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Sayur lodeh
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Sayur lodeh

Vegetables in coconut milk

Sayur lodeh is everyday cooking in Central Java, made in big pots in Solo and Semarang kitchens and ladled over rice, with lontong rice cakes at Lebaran, or alongside opor and sambal goreng on festive tables. It's soupy rather than thick: a fragrant broth of coconut milk, galangal, lemongrass and lime leaf that carries chunks of aubergine, long beans, chayote and sweetcorn, plus tempeh and tofu to make it a meal. The flavour is mellow and slightly sweet, so the heat comes from sambal on the side. Chef's tip: keep the pot at a gentle simmer once the coconut milk goes in and stir now and then — a rolling boil splits the coconut milk into oily curds.

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Imeretian cheese

Imeruli kveli is the everyday cheese of western Georgia: in Kutaisi's Green Bazaar it sits in wet white wheels, mild and milky with a faint sourness, ready to be grated into khachapuri, sliced with tomatoes and herbs, or stretched into sulguni. Families in Imereti make it in a morning from the day's milk. Traditionally it is set with animal rennet; use vegetarian (microbial) rennet for a vegetarian cheese. A common mistake is heating the curd too hard, which squeezes out the moisture and gives a rubbery cheese instead of a soft, springy one. Chef's tip: make a double batch, keep one wheel fresh for eating and leave the other in brine for two or three days, which gives it the saltier bite that bakers prefer for khachapuri.

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On Christmas Eve, 6 January, kitchens across Guria, around Ozurgeti and Lanchkhuti, smell of baking ghvezeli: large crescent pies stuffed with fresh cheese and chunks of boiled egg, their shape said to recall the crescent moon. They are baked in batches, carried to relatives and eaten through the holidays with tea. A common mistake is overfilling, which makes the crescent split at the seam in the oven. Chef's tip: let the yeasted dough rise once, shape the pies, then give them 15 minutes more so they puff into soft, rounded crescents. Imeruli and sulguni usually use animal rennet; look for vegetarian ones.

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Jamaican soursop juice

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Chicken tabaka

Tsitsila tabaka is named after the tapa, a heavy cast-iron pan with a screw-down lid that Tbilisi cooks use to press a split spring chicken flat as it fries, so every bit of skin touches the hot metal and turns golden and crackling. In old Tbilisi restaurants it comes with a little jug of garlic water (niortskali) and satsebeli tomato sauce. A common mistake is using a big chicken, which takes so long that the skin burns before the inside cooks; a small poussin is right. Chef's tip: a heavy saucepan filled with water works as the weight at home. Chicken is done when the thickest part of the thigh reaches 74 °C.

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Armenian string cheese

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Dziriettes (almond flower pastries)

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Aghroum (Kabyle semolina flatbread)

Up in the villages of Kabylie, aghroum is simply the word for bread, and the everyday loaf is a flat, unleavened round of semolina, water, salt and a thread of olive oil, baked on a clay griddle over a low fire. It comes out firm and close-textured, with a crust speckled brown and a faintly sweet, nutty crumb that tastes of the grain. Kabyle families tear it to scoop up olive oil, dried figs and buttermilk at breakfast, or to mop the sauce of a bean or vegetable stew at midday. A heavy cast-iron pan or flat griddle does the job of the clay one at home. Chef's tip: keep the heat at medium-low and turn the bread often; a griddle that is too hot is the usual mistake, leaving a burnt crust around a raw, gummy middle.

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Zviti (pounded pepper and flatbread mash)

Fire-blistered green chillies, a few tomatoes and a fist of garlic go into a wooden mortar, and the cook in Bou Saâda or M'Sila pounds them with torn flatbread until everything turns into a coarse, hot, smoky mash. Zviti is served straight from that wooden bowl, sometimes in a carved mortar the size of a salad bowl, and eaten by hand with more bread, often on cold evenings in the steppe towns. The flavour is sharp and grassy from the chillies, sweet from the charred tomato and soothed by plenty of olive oil. Choose a mix of hot and milder long chillies to set the heat you like. Don't leave the charred skins on the peppers and tomatoes: they turn the mash bitter and stringy. Chef's tip: pound rather than blend; a food processor whips it into a watery soup, so if you must use one, pulse briefly and add the bread last.

