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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Csirkepaprikás is the Sunday chicken of Hungarian homes, cooked by grandmothers in villages and in Budapest flats alike and always served with nokedli, the little egg dumplings. Chicken thighs braise gently with onion, plenty of sweet paprika, tomato and pepper, then soured cream is stirred in to make a velvety, brick-orange sauce. Chef's tip: mix the soured cream with a spoonful of flour and some hot sauce before adding it; this stops it from splitting.
Lamprais came to Sri Lanka with the Dutch Burgher community, and Colombo's Burgher families still make it for Sunday lunch, christenings and Christmas. Each banana-leaf parcel holds rice cooked in rich stock, a mixed meat curry, little fried meatballs called frikkadels, a hard-boiled egg, aubergine moju and seeni sambol, all baked together until the leaf perfumes everything. The traditional version uses three meats including pork; this home version keeps it to chicken and beef so it is manageable in one day, and the steps still take time. Chef's tip: make the curry and frikkadels the day before; on lamprais day you only cook the rice and wrap.
Çoban salatası, the shepherd's salad, is on the table at almost every Turkish meal from Edirne to Van, whether that is a home dinner, a lokanta lunch or a summer barbecue. It is simple by design: small dice of tomato, cucumber, green pepper and onion with parsley, dressed with lemon juice, olive oil and a little sumac. It is eaten alongside pilaf, beans, börek or anything grilled. The common mistake is salting it too early, which draws the water out of the tomatoes and leaves it swimming. Chef's tip: rub the onion slices with salt and sumac and rinse them before adding; the onion stays crunchy but loses its harsh bite.
No Sri Lankan party table, from Colombo office leaving-dos to village weddings, is complete without a tray of fish cutlets. These are small, round balls of tinned or fresh tuna mashed with potato, onion, green chilli and black pepper, rolled in breadcrumbs and fried until crisp. They're also a go-to teatime short eat, eaten with a cup of plain tea or tucked into a lunch box. Serve them with chilli sauce or a squeeze of lime. Chef's tip: fry the onion and spices with the fish before mixing in the potato; it dries the filling and makes the cutlets far tastier than mixing everything raw.
Holubtsi, 'little doves', are the cabbage rolls of Ukrainian family feasts, made by the trayful for weddings, christenings and Christmas in homes from Lviv to Poltava. This version contains pork: tender cabbage leaves wrap a mix of pork and beef mince, rice, onion and carrot, and the rolls bake slowly in a tomato and soured cream sauce. Serve with more soured cream and dill. Chef's tip: core the cabbage and simmer the whole head, peeling off leaves as they soften; they come away without tearing.
As the sun goes down on Galle Face Green in Colombo, carts line the seafront selling isso vadai: crunchy lentil fritters with a whole prawn pressed into the top of each one. Families buy them in paper bags with sliced onion and a squeeze of lime while the kids fly kites. At home they make a great teatime snack or a starter for guests, and they're best eaten within minutes of frying. Chef's tip: soak the split peas but don't grind them too smoothly; a coarse, slightly grainy batter is what gives the fritters their crunch.
Satsivi is a dish of the Georgian New Year table, prepared in homes across western Georgia, Imereti and Samegrelo, a day ahead so it can be served cold at the long supra feast on 1 January. Poached chicken is covered in a thick, ivory walnut sauce scented with garlic, fenugreek, coriander and marigold petals and sharpened with vinegar. It is rich and fragrant, eaten with cornbread (mchadi) or fresh bread. Chef's tip: blend the walnuts with a little warm stock until they release their oil; this gives the sauce its silky texture.
Chakhokhbili was first made with pheasant (khokhobi), but in Georgian homes from Tbilisi to Kutaisi today it is an everyday chicken stew, the kind cooked on a weeknight and served with bread to wipe the plate. Chicken pieces are browned without oil, then simmered with a lot of onion and ripe tomato, garlic, chilli and khmeli suneli spice, and finished with a big handful of fresh coriander, basil and dill. Chef's tip: brown the chicken skin side down in a dry pan; it releases enough fat to cook the onions.
Chashushuli is a fiery beef stew from the home kitchens and Tbilisi taverns of eastern Georgia, cooked in a clay ketsi pot or a heavy pan and eaten with shoti bread. Beef simmers slowly with lots of onion and tomato, then gets a hit of garlic, chilli, khmeli suneli and fresh coriander right at the end. It is meant to be spicy, but you can halve the chilli. Chef's tip: cook it until the sauce is thick enough to scoop with bread; Georgians do not eat it like soup.
