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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Named after the Hortobágy puszta, Hungary's great grassland in the east, these savoury pancakes are a favourite starter in Hungarian restaurants and a clever family meal. Thin palacsinta are filled with finely chopped paprika chicken, folded into parcels, and baked in the paprika-soured cream sauce until bubbling. Chef's tip: chop the cooked chicken very finely or pulse it briefly; a fine filling makes neat, tight parcels.
Along the coast of Normandy and Brittany, from Le Mont-Saint-Michel to Saint-Malo, summer means big black pots of moules marinières and a cone of frites, eaten at a seaside table with fingers and an empty shell as tongs. Fresh mussels steam open in minutes with shallot, garlic, thyme and white wine. The wine boils only briefly, so some alcohol stays; for an alcohol-free version use 150 ml fish or vegetable stock with 1 tbsp lemon juice. Chef's tip: buy mussels the day you cook them and keep them in the fridge in an open bowl covered with a damp cloth, never in water or a sealed bag.
Tartiflette is the dish skiers dream about on the last run of the day in the Savoie Alps, served bubbling in its dish in mountain restaurants from Annecy to Val d'Isère. It contains pork: sliced potatoes are layered with onion, smoky lardons and a splash of cream, then a whole Reblochon cheese is halved and laid rind-side up on top so it melts down through everything in the oven. Many cooks add a splash of white wine to the onions; this recipe leaves it out, so it is alcohol-free. Eat it with a sharp green salad and cornichons. Chef's tip: keep the rind on the Reblochon; it bakes to a golden, nutty crust.
Cantucci, also called biscotti di Prato, are the hard almond biscuits of Prato, near Florence, where bakeries have sold them since the 1800s. The dough is shaped into logs, baked, sliced on the diagonal and baked again until crisp and golden, so they keep for weeks. In Tuscany they end a meal dipped in a small glass of Vin Santo; with coffee works just as well. The traditional recipe has no butter or oil, only eggs, sugar, flour and whole almonds. Chef's tip: slice the logs while still warm with a serrated knife and a firm sawing motion; once cold, they crumble.
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.
Mtsvadi are the grilled skewers of the Georgian supra and every summer picnic, and in the wine region of Kakheti they are cooked over the embers of dried grapevine cuttings left from pruning. This version is pork: chunks of fatty pork neck marinated simply with onion, salt and pepper, threaded on skewers and grilled until charred at the edges and juicy inside. Serve with raw onion rings, pomegranate seeds and tkemali (sour plum sauce). Chef's tip: keep the marinade simple; Georgians say good mtsvadi needs only good meat and good fire.
Taiwan treats beef noodle soup as a national dish, and Taipei even holds an annual festival where noodle shops compete for the best bowl. The red-braised style is the classic: beef shank simmers for hours with chilli bean paste, soy, star anise, ginger and tomato until it is meltingly tender, then the rich broth is poured over thick wheat noodles with blanched greens and pickled mustard greens. The braise uses Shaoxing rice wine, which contains alcohol; for an alcohol-free version use extra stock with 1 tsp rice vinegar. Chef's tip: blanch the beef first and rinse it; this gives a clear, clean-tasting broth.
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.
Coq au vin comes from Burgundy, where farm cooks once used the local red wine to soften a tough old rooster for a long Sunday lunch. This version uses chicken thighs and legs, which stay juicy, and contains pork (smoked lardons). The wine cooks for over an hour, so most of the alcohol is driven off but not all of it; for an alcohol-free version use 500 ml chicken stock with 100 ml red grape juice and 1 tbsp red wine vinegar. Serve with buttery mashed potatoes or boiled potatoes and a crusty loaf. Chef's tip: marinate the chicken in the wine overnight in the fridge; it colours the meat deep purple and seasons it right through.
Bouillabaisse began as the fishermen's supper on the quays of Marseille's Vieux-Port, made from the bony rockfish nobody could sell, and today it is a long, slow Sunday lunch in Provence. A deep orange broth of fennel, tomato, orange peel and saffron is boiled hard so the olive oil emulsifies, then firm white fish and shellfish are poached in it at the last minute. In Marseille the broth is served first with garlicky rouille on toasted bread, then the fish on a platter. Chef's tip: add the fish in order of thickness, firmest first, so every piece finishes at the same moment.
