatbread)

When there is no fermented injera batter ready, households across Ethiopia make kita: a plain unleavened flatbread of flour, water and salt, spread thin and cooked on the mitad or a heavy pan in minutes. It is soft and slightly chewy with toasty brown spots, and is eaten hot with tea, with shiro or buticha on fasting days, or torn up for kita firfir. Children often eat it warm with a sprinkle of berbere and oil. A wheat dough is easiest at home; mixing in a portion of teff flour adds an earthy flavour. Too thick a layer is the common mistake, as the middle stays raw; spread it thin and cook it covered. Chef's tip: wet your fingertips or the back of a spoon to press the batter-like dough out evenly in the hot pan.

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Honey and milk bread (yemarina yewotet dabo)

Softer and sweeter than everyday ambasha, this round loaf is the bread Ethiopian families bake for a holiday table, a christening or guests at a coffee ceremony, when there is milk and good honey in the house. The dough is enriched with egg and butter, so it bakes up tender with a fine, cake-like crumb, and the spices are gentle: toasted coriander, a whisper of fenugreek and cardamom that perfumes the kitchen. It is sliced and eaten as it is, with spiced tea or coffee, or spread with a little honey. Allow about 1¾ hours for the two rises. Chef's tip: keep the fenugreek to a quarter teaspoon; any more and its bitterness takes over the honey.

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Massawa oven fish

Along the waterfront in Massawa, on Eritrea's Red Sea coast, fish restaurants slap whole snapper and grouper with a red berbere paste and lower them into scorching clay ovens, then bring them to the table on a tray with flatbread, lime and a fresh chilli relish. The skin chars and blisters, the spice paste turns smoky, and the flesh stays moist and sweet underneath. Everyone tears off pieces of bread and pulls the fish from the bone with their fingers. A domestic oven turned up as high as it goes gives a very good result. Chef's tip: score the fish deeply down to the bone and push the paste into the cuts, so the flavour reaches the middle and the thickest part cooks as fast as the tail.

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Moukhbaza (Kassala mashed banana)

Kassala, in the green orchard country of eastern Sudan near the Eritrean border, grows bananas in abundance, and its signature dish uses them very simply: very ripe bananas mashed with a little sugar and cooked briefly until thick and jammy. Moukhbaza is eaten as a snack or light breakfast, torn kisra or soft gurasa pancakes dragged through it, and children adore it. It tastes like warm banana bread without the oven. Under-ripe fruit is the usual mistake; you want bananas with heavily speckled, almost black skins, or the mash is starchy and bland. Chef's tip: a squeeze of lime at the end keeps the colour bright and balances the sweetness.

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Nafaqo (Somali potato-wrapped eggs)

Sold warm from street stalls and cafés around Mogadishu, especially in the late afternoon and at iftar in Ramadan, nafaqo is a fried snack with a surprise inside: a whole boiled egg wrapped in mashed potato seasoned with onion, coriander and xawaash. A light chickpea-flour batter gives it a crisp golden shell, and it is cut in half to show the yolk and eaten with a squeeze of lime and hot green chilli sauce. Kids love it, and it travels well in a lunchbox. A common mistake is using wet, freshly boiled mash, which slides off the egg and splits in the oil; steam-dry the potatoes and let the mash cool before shaping. Chef's tip: roll the peeled eggs in a little chickpea flour before wrapping them, so the potato grips the slippery white.

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Singapore breakfast fried bee hoon

Before office hours in Toa Payoh or Ang Mo Kio, the economy-rice stalls already have a steel tray of pale-brown fried bee hoon on the counter, and people point at it, then add a side or two from the trays beside it: a fried egg, fried tofu, braised cabbage, a curry potato. The noodles themselves are kept deliberately simple, springy and lightly savoury from soy sauce, threaded with cabbage, carrot and crunchy bean sprouts, then finished with a spoon of sambal chilli. Because it is plain, every strand needs to be seasoned evenly and still separate. The usual mistake is over-soaking the vermicelli, which then clumps and breaks in the wok; soak it only until bendy. Chef's tip: toss the noodles with tongs or chopsticks in a lifting motion rather than stirring with a spatula, so the soy coats every strand without breaking it.

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Muufo (Somali maize flatbread)

Along the southern Somali coast and in the farming areas of the Shabelle valley, muufo is baked by pressing rounds of maize dough against the hot inner wall of a clay oven, where they puff and char in minutes. The bread is thick, a little sweet from the corn and slightly tangy, and its dimpled surface is perfect for soaking up digir, maraq or a drizzle of sesame oil and sugar at breakfast. At home a heavy pan and a very hot grill do a good job. Most cooks mix maize flour with some wheat flour so the dough holds together; this version uses yeast and oil, so it is vegan. The usual mistake is an oven or pan that is not hot enough, which gives a pale, dense bread; let the pan heat for a full 5 minutes. Chef's tip: wet your hands when shaping, as the sticky dough is far easier to pat out.

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Baasto (Somali spaghetti with spiced beef sauce)

Pasta arrived in Mogadishu during the Italian colonial period and was firmly adopted, so that today baasto with suugo is a standard Friday lunch and a staple of the city's restaurants. The sauce is a long-cooked mix of minced beef, onion, peppers and tomato seasoned with xawaash, garlic and a little chilli, closer to a spiced Somali stew than to an Italian ragù. A ripe banana is served alongside and eaten in alternate bites, cooling and sweet against the spice; a green chilli sauce and a squeeze of lime finish the plate. Overcooking the spaghetti is the usual error, because it carries on softening in the hot sauce; drain it a minute before the packet time. For a meat-free version simply leave out the beef and add a tin of chickpeas. Chef's tip: let the beef brown properly before the tomato goes in; that colour gives the sauce its depth.

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Beer (Somali fried liver)

Beer means liver in Somali, and a plate of it, cut into small cubes and fried hard with onion, green pepper and xawaash, is a breakfast institution in Mogadishu cafés, especially on weekends and through Eid when there is fresh lamb or goat liver at hand. It arrives sizzling, with canjeero or sabaayad to scoop it up, a wedge of lime and a cup of sweet spiced tea. Good beer is tender and browned on the outside, cooked through with no pink left in the centre. The classic mistake is salting the liver at the start, which draws out moisture and makes it tough; add the salt at the very end. Lamb, goat, calf or beef liver all work. Chef's tip: cut the liver into even 2 cm cubes so every piece cooks through in the same few minutes.

