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Spinach with mushrooms
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Spinach with mushrooms

A bright green, savoury puree of potato, mushrooms and fresh spinach cooked in home-made baby stock. Thick and smooth, it's a good way to get iron-rich greens into babies of 8–18 months. Serve warm; spare portions freeze well.

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AluwaRice flour diamond sweets

Pale, smooth and cut into precise little diamonds, aluwa brings a touch of order to the crowded Avurudu sweet tray, and it is often the first sweet children learn to help make because there is no deep-frying involved. Rice flour is roasted until it smells like biscuits, then kneaded with hot sugar syrup, chopped cashews and cardamom into a firm dough, rolled out and cut. The finished sweet is dense, slightly crumbly and not too sweet, with a gentle nuttiness, and it keeps for weeks in a tin to be offered to visitors with tea. The point where it goes wrong is the syrup: too thin and the aluwa never sets, too thick and the dough cracks before you can roll it, so aim for the one-thread stage. Chef's tip: roll the dough between two sheets of baking paper and cut it while it is still warm and pliable; once cold it breaks instead of slicing.

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Tamina (roasted semolina with honey)

Word of a birth in an Algiers household brings a steady flow of visitors, and each is offered a small dish of tamina with coffee: semolina roasted in a dry pan until it smells like toasted hazelnuts, then bound with melted butter and honey and dusted with cinnamon. It is soft, crumbly and sweet, a little like a spoonable halva, and is said to give strength to the new mother. Tamina is also made for Mawlid and served with tea, with the cinnamon often sifted over in a lattice pattern. Chef's tip: toast the semolina slowly over a medium-low heat and stir without stopping; burnt dark specks make the whole batch bitter and cannot be picked out.

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Hominy porridge is a weekend job in Jamaican homes from Spanish Town to Mandeville: the dried, hulled corn kernels need soaking overnight and a long, slow simmer before they burst open, tender and chewy, in a creamy coconut and spice base. The finished porridge is thick and comforting, sweetened with condensed milk and perfumed with cinnamon, nutmeg and vanilla, and it reheats beautifully through the week. The mistake many people make is adding the coconut and milk at the start, where they catch and burn during the long cook; boil the corn in water first. Look for dried white hominy at Caribbean or Latin shops, and remember the overnight soak. Chef's tip: stir in a spoonful of cornmeal or flour mixed with water at the end if you like it thicker, as many Jamaican cooks do.

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Jamaican cornmeal pudding is the cousin of sweet potato pudding, cheaper and quicker to make, and a fixture at Sunday dinner and church harvest suppers from Kingston to the hills of Manchester. Cornmeal is first cooked on the stove in coconut milk with sugar and nutmeg, then baked until firm, sliceable and caramel-edged, with a thin, soft layer on top. The classic mistake is pouring raw cornmeal straight into hot liquid, which makes lumps; whisk it into cold liquid first. Chef's tip: pour a little extra coconut milk over halfway through baking to get that custardy "hallelujah" top.

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Jamaican jerk pork

Boston Bay in Portland is where jerk pork was born, and the jerk pits there still slow-smoke pork shoulder over green pimento wood under sheets of zinc until the outside is dark and crusted and the meat is smoky and juicy. This home version uses boneless pork shoulder rubbed with a wet paste of scotch bonnet, pimento, scallion, thyme and ginger, then cooked slowly in a covered barbecue or oven and finished over high heat. The biggest mistake is rushing the marinade; it needs at least 12 hours in the fridge to get into the pork. Cook until the thickest part reaches at least 63 °C, then rest; for tender, chopped jerk like the stalls, keep going to about 85 °C. Chef's tip: throw a handful of soaked allspice berries and bay leaves onto the coals for the smoky pimento flavour of the real pits.

240 minJamaicanMeatGluten freeSpicy
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Jamaican conch soup

From Montego Bay's craft market cookshops to roadside pots around Falmouth, conch soup is sold by the cup on Fridays and Saturdays: tender pieces of conch in a thick, peppery broth with potatoes, pumpkin, carrot and chewy flour spinners. Conch is famously tough, so it is pounded and simmered slowly before the vegetables go in. Buy cleaned frozen conch meat from a fishmonger; thaw it in the fridge and throw away any that smells off. The most common mistake is not tenderising the conch, leaving rubbery chunks; pound it well and simmer until a knife slides in. Chef's tip: a little lime rubbed into the conch before pounding removes its slippery film and freshens the flavour.

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Miyan kuka (baobab leaf soup)

Dried baobab leaves, pounded to a fine green-grey powder, give miyan kuka its earthy, faintly tea-like taste and its slippery body, a little like okra. Northern households from Kano to Sokoto cook it as everyday food and pair it almost always with tuwon shinkafa or tuwon masara. Dried fish or a handful of meat often goes into the pot; this meat-free version, as many homes cook it when the budget is tight, gets its depth from dawadawa, onion and a peppery tomato base instead. A common mistake is tipping the kuka in all at once, which leaves stubborn green lumps; sift it in slowly while whisking. Chef's tip: once the kuka is in, simmer only 2–3 minutes, because long boiling dulls its colour and its fresh, grassy edge.

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Owo soup with fish

Owo looks almost like custard: palm oil is whisked with a little potash water until it turns from red to a creamy yellow, then thickened with cassava starch and seasoned with crayfish and pepper. Urhobo and Isoko homes in Delta State serve it with boiled unripe plantain or yam, which you dip and scoop rather than swallow, and it is a favourite on market days because it is quick once the fish is ready. Fresh or smoked fish both work; many cooks use both. Too much potash makes the soup soapy and bitter, so add the strained potash water little by little and stop as soon as the colour changes. The usual mistake is pouring in the potash too fast, which splits the palm oil instead of turning it smooth and yellow. Chef's tip: mix the starch with cold water first, then pour it into the pot in a thin stream while stirring, or it will set in lumps.

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Ewedu (jute leaf soup)

Bright green, light and famously slippery, ewedu is the soup that makes amala slide down so easily, and in Ibadan and across Oyo State it is rare to see one without the other. Only the tender jute leaves are picked from the stems, boiled for a few minutes and then beaten with a small broom until finely shredded and stretchy, with a few locust beans for a savoury, funky depth. Some cooks add crayfish; this version keeps it meat-free. It tastes fresh and grassy and is eaten with amala, gbegiri and a red pepper stew. Frozen chopped ewedu or Egyptian molokhia leaves work well outside Nigeria. Chef's tip: cook it briefly and uncovered; long boiling or a lid turns the bright green an olive drab, the most common ewedu mistake.

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Akidi (Igbo black beans with plantain)

Akidi, a small, glossy black bean, is a quiet staple of Igbo home cooking around Enugu, Anambra and Imo, cooked like beans porridge and usually with ripe plantain for sweetness. After a long simmer the beans turn creamy inside while holding their shape, and they are finished with palm oil, onion, scotch bonnet and a handful of fragrant leaves, so the pot tastes earthy, sweet and peppery. It is a filling meal on its own, often eaten with a cold drink or a side of fried plantain. If you cannot find akidi, black turtle beans are a good substitute. Chef's tip: add the plantain only for the last 15 minutes; put in at the start, it dissolves into the beans, which is the usual mistake.

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Lao bamboo shoot soup

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60 minLaoSoupsVeganGluten free
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Trini curry duck

Curry duck is the dish of the riverside lime in south and central Trinidad, cooked in a big iron pot over a wood fire while friends cool off in the water. The duck is chopped small, marinated in green seasoning, then "burnt" into a curry paste fried until almost black, which gives the sauce its dark colour and deep, slightly bitter edge. It's served with rice, dhal and sada or paratha roti. A common mistake is serving it before the duck has fully broken down: duck is chewy and needs long, slow cooking. Chef's tip: spoon off the yellow duck fat that rises during cooking and keep it for roasting potatoes.

