Berbere is the red, warmly spiced powder that gives Ethiopian wats their colour and heat. In markets like Addis Mercato, women sell it by the scoop, and in Gojjam and Gondar families still dry chillies on rooftops and grind their own mix once a year. Each household's version differs, but most combine hot dried red chillies with paprika, fenugreek, coriander, cardamom, ginger, cloves and allspice. This quick home version toasts whole spices and grinds them with ready-ground chilli. The hotter blend mitmita (bird's eye chilli, cardamom, cloves and salt) is its fiery cousin for sprinkling at the table. Chef's tip: toast the whole spices only until they smell fragrant; once fenugreek turns dark brown it becomes bitter.
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In March, when the sugarhouses of Vermont steam day and night boiling sap, diners and country stores sell this pale caramel-coloured pie made with the new season's syrup. The filling is a simple custard of maple syrup, cream and eggs, so the flavour is pure maple, deep and woody. Use dark, strong-tasting maple syrup, not pancake syrup. Chef's tip: bake until the edges are set but the middle still wobbles like jelly; it firms as it cools.
Visitors to the desert camps of Wadi Rum often watch the zarb come up from the sand at sunset: tiered racks of spiced lamb, chicken, potatoes and onions that have steamed for hours in a pit of embers, then lifted out smoky and falling apart. At home you get close with a deep roasting tin sealed tightly with foil, a long, low oven and a short blast of heat at the end. Serve it on a big platter over rice or with shrak, with yoghurt and a tomato salad. The mistake most people make is leaving gaps in the foil, so the steam escapes and the meat dries. Chef's tip: marinate overnight in the fridge and add a little smoked paprika to the spice mix; it brings back the taste of the pit.
When the sunset call to prayer ends the Ramadan fast in Amman, the first spoonfuls are very often shorbat freekeh, a nourishing broth thickened with cracked green wheat that was roasted in the field while still young. The smoke from that roasting gives the soup its distinctive, almost barbecue-like depth, while chicken, cinnamon and cardamom keep it gentle on an empty stomach. It is followed by dates, salad and the main dish. The usual mistake is not picking over and rinsing the freekeh, which can hold tiny stones and chaff. Chef's tip: toast the rinsed freekeh in butter for a couple of minutes before adding the broth; it brings out the smokiness.
Ouzi is the showpiece of Jordanian and Damascene wedding buffets and Eid lunches: golden filo bundles that break open to spiced rice, minced lamb, peas and toasted nuts. The name comes from the whole roast lamb once served on a mountain of rice; the parcels are the neat, home-sized version, made ahead and baked as guests arrive. Serve with plain yoghurt or a cucumber-yoghurt salad. The common mistake is filling the filo with wet rice, which turns the bottoms soggy, so cook the rice until just tender and spread it out to steam dry. Chef's tip: lay a few nuts and peas in the bowl first, then the filo, then the filling, so each parcel comes out with a pretty top.
At the summer festivals of Messinia, whole young pigs are roasted overnight in bakers' wood ovens, then sold by the kilo at stalls with bread and pickled peppers. This home version uses a bone-in pork shoulder, rubbed with garlic, orange zest, oregano and chilli, left in the fridge overnight, and roasted low and slow until the meat pulls apart and the crackling shatters. Serve with lemon potatoes and a cabbage salad. Common mistake: wet skin — dry it well and salt it the night before, or it never crackles. Chef's tip: start covered at a low heat and finish uncovered at a high heat; that's how the meat stays juicy and the skin turns glassy.
On 25 March, Greek Independence Day and the Annunciation, the Lenten fast is relaxed for fish, and families from Nafplio to Patras sit down to golden fritters of salt cod with a sharp, garlicky potato skordalia and a beetroot salad. Salt cod is soaked for a day or two to draw out the salt, then dipped in a light sparkling-water batter and fried until puffed and crackly. Common mistake: not soaking long enough — taste a flake; it should be pleasantly seasoned, not salty. Chef's tip: make the skordalia while the potatoes are hot, and pound or mash by hand; a blender turns it to glue.