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.
On summer mornings in Sicily, especially around Catania and Messina, breakfast is granita: a cup of soft, spoonable lemon ice with a warm brioche on the side for dipping. Sicilian granita is finer and creamier than a slushy, because it is stirred as it freezes. All you need is lemons, sugar and water, plus a fork and a freezer. It takes about four hours of occasional scraping. Chef's tip: steep the zest in the warm syrup for 20 minutes; the oils in the peel give a much fuller lemon flavour than juice alone.
Kuy teav is what Phnom Penh eats for breakfast: before 8 am the city's street stalls and markets are busy with people bent over bowls of it. It is a pork soup: a clear, slightly sweet broth simmered from pork bones with dried squid or shrimp and charred onion is poured over rice noodles, sliced pork, minced pork and prawns, and everyone finishes their bowl with lime, chilli, bean sprouts and fried garlic. Chef's tip: never boil the broth hard; keep it barely trembling so it stays crystal clear.
Bai sach chrouk, 'rice with pork', is the classic Cambodian street breakfast, grilled over charcoal on pavements in Phnom Penh and Siem Reap in the early morning and eaten before work and school. It is a pork dish: thin slices of pork are marinated overnight in coconut milk, garlic and palm sugar, then grilled until caramelised and smoky and served on broken rice with quick-pickled cucumber and carrot and a small bowl of clear broth. Chef's tip: slice the pork thinly, about 5 mm; it marinates faster and chars before it dries out.
Mok pa is cooked all over Laos, from Vientiane's riverside markets to village kitchens near the Mekong, where freshwater fish is the everyday protein. Chunks of white fish are mixed with a paste of lemongrass, shallot, garlic and chilli, a handful of dill and lime leaves and a spoon of sticky rice flour, then wrapped in banana leaf parcels and steamed until set and fragrant. Eat it with sticky rice and raw vegetables. Chef's tip: soften the banana leaves by passing them briefly over a flame or into hot water; they fold without cracking.
Polos is the tiny unripe jackfruit picked in the Western and Sabaragamuwa provinces long before it sweetens, and cooked low and slow it becomes one of the island's most loved festival curries, especially at Sinhala and Tamil New Year in April and at wedding lunches. The firm, pale flesh soaks up a very dark roasted curry powder, garlic, ginger, goraka (a smoky souring fruit) and coconut milk until it turns almost black-brown and tastes rich, sour and meaty. Fresh polos is hard to find abroad; tinned young green jackfruit in brine works well. A frequent mistake is not cooking it long enough, which leaves it squeaky; the pieces must be soft enough to break with a spoon. Chef's tip: oil your hands and knife before cutting fresh jackfruit; the sticky white sap washes off oiled skin but not dry skin.
Kotosoupa is what a Greek grandmother puts on the stove when someone has a cold, and on the night after Easter Saturday's midnight service many families break the fast with a lemony soup much like it. A whole chicken poaches with onion, carrot and celery, rice cooks in the broth, and at the end beaten eggs and lemon are tempered in so the soup turns creamy and pale without any cream. The chicken is often served on the side with potatoes, or shredded back into the bowl. Chef's tip: whisk the eggs until frothy before adding lemon and hot broth; it makes the soup silky and helps stop it curdling.
Jeow bong is the famous chilli relish of Luang Prabang, the old royal capital, sold in little jars at its night market and eaten with sticky rice, crisp river-weed sheets and fresh vegetables at almost every Lao meal. Dried chillies, roasted garlic, shallot and galangal are pounded with palm sugar and fish sauce into a sticky, smoky, sweet-hot jam. This version contains pork: traditionally it includes thin strips of dried buffalo skin, and here it uses cooked pork skin for the same chewy texture. Chef's tip: roast the aromatics until truly blackened in spots; that char gives jeow bong its smoky depth.