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Trini curry shrimp

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Bermuda fish chowder

Bermudians call fish chowder their national dish, and every Sunday brunch and Cup Match picnic has a pot of it: a dark, thick soup made from a long-simmered fish-head stock with tomatoes, vegetables and white fish, seasoned at the table with a splash of black rum and sherry peppers sauce (hot peppers steeped in sherry). This recipe contains alcohol in those optional table seasonings; for an alcohol-free bowl, use a few drops of hot pepper sauce and a little molasses instead. The mistake to avoid is a thin, watery stock; the bones must simmer long enough to give body. Ask your fishmonger for heads and frames from white fish, gills removed. Chef's tip: let the finished chowder rest for 30 minutes before serving; it thickens and the flavours deepen.

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Taiwanese radish omelette

Ask a Taiwanese grandmother what to cook when there's nothing in the fridge and the answer is often this: a few eggs and a handful of preserved radish turned into a thick, golden omelette, cut into wedges and passed round. It's a staple of the rice-and-small-dishes spread at Taipei breakfast shops and late-night congee counters, and it reappears on the stir-fry restaurant table and in home lunchboxes. The chopped radish fries up crunchy and caramel-sweet inside soft, puffy egg, with crisp brown lacy edges. Skipping the rinse is where most go wrong: unrinsed radish makes the omelette far too salty. Chef's tip: dry-fry the radish first until it smells toasty, then use plenty of oil and a hot pan so the egg puffs and the edges frill.

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Grenadian nutmeg ice cream

Grenada, the Spice Isle, grows much of the world's nutmeg, and in St George's ice cream parlours the local favourite is a rich egg-custard ice cream scented with freshly grated nutmeg. The flavour is warm and almost floral, nothing like the dusty jar spice, and it is lovely with fried plantain or a slice of black cake. The common mistake is overheating the custard so the eggs scramble; take it off the heat as soon as it coats a spoon. Chef's tip: grate the nutmeg straight into the hot milk and let it steep for 20 minutes before making the custard, so the flavour runs all the way through.

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Pate (Nigerian maize porridge with greens)

Not the French spread at all: Nigerian pate is a thick, savoury porridge of coarsely ground maize from Southern Kaduna and the Plateau, where it is everyday food at home and in small chop houses. The maize simmers in a palm-oil and tomato base with groundnut and plenty of leaves until it is soft and spoonable, a bit like a rustic polenta packed with greens. Some cooks use acha (fonio) instead, and many add dried fish or meat; this version is meat-free. Pouring the maize in all at once makes lumps, so rain it in while stirring. Don't stop stirring after adding the maize: lumps form fast and stick to the base. Chef's tip: heat the palm oil gently, just until it melts and turns runny, so it keeps its colour and fruity taste.

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Bajan salt bread

Every rum shop and fish fry in Barbados sells "bread and two", and the bread is almost always salt bread: plain, crusty rolls with a soft, slightly chewy crumb and a split down the top, made for stuffing with fish cakes, a slice of cheese or fried flying fish as a cutter. Despite the name, they aren't especially salty; the name sets them apart from sweet bread. The usual mistake is pale rolls with a soft crust from too cool an oven. Chef's tip: put a tray of boiling water in the bottom of the oven for the first 10 minutes for a properly crisp crust.

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Bahamian conch salad

At the Fish Fry on Arawak Cay in Nassau, conch salad is made to order: a vendor cracks the shell, dices the conch with tomato, onion, sweet peppers and goat pepper, and drowns it in lime and sour orange in front of you. Traditionally the conch is eaten raw, "cooked" only by the citrus; that raw version is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system, and this recipe gives a safer version in which the conch is poached briefly first. Buy cleaned conch from a trusted fishmonger and discard any that smells of ammonia. The common mistake is dicing unevenly; everything should be in small, matching cubes. Chef's tip: make it no more than an hour ahead, or the lime turns the vegetables limp.

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Burmese pumpkin curry

On a weekday lunch table in a Yangon home, this soft orange curry usually sits beside a sour leaf soup, a plate of boiled greens and a mound of plain rice. Wedges of pumpkin are cooked slowly in a pounded paste of onion, garlic and ginger with turmeric and chilli, until the flesh turns tender and glossy and the oil rises to the top, the sign of a well-made Burmese hin. It tastes sweet, gently hot and savoury all at once; many households stir in dried shrimp, but this version keeps it plant-based with a little salt and sugar. Where cooks go wrong is stirring the pot every few minutes: the pumpkin breaks into mash, so shake the pan instead. Chef's tip: leave the skin on a firm, dense pumpkin such as kabocha; it holds the pieces together and softens enough to eat.

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Burmese tomato salad

Come the cool season, when tomatoes are at their sweetest in Mandalay and the dry towns of Upper Burma, this thoke (a salad 'mixed by hand') is the quick dish that appears beside rice and curry at almost every meal. Slices of ripe tomato and onion are squeezed together with toasted chickpea flour, crushed peanuts and fried shallots in their oil, so the juices and flour turn into a light, nutty dressing that clings to every piece. Lime and fresh chilli sharpen it, and coriander lifts it. Home cooks often add fish sauce; this vegetarian version uses salt and a pinch of sugar. Dressing it too early is the most common mistake: salt pulls water from the tomatoes and leaves a soupy plate. Chef's tip: mix with your fingertips just before serving, pressing lightly so some tomato juice blends into the flour.

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Bajan pumpkin fritters

Barbadian grandmothers turn leftover boiled pumpkin into these little fritters for Sunday tea, frying spoonfuls of a soft, spiced batter until puffed and golden, then rolling them in sugar while still hot. Inside they are tender and custardy, with cinnamon, nutmeg and a hint of vanilla. They're best eaten warm, straight from the paper towel. The common mistake is a watery batter from wet pumpkin, which makes flat, greasy fritters: drain the cooked pumpkin well. Chef's tip: use the dense, orange West Indian pumpkin or butternut squash; watery jack-o'-lantern pumpkins don't work well.

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Soy sauce chicken

Glossy, chestnut-brown and hung by the neck in siu mei shop windows across Hong Kong, see yau gai is the gentle cousin of roast meats: a whole chicken poached in a fragrant master stock of light and dark soy, rock sugar, star anise, cinnamon and ginger until the skin is lacquered and the meat silky and sweet-savoury. It is chopped onto plates of rice with a ladle of the sauce for a quick lunch, or served at home with blanched greens. Shaoxing rice wine goes into the stock, with an alcohol-free option in the list. Traditional cooks pull the bird while it is still pink at the bone; this recipe does not, and the chicken is cooked to 74 °C in the thickest part of the thigh. The main pitfall is a rolling boil, which tears the skin and toughens the breast; keep the stock barely trembling. Chef's tip: strain and freeze the stock, and it gets deeper every time you reuse it.

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Taiwanese sweet potato congee

Tainan's late-night congee shops lay out dozens of little dishes under glass, and the bowl that goes with them is this loose, gently sweet rice porridge dotted with soft orange sweet potato. Older Taiwanese remember it as the food of lean years, when sweet potato stretched the rice; today it is comfort food at breakfast, at midnight after the markets, and whenever someone is unwell. Unlike Cantonese congee, the grains stay distinct in a cloudy, silky liquid. Many cooks cut the sweet potato too small, so it collapses into mush and turns the pot muddy; chunks of about 3 cm keep their shape. Chef's tip: serve it with something salty and crunchy, such as pickled cucumbers, peanuts or a radish omelette, because the contrast is the whole point.

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Ofada rice with green pepper sauce

Ofada rice takes its name from a town in Ogun State and is grown on small farms across the Southwest; the grains are short, unpolished and sometimes speckled, with a nutty, earthy aroma that some love and others find strong. It is served wrapped in uma (thaumatococcus) leaves at parties and in Lagos restaurants, with ayamase, a fiery green pepper sauce cooked in bleached palm oil. Ayamase is usually loaded with assorted meats and boiled eggs; this vegan version keeps the green peppers, scotch bonnets and locust beans and adds mushrooms if you like. Banana leaves or a plain plate stand in for uma leaves. The mistake to avoid is skipping the picking and washing: local rice often holds small stones and husk. Chef's tip: bleach the palm oil with the lid nearby, the window open and the extractor on full, and never leave the pan.