22 minSomaliMeatGluten free
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Salt and pepper squid

Late at night in Temple Street, or at a seafood restaurant on Lamma Island after a ferry ride, someone at the table always orders the jiu yim squid: tender pieces under a thin, shattering coat, wok-tossed with a heap of fried garlic, chilli and spring onion and showered with a peppery spiced salt. It is crunchy, salty and a little fiery, ideal with a cold soft drink or as one of several dishes with rice. Squid cooks in seconds. The most frequent mistake is crowding the oil, which drops its temperature so the coating turns soggy and the squid goes rubbery while you wait; fry in small batches. Chef's tip: score the inside of the squid in a criss-cross pattern so it curls up and catches more of the salt.

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Napoleon cake

Legend links this cake to 1912, the centenary of Napoleon's retreat from Moscow, when St Petersburg confectioners cut triangular pastries shaped like his hat. By Soviet times it had grown into the tall round cake every family baked for birthdays and New Year's Eve. Eight wafer-thin rounds of quick flaky pastry are stacked with vanilla custard enriched with butter, then left overnight so the layers soften into something between a mille-feuille and a tender sponge; crushed trimmings give the snowy finish. Where most people go wrong is serving it the same day; without the long rest in the fridge it is crisp and dry instead of melting. Chef's tip: roll each piece of pastry straight onto baking paper and trim it around a 24 cm plate before baking, so you never have to lift thin raw dough.

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JoulutorttuPrune jam pastry stars

Joulutortut, the star-shaped Christmas tarts of Finland, appear in every home and café in December, piled on plates with glögi: squares of puff pastry cut at the corners and folded into a pinwheel around a spoon of thick prune jam, baked golden and dusted with icing sugar. A common mistake is using thin, runny jam, which bubbles out and burns. Chef's tip: cook the prune jam until very thick, and press the folded points down firmly with a dab of water so the stars don't spring open in the oven.

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Hilib geel (Somali fried camel meat)

Camels are wealth in Somaliland, and their meat, lean and slightly sweet with a deep red colour, is a favourite in Hargeisa restaurants, where hilib geel is served fried with onion, garlic and xawaash alongside rice or sabaayad, banana and lime. Camel is a hard-working muscle, so it is first simmered until tender and then fried quickly in a hot pan until browned and fragrant. Halal butchers serving East African communities often sell it; if you cannot find it, beef chuck is the closest substitute and cooks the same way. Skipping the simmer and frying the raw meat straight away is the usual mistake, and it leaves the cubes tough as boots. Chef's tip: keep the simmering liquid; a ladle of it in the pan at the end makes a little glossy sauce for the rice.

85 minSomaliMeatGluten free
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Trey aing (grilled fish with lemongrass)

Around Siem Reap and the floating villages of the Tonlé Sap, weekend outings mean a bamboo picnic hut by the water and a whole fish grilled over charcoal in a wire basket. The fish is stuffed and rubbed with lemongrass, garlic and salt, so the skin blisters and smokes while the white flesh stays moist; diners pull off flakes and wrap them in lettuce with mint, basil, sliced cucumber and sour green mango, then dunk the parcel in a garlicky lime dip with crushed peanuts. Snakehead or tilapia are the usual fish, but sea bass or bream are excellent. Turning the fish too soon is the classic misstep; the skin tears and sticks to the grill. Chef's tip: oil the fish and the basket well, then leave it alone until the underside releases by itself, about 10 minutes.

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Jamaican green banana porridge

Green banana porridge is the breakfast many Jamaicans remember from their grandmothers' kitchens in St Mary and St Ann, where bananas are cheap and plentiful and the porridge was said to "build you up" for the day. Unripe bananas grated or blended with water cook into a smooth, silky porridge with a gentle, earthy flavour, sweetened with condensed milk and scented with nutmeg, cinnamon and vanilla. The common mistake is not whisking as it heats; the starch thickens suddenly and goes lumpy within a minute. Peel the green bananas with oiled hands or gloves, because the sap stains. Chef's tip: blend the bananas with the water until completely smooth before they go into the pot, which makes it far easier to keep lump-free.

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Tahini cookies

Every Israeli bakery and grandmother's biscuit tin has ugiyot tahini, little domed cookies that crumble and melt on the tongue with a deep, toasty sesame flavour. They are baked for Shabbat coffee, for guests dropping by in Haifa or Jerusalem, and as an easy dairy-free sweet to follow a meat meal. This version uses oil rather than butter, so it is vegan. The mistake is baking until they turn golden all over; they firm up as they cool and should leave the oven pale with just-coloured bases. Chef's tip: stir the tahini jar thoroughly first, since the oil separates and a dry spoonful from the bottom makes sandy, dry cookies.

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Kac kac (Somali fried dough cubes in cardamom sugar)

Jars of kac kac sit on the table at Somali weddings, Eid gatherings and afternoon tea across the country and in the diaspora, ready to be handed round by the fistful. The dough is enriched with egg and butter, cut into small cubes, fried until hard and golden, then tossed in hot cardamom syrup that dries to a frosty white crust. Each piece cracks loudly when bitten, which is how it got its name. Undercooking the syrup is the usual problem: it stays sticky instead of turning to a dry, sugary coat, so boil it until it forms a thread and keep stirring the cubes as it cools. Chef's tip: cut the cubes no bigger than 1.5 cm; small pieces fry right through and stay crunchy for weeks in an airtight jar.

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Nova Scotia oatcakes

Nova Scotia oatcakes are nothing like the plain Scottish kind: Cape Breton bakers, with their Highland roots, made them sweeter and richer, with butter and brown sugar, so they crunch like a cross between a biscuit and shortbread. They are sold at every coffee shop in Antigonish and Baddeck and eaten with tea, or with a slice of sharp cheddar. A common mistake is rolling them thick; 5 mm gives the proper snap. Chef's tip: chill the rolled dough before cutting so the squares stay sharp.