Youvarlakia is the soup Greek mothers, from Tripoli in the Arcadian hills to the Athens suburbs, make for a cold night or anyone feeling under the weather. Little meatballs of beef, rice, onion and herbs poach in a light broth until tender, and the broth is thickened at the end with whisked egg and lemon into a pale, silky avgolemono. It's a meal in a bowl, with bread and feta. Common mistake: boiling the soup after the egg goes in, which curdles it — take the pot off the heat first. Chef's tip: roll the meatballs with wet hands and drop them into simmering, not boiling, broth so they hold together.
Corfiots gather wild chicory, sow-thistle, fennel tops and young chard from the olive groves in winter and spring and stew them into tsigareli, a peppery, oily braise that sits on the table with bread, feta and a fried egg or two. The Venetian-era love of hot red pepper shows: it should warm the back of your throat. Common mistake: drowning the greens in water — they make their own juice, so add only a splash. Chef's tip: shop-bought mixes of spinach, chard, rocket and dill work well; add the tender leaves last so they keep some colour.
Kefalonia is almond country, and amygdalopita is what islanders bake for the feast of Agios Gerasimos in August and for guests all year round: a moist, flourless-leaning cake of ground almonds, eggs and breadcrumbs, soaked in light lemon syrup until it's dense and fragrant. Serve a small square with coffee or a spoon of thick yoghurt. Common mistake: grinding the almonds too long, so they turn oily and the cake heavy — pulse them until just sandy. Chef's tip: toast half the almonds before grinding for a deeper, nuttier flavour.
Batzina is the lazy pie of Thessaly and the Pelion villages, the one you make in summer when courgettes are taking over the garden and nobody wants to roll filo. Grated courgette and feta are mixed with a thin batter of flour, cornmeal, milk and eggs, poured into an oiled tin and baked until the top is cracked and golden and the inside soft and savoury, like a crustless quiche. It travels well to the beach. Feta is usually made with animal rennet; choose a vegetarian feta-style cheese if needed. Common mistake: skipping the squeezing — watery courgettes make a soggy pie. Chef's tip: sprinkle cornmeal over the oiled tin before pouring in; it gives a crisp base.
Farsala, a market town on the Thessalian plain, is famous across Greece for its halva: not the sesame kind but a chewy, translucent sweet of cornflour, sugar and butter, cooked until it caramelises, then baked until the top turns glassy amber. Shops sell it by the slab at fairs and on Sundays, and visitors take it home to Athens. Common mistake: stopping too early, when it's still pale and starchy — keep stirring until it pulls away from the pan in one golden mass. Chef's tip: use a heavy non-stick pan and a strong wooden spoon; it gets very thick, and you'll be glad of both.
In the mountain villages of Pelion, above Volos, every pantry holds jars of spoon sweets, and the sour cherry one is the jewel: whole stoned cherries in a thick, ruby syrup, offered to visitors on a tiny plate with a glass of cold water. It also spoons beautifully over Greek yoghurt or vanilla ice cream, and the syrup makes vyssinada, a summer drink. Common mistake: boiling too long, which shrivels the cherries and turns the syrup to toffee — test it on a cold saucer. Chef's tip: macerate the stoned cherries in sugar overnight; they release their juice and stay plump.
Before fizzy drinks arrived, a tall glass of vyssinada was what you ordered in a Volos or Larissa kafeneio on an August afternoon: sour cherry syrup topped with iced water, sweet and sharp and bright red. Families in Thessaly still make a cordial from the summer cherry crop and keep the bottles in the fridge for weeks. Common mistake: squashing the cherries too hard through the sieve, which clouds the syrup — let the juice drip. Chef's tip: top with sparkling water and a squeeze of lemon for a lighter, livelier glass.
Pastitsada is Corfu's great Sunday and feast-day dish, a legacy of four centuries of Venetian rule: big pieces of beef (or rooster) slowly braised in tomato with a heady spice mix of cinnamon, clove, allspice, nutmeg and sweet paprika, sharpened with vinegar, then served over bucatini with grated cheese. The sauce should be thick enough to coat the pasta and taste warm rather than hot. Many Corfiots add red wine; this version uses red wine vinegar and stock, so it's alcohol-free (swap 150 ml of the stock for red wine if you like). Common mistake: rushing the braise — beef shin needs a long, gentle simmer to turn soft. Chef's tip: make it a day ahead; the spices settle and the sauce tastes rounder.