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Minchi (Macanese minced meat with potatoes)

If one dish says home to Macanese families, the descendants of Portuguese and Chinese Macau, it is minchi: a quick hash of minced beef and pork seasoned with soy sauce, Worcestershire sauce and a touch of sugar, mixed with crisp little cubes of fried potato and crowned with a runny fried egg. It appears on weeknight tables, at Macanese restaurants near Rua do Cunha, and at gatherings of the Macanese community abroad, always with plain white rice. Savoury, slightly sweet and full of crunch, it tastes like the meeting of a Portuguese kitchen and a Cantonese wok. A common error is stirring the potatoes into the meat too early, which makes them soft and floury; fry them separately until crisp and fold them in at the end. Chef's tip: let the mince sit undisturbed for a minute in the hot pan before stirring, so it browns instead of stewing.

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Vegetarian mee rebus

Malay hawker stalls at Geylang Serai and the old Adam Road food centre ladle mee rebus from a vat of thick, reddish-brown gravy that is sweet, gently spiced and earthy, poured over springy yellow noodles and heaped with halved boiled egg, fried tau kwa, bean sprouts, green chilli and a squeeze of calamansi. It is eaten any time, but especially on Hari Raya mornings and as a filling lunch. Many stalls build the gravy on dried shrimp and beef stock; this vegetarian version gets its body from mashed sweet potato, its savoury depth from fermented soybean paste (taucheo) and a well-fried spice paste, and uses vegetable stock. The usual mistake is under-frying the rempah, which leaves the gravy tasting raw and sharp; cook it until the oil separates and turns red. Chef's tip: the gravy thickens as it stands, so keep a kettle of hot stock nearby and loosen it to a pourable, velvety consistency just before serving.

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Singapore prawn noodle soup

Long before lunch, the big pots at Singapore's prawn mee stalls have been bubbling with fried prawn shells and pork bones, and the regulars from Zion Road to Tiong Bahru arrive with one question: soup or dry? This is the soup version, which is different from the stir-fried Hokkien prawn mee: a sweet, briny, rust-coloured broth poured over yellow noodles and rice vermicelli, topped with halved prawns, tender pork ribs, kangkong and bean sprouts, finished with fried shallots and a dusting of chilli powder. A dish of sliced red chilli in soy sauce sits alongside. The most common mistake is boiling the shells without frying them first, which gives a pale, thin broth; the depth comes from shells toasted in oil until they are deep red and smell like the sea. Chef's tip: freeze prawn shells and heads from other meals over a few weeks so you have a big bag ready for the stock.

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Sambal stingray

Weekend evenings at the seafood stalls of Newton, Chomp Chomp and East Coast Lagoon smell of charring banana leaf, and the dish sending up that smoke is usually sambal stingray. A fan-shaped stingray wing is spread thickly with a dark red, slow-fried sambal of chillies, shallots, candlenuts and toasted shrimp paste, laid on banana leaf and cooked over high heat until the sweet, delicate flesh pulls cleanly off the soft cartilage in strands. It comes with calamansi or lime, raw sliced shallots and a little dish of sour chinchalok, and a plate of steamed rice. Underfrying the sambal is the classic error: until the oil splits away and turns red, the paste tastes raw and harsh. If you can't find stingray, skate wing is the best substitute and cooks the same way. Chef's tip: score the thick end of the wing and push sambal into the cuts, so the flavour gets right into the flesh.

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Mango shaved ice

Every summer, from late May to September, the dessert shops of Taipei's Yongkang Street have queues that stretch round the corner for one thing: a mountain of feathery milk ice buried under cubes of ripe Aiwen mango. The ice is frozen milk shaved so thinly it melts on the tongue like snow, and it's drenched in mango syrup and sweetened condensed milk, often with a scoop of mango sorbet on top. At home, freeze the milk base the night before; the active work then takes about 15 minutes. Shaving the block straight from the freezer is a common mistake, as it splinters into icy shards; let it soften for 5 minutes so it curls into ribbons. Chef's tip: chill the serving bowls in the freezer too, so the snow holds its height while you add the toppings.

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Taiwanese sesame oil chicken soup

When the first cold fronts reach Taipei, steam rises from clay pots of this at street-corner stalls, and families make it at home for new mothers and anyone run down by winter. Bone-in chicken is browned in dark, toasty black sesame oil with a mound of ginger fried until curled and crisp, then simmered in rice wine for a deeply warming, slightly bitter-sweet broth that is eaten with rice or thin wheat noodles. This soup is traditionally made with plenty of rice wine, and simmering does not cook all the alcohol off; for an alcohol-free pot, use the stock option given with the wine. A common error is heating black sesame oil on a high flame: it scorches quickly and makes the whole soup bitter. Chef's tip: fry the ginger slowly in the oil before the chicken goes in, until the slices curl at the edges and look dry; that is where the soup's warmth comes from.

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Sweet potato ginger soup

Cheap, warming and ready in under an hour, this is the tong sui Hong Kong families make at home on cold, damp winter nights, ladled out after dinner or before bed rather than ordered in a shop. Chunks of orange, yellow or purple sweet potato turn tender and fudgy in a clear amber syrup made with brown slab sugar and plenty of smashed ginger, so each spoonful is sweet first and then pleasantly hot. Some cooks add a few pitted red dates or a piece of dried tangerine peel. Boiling the sweet potatoes from the start is the usual slip; by the time the ginger has given up its heat, they've collapsed and clouded the syrup. Chef's tip: soak the cut sweet potato in cold water for 10 minutes to rinse off surface starch, and add it only once the ginger broth has simmered for a good 10 minutes.

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Mullah rob (Sudanese peanut and yoghurt stew)

Rob is the Sudanese word for soured milk, and in Khartoum kitchens it goes into one of the simplest, most comforting stews of all: onions cooked down until sweet, peanut butter stirred in for body, and rob whisked through at the end to make a creamy, tangy, pale-gold sauce. It is everyday food, eaten at lunch with sheets of kisra or a mound of aseeda, and it costs very little to make. Without fermented milk to hand, pasteurised natural yoghurt thinned with water does the job well. Boiling the sauce once the yoghurt is in is the classic mistake, because it curdles into grainy flecks; keep it just below a simmer. Chef's tip: let the onions go properly soft and golden, about 15 minutes; they carry the flavour of the whole dish.

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Lo mai gai (sticky rice in lotus leaf)

Unfold the dried lotus leaf at a Hong Kong yum cha table and a cloud of tea-scented steam rises from a parcel of glossy sticky rice, hiding a centre of soy-braised chicken thigh, shiitake and slices of lap cheong, the sweet Chinese pork sausage. Teahouses from Sheung Wan to Mong Kok sell it from the morning trolleys, and office workers grab one as a filling breakfast with a pot of pu'er. The rice is chewy and sticky but each grain stays whole, and the leaf gives it a faint grassy perfume. Shaoxing rice wine goes into the filling; an alcohol-free swap is given in the ingredient list. The most common mistake is cooking the rice in water like plain rice: soaked glutinous rice must be steamed, or it turns into paste. Chef's tip: wrap the parcels tightly and steam them again from cold or frozen; they reheat better than almost any dim sum.

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Galinha à portuguesa (Portuguese chicken)

Puzzlingly, you will not find this in Portugal: galinha à portuguesa belongs to Macau, where cooks mixed a Portuguese idea of a creamy baked chicken with the turmeric, curry powder and coconut milk that came through the Portuguese trading routes from Goa and Malacca. Macanese restaurants and Hong Kong's cha chaan teng serve it bubbling in a clay pot or baking dish, golden on top, with chicken and potatoes in a mild, yellow, gently sweet coconut sauce, always with white rice to soak it up. It is a favourite for family dinners and Christmas tables. The thing people get wrong is boiling the coconut sauce hard, so it splits and turns oily; keep it at a gentle simmer. Chef's tip: brown the chicken well first, and finish under a hot grill for the speckled golden top that Macau restaurants are known for.