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MiondoSoured cassava sticks

Douala's Duala families wrap their cassava dough into slim sticks no thicker than a finger, and bundles of miondo tied with string are stacked at every market from Akwa to New Bell. The roots are soaked for several days until they soften and sour, then ground smooth, drained, rolled, wrapped in leaves and boiled until firm and slightly translucent. The result is chewy, gently tangy and neutral enough to soak up ndolé, grilled fish or a fiery pepper sauce, and peeling back the leaf is part of the pleasure. Plan ahead: the soaking takes 3–4 days and the draining a few hours more, though the hands-on work is about an hour. Chef's tip: roll the sticks no thicker than your little finger so they cook through evenly; fat ones stay pasty in the middle.

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Aiyu jelly with lemonAiyu fig jelly with lemon

Squeezing a little cloth bag of seeds in a bowl of water until it turns into jelly sounds like a magic trick, yet that's how aiyu has been made for well over a century in Chiayi, at the foot of the Alishan hills where the climbing fig grows wild. The pectin in the dried seeds sets the water into a soft, glassy, pale-gold jelly with almost no taste of its own, so it's cut into cubes and served icy cold with tart lemon juice and honey syrup, the most refreshing thing on a sticky Taipei summer afternoon. The classic failure is a bowl that won't set, usually because the bowl was oily or the water was distilled or very soft; it needs ordinary tap or mineral water. Chef's tip: rub the bag steadily for 8–10 minutes and stop as soon as it feels slippery and nothing more comes out, or the jelly turns cloudy and bitter.

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Stuffed three treasures with fish paste

Walk past the street stalls of Mong Kok or Sham Shui Po in the afternoon and you will smell jin yeung saam bou sizzling on wide griddles: chunks of green pepper, aubergine and tofu, each pressed full of bouncy white fish paste and fried until golden, then splashed with a little soy or a glossy oyster sauce gravy. People point at the pieces they want, take them in a paper bowl with a bamboo skewer and eat them while walking; at home they become a side dish with rice. The fish paste should be springy, the vegetables soft, the tofu creamy. The trap is wet vegetables: unless you dust the cut sides with cornflour first, the paste slides straight off in the pan. Chef's tip: slap the fish paste against the bowl for a few minutes; it gets bouncier the more you work it.

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Soor (Somali maize porridge with butter and milk)

Herding families in Somaliland and the countryside around Hargeisa have long relied on soor, a thick porridge of maize meal stirred until it holds its shape on a plate. It is shaped into a mound, a well is pressed into the centre and filled with melted butter or ghee, then warm milk and a little sugar are poured round the edge; on other days the well is filled with a meat sauce instead. You eat it with your right hand or a spoon, scooping porridge through the butter. The result is mild, sweet and very filling. Lumps are the usual complaint, and they come from tipping the meal in all at once; mix part of it with cold water first, then rain the rest in while stirring. The usual mistake is adding the maize meal too fast, so it goes lumpy; whisk constantly as you pour. Chef's tip: cover the pan and let the porridge steam for 5 minutes at the end to cook out any raw taste.

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Sudanese shata (dried chilli, garlic and lime sauce)

No Sudanese meal is complete without a little dish of shata on the side, and every household and roadside grill from Port Sudan to Nyala has its own version. This one is the classic everyday type: dried red chillies soaked soft and pounded with raw garlic, salt and plenty of lime juice into a loose, brick-red sauce that is fiery, sour and garlicky all at once. A spoonful goes over ful, fried fish, grilled meat, salads and stews. Wear gloves when handling the chillies, and do not rub your eyes. Using the soaking water in place of fresh water is a mistake, as it can taste bitter and dusty; drain it off. Chef's tip: make it a few hours ahead and keep it in the fridge; the heat settles and the garlic mellows.

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Hong Kong iced lemon tea

Ask for 'ling cha, dung' at any Hong Kong cha chaan teng and a tall glass arrives crammed with ice, a heap of thin lemon slices and a long spoon for pounding them, the default thirst-quencher with set lunches all year round. The tea is brewed almost bitter, so it holds its own against the ice, and the sharp lemon and simple syrup turn it bright, tangy and refreshing. It is drunk with everything from macaroni soup breakfasts to afternoon pineapple buns. The common slip is brewing tea at normal strength, which tastes thin and watery once the ice melts; double the tea. Chef's tip: press the lemon slices with the back of the spoon only a few times to release juice and oil from the zest; grinding them to a pulp brings out bitterness from the pith.

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Tabaldi (Sudanese baobab drink)

The great baobab trees of Kordofan and Darfur drop hard pods full of chalky, cream-coloured pulp, and Sudanese cooks soak it in water to make tabaldi, a thick, milky-looking drink with a sherbet-like tang. It is sold from big cool-boxes in Khartoum markets in summer, served at weddings, and appears on the iftar table during Ramadan. Fresh pulp pieces with seeds are sold in African and Middle Eastern shops; baobab powder is a good substitute and needs no straining. Leave the drink to soak for an hour in the fridge before straining (soaking time is not counted in the total). The usual mistake is blending the seeds, which makes the drink bitter; rub the pulp off by hand instead. Chef's tip: a few drops of rose water or a pinch of ground cardamom makes it feel festive.

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Kep crab with green Kampot pepper

This is the dish people travel to the seaside town of Kep for: at the crab market, women haul baskets of blue swimmer crabs out of the water, and the wooden restaurants behind them stir-fry the catch for lunch with whole sprigs of green peppercorns picked that week in the Kampot hills. Fresh green pepper is juicy and aromatic rather than fiery, popping between the teeth with a bright, almost citrusy heat, and it clings to the sweet crab meat along with garlic and a light, salty-sweet sauce. Eat it with your hands, with rice and a saucer of salt, pepper and lime. Overcooking is the usual failure: crab left in the wok too long turns dry and stringy. Chef's tip: buy crabs already killed and cleaned by the fishmonger, or frozen cut crab, and throw out any piece that smells off; cook just until the shells turn bright orange and the meat is opaque right through.