Not to be confused with the Spanish base sauce, Corfu's sofrito is a dish of thinly sliced veal or young beef, floured and browned, then gently simmered in a sharp, pale sauce of garlic, vinegar and parsley until tender. Corfiot tavernas serve it with creamy mashed potato or rice to soak up the garlicky juices, especially on Sundays and name days. Some cooks add white wine; this version uses only vinegar and stock, so it's alcohol-free. Common mistake: letting the garlic brown, which makes the sauce bitter — it should stay pale. Chef's tip: flatten the slices with a rolling pin so they cook evenly and soak up the sauce.
Bourdeto, from the Venetian 'brodetto', is the fishermen's dish of Corfu: chunks of firm white fish (scorpion fish in the tavernas of Kassiopi and Paleokastritsa) poached in a fierce sauce of onions, olive oil, a little tomato and a lot of hot red pepper. It's eaten with bread for the oily, scarlet juices and a cool salad alongside. Common mistake: stirring once the fish is in, which breaks it up — shake the pan instead. Chef's tip: use fish on the bone, cut into steaks; the bones give the sauce body and the flesh stays moist.
On Kefalonia, kreatopita is baked for Carnival Sunday, just before Lent, and for big family days: a deep pie of lamb and pork pieces (not mince) mixed with rice, potatoes, tomato, garlic, mint and grated cheese, enclosed in a thick homemade-style crust or filo. It's hearty, fragrant and meant to feed a crowd, warm or at room temperature. This version uses lamb shoulder and pork shoulder. Many island cooks splash in wine; here the moisture comes from stock and tomato, so it's alcohol-free. Common mistake: dicing the meat too large, so it isn't tender when the pastry is done — keep it to 2 cm. Chef's tip: let the filling sit in the fridge overnight so the rice soaks up the juices and the flavours meld.
Spetzofai is the dish shepherds in the Pelion mountains near Volos cooked over the fire: spicy village pork sausages sliced and stewed with long green and red peppers in a thick tomato sauce. Now it's on every tsipouro-bar menu in Volos, served sizzling in a clay dish with bread and feta. Use coarse pork sausages with leek or orange peel if you can find them. Common mistake: cooking the peppers to mush — they should be soft but still hold their shape. Chef's tip: brown the sausage slices hard first; the fat they leave flavours the peppers.
Across the Thessalian plain, from Larissa to Trikala, Sunday lunch is often a chicken braised in tomato with a cinnamon stick, its sauce stretched with broth so the little hilopites pasta squares can cook right in the pot. The pasta soaks up the sauce until thick and almost risotto-like, and a fistful of grated cheese goes on at the table. Use homemade hilopites or a good shop-bought pack. Common mistake: adding the pasta to too little liquid — it absorbs a lot, so have hot water ready. Chef's tip: brown the chicken skin well, then finish the dish in the oven if you like a crispy top.
From early December, bakeries and kitchens all over Greece fill tins with melomakarona, the oval cookies that sit beside kourabiedes on every Christmas table and get handed to visitors with coffee. The dough is made with olive oil and orange juice rather than butter, scented with cinnamon and clove, then baked and plunged into warm honey syrup so the inside turns soft and sticky while the edges stay crisp. Common mistake: dipping hot cookies into hot syrup, which turns them to mush; one of the two must be cool. Chef's tip: mix the dough only until it comes together; overworking it squeezes out the oil and the cookies bake hard and greasy.
Giouvetsi takes its name from the glazed clay dish it is baked in, and in Greek homes it is the Sunday lunch that gets put in the oven before church: chunks of beef braised with tomato, cinnamon and allspice, then finished with kritharaki (orzo) that soaks up every drop of the sauce. It arrives at the table bubbling, with grated cheese melting on top. This version uses wine to deglaze, which is traditional; use extra stock for an alcohol-free dish. Common mistake: adding the orzo with too little liquid, so it bakes dry and sticks; it needs about four times its weight in hot stock. Chef's tip: stir the orzo halfway through baking so the top pieces don't harden.