Mandi comes from the Hadramaut in Yemen, where meat was slow-cooked in a pit oven above the rice, and today mandi restaurants with long floor cushions are found all over Saudi Arabia and the Gulf, especially busy on Friday afternoons. Spiced chicken roasts until the skin is deep golden, the rice cooks in its stock with whole spices, and a final burst of smoke from a glowing piece of charcoal gives the dish its signature flavour. Serve with a fresh tomato and chilli salsa (sahawiq). Chef's tip: the charcoal step is optional but worth it; do it with the extractor on and a window open, and never leave the burning coal unattended.
Harees is one of the oldest dishes of the Arabian Gulf, made in the UAE, Oman and Saudi Arabia for Ramadan iftar, Eid and weddings, when big pots are stirred for hours and shared with neighbours. Whole wheat and chicken cook slowly together until the grain bursts and the meat falls apart, then everything is beaten to a smooth, sticky porridge and finished with ghee and a little cinnamon. It is soft, mild and very comforting. Chef's tip: beat it hard with a wooden spoon (or briefly with a stick blender) at the end; that is what gives harees its elastic texture.
Saltah is the national dish of Yemen, eaten at lunch in Sana'a and the highlands, brought to the table still boiling in a heavy stone pot called a madara. A rich lamb broth (maraq) is cooked down with tomato, potato and hawaij spices, then crowned with hulba, fenugreek whipped to a pale green froth, and scooped up with flatbread. Chef's tip: soak the ground fenugreek for at least 4 hours and pour off its bitter water before whipping; that is what makes it foam.
In Riyadh, Dubai and Kuwait City, chicken shawarma is the late-evening street food, carved from a turning spit and wrapped in thin bread with toum garlic sauce, pickles and chips tucked inside, Gulf style. At home, thighs marinated in yogurt, lemon and warm spices are roasted at a high heat until charred at the edges, then sliced thinly. Chef's tip: give the chicken a final blast under a hot grill after slicing; it recreates the crisp edges of the spit.
Cholent, called hamin by Sephardic families, is the slow stew that Jewish homes in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv and Bnei Brak put on before Shabbat begins on Friday afternoon, so it can cook gently overnight without anyone touching the stove and be eaten hot at Saturday lunch. Beef, dried beans, pearl barley, potatoes and onions cook for 12 hours or more in a paprika-scented broth, often with whole eggs in their shells that turn brown and creamy. Chef's tip: add enough water to just cover everything; too little and it dries out overnight, too much and it is soup.
This is a pork recipe; chicken thigh works the same way. In Thessaloniki and Athens gyros is cut from a tall turning spit, so thin that the edges crackle, and wrapped with chips, tomato, onion and tzatziki for a late-night bite after a football match or a night out. Home kitchens have no spit, so here thinly sliced pork shoulder is marinated in paprika, cumin, garlic and oregano, roasted in a tight stack, then sliced and crisped in a hot pan to get those charred edges. Chef's tip: slice the cooked meat as thinly as you can, then fry it in a dry hot pan; the crisp edges are what make it taste like the street version.
Cannoli were once a Carnival treat in Palermo; now Sicilian pastry shops fill them all year, piping the sweet sheep's-milk ricotta cream into the crisp, bubbly shells only when you order, so they never go soft. The ends are dipped in chopped pistachios, candied orange or chocolate chips. Traditional shells are fried with lard; this version uses butter in the dough and sunflower oil to fry. You need metal cannoli tubes. Chef's tip: drain the ricotta overnight and push it through a sieve; it makes a silky cream that holds its shape instead of a runny, grainy filling.
Dimlama is what Uzbek families cook at the end of summer, when the markets of the Fergana Valley are piled with cabbage, aubergine, peppers and tomatoes. Everything goes into one heavy pot in layers, lamb at the bottom, and the lid stays on for nearly two hours while the vegetables slowly give up their juice and become the sauce. There is no added water, so the flavour is deep and sweet. People eat it straight from shallow bowls with non bread. The biggest error is lifting the lid to check; the steam escapes, the vegetables stew dry and the bottom can catch. Chef's tip: seal the lid with a damp tea towel or a strip of foil so no steam gets out.