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Aradeib (Sudanese tamarind drink)

Tamarind trees shade villages throughout Darfur and Kordofan, and their sticky brown pods become aradeib, one of the best-loved Sudanese cold drinks. The pulp is soaked, rubbed and strained, then sweetened to make a deep amber, puckeringly sour drink that cuts through rich food and is much loved at iftar through Ramadan. It is also drunk as a home remedy for upset stomachs and heat. Seedy block tamarind from any Asian or African shop works perfectly. Pouring boiling water straight onto the pulp and leaving it too long draws out a harsh, tannic edge, so use hot rather than boiling water and strain after an hour. Avoid squeezing the soaked tamarind through a cloth too hard; fibres get through and make the drink cloudy and gritty. Chef's tip: make a concentrate and keep it in the fridge for up to a week; dilute with cold water by the glass.

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Flourless chocolate cake

In Israel this dense chocolate cake is the dessert of the Passover seder in countless homes, from Tel Aviv flats to kibbutz dining halls, because it needs no flour and only rises on whisked eggs. Dark chocolate, eggs, ground almonds and a little butter bake into a cake with a thin, crackled top and a deep, fudgy middle, rich enough to serve in slim slices with berries or whipped cream. Made with oil instead of butter, it can follow a meat meal. The common mistake is overbaking: take it out while the centre still wobbles slightly, as it sets as it cools. Chef's tip: fold the whites into the chocolate in three goes, the first one roughly, to loosen it, then the rest gently to keep the air.

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Hilu-mur (Sudanese spiced sorghum Ramadan drink)

Weeks before Ramadan, households across Sudan fill with the smell of hilu-mur, literally 'sweet-bitter', as sorghum is sprouted, dried, ground and mixed with flour, dates and a heady spice blend, left to sour for a day, then spread paper-thin on a hot griddle into brittle reddish-brown flakes. Each evening during the month a handful is soaked in water, strained and sweetened, giving the dark, tangy, clove-and-ginger-scented drink that breaks the fast. The souring is short, like a sourdough, and the flakes are cooked dry; the drink is non-alcoholic and served to the whole family. The full process takes about 5 days: 3 days to sprout, 1 to dry and a night to sour, so only active and cooking time are in the totals. Many people buy ready-made flakes from Sudanese shops. Discard any grain that smells musty or shows mould while sprouting. The usual mistake is pouring the batter too thick on the griddle; the flakes should be paper-thin to dry crisp. Chef's tip: spread the batter as thinly as you can; thick flakes stay chewy and go mouldy in storage.

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Abreh (Sudanese white sorghum flake drink)

Where hilu-mur is dark and spiced, abreh abyad, white abreh, is its pale, gentle partner: a batter of white sorghum flour is left to sour lightly, then baked into thin cream-coloured flakes that are soaked in cold, sweetened water and served at iftar across northern Sudan. The drink is cloudy, refreshing and faintly tangy, a good way to rehydrate after a long day of fasting; some families add a splash of lime or a little cardamom. The overnight souring takes 12–18 hours and is not counted in the totals; it is non-alcoholic, and the flakes are dried hard on the griddle. Spreading the batter too thickly is the classic mistake, so work fast and thin. Chef's tip: make a big batch in one session; the dry flakes keep for months in a tin, so a jug of abreh is only an hour away.

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Dama (Sudanese beef and tomato stew)

Thick, red and full of garlic, dama is the tomato stew that Khartoum families make for weekday lunches and that restaurants serve in shiny steel bowls with gurasa, the soft, thick Sudanese pancake, or with bread and rice. Beef is browned, then simmered with a generous amount of onion, fresh tomato, tomato paste and gentle warm spices, cardamom and a little cinnamon, until the sauce is rich enough to cling to every piece. The meat ends up spoon-tender. Adding all the liquid at once is the common mistake; it gives a thin, watery sauce, so add water little by little as the stew needs it. Chef's tip: grate the onions rather than chopping them, so they melt into the sauce and thicken it without flour.

105 minSudaneseMeatGluten free
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Sudanese shorba (lamb and peanut Ramadan soup)

Every evening during Ramadan, Khartoum tables are set with dates, juices and a big pot of shorba, a lamb broth full of carrots, potato and onion made creamy with peanut butter and sharpened with lime. It is the first thing many families eat after the dates, warm and gentle on an empty stomach, and it is made in quantity to share with neighbours. The soup is savoury, nutty and lightly spiced, thick enough to coat a spoon. Adding peanut butter straight into the pot is a mistake, as it clumps; whisk it smooth with hot broth first. Chef's tip: skim the broth carefully in the first 10 minutes for a clean taste, and finish with lime just before serving.

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Agashe (Sudanese peanut-crusted beef skewers)

On Khartoum evenings the smoke from agashe grills drifts across the streets: thin slices of beef threaded onto sticks, coated in a dry rub of ground roasted peanuts, ginger, chilli and garlic, and grilled fast over charcoal until crusty and fragrant. The style came to Sudan with West African communities and is close cousin to Nigerian suya, but it has become a Khartoum favourite in its own right, served with sliced onion, tomato, lime and a sprinkle of extra spice. Slicing the beef too thick is the usual error, because the crust burns before the inside is done; aim for 5 mm. Marinate in the fridge, never on the counter. Chef's tip: dust the skewers with a second coat of peanut mix halfway through grilling for the best crust.

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JonjoliPickled bladdernut flowers

Jonjoli are the clustered flower buds of the bladdernut shrub, picked in May across Imereti and pickled in brine, and a bowl of them dressed with onion and oil appears on almost every Georgian table, from Kutaisi kitchens to Tbilisi restaurants. They taste sour, a little like capers crossed with olives, and cut through rich cheese bread and grilled meat. Jars are sold in Georgian and Russian shops, and the home pickling takes weeks, so this recipe starts from a jar. A common mistake is serving them straight from the jar; they need rinsing and a short soak, or the brine overwhelms everything. Chef's tip: dress them at least 30 minutes ahead so the onion softens and its sharpness balances the sour stalks.

