Sayur lodeh is everyday cooking in Central Java, made in big pots in Solo and Semarang kitchens and ladled over rice, with lontong rice cakes at Lebaran, or alongside opor and sambal goreng on festive tables. It's soupy rather than thick: a fragrant broth of coconut milk, galangal, lemongrass and lime leaf that carries chunks of aubergine, long beans, chayote and sweetcorn, plus tempeh and tofu to make it a meal. The flavour is mellow and slightly sweet, so the heat comes from sambal on the side. Chef's tip: keep the pot at a gentle simmer once the coconut milk goes in and stir now and then — a rolling boil splits the coconut milk into oily curds.
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Injera is the soft, spongy, slightly sour flatbread eaten with Ethiopian stews: you tear it and scoop the food up with it. This home version uses rice and plain flour fermented with a home-made starter over a few days, then cooked on one side until covered in tiny holes. Serve rolled and sliced with missir wat, azifa and atter kik. Any fermented batter left over keeps in the fridge for the next batch.
Every spring, when Spanish mackerel run off the Shandong coast, Qingdao families fill the kitchen table with flour and fish for these large boiled dumplings; restaurants by the harbour serve them by the plate all year. The filling is whipped with peppercorn-infused water until it turns light and almost mousse-like, with chives for freshness and a little fatty pork for richness. Bitten open, they are juicy, briny and sweet rather than fishy. Eat them straight from the pot with black vinegar and crushed garlic, with a pot of jasmine tea. Chef's tip: if you can't find Spanish mackerel, ordinary mackerel or a mix of mackerel and cod works well.
Bicol, the peninsula at the southern tip of Luzon, cooks almost everything in coconut milk with plenty of chilli, and Bicol express is the pork dish that carries the region's name all over the country (locals often call it sinilihan, 'with chillies'). Pork shoulder is cooked down in coconut milk until the liquid turns to oil and the meat is tender, then finished with coconut cream, long green chillies and a spoon of shrimp paste. It is rich, salty and properly hot. Serve it with lots of plain rice. Chef's tip: let the coconut milk reduce until it 'breaks' and you see the oil; that is when the sauce gets its toasty, deep flavour.
Zupa ogórkowa is the soup Polish families make when the crock of brine-fermented cucumbers from summer starts to run low in late autumn: grated sour pickles and their cloudy brine simmered with potatoes, carrot and root vegetables, then softened with soured cream and a fistful of dill. It is a staple of canteen lunches and Sunday-in-the-country cooking, from Mazovia to Silesia, and it tastes tangy, garlicky and comforting all at once. Traditionally it is made on meat stock; here a good vegetable stock does the job. Use real ogórki kiszone (fermented in salt water), not sweet vinegar gherkins. Chef's tip: stir the cucumbers in only after the potatoes are soft; acid stops potatoes from softening, so if they go in together the potatoes stay hard.
Sausage rolls are the snack of Australian bakeries, school canteens and footy grounds, eaten from a paper bag with a squeeze of tomato sauce, and they're on the table at every kids' party from Perth to Hobart, and across the Tasman too. This vegetarian version wraps crisp, buttery puff pastry around a savoury filling of browned mushrooms, lentils, carrot, cheddar and sage, firm enough to slice and with the peppery, herby taste of a good bakery roll. The meat original uses raw seasoned pork or beef mince in place of the filling, as noted in the steps. Chef's tip: cook the mushrooms until they are dry and browned; any leftover liquid will turn the pastry soggy from the inside.
Nokedli, also called galuska, are the small, soft, irregular egg dumplings that sit under almost every paprikás in Hungary, from Budapest lunch canteens to Sunday tables in the villages of the Great Plain. Unlike German Käsespätzle, they are not baked with cheese: they are a plain, buttery side whose job is to soak up a red, sour-cream sauce. Grandmothers scrape the batter off a wet board with a knife, but a nokedli grater (nokedliszaggató) or a colander with large holes is quicker at home. Serve them with gombapaprikás or lecsó, or toss them with fried egg for a quick supper. Chef's tip: let the batter rest for 10 minutes before cooking; the flour hydrates and the dumplings hold together instead of dissolving into the water.
Makowiec is the poppy seed roll that sits on almost every Polish Christmas Eve and Easter table; in Silesia and Lesser Poland poppy seeds stand for plenty in the year ahead. A soft, buttery yeast dough is rolled around a thick, black, honey-sweet filling of ground poppy seeds with raisins, walnuts and candied orange peel, then baked and glazed so each slice shows a tight spiral. It takes time, but the process is calm and the roll keeps for days. Chef's tip: grind the soaked poppy seeds two or three times, until they look grey and pasty; whole or once-ground seeds give a gritty filling that falls out of the slices.
Walk through Xi'an's Muslim Quarter or any Shaanxi bus station and you will see cooks chopping steaming braised pork on thick wooden blocks and stuffing it into split, griddle-crisped buns. The bread, called baijimo, has a crackly shell with an 'iron ring' edge, a 'tiger-back' top and a spiral 'chrysanthemum heart' inside; the pork is slow-cooked in a soy broth with a dozen warm spices until it falls apart. Chopped with green chilli and coriander and moistened with the braising juices, it makes one of the world's oldest sandwiches. Eat it hot in the hand, with cold liangpi noodles or a bowl of soup alongside. Chef's tip: keep the braising liquid as a master stock in the freezer; the next batch of pork tastes even better.