Gaziantep, a city on Turkey's southern border famous for pistachios and pepper paste, claims muhammara as its own, and you will find it on breakfast spreads and meze tables throughout the southeast. Roasted red peppers, walnuts and breadcrumbs are pounded with pepper paste, cumin and pomegranate molasses into a thick, brick-red spread that is smoky, nutty and gently hot. Spread it on bread, serve it with crudités or alongside a bowl of lentil soup. A common mistake is blending until completely smooth; it should keep a little bite from the walnuts. Chef's tip: toast the walnuts in a dry pan first until they smell like brown butter, which deepens the flavour far more than raw nuts.
Ambul thiyal means 'sour stew', and it comes from the fishing towns of the south coast, around Matara, Galle and Tangalle. Fishermen once cooked it so the tuna would keep for days without a fridge: almost no liquid, plenty of goraka and black pepper, slowly reduced in a clay pot until each chunk is dark and coated. Today it is a favourite rice-and-curry dish on Sundays and holidays, and people often pack it for long journeys. It is sharp, peppery and firm, so a little goes a long way with rice and a coconut sambol. Chef's tip: cut the tuna into big 4 cm chunks; small pieces fall apart during the long, slow reduction.
Every night market in Taiwan, from Shilin in Taipei to Tainan's Garden Night Market, has a yan su ji stall with a queue, selling paper bags of bite-size fried chicken. Thigh pieces are marinated in soy, garlic and five-spice, coated in coarse sweet potato starch for a craggy, extra-crunchy shell, double-fried and tossed with fried Thai basil and a salt-and-white-pepper seasoning. The marinade traditionally includes rice wine, which contains alcohol; leave it out or use 1 tbsp water instead. Chef's tip: let the coated chicken rest for 5 minutes until the starch looks damp; it will then stay on in the oil.
Curry fish balls are the after-school snack of Hong Kong, sold on bamboo skewers from steaming pots at street stalls in Mong Kok and Sham Shui Po for a few dollars. Springy fish balls simmer in a thick, mildly spicy yellow curry sauce made with curry powder, coconut milk and a little satay sauce, and are eaten straight from the stick while still hot. Chef's tip: simmer the fish balls in the sauce for at least 10 minutes; they need time to soak up the curry.
This is a pork dish. In the southern and western coastal towns, from Negombo down to Galle, kalu uru mas is the curry that comes out for Christmas lunch, family get-togethers and Sunday rice spreads. Its colour comes from curry powder roasted in a dry pan until it is nearly black, plus goraka, a sour dried fruit that tenderises the meat and balances the fat. The sauce ends up thick, glossy and smoky-sour, clinging to every cube of pork. Eat it with plain rice, string hoppers or bread, and it tastes even better the next day. Chef's tip: roast the curry powder over a low heat and keep stirring; take it off the moment it turns the colour of dark chocolate and smells toasty, because burnt powder turns bitter.
Gon chow ngau ho is the test of a Cantonese wok cook, and Hong Kong diners judge a dai pai dong (open-air food stall) or late-night café by it. Wide fresh rice noodles are tossed over a fierce flame with tender, marinated beef, bean sprouts and spring onion in soy sauce until smoky and glossy but never greasy or broken. The beef marinade sometimes includes Shaoxing wine, which contains alcohol; this version uses none. Chef's tip: separate the noodles by hand before cooking and do not stir with a spatula; lift and toss them so they stay whole.
Typhoon shelter crab comes from the boat people of Causeway Bay, who cooked for visitors on sampans moored in the harbour's storm shelters, and Hong Kong restaurants still serve it piled under a golden mountain of fried garlic. Crab pieces are dusted in starch and fried, then tossed in a wok with a huge amount of crisp garlic, dried chilli, fermented black beans and spring onion. Chef's tip: fry the garlic slowly over a medium heat; it should turn golden and crunchy, never dark, or it tastes bitter.
Lok lak is a favourite in Phnom Penh restaurants and family kitchens, a dish Cambodians often order on special nights out. Cubes of beef are marinated in oyster sauce, soy and garlic, seared fast in a hot wok and served on lettuce, tomato and onion with rice, a fried egg on top and a tiny bowl of tuk meric: Kampot black pepper, salt and lime juice for dipping. Chef's tip: dry the beef well and cook it in a very hot pan in two batches; it should sear, not stew.
Sit down at a kebab house in Adana or Gaziantep and a small dish of acılı ezme arrives before you have ordered: tomato, pepper, onion and parsley chopped almost to a paste, sharpened with pomegranate molasses and hot pepper flakes. It works just as well at a vegetarian table, spooned onto bulgur pilaf, falafel or grilled vegetables, or scooped up with warm flatbread. The mistake most people make is using a food processor: it turns the vegetables into watery soup instead of a thick, rough relish. Chef's tip: chop everything by hand with a big knife, then drain the tomatoes in a sieve for 5 minutes before mixing, so the ezme stays thick enough to sit on bread.
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