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Soy sauce fried noodles

Order this at a Hong Kong cha chaan teng or a dim sum breakfast and it lands on the table glossy, mahogany brown and smelling of the wok, a plate of nothing more than noodles, soy sauce, bean sprouts and spring onions. Thin egg noodles turn springy and slightly crisp at the edges, coated in a sweet-salty soy glaze, while the sprouts stay crunchy. Locals eat it for breakfast with milk tea, or share it at yum cha next to steamed dumplings, often with a dab of chilli oil. Wet noodles are the enemy here: if they go into the wok damp, they steam, clump and turn soggy instead of frying. Chef's tip: toss the noodles with chopsticks or tongs rather than a spatula, lifting and shaking them through the sauce, so the strands stay long and separate.

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Steamed egg with minced pork

Hong Kong grandmothers make this on busy weeknights, and it is one of the first dishes children there learn to love: a trembling, glass-smooth egg custard with a layer of soy-seasoned minced pork underneath, served in its dish with a drizzle of soy and sesame oil and a bowl of white rice. It costs little, cooks in minutes and tastes of comfort. Getting the texture right is all about gentle heat. The pitfall nearly everyone hits is steaming on full blast with no lid on the dish, which gives a pitted, spongy surface; cover the bowl and steam on a medium heat instead. Chef's tip: use warm stock or water at 1½ times the volume of the beaten eggs, and strain the mixture through a sieve to remove the bubbles.

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Beef brisket noodles

Queues form outside the brisket shops of Central and Sham Shui Po at lunchtime for a bowl of ngau naam min: wobbly chunks of beef brisket, braised for hours with chu hou paste, star anise, cinnamon and dried tangerine peel until the fat and sinew melt, set over springy egg noodles in a separate, clear, peppery broth with daikon. The braise is dark, sticky and aromatic, the broth light and clean, and you dip between them. A slosh of Shaoxing rice wine goes in the braise; an alcohol-free swap is in the ingredient list. Many home cooks cut the brisket before cooking into small cubes, which then shrink and dry out; braise it in big pieces and cut it afterwards. Chef's tip: the braise is better the next day, so make it ahead, chill it and lift off the fat before reheating.

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Milkfish belly congee

Tainan breakfast stalls open before six for this, ladling it into bowls beside plates of fried dough sticks and braised fish skin. It is not the thick Cantonese kind: cooked rice is simmered briefly in a light, ginger-scented broth, so the grains stay separate, and slices of rich, boneless milkfish belly are poached in it until just set, then showered with celery, fried shallots and white pepper. Milkfish is farmed in the ponds around Tainan; look for boneless frozen belly in Asian supermarkets, or use sea bass belly. The error most cooks make is boiling the belly hard, which breaks the soft fat and clouds the broth. Chef's tip: lower the slices into the pot skin-side down and keep the liquid just shivering; the belly firms gently and keeps its sweet, silky layer of fat.

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Black sesame soup

Steaming bowls of inky ji ma wu are a staple of Hong Kong dessert shops on cool evenings, eaten after dinner or as a late-night snack on the way home. The soup is thick enough to coat a spoon, nutty and roasted with a faint bitterness that balances the rock sugar, and so smooth it feels like warm velvet. It's often paired half-and-half in one bowl with almond tea or walnut soup, or served with sweet glutinous rice balls. Over-toasting the sesame is the mistake to avoid; once the seeds scorch, the whole pot tastes acrid. Chef's tip: blend the toasted seeds with water for a full two minutes, until no grit is left between your fingers, before it goes into the pan.

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Dodo Ikire (Ikire plantain balls)

Travellers on the Ibadan–Ife road stop at Ikire in Osun State to buy cones of dodo Ikire from the women who line the roadside, and the town is famous for little else. Overripe plantain, black-skinned and soft, is fried, mashed with fresh scotch bonnet and salt, moulded into small balls or cones and fried again until it is almost black outside, sticky and chewy inside, with a sweet-hot flavour like plantain caramel with a kick. It keeps well and is eaten as a snack on its own or with roasted groundnuts. Don't use firm plantain: it must be black and very soft, or the balls never turn dark and chewy. Chef's tip: use plantains so ripe they feel soft and the skins are fully black; yellow plantain gives ordinary fried dodo, not the dark, toffee-like Ikire kind.

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Ginger milk curd

Born in the Pearl River Delta town of Shawan in Panyu, Guangdong, ginger milk curd crossed the border to become a favourite of Hong Kong dessert parlours in Jordan and Causeway Bay, ordered hot on a winter night. There's no setting agent: an enzyme in fresh ginger juice curdles hot milk within minutes into a trembling, spoonable custard that's sweet, creamy and warming, with a peppery ginger kick. It is eaten straight from the bowl while still warm, with nothing alongside. Long-life UHT milk is the classic mistake, since its proteins have been changed by the high heat and it simply won't set; use fresh pasteurised whole cow's milk. Chef's tip: use mature, fibrous ginger rather than young pink-tipped ginger, and heat the milk to 70–75 °C, measured with a thermometer.

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Mango pudding

Wobbling out of fish-shaped moulds at the end of a Hong Kong dim sum lunch, mango pudding is just as popular in small cups from dessert chains, which sell it through the sticky summer months when Philippine and Thai mangoes flood the markets. It's smooth, creamy and full of fruit, with pieces of fresh mango through it and a drizzle of cold evaporated milk on top. Restaurants usually set it with gelatine; this version uses agar, which keeps it vegetarian and sets slightly firmer and cleaner. The problem with agar is impatience: it begins to set below about 40 °C, so cold purée added too slowly turns into lumpy strands. Chef's tip: warm the mango purée before you mix it in, then whisk briskly and pour into the moulds right away.

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Tainan beef soup

Before dawn in Tainan, workers and night owls fill steamy shops near the slaughterhouse districts for bowls of fresh local beef sliced paper-thin and blanched by a ladle of boiling broth, eaten with rice and a saucer of soy and ginger as a sunrise breakfast. The meat is tender and rosy, the broth clean, sweet and beefy. Traditionally the slices are barely cooked; this recipe gives a safer 30-second dip in simmering broth and a fully cooked option. The pink version is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. People often cut the beef too thick, so it toughens before it cooks through; firm it in the freezer and slice it as thin as you can. Chef's tip: bring the broth to a hard, rolling boil right before every ladle; a broth that has dropped off the boil never cooks the beef evenly.

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Siu yuk (Cantonese crispy roast pork belly)

Hanging in the window of every Hong Kong siu mei shop beside the char siu and roast goose, siu yuk is a slab of pork belly whose skin has been roasted into a glassy, bubbled crackling that crunches loudly over juicy, five-spice-seasoned layers of meat and fat. Shops chop it into cubes for rice boxes at lunch, and whole slabs are carried to temples and family altars at Ching Ming and on festival days. Serve it with English-style mustard and a dish of sugar for dipping, plus rice and greens. The usual error is a damp skin: any moisture left on it steams instead of crackles, so the belly must dry uncovered in the fridge overnight. Chef's tip: prick the skin all over with a sharp skewer until it looks like sandpaper; those tiny holes are where the blisters start.

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Water chestnut cake

Dim sum halls across Hong Kong lay out amber squares of water chestnut cake on small plates, and every Lunar New Year home kitchens steam a tray to give away to visitors. Set from water chestnut starch and brown slab sugar, the cake is translucent and gently chewy, flecked with pieces of fresh water chestnut that stay crisp and juicy. It is eaten cold and wobbly in summer, or sliced and pan-fried until the outside forms a caramel crust with a soft centre, with a cup of jasmine or oolong tea. A frequent problem is a lumpy, cloudy cake, which comes from pouring the hot syrup into the starch all at once without stirring. Chef's tip: let the cake set completely, ideally overnight in the fridge, before slicing with a knife dipped in water.