Bunches of dried sideritis, the woolly-leaved herb Greeks call mountain tea, hang in village kitchens from Mount Olympus to Taygetos, and a pot is brewed at the first sniffle of winter or after a long walk. The tea is pale gold with a gentle lemony, earthy, slightly floral taste, and it is drunk with honey, a slice of lemon and sometimes a cinnamon stick. Common mistake: brewing it like black tea with boiling water for a minute; it needs a gentle simmer to draw out flavour. Chef's tip: break the dried stems into the pot along with the flowers; the flower heads hold most of the aroma, the stems add body.
In Greek villages women still go out with a knife and a bag after the first autumn rains to gather horta: dandelion, wild chicory, amaranth, mustard greens. Boiled and dressed with the best olive oil and lemon, they are served warm or cool with almost every meal, from fried fish in a seaside taverna to a fasting-day plate of beans. The taste is pleasantly bitter and grassy. Common mistake: boiling them to khaki; cook only until the stems are tender and the leaves still deep green. Chef's tip: salt the cooking water generously like pasta water and dress the greens while warm, so they drink up the oil and lemon.
Karydopita is the cake Greek households bake for name days and Sunday visitors, cut into diamonds and set out with coffee or a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Ground walnuts and dried breadcrumbs replace much of the flour, giving a moist, dense crumb fragrant with cinnamon and clove, then the hot cake drinks up a cool syrup. Common mistake: pouring hot syrup over a hot cake, which leaves it soggy at the bottom and dry on top. Chef's tip: let it sit for at least 3 hours after syruping; it slices more cleanly and tastes even better the next day.
Avocado toast took off in the cafés of Los Angeles and San Francisco, where California's Hass avocados are grown, and it is now the state's standard weekend brunch. The trick is simple ingredients done well: thick sourdough toasted hard, ripe avocado smashed with lemon and good salt, and something crunchy and sharp on top. Chef's tip: season the avocado more than you think, with salt and lemon; underseasoned avocado tastes flat.
Green goddess dressing was created at the Palace Hotel in San Francisco in the 1920s, named after a popular play, and it came back as the herb-packed dressing of California salad bars and grain bowls. It is pale green and creamy, full of tarragon, parsley and chives. The hotel's original used anchovies; this vegetarian version gets its savoury punch from capers. Use it on salads, as a dip for crudités or on roast vegetables. Chef's tip: blend the herbs with the lemon first, before the creamy ingredients, so they break down fully and turn the dressing bright green.
The Coachella Valley around Palm Springs and Indio grows most of America's dates, and roadside date farms along the desert highway have sold this shake to thirsty drivers since the 1930s. Soft Medjool dates are blended with vanilla ice cream and milk into a thick, caramel-flavoured shake. Chef's tip: soak the chopped dates in a little warm milk for 10 minutes first, so they blend completely smooth instead of leaving chewy bits in the straw.
Hot chicken has been a Nashville institution since the 1930s and is eaten at late-night shacks and the city's summer hot-chicken festival: crisp buttermilk-brined fried chicken painted while hot with a paste of cayenne and brown sugar in hot oil, served on a slice of white bread with dill pickle chips to cool things down. Chef's tip: brine the chicken overnight in the fridge; it seasons the meat right through and keeps it juicy under all that heat.
When cos lettuces and spring onions flood the markets around Easter, Greek cooks make arni fricassee: lamb braised slowly with mountains of greens and dill, then thickened at the last moment with avgolemono, the frothy egg and lemon sauce. The result is tender, tangy and fresh, a lighter alternative to the roast lamb of Easter Sunday, served with crusty bread to mop up the sauce. Common mistake: pouring the eggs straight into the bubbling pot, which scrambles them; temper them with hot broth first and keep the pot off the heat. Chef's tip: shake the pot to swirl the sauce in rather than stirring, so the lamb and greens stay whole.
