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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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.
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.
In Tashkent, chuchvara is the little cousin of manti: dumplings no bigger than a thumbnail, folded around a peppery lamb-and-beef filling and dropped into clear meat broth. Families make them in big batches on a slow weekend, freeze trays of them, and eat bowls through the winter with a spoonful of suzma (strained yogurt) or sour cream and lots of dill. The dough is thin and firm, the filling juicy with grated onion, and the broth light enough to drink. Many home cooks roll the dough too thick, which turns the dumplings stodgy; aim for a sheet you can just see the board through. Chef's tip: freeze the shaped dumplings on a floured tray before bagging them, so they stay separate and cook straight from frozen.
Walk past any chaikhana (teahouse) in Samarkand or Bukhara in the evening and you will smell shashlik: chunks of lamb, threaded with little cubes of tail fat, grilled over charcoal and fanned with a piece of cardboard. They arrive on long flat skewers with a heap of raw onion soaked in vinegar, a round of non bread and green tea. The marinade is simple, just onion, cumin, black pepper and salt, so the flavour comes from good lamb and real fire. The usual slip is to pack the meat tightly on the skewer, which steams the middle instead of searing it; leave a little gap between pieces. Chef's tip: grate the onion for the marinade rather than slicing it; the juice tenderises the lamb in a few hours.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sabzi qovurma is a home dish across Azerbaijan, made especially in spring when the markets of Ganja and Baku are full of bundles of green herbs. Pieces of lamb are fried until golden, then cooked with masses of chopped coriander, dill, spinach, spring onion and leek, sharpened by dried black lime or sour plums. It is served with plain plov rice or bread and a bowl of yogurt. The trap is adding wet herbs straight to the pan; they stew rather than fry and the dish goes flat and grassy. Chef's tip: dry the herbs well and fry them on their own until they darken before they join the meat.
Dushbara is the test of a patient cook in Azerbaijan: dumplings so small that a dozen fit on a spoon, filled with lamb and onion and served in clear bone broth. Families in Baku and the Absheron towns make them for New Year and Novruz, everyone sitting around the table folding together. At the table each bowl gets dried mint, a little crushed garlic in vinegar, and sumac. Over-filling is the usual problem; too much meat and the edges won't seal, so the dumplings open in the pot. Chef's tip: make the broth from lamb bones the day before and chill it, so you can lift off the fat and the soup stays crystal clear.
Sharba libiya is the soup that opens the iftar table in almost every Libyan home during Ramadan, from Benghazi to Misrata: small pieces of lamb, tomato, chickpeas and tiny pasta (lisan asfour, orzo) in a red broth spiced with turmeric and chilli and finished with dried mint and lemon. It is light enough after a day of fasting but filling. The mistake is adding the pasta too early, which makes it swell and turn the soup to porridge; it needs only the last 12 minutes. Chef's tip: rub the dried mint between your palms over the pot at the end so it releases its oils.
Vigorón was born in the 1910s in the colonial city of Granada, Nicaragua, where it is still sold from stalls around the Parque Central, wrapped in banana leaf: boiled yuca topped with crisp pork crackling (chicharrón) and a tangy cabbage and tomato salad. This dish contains pork. It is street food, eaten at any hour with your fingers. The mistake is serving dry yuca; boil it until tender and slightly split, then keep it in its warm water until serving. Chef's tip: make the cabbage salad an hour ahead so the vinegar softens it.
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.
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.
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.
Along the coasts of Norway and Sweden, gravlax is the centrepiece of Christmas and Easter buffets and a favourite on open sandwiches through the year. A side of salmon is pressed under salt, sugar, dill and white pepper for two days in the fridge, which firms the flesh and turns it silky, then it is sliced paper-thin and served with a sweet mustard-dill sauce, rye bread or boiled new potatoes. This is cured, not cooked, fish: use very fresh salmon that has been previously frozen (or freeze it yourself at -18 °C for at least 4 days, then thaw in the fridge) to kill any parasites, and it is not suitable for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. A frequent error is slicing it thick and straight down; cut long, thin slices at a low angle towards the tail. Chef's tip: turn the parcel every 12 hours and baste with the brine it releases so the cure is even on both sides.
Fårikål has been voted Norway's national dish, and on the last Thursday of September families from Bergen to Tromsø hold Fårikålens festdag, when the new season's lamb meets the autumn cabbage harvest. There are only a handful of ingredients: bone-in lamb, wedges of white cabbage and a generous pouch of whole black peppercorns, layered in a heavy pot and left to simmer until the meat slides off the bone and the cabbage turns sweet and silky. It is eaten with plain boiled potatoes and, in many homes, lingonberry jam. The thing that ruins it is drowning the pot: add only a little water, because the cabbage releases plenty of its own juice. Chef's tip: tie the peppercorns in a muslin bag so you get their warmth without crunching on them, and make it a day ahead; it tastes even better reheated.
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
Liège is famous for its boulets: big, tennis-ball-sized meatballs served in a dark, sticky sauce made with sirop de Liège, the region's thick apple-and-pear syrup, with onions and a little vinegar. They are a brasserie staple across Wallonia, eaten with a mountain of chips and a side of salad, and families make them for Sunday lunch. The mix is half pork, half beef, so this is a pork dish. Rushing the onions is the step most people get wrong: they need a good 20 minutes to turn sweet before the sauce comes together. Chef's tip: if you cannot find sirop de Liège, use 3 tablespoons of apple butter or date syrup with 1 tablespoon of black treacle for the same dark, fruity tang.
In Belgium a vol-au-vent is not a party nibble but a full plate: a big puff-pastry case filled with creamy chicken ragout, button mushrooms and tiny meatballs, served with chips in Brussels brasseries and for family celebrations and Sunday lunches all over the country. The little meatballs are made with pork mince, so this dish contains pork. The sauce is built on the poaching stock from the chicken, which gives it far more flavour than milk. A mistake many cooks make is filling the pastry too early, so the base turns soggy; fill the cases just before they go to the table. Chef's tip: poach the meatballs in the same stock as the chicken; they take just 5 minutes and season the broth further.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Hünkar beğendi is a dish from the Ottoman palace kitchens of Istanbul; its name means 'the sultan was pleased', and a well-known story links it to a royal banquet of the 1860s. Today it is a special Sunday or guest dish in Istanbul homes and old-style lokanta restaurants. Tender chunks of lamb are braised slowly with tomato and peppers, then spooned over beğendi, a silky purée of fire-charred aubergine whisked into a light cheese sauce. The smoky, creamy base against the rich stew is the whole point. Chef's tip: char the aubergines directly over a gas flame until the skins are black and collapsing; the oven alone won't give that smoky flavour.
Karnıyarık is a summer weekday dinner in kitchens all over Turkey, made when aubergines are glossy, cheap and piled high at the street markets. Small whole aubergines are peeled in stripes, fried until silky, then slit down the middle and packed with minced beef cooked with onion, green pepper and tomato. A short spell in the oven melts it all together. It is eaten warm with plain rice pilaf and a bowl of cacık or yogurt. Chef's tip: press the fried aubergine open with the back of a spoon to make a deep boat, so the filling sits inside rather than rolling off.
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