Featured recipe

Serradura

Cream and biscuit crumb pudding

Portuguese for 'sawdust', serradura is the cool, creamy dessert you'll find in every Macanese restaurant and café from Taipa to the Senado Square backstreets, ordered to round off a long Macanese lunch. Alternating layers of sweetened whipped cream and powder-fine tea biscuit crumbs set softly in the fridge, so each spoonful is light, milky and caramel-sweet, with a gentle crumbly texture. It is usually served in small glasses, sometimes semi-frozen like an ice cream cake. Coarse crumbs are where it goes wrong; they stay crunchy and gritty instead of melting into the cream, so grind the biscuits as fine as sand. Chef's tip: whip the cream and condensed milk together only to firm peaks and stop there, or it turns grainy and buttery.

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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.

75 min

Hong Kong Chicken

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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.

180 min

Hong Kong Meat

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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.

40 min

Hong Kong Meat

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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.

60 min

Hong Kong Snacks & Starters

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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.

60 min

Burmese Breakfast & Brunch

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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.

80 min

Singaporean Baking

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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.

25 min

Hong Kong Fish

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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.

90 min

Hong Kong Snacks & Starters

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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.

30 min

Burmese Sides

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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.

50 min

Hong Kong Desserts

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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.

20 min

Burmese Salads

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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.

40 min

Burmese Snacks & Starters

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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.

100 min

Singaporean Snacks & Starters

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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.

120 min

Hong Kong Desserts

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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.

75 min

Macanese Chicken

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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.

120 min

Hong Kong Desserts

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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.

10 min

Hong Kong Chutneys & Dips

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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.

60 min

Hong Kong Desserts

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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.

65 min

Hong Kong Desserts

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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.

150 min

Hong Kong Meat

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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.

30 min

Taiwanese Soups

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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.

30 min

Hong Kong Desserts

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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.

15 min

Hong Kong Desserts

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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.

30 min

Hong Kong Desserts

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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.

40 min

Taiwanese Breakfast & Brunch

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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.

25 min

Hong Kong Meat

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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.

180 min

Hong Kong Pasta & Noodles

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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.

20 min

Hong Kong Pasta & Noodles

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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.

75 min

Macanese Chicken

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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.

130 min

Hong Kong Rice & Grains

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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.

40 min

Hong Kong Desserts

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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.

60 min

Taiwanese Soups

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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.

15 min

Taiwanese Desserts

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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.

50 min

Singaporean Fish

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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.

135 min

Singaporean Pasta & Noodles

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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.

65 min

Singaporean Pasta & Noodles

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