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Burmese pea fried rice

Ask almost anyone from Yangon what they ate for breakfast as a child and the answer is often this: last night's rice, fried in a hot wok with soft boiled peas and plenty of onion, eaten before school with a glass of hot green tea. It is pale, gently savoury and comforting rather than spicy, with the peas bursting creamy against slightly crisp grains of rice. Families add a few slices of cucumber on the side and a spoon of crispy onions, and some cooks toss in a pinch of turmeric for colour. The usual error is using freshly cooked rice, which clumps and steams instead of frying. Chef's tip: crumble the cold rice with damp hands before it goes in the wok, so every grain hits the hot oil separately.

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Haitian konparètCoconut ginger spice bread

Jérémie, at the far western tip of Haiti, is the home of konparèt, dense round loaves of spiced bread made with grated coconut, fresh ginger, nutmeg and vanilla, baked until firm and golden. They are a Grand'Anse travelling food, carried home from the coast in baskets and eaten with coffee or hot cocoa in the afternoon. They are meant to be firm and close-crumbed, not fluffy, so the mistake is adding extra liquid to make the dough soft. Use freshly grated coconut if you can, as it gives the moistest crumb. Chef's tip: grate the ginger on the fine side of the grater and squeeze its juice into the dough too; that heat is the signature of a good konparèt.

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Lao fish soup with dill

Restaurants on stilts over the Mekong at Pakse, where the Xe Don river joins it, serve tom pa at lunch in big communal bowls, and southern Lao families make it at home whenever the market has fresh river fish. Chunks of fish poach gently in a clear broth fragrant with lemongrass, galangal and lime leaf, soured with tomato and lime and finished with a generous fistful of dill, an herb Lao cooks use far more than their neighbours. The result is light, tangy and aromatic, with soft fish and a whisper of chilli heat; spoon it over sticky rice or sip it between mouthfuls of jeow. Boiling hard once the fish goes in is the mistake to watch, as the pieces break up and the broth turns cloudy. Chef's tip: add the dill only when the pot is off the heat, so it stays green and sweet.

30 minLaoSoupsGluten free
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Flan de quesoCream cheese flan

Denser and tangier than a plain egg flan, flan de queso is the dessert Puerto Rican families bake for birthdays and Nochebuena, often a day ahead so it can chill overnight. Cream cheese is blended with evaporated and condensed milk and eggs, then baked slowly in a water bath on a layer of amber caramel, so it turns out glossy, sliceable and somewhere between a flan and a cheesecake. The common mistake is baking it too hot, which makes it puff, crack and weep; low heat and a water bath keep it silky. Chef's tip: take the caramel to the colour of a dark copper coin, as a pale caramel tastes only sweet and a bitter edge balances the rich cheese.

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Dominican berenjena guisadaStewed aubergine

Dominican home cooks make berenjena guisada as a weekday side next to white rice and beans, the aubergine stewed down with tomato, sweet peppers and plenty of dried oregano into a soft, savoury guiso. It is light, quick and good hot or at room temperature. The common mistake is adding all the water at the start, which boils the aubergine grey; let it soak up the oil and sofrito first, then add liquid a little at a time. Chef's tip: rub the dried oregano between your palms as it goes in, to release the oils; Dominican cooks swear by it.

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Arayeche (almond star pastries)

Picture a star with three plump arms: arayeche are shaped from a ball of orange-blossom almond paste wrapped in very thin pastry and pinched into points, baked pale, dipped in honey and then rolled in icing sugar until snow-white. Along with dziriettes and makrout, they are fixtures of the sweet trays at weddings and Eid in Algiers, set out in paper cases with mint tea. The pastry is crisp and fine, the almond filling dense and fragrant, and the coating of sugar sticks to the honey in a sweet crust. Chef's tip: pull them out of the oven while still pale with barely golden tips; browned arayeche are a common mistake and taste dry once the sugar goes on.

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Mchewek (almond cookies)

Mchewek means something like 'prickly', which is exactly how these cookies look: balls of almond paste rolled in flaked almonds so the flakes stick out like spines, each topped with half a candied cherry and baked only until the tips turn gold. Inside they stay soft and chewy, like a rustic macaroon. Being made with no flour, they suit anyone avoiding gluten, and they appear on Eid and wedding trays all over Algeria, often brushed with a little honey syrup for shine. Chef's tip: take them out when the edges are just golden and the centres still feel soft; overbaking is the classic mistake and leaves them dry and crumbly once cool.

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Pescado con cocoFish in coconut sauce

On the Samaná peninsula in the north-east of the Dominican Republic, where coconut palms grow down to the sea and the local cooking carries traces of the African-American settlers who arrived there in the 1820s, fish is braised in fresh coconut milk with tomato, peppers and herbs. It is served at beach shacks in Las Terrenas with white rice and tostones to mop up the sauce. The common mistake is boiling the sauce hard once the coconut milk is in, which makes it split and oily; keep it at a gentle simmer. Chef's tip: let the fish sit in lime, garlic and salt in the fridge for 15 minutes first, but no longer, or the acid starts to cook it.

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MajareteCoconut rice-flour pudding

Puerto Rican grandmothers cook majarete on the stove in one pan, pour it into a dish and leave it to set while the Sunday dinner is eaten; it shows up again at Christmas beside the tembleque. Rice flour, coconut milk and whole milk are stirred with cinnamon and a little orange zest until they thicken into a silky, spoonable pudding, dusted with more cinnamon. In the Dominican Republic the same name goes to a version made with fresh grated corn. The common mistake is walking away from the pan; rice flour lumps and catches in seconds, so whisk constantly. Chef's tip: whisk the rice flour into the cold milks before the pan goes on the heat, and it will be perfectly smooth.