Khorovats is the centre of every Armenian summer weekend, whether at a family dacha near Yerevan or a picnic by Lake Sevan: big chunks of meat on long flat skewers, grilled over vine or apricot wood. This version uses pork (it contains pork) from the neck or shoulder, which stays juicy over fire; boneless lamb leg works the same way with 2–3 minutes less cooking. The marinade is just onion, black pepper, a little paprika and herbs, and the meat is served with raw onion, flat lavash and a plate of grilled vegetables. A frequent mistake is cutting the pieces small; at under 4 cm they dry out before the outside browns. Chef's tip: lay a sheet of lavash over the finished skewers for a minute so it soaks up the juices, then eat the bread too.
This is a pork recipe. Sheftalia are the little skinless sausages you find on every souvla barbecue in Cyprus, from Limassol beach grills to Sunday family gatherings in Nicosia gardens. Minced pork is mixed with onion, parsley and mint, wrapped in lacy caul fat and grilled slowly so the fat melts and bastes the meat. They come tucked into a large pitta with salad, lemon and tahini. Ask a butcher for caul fat (sometimes called lace fat); without it you can still shape the mix into thick sausages and grill them on an oiled rack. Chef's tip: soak the caul fat in warm, lightly vinegared water first; it becomes supple and stretches without tearing.
Khash is a winter ritual in Armenia: friends gather in the early morning between November and March, often at the weekend, to share bowls of plain broth made from beef feet that have cooked all night. Everyone seasons their own bowl at the table with crushed garlic and salt, crumbles dried lavash into it and eats with radishes, pickles and fresh herbs. The broth is rich, sticky with gelatine and deliberately unseasoned in the pot. Skimping on the cleaning and soaking is the classic error; it leaves the broth grey and smelling of the farmyard instead of clean and milky-white. Chef's tip: ask the butcher to clean the feet and saw them into pieces for you.
Lula kebab is the kebab Baku's grill houses are proudest of: minced lamb mixed with onion and a little tail fat, squeezed by hand around wide skewers and cooked fast over charcoal. It comes to the table on thin lavash with sliced raw onion tossed in sumac, grilled tomatoes and a pile of herbs, usually at long family lunches and weddings. The meat is only salted and peppered, so it tastes of lamb rather than spice. Many people skip chilling the mince, and soft warm meat slides straight off the skewer into the fire. Chef's tip: knead and slap the mince against the bowl for a few minutes; it becomes sticky and clings to the skewer.
Piti belongs to Shaki, the old silk-road town in the green foothills of northern Azerbaijan, where it is still cooked in individual clay pots and served in restaurants near the caravanserai. Each pot holds lamb on the bone, chickpeas, a chestnut or two, a little tail fat and saffron water. It is eaten in two stages: first you pour the broth over torn bread with sumac, then you mash the meat and chickpeas and eat that as a second course. Rushing it at a high heat is the error to avoid; the broth turns cloudy and the lamb tightens. Chef's tip: if you have no clay pots, a heavy casserole works, and you can ladle it into bowls to serve.
Kleftiko takes its name from the klephts, mountain fighters of the Peloponnese who were said to cook stolen lamb in sealed pits so no smoke gave them away. Today it is a celebration dish across mainland Greece and Cyprus, baked for Easter week and name days. Lamb on the bone is sealed in parchment with potatoes, garlic, lemon and herbs and baked low for hours, so it steams in its own juices until it falls from the bone. Serve with a village salad and bread. Chef's tip: seal the parcel tightly; if steam escapes, the meat dries and the potatoes never soak up the juices.
Sfogliatella riccia is the most famous pastry of Naples, sold warm from bakeries on Via Toledo and eaten for breakfast with an espresso: dozens of paper-thin layers fanned into a shell that shatters when you bite, around a filling of semolina, ricotta, candied orange and cinnamon. It is a project for a weekend, as the dough needs to be rolled very thin, wound into a tight log and chilled overnight. Neapolitan bakers use lard; this version uses a mix of butter and vegetable shortening. Chef's tip: a pasta machine is your best friend; roll the dough to the thinnest or second-thinnest setting so the layers separate into crisp leaves.