Barszcz czerwony wigilijny is the clear, ruby-coloured beetroot broth that opens the Christmas Eve supper in most Polish homes, from Warsaw to Wrocław. It is not the thick vegetable soup of Ukraine but a sipping broth, sweet, sour and earthy, sharpened with beetroot kvass or lemon and deepened with dried forest mushrooms; on 24 December it is served with tiny mushroom dumplings called uszka, and through winter people drink it from mugs alongside a croquette. It is fully plant-based, as the Wigilia table traditionally is. Chef's tip: once the beetroot is in, never let the soup boil hard; a bare simmer keeps the colour bright, and boiling turns it a dull brown.
Łazanki are short, square egg noodles, and in the Podhale highlands and around Kraków they are tossed with soft-fried white cabbage, a little sauerkraut and mushrooms for a cheap weekday supper, especially in autumn when the cabbage is new. Most cooks add smoked bacon; this version leaves it out and gets its depth from dried ceps, browned fresh mushrooms and plenty of black pepper and marjoram. It is soft, savoury and slightly sour. Serve it on its own with a glass of buttermilk or kefir, as people do in the mountains. Chef's tip: let the cabbage catch and brown in places before you add the noodles; that browning is the flavour bacon would otherwise give.
When wild bilberries ripen in the pine forests of Podlasie and Masuria in July, roadside sellers appear with jars of them and half of Poland makes pierogi z jagodami for lunch. The dumplings are boiled, so the berries burst into a hot, purple, jammy filling inside a soft dough, and they are eaten with cold sweetened soured cream and a dusting of sugar. Cultivated blueberries work well; frozen wild bilberries are closer to the original. Chef's tip: toss the berries with potato starch, but add the sugar only on top when you serve; sugared berries weep juice, and that juice is what makes the pierogi burst.
On Wigilia, the meatless Christmas Eve supper, almost every Polish family puts out a plate of pierogi z kapustą i grzybami, sour cabbage and forest mushroom dumplings. The filling is dark and savoury: sauerkraut simmered until soft, then chopped with dried ceps or bay boletes gathered in autumn and onion fried in oil, so the whole dish is plant-based and fits the old fasting rules of the evening. In Kraków and the south they are boiled; in many homes the leftovers are fried crisp on 25 December. Chef's tip: save the mushroom soaking water; a few spoons of it in the filling give far more depth than any stock cube.
Lechon kawali is pork belly, boiled with garlic and bay, dried, then fried in a wok (kawali) until the rind blisters into crackling. It is the everyday cousin of the whole roast pig: Manila carinderias sell it by the slice at lunchtime, and home cooks make it for weekend lunches all over Luzon. Each piece should be shatteringly crisp on top and juicy underneath. Serve it chopped with rice and a sharp garlic-vinegar dip, or with the sweet liver sauce sold in jars. Chef's tip: after boiling, leave the belly uncovered in the fridge overnight; a bone-dry rind puffs up and spits far less in the oil.
No Filipino party table is complete without a platter of lumpiang shanghai, the pencil-thin pork spring rolls that disappear first at birthdays, Christmas Eve (Noche Buena) and family reunions. They came from the Chinese-Filipino cooks of Manila, and the filling is seasoned minced pork with carrot, onion and water chestnut, rolled tight in thin wrappers and fried until they crackle. Dip them in sweet chilli sauce or banana ketchup. Chef's tip: roll them no thicker than your finger; thin rolls cook through in the time the wrapper takes to turn golden.
Up in Ilocos Norte and Ilocos Sur, in towns like Vigan and Batac, bagnet hangs in market stalls in golden slabs: pork belly that has been boiled, dried and deep-fried so the rind is puffed and crunchy all the way through. Ilocanos chop it into rice bowls, add it to pinakbet and dinengdeng, or eat it with sukang Iloco, the region's dark sugarcane vinegar. It is richer and crunchier than lechon kawali because it is fried twice. A tomato and onion salad with a little shrimp paste cuts the fat. Chef's tip: the second fry, in hotter oil after a rest, is what makes the rind bubble; skip it and you get chewy skin.
Pierogi ruskie take their name from Red Ruthenia, the old borderland around Lwów and Przemyśl, and today they are the pierogi every Polish milk bar (bar mleczny) from Kraków to Gdańsk keeps on the menu. The filling is the Polish one: floury potato mashed with crumbly twaróg curd cheese, plenty of slowly browned onion and a lot of black pepper, wrapped in a thin, soft dough. Kraków even holds a pierogi festival every August, and ruskie are always the best sellers. Serve them boiled with more golden onion and a spoon of soured cream, or fry leftovers in butter the next day. Chef's tip: let the filling cool completely and taste it before you fill a single dumpling; it should taste over-seasoned on its own, because the dough mutes it.
Shwe yin aye, roughly 'golden heart cooler', is what Yangon drinks during the scorching weeks of Thingyan, the April water festival, when stalls set up along the streets to hand it out. It's a bowl of sweet, lightly salted coconut milk over crushed ice, filled with chewy sago pearls, cubes of green agar jelly, a scoop of sticky rice and, surprisingly, a few pieces of soft white bread that soak up the coconut. Chef's tip: make the jelly, sago and sticky rice in the morning and chill everything; assembled cold, the bowl stays refreshing to the last spoonful.
Samosa chaat is how the street stalls of Punjab and Delhi turn yesterday's samosas into the best snack of the day. Samosas are broken open on a plate, covered with a ladle of hot, tangy chole, then cooled down with sweet whisked yogurt, green and tamarind chutneys, raw onion, crunchy sev and a dusting of chaat masala. Every spoonful is hot and cold, crisp and soft, sweet, sour and spicy at once. Use bought samosas or the site's own samosa recipe. Chef's tip: warm the samosas in the oven until crisp before you crush them; a soggy samosa makes a heavy chaat, a crisp one soaks up the chole and still crunches.
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