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Kandahari pomegranate juice

Kandahar's pomegranates, heavy fruits with dark ruby seeds and soft pips, are the pride of southern Afghanistan, and in October and November juice stalls in the city's bazaars press them to order in big iron hand presses. The juice is deep red, sweet with a clean sour finish and a faint tannic grip, drunk on its own in a tall glass, often with a pinch of salt. At home you can get almost the same thing with a citrus press or a blender. The bitterness that ruins many homemade glasses comes from crushing the white pith and hard pips, so blend the seeds only for a few seconds, or press the halves gently. Chef's tip: roll each whole pomegranate firmly on the worktop before cutting it, which bursts many of the seeds inside and makes juicing faster.

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Pakistani chicken corn soup

Come the first cold evening of winter, carts with steaming steel pots appear on Karachi's Tariq Road and Lahore's Liberty Market, and queues form for chicken corn soup in disposable cups. It is Pakistani-Chinese food at its most loved: a thick, glossy soup of shredded chicken, creamed sweetcorn and silky egg ribbons, which each person seasons at the cart with chilli vinegar, soy sauce and chilli sauce from squeezy bottles. Children love it plain; adults douse it. Pouring the egg into a rapidly boiling soup turns it into scrambled lumps, so keep it at a gentle simmer and stir slowly in one direction. Chef's tip: for a vegetarian version, use a good vegetable stock, leave out the chicken and add a handful of finely chopped carrot and cabbage.

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Ensalada de coditosMacaroni salad

No Puerto Rican cumpleaños, baby shower or Thanksgiving-style family spread feels complete without a big bowl of coditos sitting next to the arroz con gandules. Elbow macaroni is folded through creamy mayonnaise with crunchy pepper, onion and celery, chopped hard-boiled egg and sweet pimientos, then chilled until the pasta drinks up the dressing. The common mistake is dressing the pasta piping hot, which makes the mayonnaise oily and split; let it cool first. Keep it in the fridge and don't leave it out in the sun for more than 2 hours. Chef's tip: toss the drained pasta with a splash of the pimiento liquid while it is still warm, so it is seasoned all the way through.

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Afghan green chutney

No Afghan table of kebab or palaw feels complete without a little bowl of green chutni, the sharp, fiery relish spooned beside the rice, onto bolani and over grilled meat from Kabul to Kandahar. Unlike many South Asian green chutneys, the Afghan one leans on vinegar rather than lime and is thickened with walnuts, so it is slightly creamy, bright green and properly hot, with a pungent hit of raw garlic. Households make a jar at a time and keep it in the fridge through the week. People often blitz it into a thin juice; pulse it instead so you can still see flecks of leaf and nut. Chef's tip: keep the coriander stalks in, as they have more flavour than the leaves and help the chutney stay green for days.

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Khmer red chicken curry

When a Cambodian family celebrates (a wedding, Khmer New Year, the Pchum Ben days in autumn), a big pot of red curry is usually on the stove, and in Phnom Penh it is just as likely to be eaten for breakfast from a street stall with a crusty baguette for mopping. It is a gentle, fragrant curry rather than a fiery one: chicken on the bone simmered in coconut milk with a red kroeung of dried chillies, lemongrass and galangal, plus chunks of sweet potato, aubergine and long beans that soak up the orange-tinged sauce. Dropping all the vegetables in at once is the error to avoid; the aubergine collapses before the sweet potato is cooked. Chef's tip: make it a few hours ahead or the day before, as the flavours deepen and the sauce settles into a silky, spoonable gravy.

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Bangladeshi dal puriLentil-filled puri

Wherever there is a tea stall in Dhaka, from the Nilkhet book market to the gates of the university, there is a wok of oil and a man rolling dal puri at speed, three or four at a time. These are thin and flat, not puffed, with a seam of dry, cumin-scented red lentil filling that you can see through the blistered skin; they are eaten straight from the wok with a cup of sweet tea, a spoon of tamarind chutney or just a pinch of raw onion and green chilli. Students treat them as lunch and office workers as an afternoon snack. Where people usually go wrong is a filling that is too wet, which bursts through the dough and spits in the oil. Chef's tip: cook the lentils just until they crush, then dry the mash in the pan with the onions until it holds together like crumbly dough.

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Kyay oh

Served bubbling in a small brass pot, which is what kyay oh means, this Chinese-Burmese soup fills the late-night noodle shops of Yangon's Chinatown and the busy breakfast places of Mandalay. A clear, peppery pork broth carries thin rice noodles, springy hand-rolled pork balls, sliced pork, tender greens and an egg cracked in at the last moment so it poaches in the pot. Garlic oil, white pepper and a side of vinegar with chopped chilli keep each spoonful sharp and warming. The pitfall is boiling the broth hard once the pork balls are in; they toughen and the soup turns cloudy, so keep it at a gentle bubble. Chef's tip: slap the pork mince against the bowl for a minute before shaping; it gives the balls their bouncy, almost crunchy texture.

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Norwegian heart waffles

In Norway, waffles are not a breakfast but an everyday treat: thin, soft heart-shaped vafler made with sour cream and cardamom, sold at school fairs and football matches and made at home on Sunday afternoons, eaten folded with strawberry jam and sour cream or brown cheese. Their texture is soft rather than crisp. A common mistake is opening the iron too early, which tears them. Chef's tip: let the batter rest for 30 minutes and brush the iron with butter before each waffle; they lift out whole and golden.

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Jamaican conch soup

From Montego Bay's craft market cookshops to roadside pots around Falmouth, conch soup is sold by the cup on Fridays and Saturdays: tender pieces of conch in a thick, peppery broth with potatoes, pumpkin, carrot and chewy flour spinners. Conch is famously tough, so it is pounded and simmered slowly before the vegetables go in. Buy cleaned frozen conch meat from a fishmonger; thaw it in the fridge and throw away any that smells off. The most common mistake is not tenderising the conch, leaving rubbery chunks; pound it well and simmer until a knife slides in. Chef's tip: a little lime rubbed into the conch before pounding removes its slippery film and freshens the flavour.

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Polish-style cauliflower

‘Po polsku’ on a Polish menu means one thing: a vegetable topped with crumbs fried in plenty of butter. In Warsaw canteens and on Sunday tables, a whole cauliflower arrives this way next to potatoes and a salad, and children who claim to hate cauliflower eat it happily. The florets are tender and sweet, the crumbs nutty and crisp. A common mistake is boiling the cauliflower until it falls apart; it should keep a slight bite in the stalk. Chef's tip: a pinch of sugar and a splash of milk in the boiling water keep the cauliflower white and sweet.