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Sesame balls (jin deui)

No Hong Kong Lunar New Year feels complete without a plate of jin deui, though dim sum restaurants serve these golden globes every day of the year with morning tea. Each one is a thin, crackly shell of fried glutinous rice dough wrapped in toasted sesame seeds, hollow and chewy inside around a spoonful of red bean or lotus seed paste. They are best eaten within minutes of frying, alongside a pot of tea, when the shell still shatters and the seeds smell nutty. Dropping the balls into very hot oil is the classic error: the seeds scorch before the dough expands, and the balls can burst. Chef's tip: start them in moderately hot oil and keep gently pressing them against the side of the pan with a slotted spoon, which makes them swell and turn hollow.

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Ginger scallion sauce

Every Hong Kong siu mei shop keeps a tub of this pale green relish beside the chopping block, spooned next to white-cut poached chicken over rice or tossed through plain lo mein at late-night dai pai dong stalls. Smoking-hot oil is poured over raw ginger and spring onion, and the sizzle softens their bite into a sweet, salty, fragrant sauce with a gentle heat from the ginger. It is just as good with steamed tofu, plain congee, poached fish or a bowl of rice on its own. Many home cooks blitz everything in a food processor, which bruises the spring onions into a watery paste; chop them by hand instead. Chef's tip: pour the oil while it is properly hot, shimmering and just starting to smoke, so you hear a loud crackle; lukewarm oil leaves the sauce raw and greasy.

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Boiled yam with egg sauce

Saturday breakfast in many Nigerian homes means thick slices of boiled white yam and a pan of egg sauce, eggs gently scrambled into a quick fried sauce of tomato, onion and fresh chilli. The yam is fluffy and starchy, the sauce juicy, peppery and soft, and the two are made in the same half hour. It is just as popular for supper. Overcooking the eggs is the usual mistake: take the pan off the heat while they still look slightly wet and they finish in their own warmth. Chef's tip: wear gloves or oil your hands while peeling yam, since the raw skin and flesh can make your hands itch.

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Red bean soup

Hong Kong Cantonese restaurants often send out a small bowl of hung dau sa on the house at the end of a banquet dinner, and dessert shops in Mong Kok serve it hot in winter and chilled with ice in summer. Long simmering breaks the adzuki beans down into a thick, velvety soup, part smooth and part whole beans, scented with the faintly bitter citrus of aged tangerine peel and sweetened with clean-tasting rock sugar. Some add a spoonful of coconut milk, lotus seeds or little glutinous rice balls. Adding the sugar too early is the common misstep, because it keeps the bean skins tough so they never collapse. Chef's tip: soak the beans, then freeze them in their soaking water for a few hours; the ice crystals crack the skins and halve the simmering time.

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African chicken (Macanese galinha africana)

Macau restaurants have served galinha africana since the 1940s, and the story most often told is that a hotel chef in the city created it from spices that Portuguese sailors brought back from Mozambique and Angola. Today it is a signature at Macanese and Portuguese restaurants from Taipa village to Coloane, eaten at long weekend lunches with rice or crusty bread. Chicken pieces are marinated, grilled until charred, then baked under a thick, brick-coloured sauce of ground peanuts, coconut milk, chilli, paprika, garlic and onion that is rich, nutty and quietly fiery. It is often made with a pale, timid sauce; cook the onion, garlic and paprika slowly until really deep red before the coconut goes in. Chef's tip: marinate the chicken overnight in the fridge so the garlic and chilli reach the bone.

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Steamed custard buns (lau sa bao)

Tear one open at a Hong Kong yum cha table and a stream of golden, buttery custard runs out, which is exactly why the name means 'flowing sand'. The filling is sweet and salty at once, grainy with mashed salted duck egg yolk and rich with butter and milk powder, wrapped in a snow-white, cotton-soft bun. Teahouses from Central to Mong Kok bring them out in bamboo baskets of three, usually near the end of the meal with a pot of pu'er or chrysanthemum tea. Most failures happen when the filling goes into the dough soft: it smears, leaks through the seams and never turns runny inside. Chef's tip: freeze the filling balls until rock hard before wrapping, then serve the buns within a few minutes of steaming, while the butter is still liquid.

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Singapore curry puff

Spiral curry puffs are a tea-time thing in Singapore, picked up warm in paper bags from Malay kueh stalls at Geylang Serai, from heritage bakeries in Tiong Bahru, or eaten at the 4 pm break with teh tarik. The pastry is the point: two doughs rolled together into a log, sliced, and rolled out so that the cut edge shows tight spirals that shatter into crisp layers when fried. Inside is a soft, peppery filling of potato and onion cooked with curry powder and curry leaves. Shops also sell versions with chicken and a wedge of hard-boiled egg; this one keeps to potato and uses vegetable shortening so the pastry stays dairy-free. The usual mistake is frying in oil that is too hot, which browns the outside while the inner layers stay doughy; a steady medium heat lets the spirals open. Chef's tip: let the filling cool completely and keep it fairly dry, or steam from the potato will burst the seams in the oil.

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Bayagyaw (split pea fritters)

Every Yangon tea shop worth its sweet milky tea keeps a tray of these by the counter from dawn, and hawkers sell them by the bag at bus stops. Soaked yellow split peas are ground until coarse, mixed with sliced onion, chilli and a spoon of rice flour, then dropped into hot oil as thin, ragged patties that fry up shatteringly crisp at the edges and nutty in the middle. People snap them into bowls of mohinga, crumble them over noodle and rice salads, or eat them plain with a sharp chilli-garlic vinegar. Blending the peas to a smooth paste is the trap: you lose the gritty texture that makes them crunch and the fritters turn dense. Chef's tip: soak the peas the night before, and fry a test fritter first; if it falls apart, stir in another spoon of rice flour.

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Agidi (set fermented maize in leaves)

Wrapped in green leaves and stacked in pyramids, ẹ̀kọ (Yoruba) or agidi (Igbo) is the solid form of ogi: the same fermented maize paste cooked much thicker, then left to set into a cool, wobbly block. It tastes gently sour and very clean, which is why it suits a hot pepper stew, moi moi, akara or a bowl of efo. Buka in Lagos and Ibadan sell it at breakfast and lunch. Undercooking is the most common mistake, and the agidi then stays soft and runny, so cook until a spoon leaves a clear trail across the pot. Chef's tip: pass banana leaves quickly over a flame until they turn shiny and supple, and they will fold without tearing.

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Unripe plantain porridge

Green plantain porridge is everyday home food in Rivers and Delta states and well beyond, and many Nigerians cook it when they want something filling but lighter than yam or rice. Hard, green plantains are cut into chunks and cooked in a pepper broth with a little palm oil until they soften and the starch thickens the liquid into a savoury, slightly tangy stew, finished with peppery scent leaf. Smoked fish, crayfish or periwinkles often go in; this version is meat-free and still deeply savoury. It is a meal in itself. Adding the scent leaf too early is the usual mistake; stir it in at the very end so it stays fragrant rather than bitter. Chef's tip: oil your hands before peeling green plantain to stop the sticky sap staining your skin.

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Nkwobi (cow foot in spicy palm-oil sauce)

Pieces of cow foot, cooked for hours until gelatinous and sticky, are what make nkwobi so popular in bars and small restaurants across Anambra, Enugu and Lagos. The meat is tossed in the same kind of thick, peppery palm-oil and potash sauce used for isi ewu, spiked with ehuru and crayfish, then finished with sliced onion and bitter utazi leaves. It is eaten as an evening dish in its wooden bowl, slowly, with plenty of conversation. Undercooking the cow foot is the mistake to avoid; it should be soft enough to pull from the bone with a fork, so give it the full time or use a pressure cooker. Chef's tip: add the potash liquid to the oil slowly and stop when the sauce is thick, as too much potash makes it taste soapy.