Encebollado is the morning soup of Guayaquil and the Ecuadorian coast, sold from street carts and small cevicherías from dawn and famous as a cure after a late night: tuna poached in a broth of tomato, cumin and chilli, with soft chunks of yuca, topped with a heap of lime-pickled red onion and coriander, and eaten with banana chips (chifles) and popcorn. The mistake is boiling the tuna until it goes dry; poach it gently and add it back at the end. Chef's tip: pickle the onion at least 20 minutes ahead so it turns pink and loses its sharpness.
Stifado is the Sunday stew of Greek home cooks, especially in winter, and on islands like Corfu and Crete it fills village tavernas long before lunch. Chunks of beef braise slowly with a mountain of whole small onions, tomato, cinnamon, cloves and bay until the onions turn sweet and jammy. Traditionally red wine and red wine vinegar go in; this recipe uses wine, but you can swap it for the same amount of beef stock plus an extra tablespoon of vinegar and lose nothing important. Serve with crusty bread, rice or orzo. Chef's tip: use as many onions by weight as meat; the onions are the point of the dish, not a garnish.
Panna cotta means 'cooked cream' and comes from the dairy country of the Langhe in Piedmont, where it is served after Sunday lunch, often with caramel or a few berries. Classic recipes set it with gelatine, which is made from animals; this version uses agar, a seaweed setting agent, so it is properly vegetarian. Agar sets firmer and faster, so the amount is small and it must be boiled to work. The result is creamy, just set and wobbles when you shake the plate. Chef's tip: boil the agar in the milk for a full 2 minutes before adding the cream; if it only warms, it will not set.
Shorpo is the soup that keeps Kyrgyz herders warm in the summer pastures around Issyk-Kul and in yurts high in the Tian Shan: big pieces of lamb on the bone simmered slowly with whole potatoes, carrots and onion until the broth is clear and golden. The meat and vegetables are often served on a plate and the broth in bowls, with fresh herbs and bread torn into it. It is simple, so the quality of the lamb matters. Letting it boil hard is the usual mistake; a rolling boil makes the broth cloudy and the meat stringy. Chef's tip: start the lamb in cold water and skim patiently for the first 15 minutes.
In Sweden köttbullar turn up everywhere from Stockholm school canteens to the Christmas julbord, and most families keep a bag of homemade ones in the freezer for busy weeknights. These are small, soft and lightly spiced with allspice, made from a mix of beef and pork, so this recipe contains pork. They come to the table in a pale, peppery cream gravy with buttery mashed potato, sharp lingonberry jam and quick pressed cucumber. The usual slip is rolling them too big and packing them tight: they should be the size of a walnut and shaped with wet hands, never squeezed. Chef's tip: soak the breadcrumbs in milk for a full five minutes before mixing in the meat; that panade is what keeps them tender.
No Swedish Christmas table, from Gothenburg to Luleå, is complete without a dish of Janssons frestelse, and it often comes back at Easter and midsummer too. Matchsticks of potato and soft onion are baked in cream with Swedish-style spiced sprats (labelled ansjovis in Sweden), which melt into the sauce and season it with a salty, sweet-spiced depth rather than a fishy taste. It is rich, so a spoonful sits beside ham, meatballs and pickled herring rather than being a main course on its own. Many people go wrong by buying Mediterranean salted anchovies; they are far saltier and the gratin turns harsh, so look for the sweet-cured sprats in Scandinavian shops. Chef's tip: cut the potatoes into thin sticks rather than slices; the starch on their many edges thickens the cream as it bakes.
Sfeeha are the little open meat pies of Baalbek in Lebanon's Bekaa Valley, where bakers pinch them into neat squares and bake them by the hundred for weddings, Eid and Sunday mornings. The lamb filling is chopped with tomato and onion and sharpened with pomegranate molasses and a spoon of yogurt, so it stays juicy as it bakes on thin, crisp dough. Eat them warm with a bowl of yogurt or labneh and some cucumber. Chef's tip: pinch the four corners really firmly; the square shape is what traps the juices so the base stays crisp.