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JidášeEaster honey buns

Maundy Thursday, "Green Thursday" in Czech, is the day for jidáše, sweet yeasted buns rolled into ropes and coiled into spirals or loose knots to recall the rope of Judas, which gives them their name. Families in Bohemia and Moravia bake them for breakfast that morning and brush them, still hot, with honey; eating one was once said to bring health for the year. They are soft and fluffy, lightly scented with lemon, with a sticky, shiny top. A common mistake is brushing the honey on cold buns, where it just sits; warm the honey and glaze them straight from the oven so it soaks in. Honey is not suitable for babies under one year old. Chef's tip: roll the ropes thinner than you think, about finger thickness; they double as they prove.

145 minCzechBaking
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Burmese pork curry

Glistening under a layer of brick-red oil, pork curry sits at the front of every Yangon htamin zain, the rice-and-curry shops where office workers queue at lunchtime and point at pots. Chunks of pork belly and shoulder are cooked very slowly in a paste of onion, garlic and ginger until the meat is spoon-tender, the fat has melted into the sauce and the oil floats free on top. It tastes savoury and gently sweet rather than fiery, and arrives with plain rice, a sour leaf soup, boiled vegetables and a dish of fish-paste dip. People often fry the onion paste too fast; it scorches before the water has cooked out and the curry turns bitter, so keep the heat at a steady medium. Chef's tip: the curry tastes even better the next day, when the pork has soaked up the sauce; lift off a little of the oil before reheating if you prefer it leaner.

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Kogel-mogel

Ask anyone who grew up in a Warsaw block of flats about kogel-mogel and they will remember standing in the kitchen beating yolks and sugar in a mug with a teaspoon, waiting for it to turn pale. It is the simplest Polish treat: thick, mousse-like and very sweet, sometimes with cocoa, eaten from a glass with a spoon or dolloped on fruit. Because the yolks are raw, use pasteurised eggs, which most supermarkets sell as cartons of yolks or as pasteurised whole eggs. Even so, raw eggs are not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. The common mistake is stopping too soon; it needs a good 5 minutes of whisking until it doubles and almost all the sugar has dissolved. Chef's tip: use caster sugar, which disappears faster and gives a silkier result.

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Curd and treacle

Driving the southern coast road past Tangalle towards Hambantota, you pass stall after stall stacked with round clay chatties of meekiri, the firm, slightly sour curd made from buffalo milk, with bottles of dark kithul treacle hanging beside them. Turned out into a bowl and flooded with treacle, it is the South's great dessert: cool, rich and tangy against the smoky, toffee-like sweetness of the palm syrup, eaten after lunch or as a snack in the heat of the day. Setting it at home is easy with pasteurised buffalo milk or creamy whole cow's milk, a spoon of live curd and a warm spot overnight. The mistake that ruins most first batches is adding the starter while the milk is still too hot, which kills the culture and leaves you with warm milk in the morning. Chef's tip: unglazed clay pots draw out a little whey, which is why traditional curd is so thick; soak them in water and dry them well before using.

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Jókai bablevesSmoky bean soup with pork

Mór Jókai, the nineteenth-century novelist, is said to have ordered this bean soup so often in his favourite Balatonfüred restaurant that it was named after him, and it is now a fixture of Budapest lunch menus and workers' canteens. This is a pork soup through and through: a smoked pork knuckle simmers with dried beans and roots until the meat falls apart, and slices of smoked pork sausage go in at the end. A paprika roux gives colour, a swirl of sour cream and a dash of vinegar add tang, and tiny pinched csipetke noodles make it a full meal with a slice of bread. Soak the beans overnight first. A common mistake is salting early; the smoked knuckle is salty, so taste only at the end. Chef's tip: simmer the knuckle for 30 minutes on its own first and taste the water; if it is very salty, throw it away and start again with fresh water.

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Coconut macaroons

Coconut macaroons are the Passover biscuit in Israel: every supermarket stacks them high before the holiday, but homemade ones from a Haifa or Jerusalem kitchen are far better, crisp and golden on the outside and moist and chewy inside. They need just desiccated coconut, egg whites, sugar and vanilla, with no flour or leavening, so they suit the Passover rules and are naturally gluten free and dairy free. Dip the bases in dark chocolate if you like. The common mistake is baking them on a hot tray straight from a previous batch, which burns the bases before the tops colour. Chef's tip: let the mixture rest for 15 minutes so the coconut soaks up the whites and the mounds hold their shape.

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KhirshaReduced milk fudge

In the dairy belt of Sirajganj and Pabna, where milk is cheap and plentiful, khirsha is made the patient way: milk is boiled in a wide iron karai and stirred for well over an hour until it has reduced to a sixth of its volume and become a thick, pale-caramel paste, then sweetened and cooked a little longer. Sold in clay saucers or pressed into blocks, it tastes of pure cooked milk, sweet and slightly toffee-like, with a fudgy, fine-grained texture. It is eaten on its own, spread on puffed rice, rolled into pithas or packed into the shells of other sweets. Burning the bottom is the classic mishap, which makes the whole batch taste scorched, so stir constantly and scrape the corners once it thickens. Chef's tip: use a wide, heavy pan rather than a deep one; the bigger the surface, the faster the milk reduces.

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Beet kvass

Before lemons and vinegar were easy to buy, Ukrainian cooks soured their borscht with beet kvass, a ruby-red brine made by leaving sliced raw beetroot in salted water for a few days. It is lightly fermented, so it contains no more than a negligible trace of alcohol, and it tastes earthy, salty and pleasantly sharp. In Poltava and Chernihiv villages a jar always stood by the stove; a splash went into the soup pot and a small glass was drunk in the morning as a tonic. Some families add a crust of rye bread to speed things up, which makes it no longer gluten-free. The mistake most people make is leaving the beetroot floating: anything above the brine can grow mould, so keep it weighed down. Discard any batch with fuzzy or coloured mould, a slimy texture or a rotten smell. Chef's tip: a few slices left in the jar from the previous batch start the next one in half the time.