170 minNigerianMeatGluten freeSpicy
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Burmese pennywort salad

Myin khwa, 'horse's hoof', is the Burmese name for pennywort, after the shape of its round leaves, and Mandalay grandmothers swear by a plate of it to cool the body during the hot months before the monsoon. The fresh leaves are slightly bitter and grassy, a little like watercress, and they are tossed by hand with toasted chickpea flour, crushed peanuts, crunchy fried garlic and its oil, lime juice, tomato and sliced onion. The salad is served as a side to rich curries, where its clean sourness cuts through the oil. Wet leaves ruin it: the dressing slides off and turns watery, so dry them completely after washing. Chef's tip: look for pennywort sold as gotu kola at Asian and Sri Lankan grocers; young watercress makes a fair stand-in.

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Almond tea

Despite the name, there's no tea in hang yan cha, and almonds play no part either: Hong Kong's version is ground from sweet apricot kernels, the 'southern almonds' sold loose in Chinese herbal shops. Old-style dessert shops in Yau Ma Tei and Sheung Wan ladle it hot from big pots after dinner, sometimes with a black sesame swirl, and grandmothers make it for coughs in the dry winter months. It is pale, creamy and smooth as single cream, with a perfumed, marzipan-like aroma and a gentle sweetness from rock sugar. A grainy texture comes from skipping the straining, so press the blended mixture through muslin. Chef's tip: stir constantly once it's on the heat; the rice starch catches on the bottom of the pan within seconds and gives the whole pot a scorched taste.

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Fah-fah (Djiboutian spicy goat soup)

Djibouti City's cafés and Somali-speaking homes across the Horn claim fah-fah as a national dish: a clear but deeply flavoured goat broth simmered on the bone with garlic, cumin and black pepper, filled with potatoes and carrots and sharpened at the end with plenty of green chilli and coriander. It is often eaten at lunch or as a restorative supper, and is especially loved during the cool season and Ramadan, with canjeero torn into the bowl to soak. The broth should be clean-tasting and spicy rather than thick. Letting the soup boil hard makes it cloudy and greasy, so skim well and keep it at a gentle simmer. Don't skip skimming the broth at the start, or the soup stays cloudy and tastes muddy. Chef's tip: add the chilli and coriander only in the final minutes so they stay bright and green.

110 minSomaliSoupsGluten freeSpicy
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Ofe oha (oha leaf soup)

Tender oha leaves, with their mild, slightly sweet taste, are prized in Enugu and Anambra, and ofe oha is the soup many Igbo families bring out for Christmas, weddings and Sunday visits. Boiled cocoyam is pounded and melted into a palm-oil broth rich with beef, stockfish, dried fish and crayfish, giving a thick, velvety soup with the oha folded in at the very end, to eat with pounded yam, fufu or eba. Adding all the cocoyam at once is a frequent mistake that turns the soup gluey; add it in stages and stop at the thickness you want. Stockfish needs an overnight soak first unless you buy it pre-soaked. Chef's tip: tear oha leaves by hand rather than cutting them, as cooks traditionally do, and add them in the last 2 minutes.

120 minNigerianMeatGluten free
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Ogi (pap, fermented maize porridge)

Early mornings across Nigeria smell of akara frying and ogi being stirred: the smooth, pourable porridge that Yoruba homes call ogi and Igbo homes call akamu. It is made from maize soaked for two or three days, ground, sieved and left to settle into a soft white paste, which is sold fresh in markets wrapped in leaves or plastic. Boiling water turns the paste glossy and thick, with a clean sourness that is often softened with sugar and milk. Water that is merely hot rather than boiling is the usual mistake, leaving the pap thin and chalky; if that happens, stir it over a low flame for a minute. Chef's tip: sorghum ogi (ogi baba) is redder and earthier, and millet ogi is lighter; all three cook the same way.

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Bole (roasted plantain with pepper sauce)

Roadside grills all over Port Harcourt send up smoke from bole, the city's beloved street food, and the Rivers State capital even holds a festival in its honour. Plantains and pieces of yam are roasted over charcoal until the skins blacken and the flesh turns smoky, sweet and creamy, then split and served with a spicy palm-oil pepper sauce. The full version comes with grilled fish; this meat-free way pairs it with a handful of roasted groundnuts, which is also how many people snack on it at the roadside. A gas flame, barbecue or a very hot oven all work at home. Chef's tip: choose plantains that are just yellow and still firm; very ripe ones turn mushy and burn before the inside cooks, the commonest bole mistake.

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Gizdodo (gizzards and plantain in pepper sauce)

No Lagos owambe buffet is complete without a tray of gizdodo, where chewy fried chicken gizzards and caramelised cubes of ripe plantain (dodo) are tossed together in a glossy, fiery tatashe and scotch bonnet sauce. It is sweet, hot and savoury all at once, and served as a starter, a side to jollof or a snack. Gizzards must be boiled until tender before frying, and for safety they should reach 74°C in the thickest part, which they easily do by the end of the simmer. Frying plantain that is too green is a common mistake, leaving it starchy instead of sweet, so choose yellow fruit with black spots. Chef's tip: fry the plantain last, just before tossing, so it stays crisp-edged rather than soggy.

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Shan pickled mustard greens

Jars of sour, olive-gold mustard greens sit on every noodle stall in Shan State, from Kengtung to the five-day markets around Inle Lake, and families keep a crock going through the cool season. The greens are wilted, rubbed with salt and packed under cloudy water saved from rinsing rice; its starch feeds the natural fermentation, and after a few days the leaves turn crunchy, tangy and pleasantly funky. A spoonful goes on top of Shan noodles, beside sticky rice, into soups, or stir-fried with garlic and chilli as a side dish. Leaves poking above the brine are the main thing that goes wrong, since that is where mould starts; keep everything pressed under the liquid. Chef's tip: use the cloudiest rice water from the first rinse, and add a spoon of cooked rice to get the souring going faster.

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Wu gok (crispy taro dumplings)

Few dim sum crack like wu gok: the shell of mashed taro puffs in the fryer into a golden, honeycomb lace so delicate it shatters at a touch, giving way to a soft, nutty taro layer and a juicy filling of diced pork, shiitake and oyster sauce. Hong Kong teahouses fry them to order through the morning and they are a must at Lunar New Year banquets. Eat them straight away, with a pot of jasmine tea to cut the richness. Lard is the traditional fat in the taro dough; vegetable shortening works too. The classic failure is oil that is too cool or too hot: below about 170 °C the dumplings fall apart, above 190 °C they brown before the lace forms. Chef's tip: chill the shaped dumplings for half an hour so the dough is firm and the lace blooms evenly.

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AamshottoSun-dried mango sheets

In June the mango orchards of Rajshahi and Chapai Nawabganj produce more fruit than anyone can eat, and on rooftops across the region the surplus is turned into aamshotto, sheets of sweet mango pulp spread thin on bamboo trays and dried in the sun. A fresh layer is spread over the last one each day, so the finished slab is built up from many thin films, chewy, deep orange and intensely fruity. It is cut into strips and kept for the rainy months, eaten as a snack, packed in children's lunchboxes or chopped into chutney. In a damp climate, sun-drying is slow and risks mould, so this version uses a low oven. Spreading the pulp too thick is the classic misjudgement; the middle never dries and stays sticky. Chef's tip: use fibre-free mangoes such as Himsagar, Langra or Alphonso and push the pulp through a sieve for a smooth sheet.

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Steamed scallops with garlic and glass noodles

At the seafood stalls of Sai Kung and Lei Yue Mun, diners pick shellfish from the tanks and the kitchen sends them back in minutes: scallops on the half shell, each sitting on a nest of glass noodles under a heap of garlic, half fried golden and half left raw, steamed just until the scallop turns opaque, then finished with a splash of soy and a hiss of hot oil over spring onions. The noodles soak up all the sweet juices, the scallop is soft and barely firm, and the garlic is both mellow and sharp. Serve one or two each as a starter. Use only very fresh scallops: discard any that smell off or have cracked or broken shells. Most people overcook them; a large scallop needs only 5 to 6 minutes. Chef's tip: frying half the garlic and keeping half raw is the restaurant trick for deep, rounded garlic flavour.