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Rougag (Saharan paper-thin flatbread)

Across the oases of the Algerian Sahara, from Biskra to Ouargla, women spread a soft semolina dough over a domed griddle so thin that light shows through it, then lift the sheet off within a couple of minutes. Rougag is the base of chakhchoukha and rfis, torn into pieces and soaked in sauce, but fresh sheets are also eaten folded around dates or a spoon of stew. Freshly made it is soft and flexible with toasty brown blisters; left to dry, it keeps for weeks in a tin. An upturned wok or a large non-stick pan stands in for the griddle. Chef's tip: oil your hands, not the pan; dough that is not wet enough to stretch is the common mistake, so it should feel almost too sticky to handle.

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Tagella (Tuareg sand-baked bread)

Out in the Hoggar mountains around Tamanrasset, Tuareg cooks bury a thick disc of dough in sand heated by a wood fire, cover it with embers and dig it up half an hour later with a dense, chewy crumb and a thick crust that is beaten clean of sand. The bread is then broken into pieces and soaked in a spicy tomato and onion sauce, a hearty meal for a camp or a desert evening; meat goes in when there is some, and this is the plain version cooked on ordinary days. At home, a very hot oven with a cast-iron pan gives a similar crust. Expect a filling, rustic dish with a smoky, peppery sauce. A frequent slip is making the dough too dry; it should be soft, or the thick round cracks and stays raw in the middle. Chef's tip: bake the bread until it sounds hollow when knocked, because an underbaked, doughy centre turns to paste in the sauce.

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White cherry preserve

Absheron is famous for its white cherries, pale yellow fruit with a pink blush that ripen in June in the sandy orchards around Mardakan and Shuvalan. Baku families stone them one by one with a hairpin and cook them slowly into a clear golden preserve, sharpened with lemon, which is served in tiny glass bowls (mürəbbə qabı) with black tea; you sip the tea and eat a spoon of cherries between sips. A common mistake is cooking the fruit in one long boil, which shrivels it. Chef's tip: cook in short spells with long rests in between, so the cherries plump up with syrup and stay whole and glossy.

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Bradj (date-filled semolina diamonds)

When the first warm days arrive, families in Constantine and across eastern Algeria mark the spring festival with picnics, boiled eggs and plates of bradj: diamonds of buttery semolina sandwiching a layer of spiced date paste, cooked slowly on a griddle rather than baked. The outside turns golden and crumbly, the date layer stays soft and sticky, and orange-blossom water perfumes the whole thing. Bradj is served warm with a drizzle of honey or a cold glass of buttermilk, and is just as good the next day with coffee. Chef's tip: press the dough together rather than kneading it; worked like bread dough, semolina turns tough, and bradj should break with a crumble.

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Mbesses (Kabyle semolina cake)

Somewhere between shortbread and cornbread, mbesses is the plain cake of Kabyle kitchens, a shallow tray of semolina rich with melted butter, lightly sweetened and baked until golden on top. The texture is sandy and tender, breaking into crumbs that taste of toasted grain and butter, with a hint of orange blossom. It is cut into diamonds and served with milky coffee in the afternoon, or offered to guests who drop by during Ramadan evenings. Some households scatter sesame or nigella seeds over the top before baking. Chef's tip: spread the mixture into the tray with a light hand; pressing it down hard is the most common mistake and gives a dense, heavy cake.

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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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Jamaican hominy corn porridge

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

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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Lao bamboo shoot soup

When the rains arrive in June, Vientiane's morning markets fill with pale, freshly dug bamboo shoots, and pots of kaeng nor mai start simmering in kitchens across the city for the family lunch. The broth is a deep olive green, tinted by the juice squeezed from yanang leaves, and thickened with a spoonful of pounded soaked sticky rice so it coats the spoon. Earthy bamboo, sweet pumpkin and slippery mushrooms float in it with lemon basil on top, and a basket of sticky rice and a dish of jeow sit alongside. Skipping the pre-boil of the bamboo is where most cooks go wrong: raw shoots taste bitter and need cooking through to be safe, so always blanch fresh ones and drain. This version leaves out the fermented fish of village kitchens and seasons with salt and tamari. Chef's tip: squeeze the yanang leaves in cold water, never hot, or the broth turns brown and loses its grassy freshness.

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

Sold from food stalls in San Fernando and eaten at south Trinidad family lunches, curry shrimp is the fast curry of the island: the sauce is built in minutes, and the shrimp go in only at the very end. Plenty of garlic, roasted geera and hot pepper give a bright, punchy curry that you wipe up with dhalpuri or spoon over rice. The mistake nearly everyone makes the first time is stewing the shrimp, which turns them rubbery; they need three or four minutes, no more. Chef's tip: save the shells, simmer them in the water for 10 minutes and use that stock in the curry for a much deeper seafood flavour.

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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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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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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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