In Beirut and across Lebanon, a plain bowl of hummus becomes a meal when the cook pours sizzling minced lamb and pine nuts over it straight from the pan. You find it on the mezze table at long Sunday lunches and in neighbourhood breakfast shops, eaten with warm bread, raw onion, mint and pickles. The contrast is the thing: cool, creamy chickpeas and hot, crisp-edged, spiced meat. Chef's tip: peel the warm chickpeas by rubbing them in a tea towel; it takes 5 minutes and makes the hummus really silky.
Frikadeller are the everyday comfort food of Denmark, fried up for Monday suppers in Copenhagen, packed cold on rye bread for lunch and served at nearly every children's birthday. The mix is mostly pork, with some veal, so this is a pork dish, loosened with milk and bound with egg and a spoonful of flour to make soft, flattened ovals with a crisp brown crust. Danes eat them hot with boiled potatoes, brown gravy and sweet-sour pickled red cabbage, or cold the next day with pickled beetroot. Where people go wrong is frying them on too high a heat; the outside burns before the middle is cooked. Chef's tip: let the mixture rest in the fridge for 30 minutes before shaping; it firms up and the patties keep a neat shape in the pan.
Lohikeitto is what Finns cook when they want something warming after a day outside, ladled up in Helsinki lunch cafés and in lakeside summer cottages alike. Chunks of salmon and potato simmer in a light fish stock with leek and allspice, then a little cream turns it pale and gentle and a big handful of dill makes it taste of summer. It takes about forty minutes and is served with dark rye bread and butter. The common mistake is boiling the salmon hard, which turns it dry and stringy; it only needs a few minutes at a bare simmer. Chef's tip: add the salmon last and switch off the heat with the lid on; the fish finishes in the hot soup and stays in juicy flakes.
Potato gnocchi are made all over Italy, from Friuli to Rome, where trattorie still serve them on Thursdays ('giovedì gnocchi'). They are just floury potatoes and flour (an egg yolk is optional and makes them easier to handle) rolled into little pillows that cook in two minutes. Good gnocchi are light and tender, never chewy. Serve them with sage butter, as here, or a simple tomato sauce for children. Chef's tip: bake the potatoes in their skins instead of boiling; drier potatoes need less flour, and less flour means lighter gnocchi.
In Flanders, from Antwerp's frituren to Sunday kitchens in Bruges, stoofvlees is the stew that comes with a cone of double-fried chips and a spoonful of mayonnaise. Chunks of beef chuck are browned hard, then cooked slowly with lots of onion and a dark Belgian brown or abbey-style beer, thickened at the end by a slice of bread spread with mustard that melts into the sauce. The finished gravy is glossy, sweet-sour and deep, with a little brown sugar and vinegar to balance the bitterness. This recipe contains alcohol, though long cooking drives most of it off; for an alcohol-free version use the same amount of alcohol-free dark beer, or beef stock with a tablespoon of extra vinegar and a teaspoon of extra sugar. Browning the meat in one crowded batch is the classic mistake; it stews grey instead of searing. Chef's tip: cook it a day ahead and reheat gently; the flavour rounds out overnight.
Ghent claims waterzooi as its own, and in the cafés around the Korenmarkt it is served in deep plates as a cross between soup and stew. Originally made with river fish, the city's version today is nearly always chicken, poached gently with leek, carrot, celery and potato, then the broth is enriched with cream and egg yolk until it turns silky and pale gold. It is eaten all year but tastes best on a damp Flemish evening, with crusty bread for the last of the broth. The mistake to avoid is boiling it after the yolks go in, which scrambles them; keep it below a simmer while it thickens. Chef's tip: cut the vegetables into fine, even julienne so they cook in the same time and look neat in the bowl.
Along the Belgian coast, from Ostend to De Panne, tomaat-garnaal is the starter that tells you you are at the seaside: a hollowed raw tomato heaped with tiny, sweet North Sea grey shrimp in homemade mayonnaise, served with lettuce, lemon and often a few chips. The shrimp are caught and boiled on the boats, so they come ready-cooked and peeled. Because the dish has so few parts, everything depends on good ripe tomatoes and very fresh shrimp. The thing people often get wrong is drowning the shrimp in mayonnaise; use just enough to bind them so their sweetness comes through. Chef's tip: salt the hollowed tomatoes and turn them upside down for 10 minutes so they do not leak water onto the plate.