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Pandan chiffon cake

No Singapore birthday table, office tea or visit to grandma's feels complete without a pandan chiffon cake, the pale green ring sold whole at heritage bakeries and neighbourhood confectioners and carried home in a box, and travellers fly home with one in their hand luggage. The crumb is cottony and springy, moist from coconut milk, and the flavour comes from juice squeezed from blended pandan leaves: grassy, vanilla-like and faintly nutty. It is served plain, in tall wedges, with kopi or tea. The usual mistake is greasing the tube pan; a chiffon needs to cling to bare metal to climb, and cooling it upside down is what keeps it tall. Chef's tip: beat the egg whites only to firm, glossy peaks that curl over at the tip; stiff, dry whites won't fold in smoothly and leave white streaks and holes.

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Kunun zaki (millet and ginger drink)

Chilled kunun zaki is what people reach for in the heat of Kano and Kaduna afternoons, and at Ramadan iftar it is one of the first things poured. Millet is soaked, ground with fresh ginger and cloves, then partly cooked; the uncooked portion stirred back in sweetens the drink naturally and gives it a light, refreshing tang. It is creamy-looking but thin, spicy at the back of the throat and best ice cold. Pouring boiling water over all the slurry is the classic mistake, since it stops the natural sweetening, so always keep a third raw. Chef's tip: start a day ahead (12 hours soaking, 4–6 hours resting) and strain twice through a fine cloth for a silky drink with no grit.

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Tapalapa (Gambian crusty bread)

Early each morning, small bakeries around Serekunda and Brikama pull trays of tapalapa from wood-fired ovens, and the short, rustic loaves are on every breakfast stall by sunrise. Denser and chewier than a French baguette, tapalapa has a thick, crackling crust and a slightly tight crumb that holds up to fillings: black-eyed beans in sauce, an omelette, or a smear of chocolate spread. A very hot oven, a baking stone and a tray of steam get you close at home. Allow about two and a half hours of rising. Chef's tip: let the shaped loaves rise only until puffy, not doubled; over-proving is the common mistake, and the loaves flatten and lose the chewy bite.

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Beans and plantain porridge

A big pot of this sweet-and-savoury porridge feeds a family through Saturday breakfast and beyond, and it is cooked from Lagos to Port Harcourt. Brown or honey beans (oloyin) are boiled until they start to break up, then finished in palm oil with blended pepper, onion and chunks of ripe plantain, which melt into the beans and sweeten them. Crayfish is common in the pot; this version is vegan and still rich. Tomatoes and salt added too early slow the beans down, so stir in the pepper base only once they are soft. Avoid adding the plantain at the start: it collapses into mush before the beans are soft. Chef's tip: draining the first 10-minute boil of the beans makes them gentler on the stomach.

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Pe pyot (boiled yellow peas)

Before the city wakes, pe pyot sellers pedal through Yangon's townships calling out from bicycle baskets of warm, steaming peas, scooping portions into leaf parcels for families to eat with fried rice, flatbreads or toasted naan. Dried yellow or white peas are soaked overnight and simmered until creamy inside but still whole, then seasoned simply with salt and a spoon of oil fried with shallots. The flavour is mellow, earthy and slightly sweet, and the texture is soft and fluffy, like a good baked potato. Too much bicarbonate of soda is the common slip: a pinch softens the skins, but more turns the peas to soapy mush. Chef's tip: make a double batch; pe pyot keeps for three days in the fridge and turns tomorrow's leftover rice into pea fried rice.

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Bean curd skin rolls with oyster sauce

A tea-house regular, fu pei guen arrive at Hong Kong dim sum tables in small steamer dishes, sitting in a pool of dark, glossy oyster sauce gravy. The bean curd skin is fried first, so it blisters and wrinkles, then it is braised until it turns soft and silky and soaks up the sauce, while the pork, bamboo shoot and mushroom filling inside stays juicy. The flavour is savoury and gently sweet, best with rice or between har gow and siu mai at Sunday yum cha. A splash of Shaoxing rice wine seasons the filling; there is an alcohol-free swap in the list. Where most home cooks go wrong is soaking the dried bean curd sheets in water, which turns them to rags; wipe them with a damp cloth instead so they just become supple. Chef's tip: make the rolls a day ahead, fry them, and braise them just before serving.

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Steamed spare ribs with black bean sauce

Small saucers of pork spare ribs, chopped into bite-sized chunks and glistening with fermented black bean and garlic, come out of every Hong Kong teahouse steamer from dawn until lunch. Done right, the meat is plump and tender, slips off the little bone with your chopsticks, and sits in a salty, garlicky, faintly sweet juice that is wonderful spooned over rice. At home it makes an easy weeknight dish with rice and some blanched choi sum. The mistake to avoid is skipping the rinse: soak the ribs in cold water first to draw out the blood, otherwise the sauce turns grey and murky. Chef's tip: ask the butcher to chop the ribs into 3 cm pieces across the bone, and add a little potato starch to the marinade, which gives the teahouse silky coating.

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Cantonese roast goose

Drive out along the coast road to Sham Tseng in the New Territories and the restaurants there have been roasting geese for generations; Hong Kongers make the trip for a plate of it with lai fun noodles, or order a half goose for a family dinner. The skin is thin, crisp and deep mahogany, the meat dark, rich and juicy, scented from the inside with five-spice, bean paste and garlic. Sour plum sauce cuts through the fat. This home version uses an oven-ready goose (head already removed, as it is sold), dried overnight and roasted in a domestic oven. A frequent slip is roasting a goose straight from the wrapper: without its overnight drying and a glaze, the skin stays leathery. Chef's tip: pour off the rendered fat as it collects; it is superb for roasting potatoes or frying rice.

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White cut chicken with ginger-scallion oil

No Cantonese celebration in Hong Kong or Guangdong is complete without a plate of baak chit gai: at Lunar New Year, weddings and ancestor offerings, the whole chicken stands for family togetherness. It is the purest of the poached dishes, with pale, springy skin, a thin layer of jelly beneath it from the ice-water plunge, and smooth, juicy meat, all lifted by a dipping bowl of ginger and spring onion sizzled with hot oil and salt. Serve it at room temperature with rice cooked in the poaching stock. Old-style cooks leave it pink at the bone, but here the chicken is always cooked until the thickest part of the thigh reads 74 °C. The biggest error is boiling hard, which splits the skin; the water should only shiver. Chef's tip: grate the ginger finely and squeeze out a little of its juice, or the oil turns watery and bitter.

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Nyambeh nyebbeh (cassava and beans in palm oil)

Bright with red palm oil, nyambeh nyebbeh, cassava (nyambeh) and beans (nyebbeh), is a favourite Gambian lunch from Banjul compounds to roadside food stalls. Chunks of cassava and black-eyed beans are boiled until tender, then dressed with a hot sauce of red palm oil, onion and Scotch bonnet. Cassava gives starchy, slightly sweet bites, the beans turn creamy, and the palm oil adds its earthy, peppery depth. Dried fish is often crumbled in; this is the meat-free version. Chef's tip: always cook cassava fully and pull out the woody core string, since undercooked or raw cassava is unsafe to eat; it is ready when a knife slides through with no resistance.

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Fio fio (pigeon pea pottage with cocoyam)

Pigeon peas are called fio fio or echicha in Enugu, and around Udi and Nsukka they are cooked into a thick pottage for family meals, sometimes with fresh corn in season and often with cocoyam, which melts into the pot and thickens it. The peas stay firm and nutty, the cocoyam turns soft and creamy, and the palm-oil pepper sauce ties it together into a hearty, savoury meal. Dried pigeon peas are sold in African and South Asian shops (as toor or gandules). Pigeon peas are tough and need a long simmer; the mistake is seasoning or adding cocoyam before they are completely tender. Wear gloves to peel cocoyam, which can itch. Chef's tip: soak the peas overnight and boil them hard for the first 10 minutes; it shortens the cooking and makes them evenly tender.