In Greek grill houses (psistaries) and in summer back gardens, bifteki are big, flattened patties of minced beef with grated onion, mint and oregano, and the stuffed version hides a slab of feta that melts as they cook. Serve with chips fried in olive oil, a village salad and tzatziki. Common mistake: using lean mince, which makes dry patties; 15–20 % fat keeps them juicy. Chef's tip: grate the onion and squeeze out its juice before mixing; you keep the flavour without making the mixture too wet to seal around the cheese.
In late summer, when Greek markets are full of small, firm okra, home cooks braise them with chicken thighs, tomato and onions until the sauce is thick and glossy; it is a Wednesday-night dish, served with feta and bread. The trick is to keep the okra whole and un-slimy so it holds its shape. Common mistake: stirring the pot once the okra is in; shake it instead. Chef's tip: trim only the very top of each okra cone without cutting into the pod, then toss them with vinegar and salt and leave in the sun or a warm spot for 30 minutes; it firms them up and keeps the sauce clean.
In the lanes of old Damascus and Aleppo, the erk sous seller is heard before he is seen, clacking brass cups as he walks with a great curved jug strapped to his back. His drink is liquorice root, slowly dripped through with cold water, dark, earthy, faintly bitter and naturally sweet, poured with a flourish over the shoulder during Ramadan iftars and hot afternoons. At home a sieve and a cloth do the job. The mistake people make is pouring boiling water over the root, which pulls out harsh bitterness; cold water and patience give a smooth, foamy drink. Liquorice root raises blood pressure if you drink a lot of it, so keep to a glass or two a day and skip it if you are pregnant or have high blood pressure. Chef's tip: a pinch of bicarbonate of soda in the damp root gives the drink its traditional thick, frothy head.
Strolling the Beirut Corniche or a Sunday market in Amman, you will pass carts selling turmus: plump golden lupini beans kept in salted water, scooped into paper cones and eaten by nicking the skin with your teeth and popping out the bean. They are also a fixture on mezze tables and a fasting snack for Lent. Dried lupins are naturally very bitter and must be soaked for days to wash those compounds out; never eat them while they still taste bitter, and if you are allergic to peanuts, check with a doctor first as lupin allergy is linked. A jar of ready-debittered lupini, drained and seasoned, is a quick shortcut. The common mistake is salting the beans before they are fully sweet, which seals the bitterness in. Chef's tip: finish with lemon, cumin and a little chilli just before serving; the salty brine keeps them, the dressing makes them moreish.
From café terraces in Ramallah and Jaffa to juice bars along Hamra Street in Beirut, summer means tall glasses of lemonana: lemons and fistfuls of fresh mint blended with ice into a sharp, sweet, electric-green slush. It is the drink handed to you after a walk through the market at noon, and it cools a mezze lunch like nothing else. Everything goes in a blender, but the mint must be fresh and plentiful. The common mistake is blending the mint for too long, which bruises it and turns the drink murky and grassy. Chef's tip: make a lemon-sugar syrup first and chill it; dissolved sugar sweetens evenly and lets you blend for only a few seconds.
Fish restaurants on the harbours of Byblos, Batroun and Tyre bring bizri to the table within minutes of ordering: a heap of tiny whitebait, dusted in seasoned flour and fried so crisp you eat them whole, heads and all, with a squeeze of lemon. It is a mezze for sharing with fattoush, tahini sauce and fried pitta, usually while waiting for the bigger grilled fish. Buy the fish very fresh and keep it on ice until it goes into the pan. The common mistake is crowding the pan, which drops the oil temperature and leaves the fish greasy and soft. Chef's tip: toss the damp fish in flour in a sieve and shake off every bit of excess; a thin coating fries glassy-crisp.
Late-night sandwich counters in Bourj Hammoud, Beirut's Armenian quarter, fry sujuk on a flat-top until it crackles, toss in tomatoes and wrap the lot in thin bread with toum and pickles. Ready-made sujuk is usually dried and cured; this home version is a fresh, uncured beef sausage mix seasoned with garlic, cumin, sumac and Aleppo pepper and shaped into skinless fingers, so it cooks quickly and safely. It is just as good at breakfast with fried eggs. The common mistake is frying on a high heat from the start, which burns the spices before the meat cooks through. Chef's tip: chill the shaped sausages for 30 minutes first; they hold together and brown better.
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