Chunky skewers of pineapple, banana, strawberry, peach and nectarine drizzled with balsamic vinegar and dark muscovado sugar, then grilled over charcoal until the sugar caramelises. Warm, sticky and a little tangy. Serve hot as a barbecue dessert, with ice cream if you like.
Samkeh harra, 'hot fish', is the pride of Tripoli and the fishing towns of northern Lebanon, where it is made with a whole sea bream or sea bass on Fridays and for summer lunches by the sea. The fish is baked, then covered with a fiery sauce of tahini, lemon, garlic, chilli and lots of coriander and returned to the oven until bubbling. Walnuts on top are a Tripoli touch. It is eaten warm or at room temperature with bread and a green salad. Chef's tip: loosen the tahini with lemon juice first, then water; it will seize and turn thick before it turns smooth, so keep whisking.
Zürcher Geschnetzeltes is the signature dish of Zurich's old guild restaurants and a favourite Sunday meal in homes across German-speaking Switzerland. Thin strips of veal are seared quickly, then the pan is deglazed with white wine and finished with cream and mushrooms into a pale, glossy sauce, and the whole thing is served beside a golden, crisp rösti. The wine adds alcohol (most cooks it off); for an alcohol-free version use the same amount of chicken stock with 1 teaspoon of lemon juice. The usual error is cooking the veal in the sauce until it toughens; sear it fast, take it out, and only warm it through at the end. Chef's tip: boil the potatoes for the rösti a day ahead and chill them; cold, firm potatoes grate cleanly and fry up crisp.
Capuns come from the valleys of Graubünden, where every village in the Surselva and Engadin has its own way of making them, and they are cooked on cold evenings and for festivals in mountain inns. A soft spätzle batter flavoured with herbs and little cubes of air-dried salsiz sausage and bacon is wrapped in chard leaves, then the parcels are poached in a mixture of milk and stock and finished with butter and grated mountain cheese. The salsiz and bacon are pork. Most first attempts fail because the dough is too runny to wrap; it should drop slowly off a spoon, like very thick porridge. Chef's tip: dip the chard leaves into boiling water for just 10 seconds so they turn supple enough to roll without tearing.
Kafta is the everyday grilled mince of Lebanon, Syria, Jordan and Palestine: a Sunday barbecue staple in the Lebanese mountains and a quick dinner in city flats, cooked on skewers, shaped into fingers for the pan, or baked in a tray with potatoes and tomato. Lamb and beef are mixed with plenty of onion and parsley and warmed with baharat (seven spice). Wrap them in bread with tomato, onion and a smear of hummus or tahini sauce. Chef's tip: grate the onion and squeeze it hard in a clean cloth; dry onion keeps the kafta firm on the skewer and stops it steaming.
Every Romanian park, beer garden and May Day picnic smells of mici, the little skinless rolls of minced beef and lamb that sizzle on charcoal grills from Bucharest's Obor market to the Black Sea coast. The mince is beaten with garlic, thyme, a strong beef stock and a little bicarbonate of soda, which makes them springy and juicy inside with a crusty outside. They come in tens, with plenty of mustard, fresh bread and sometimes chips. The usual error is cooking them straight after mixing: the mince needs a night in the fridge for the bicarbonate and garlic to work. Chef's tip: shape them with oiled hands on an oiled tray, and grill them no thicker than your thumb so the middle cooks before the outside burns.
Romanians swear by ciorbă de burtă the morning after a wedding or a long night out, and in Bucharest there are restaurants that serve little else from breakfast onwards. Strips of beef tripe sit in a silky broth thickened with egg yolk and sour cream, sharpened with vinegar and served with mujdei, a raw garlic sauce, and a hot pepper on the side. It takes time, because tripe only turns tender after a long, slow simmer. The mistake most people make is boiling the soup after the yolks go in, which scrambles them into flecks. Chef's tip: buy cleaned, blanched (white, 'dressed') tripe from the butcher; it saves an hour of scrubbing and is much milder.