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Kokoro (crunchy maize sticks)

Kokoro is sold in clear bags at motor parks, markets and school gates across the Southwest, and it is the snack people tuck into a pocket for a long bus ride. The dough is made by cooking part of the maize flour with water into a thick paste, then kneading in more flour with a little sugar, salt, chilli and ginger, and rolling it into thin sticks that are fried slowly until hard and golden. The result is very crunchy, lightly sweet and peppery, and it keeps for weeks. Children love it, and it is traditionally eaten with roasted groundnuts or coconut. Avoid frying in oil that is too hot; the outside browns before the sticks are crisp all the way through. Chef's tip: roll the sticks no thicker than a pencil and fry them at a moderate heat so they crisp right through; thick sticks fried hot stay hard outside and doughy inside.

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Aab goshtMutton in spiced milk

Pale, gentle and fragrant with green cardamom, aab gosht is the Kashmiri kitchen's answer to anyone who thinks the cuisine is all chilli. Mutton on the bone is first boiled with whole spices, then finished in reduced milk with fennel and dry ginger until the sauce turns ivory and thick, almost like a savoury kheer. It is a wazwan dish and a family favourite for Sunday lunch among Kashmiri households in Muzaffarabad and Lahore, eaten over plain rice with a sharp green chutney on the side for contrast. Boiling the milk hard is what ruins it, since it catches on the base and leaves a scorched taste through the whole pot. Chef's tip: reduce the milk in a separate wide pan while the meat cooks, then combine them; it thickens faster and is far less likely to burn.

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Kampot pepper and lime dip

Every table in Kampot and along the crab-shack pier at Kep gets a saucer of tuk mrech, and diners mix their own: a heap of salt, a spoonful of freshly cracked local pepper and a squeeze of lime. It is sharp, salty and floral-hot, with none of the sweetness of most Khmer dips, and it is meant for dragging grilled corn, griddled tofu, fried eggs or a pepper crab through. Kampot pepper carries a protected geographical indication and tastes fruity and resinous rather than just hot; any good whole black peppercorns work, but pre-ground pepper does not. People often get it wrong by grinding the pepper to dust, which turns the dip muddy and bitter, or by mixing it hours ahead so the lime goes flat. Chef's tip: warm the peppercorns in a dry pan for a minute before cracking them, and squeeze the lime straight into the saucer at the table so it stays fresh and zingy.

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Gu lou yuk (Cantonese sweet and sour pork)

Ask a Hong Kong family what they order at a dai pai dong for the children, and gu lou yuk is near the top: nuggets of pork shoulder fried twice until shatteringly crisp, then tossed at the last moment with pineapple, green and red pepper and onion in a shiny, tangy, scarlet sauce. Cantonese cooks in Guangzhou and Hong Kong have made it for well over a century, and it is a fixture of wedding banquets and takeaway menus worldwide. Eat it fresh with steamed rice while the coating still crunches. A common pitfall is simmering the pork in the sauce, which turns the crust soggy within a minute; thicken the sauce first, then toss for a few seconds only. Chef's tip: the second, hotter fry is what makes it crisp, so don't skip it.

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Singapore-style fried vermicelli

Despite the name, nobody in Singapore grew up on this: sing chau chau mai was invented in Hong Kong's cha chaan teng and Cantonese kitchens, where a little curry powder and a hot wok turn thin rice vermicelli golden-yellow. It is tossed with strips of char siu (Cantonese barbecued pork), prawns, egg ribbons, peppers, onion and bean sprouts, and comes out dry, springy and fragrant with a gentle curry warmth. Diners order it for lunch with a glass of iced lemon tea. A classic misstep is soaking the vermicelli too long in hot water, so it breaks into short, mushy bits in the wok; soak it in cold water until just pliable. Chef's tip: toast the curry powder in the oil for a few seconds before the noodles go in, so it tastes rounded rather than raw and dusty.

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Teochew fish soup

Office workers in the CBD form long lunch queues for a dish that looks almost plain: a bowl of clear, sweet broth with thick slices of batang (Spanish mackerel), wedges of tomato, silken tofu, lettuce and a little salted vegetable, served with rice or thick rice noodles. Good stalls simmer fish bones for hours, but at home a well-flavoured stock and plenty of ginger get you close in half an hour. The fish should be just set and springy, the broth light, gently tangy from tomato and savoury from fish sauce. Most home versions go wrong by boiling the slices hard, which breaks them up and turns them chalky; they need only a few minutes at a gentle simmer. Chef's tip: toss the fish slices with a pinch of salt and a teaspoon of tapioca starch before cooking, which keeps them silky and stops them falling apart.

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Hainanese curry rice

Late-night and early-morning crowds in Tiong Bahru, Beo Crescent and Jalan Besar know the drill at a Hainanese curry rice stall: point at what you want, then ask for it "banjir", flooded. A plate of white rice disappears under two gravies, a mild, coconut-rich curry with soft potato and chicken, and a dark, five-spice braising sauce, then gets topped with crumbed fried pork chop, braised cabbage and a runny-edged fried egg. It is messy, comforting and salty-sweet, and leftovers taste even better the next day. The usual mistake is a thin, watery curry; it should be thick enough to cling to the rice, so let the potatoes break down a little and reduce the gravy well. Chef's tip: crush cream crackers rather than using breadcrumbs for the pork chop, as the old Hainanese cooks do; they fry up shatteringly crisp and stay that way under the gravy.

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Salted egg chicken

Zi char stalls, the cook-to-order kitchens at the back of Singapore's coffee shops, made salted egg yolk sauce famous with crab and prawns, and the chicken version has become a dinner-table favourite with families who order three or four dishes to share with rice. Crisp, double-fried pieces of thigh are tossed through a sandy, frothy sauce of salted duck egg yolks foamed in butter with curry leaves and bird's eye chilli, so every nook is coated in something rich, savoury and faintly sweet. Serve it straight away with plain rice and a simple stir-fried green vegetable to balance the richness. The most common mistake is adding the yolks to butter that is too hot: they scorch, turn grainy and never foam. Chef's tip: mash the steamed yolks through a sieve while they are still warm, so they melt into a smooth, frothy coating.

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Burmese gourd fritters

Afternoon fry stalls along the lanes of downtown Yangon sell these by the paper cone, golden sticks of bottle gourd still crackling from the wok, and they are the fritter most people choose to dunk into a breakfast bowl of mohinga. Inside the thin rice-flour shell, the gourd steams until soft and almost juicy, mild and slightly sweet against the crunchy, salty coating. A tangy tamarind sauce with garlic and chilli is the usual partner. The classic failure is a thick, gluey batter that hides the vegetable and goes chewy within minutes; it should be as thin as single cream. Chef's tip: add a few drops of lime juice and ice-cold water to the batter just before frying; the cold keeps the coating light and crisp.

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Kyay oh

Served bubbling in a small brass pot, which is what kyay oh means, this Chinese-Burmese soup fills the late-night noodle shops of Yangon's Chinatown and the busy breakfast places of Mandalay. A clear, peppery pork broth carries thin rice noodles, springy hand-rolled pork balls, sliced pork, tender greens and an egg cracked in at the last moment so it poaches in the pot. Garlic oil, white pepper and a side of vinegar with chopped chilli keep each spoonful sharp and warming. The pitfall is boiling the broth hard once the pork balls are in; they toughen and the soup turns cloudy, so keep it at a gentle bubble. Chef's tip: slap the pork mince against the bowl for a minute before shaping; it gives the balls their bouncy, almost crunchy texture.

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Khmer red chicken curry

When a Cambodian family celebrates (a wedding, Khmer New Year, the Pchum Ben days in autumn), a big pot of red curry is usually on the stove, and in Phnom Penh it is just as likely to be eaten for breakfast from a street stall with a crusty baguette for mopping. It is a gentle, fragrant curry rather than a fiery one: chicken on the bone simmered in coconut milk with a red kroeung of dried chillies, lemongrass and galangal, plus chunks of sweet potato, aubergine and long beans that soak up the orange-tinged sauce. Dropping all the vegetables in at once is the error to avoid; the aubergine collapses before the sweet potato is cooked. Chef's tip: make it a few hours ahead or the day before, as the flavours deepen and the sauce settles into a silky, spoonable gravy.

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