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Bahamian chicken souseChicken in lime broth

In the Bahamas, souse is the Saturday-morning cure after a late Friday: chicken (or sheep tongue or pig's feet, for the old-timers) simmered in a clear, sharp broth of lime juice, allspice, onion, potatoes and hot pepper, eaten with johnnycake. It is light, sour, peppery and very reviving. The common mistake is adding the lime too early and boiling it, which makes the broth bitter; most goes in at the end. Use bone-in pieces for flavour. Chef's tip: let the bowl sit for a few minutes after serving so the lime mellows into the broth.

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Pickled green tomatoes

In southern Ukraine the first cold nights of October leave every garden full of hard green tomatoes that will never ripen, and rather than waste them, cooks around Odesa and Kherson slit each one and stuff it with a punchy paste of garlic, dill, parsley and hot chilli. A week in brine turns them sour and fizzy, with a crunch and a slow burn from the chilli. They are the pickle everyone reaches for at the winter table, next to potatoes fried with onions or a bowl of buckwheat. Most people go wrong by cutting the tomatoes right through, so the filling falls out; slice only two-thirds of the way. As with any ferment, keep everything below the brine and discard the jar if it grows fuzzy or coloured mould or smells rotten. Chef's tip: pick tomatoes that are just starting to blush pale; fully hard dark-green ones stay bitter.

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Jeow somSweet-sour chilli sauce

Grilled food in Laos rarely leaves the stall without a little bag of jeow som, the thin, sour-sweet sauce that every street grill from Vientiane's riverside to small-town bus stations ladles out beside the skewers. Unlike the pounded jeows, it is pourable: lime juice, garlic and raw chilli in a light, sweet-salty syrup, sharp enough to cut through anything charred. Dip grilled tofu, corn, aubergine or sticky rice into it, or spoon it over a plate of steamed vegetables. Stall versions lean on fish sauce; salt and tamari keep this one vegetarian. Tipping granulated sugar straight into cold lime juice is the usual fault, since it never fully dissolves and the sauce tastes gritty and unbalanced. Chef's tip: let the sauce sit for 15 minutes before serving so the garlic and chilli mellow into the lime.

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Sri Lankan chicken curry

Sunday lunch in a Colombo family home very often means a pot of kukul mas curry, the chicken chopped small on the bone and simmered in a gravy darkened by curry powder that has been roasted until it smells almost like coffee. Pandan leaf, curry leaves, cinnamon bark and cardamom carry the perfume, while coconut milk stirred in towards the end rounds off the chilli heat without making the sauce heavy. It shares the table with red rice, parippu, pol sambol and a green mallung, and whatever is left over tastes even better the next morning with string hoppers. A common slip is using raw, unroasted curry powder, which tastes dusty and flat instead of deep and smoky. Chef's tip: roast the spices for the powder until they are the colour of milk chocolate and grind them while still warm, so the oils release into the powder.

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Jhinuk pithaShell-shaped coconut rice pitha

Jhinuk is the Bengali word for a freshwater mussel shell, and these little ridged, curled pithas look exactly like the shells children pick from village ponds in winter. Small balls of rice dough enriched with grated coconut are pressed against the back of a fork or a comb and rolled so they curl up with fine grooves on the outside, then fried crisp and tossed in a thick cardamom syrup that dries into a thin, frosty sugar coat. Across Bangladesh they are made in the cold months and around Poush Sankranti, piled on a plate for guests with tea, and they keep well in a tin. A thin syrup leaves them soggy instead of glazed, which is where most batches disappoint; it must be boiled until it threads between your fingers. Chef's tip: keep the dough balls under a damp cloth while you shape, so the edges don't crack as they curl.

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Hot butter cuttlefish

Along Colombo's Galle Road and in the seafood restaurants of Negombo, hot butter cuttlefish is the dish nearly every table orders first, a heap of golden, crunchy strips that disappear while the rice and curries are still on their way. The cuttlefish is scored, dipped in a light, chilli-spiked batter and fried hard, then thrown into a pan of foaming butter with garlic, dried chilli flakes, green chilli and a big handful of spring onion. The result is crisp outside, tender within, rich, salty and properly hot, and it is eaten as a starter or alongside fried rice and a fresh lime. It goes wrong when the cuttlefish fries too long, because it turns rubbery after about two minutes in the oil. Chef's tip: score the inside of each piece in a fine criss-cross so it curls and grabs the batter, and fry in small batches so the oil stays hot.

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Sri Lankan patties

Patties are the short eat that marks a Sri Lankan celebration, made by the hundred for weddings, Avurudu New Year visits and Christmas open houses, and sold warm from bakeries in paper bags. The pastry is the clue to their identity: rich with butter, egg and coconut milk, rolled thin, folded into half-moons and crimped with a fork, then fried until blistered and flaky. Inside is a gently spiced mix of chicken, potato and leeks with a hint of cinnamon, and a vegetable filling of potato, carrot and leek is equally common when guests are vegetarian. It goes wrong when the filling is still warm when it meets the pastry, which then softens, tears and leaks in the oil. Chef's tip: rest the pastry in the fridge for half an hour before rolling, and press the edges with a fork dipped in flour so they seal firmly.

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Njama njama and fufu cornHuckleberry leaves with corn fufu

Every chop house in Bamenda has its own pot of njama njama, the bitter-sweet huckleberry leaf that grows in Grassfields gardens, served next to a smooth white dome of fufu corn. The leaves are boiled briefly to tame their bitterness, squeezed and then stir-fried with onion, tomato and pepper until tender and glossy. Pinch off some fufu, press a dent into it with your thumb and use it to scoop up the greens; at home, grilled chicken or kati kati often joins the plate. Frozen huckleberry leaves are sold in African grocers, and spinach with a little kale is a fair stand-in. Avoid skipping the blanching of the huckleberry leaves; unblanched they stay bitter. Chef's tip: squeeze the blanched leaves hard by the handful; leftover water dilutes the tomato base and makes the greens soggy.

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