Up in Bulgaria's Rhodope mountains, around Smolyan and Chepelare, kavarma is cooked in individual glazed clay pots and brought to the table still bubbling, often with an egg baked on top. This one is made with pork shoulder (chicken thighs work too), browned and then stewed slowly with a mountain of onion, peppers, mushrooms, paprika and savory. It traditionally includes a splash of dry white wine; the ingredient list gives an alcohol-free swap. Eat it with crusty bread and a shopska-style tomato and cucumber salad. A common slip is cutting the pork too small, so it dries out before the sauce is ready; keep the pieces bite-size but chunky. Chef's tip: let the onions cook down with the meat until almost jammy before the peppers go in; that is where kavarma gets its sweetness.
In the Veneto and the mountain valleys of the north-east, polenta is the old daily staple, poured steaming onto a wooden board in the middle of the table. Its classic autumn partner is funghi trifolati: mushrooms sautéed with garlic, parsley and a splash of white wine until glossy and deeply savoury. Soft polenta is spooned into bowls with the mushrooms on top, a warming supper for a cold night. Chef's tip: whisk the cornmeal into the water in a thin stream; if it goes in all at once, it lumps and no amount of stirring will fix it.
Walk past any grill shop in Beirut in the evening and you'll smell shish taouk: cubes of chicken soaked in yogurt, lemon, garlic and a little tomato paste, charred over coals and stuffed into thin bread with toum, pickles and chips. At home it is a weekend barbecue favourite and an easy weeknight dinner under the grill, with fattoush or hummus on the side. The yogurt tenderises the meat and the tomato paste gives the edges their red-gold char. Chef's tip: use thighs rather than breast if you can; they stay juicy even when the edges catch.
In Sarajevo's old Baščaršija bazaar, ćevabdžinicas grill ćevapi from morning till late night, serving them ten at a time stuffed into a puffy, griddle-warmed somun flatbread with raw onion and a spoon of kajmak. The little skinless fingers are made from beef (often mixed with lamb), seasoned with nothing more than salt, pepper, garlic and a little bicarbonate of soda, which gives them their bouncy bite. Belgrade and Banja Luka have their own versions, but the idea is the same: smoky meat, soft bread, sharp onion. People often over-season them with herbs and paprika; the Bosnian way is plain, letting the meat and charcoal speak. Chef's tip: chill the shaped ćevapi well before grilling and turn them only once or twice, so they keep a juicy centre and a crusty outside.
Leskovac, in southern Serbia, holds a whole grill festival every September in honour of pljeskavica, and Belgrade's street kiosks sell it day and night in a lepinja flatbread with chopped onion, kajmak and urnebes, a fiery cheese spread. It is a broad, thin patty of mixed beef and pork with onion and paprika, grilled hard and fast. The 'gourmet' version, gurmanska pljeskavica, hides cheese and bacon in the middle, and that is the version given here. This recipe contains pork. A common error is pressing the patties on the grill with a spatula: the juices drain away and they dry out. Chef's tip: press a shallow dimple into the centre of each patty with your thumb before grilling; it stops them doming up as they shrink.
Lahmacun belongs to south-east Turkey, especially Gaziantep and Şanlıurfa, where bakeries slide dozens at a time into wood-fired ovens and people eat them on the street at any hour, often with a cold ayran. The dough is rolled almost see-through and spread with a raw paste of minced lamb, onion, peppers, tomato and herbs that cooks in minutes in fierce heat. To eat, squeeze lemon over, add a handful of parsley and onion, roll it up and fold. Chef's tip: blitz the topping vegetables to a fine paste and squeeze out the excess juice, so the meat spreads in a thin, even layer that bakes crisp rather than soggy.
Risi e bisi was once served to the Doge of Venice every 25 April, the feast of Saint Mark, when the first tender peas arrived from the lagoon islands. It sits between a soup and a risotto: thicker than a minestra, looser than risotto, eaten with a spoon. Venetians make a quick broth from the empty pods, which gives a sweet, grassy flavour no stock cube can match; pancetta often goes in, but this version keeps it vegetarian with parsley and butter. Chef's tip: when podding fresh peas, keep the pods; simmered for 20 minutes they make the whole dish taste of spring.
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