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Baklava
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Baklava

The famous layered pastry: crisp sheets of buttered fillo sandwich a filling of almonds, pistachios and cashews spiced with cinnamon, cardamom and saffron. After baking, the hot baklava is soaked in a syrup of sugar, honey, lemon, rose and cardamom and decorated with almond and pistachio flakes. Cut into 40 diamonds; serve with fresh cream or ice cream.

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Rachan ham

Rachuli lori is the pride of Racha: pork legs salted and hung in the smoky rafters above a wood fire, then sliced and fried until crisp, and above all eaten with lobiani bean bread, which in Racha is made with fried ham inside. This is a pork dish. Home kitchens cannot copy months in a chimney, so this version brines a boneless pork leg joint for two days in the fridge and then hot-smokes and roasts it until cooked through, giving a ham you can slice cold or fry. A common mistake is skipping the rinse after brining, which makes the ham far too salty. Chef's tip: smoke over fruit wood with a few dried bay leaves for the dark, sweet smoke of a Rachan kitchen. Whole pork joints are safe at 63 °C followed by a 10-minute rest.

240 minGeorgianMeatGluten free
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Bergen fish soup

Bergensk fiskesuppe is the soup of Bergen's rainy harbour: a creamy, slightly sweet-sour broth with julienned carrot, leek and celeriac, chunks of white fish and salmon, small fish dumplings and a spoon of sour cream, finished with chives. Bergen families make it on Saturdays, and every restaurant on the Bryggen wharf has its own. A common mistake is boiling the fish, which breaks it up and makes it dry. Chef's tip: add the fish at the end and poach it in barely trembling soup for 3–4 minutes, until just opaque and flaking.

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Skyr

Skyr has been made in Iceland since the Viking settlers arrived: skimmed milk soured with a spoonful of the last batch, set with a drop of rennet, then strained until very thick, high in protein and mildly sour. Icelanders eat it every day with milk or cream and berries, or whisked into a drink, and skyrkaka is a favourite cheesecake. You need a few spoonfuls of plain shop skyr with live cultures as a starter. A common mistake is skipping the long, slow set; rushed skyr is thin and grainy. Chef's tip: strain it in the fridge overnight and stir it smooth before serving. Rennet is traditionally animal; use vegetarian rennet.

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Red caviar butterbrods

When the Soviet festive table had one luxury, this was it: little slices of white bread, thick with cold butter and topped with glistening orange salmon roe, set out for New Year's Eve, birthdays and the first course of a wedding. The pleasure is in the textures, the bead-like eggs bursting with a salty sea taste against sweet butter and soft bread. Salmon roe is salted and cured, not cooked: buy pasteurised roe in a chilled jar or tin from a good fishmonger, keep it in the fridge and eat it the day it is opened; it is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. A common mistake is spreading the butter thin; you need a proper layer to anchor the roe. Chef's tip: spoon the roe with a plastic or bone spoon rather than metal, and add it at the last minute so it stays plump.

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Mimosa salad

Named for the fluffy yellow mimosa flowers sold on every Moscow street corner for Women's Day on 8 March, this Soviet-era party salad is crowned with a snowfall of grated egg yolk. Underneath are layers of tinned salmon or saury, potato, carrot, onion and egg white, each with a little mayonnaise, so a spoonful is soft, rich and gently fishy. It is made ahead for birthdays and holidays and served chilled. Use shop-bought mayonnaise, which is made with pasteurised egg. A common mistake is mashing the fish with all its oil, which makes the bottom layer soggy. Chef's tip: grate the yolk straight over the salad at the very end, on the finest side of the grater, for the fluffiest flowers.

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Herring with potatoes

This is the simplest and best-loved Russian zakuska, on every table from a Moscow kitchen to a Siberian railway compartment: fillets of salted herring with steaming boiled potatoes, rings of raw onion, dill and a drizzle of unrefined sunflower oil that smells of toasted seeds. The contrast of cold, silky fish and hot, floury potato is the whole point, and black bread goes alongside. Salted herring is cured but not cooked, so buy ready-salted fillets from a good fishmonger or deli (made from previously frozen fish), keep them in the fridge, and note that it is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. A common mistake is serving the herring straight from very salty brine; taste it and soak it in milk or cold water first if needed. Chef's tip: use unrefined sunflower oil, its nutty smell is what makes the dish.

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Pomor-style cod

Along the White Sea coast near Arkhangelsk, the Pomors lived on cod, and this is how a fisherman's household turned a fillet into a whole supper: fish laid over sliced potatoes and buttery onions, then covered with beaten egg and milk and baked until set and golden, like a savoury fish custard. It is soft, mild and filling, and is eaten with pickled mushrooms, sauerkraut or a green salad. Where most people go wrong is using raw potato slices, which take far longer than the fish; par-boil them first. Chef's tip: salt the cod lightly 15 minutes ahead in the fridge, it firms up and does not leak water into the egg.

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Smoked omul

On the shingle beaches of Listvyanka, at the edge of Lake Baikal, women sell omul still warm from the smoke, the fish split open, threaded onto alder sticks and set around a fire until the skin turns bronze and the flesh pulls away in moist, salty flakes. Omul lives only in Baikal, so at home use small whitefish, trout or mackerel, gutted and split. A short brine in the fridge seasons the fish, then it is hot-smoked in a kettle barbecue or a lidded smoker until cooked right through. Serve it warm or cold with boiled potatoes, black bread and spring onions. The usual slip is smoking over flames rather than smouldering chips, which chars the skin before the inside is done. Chef's tip: let the brined fish dry in the fridge, uncovered, for an hour: the tacky surface takes the smoke far better.

120 minRussianFishGluten free
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Vitamin salad

"Vitamin" salad was the bright spot on every Soviet stolovaya tray, scooped from a steel tray beside the cutlets and buckwheat, and it is still how many Russians start a light lunch. Fresh white cabbage, carrot and green apple are rubbed with salt and sugar, then dressed simply with sunflower oil and vinegar, so it tastes crisp, juicy and sweet-sour. It goes with almost anything hot and is a good way to use half a cabbage. A common mistake is skipping the squeeze: crushing the cabbage with salt for a minute or two softens it and draws out juice that becomes part of the dressing. Grate the apple last so it does not brown. Chef's tip: unrefined, toasted-seed sunflower oil gives the true canteen flavour; a splash goes a long way.

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Beet salad with garlic

Grated beetroot with garlic is about as everyday as Russian cooking gets: something from the school canteen, the work buffet and the Sunday table alike, served in a small bowl beside cutlets, boiled potatoes or black bread. This dressed-up version adds chopped prunes for sticky sweetness and toasted walnuts for crunch, all bound with a spoon of mayonnaise. It tastes earthy, sweet and bright with garlic. Buy ready-cooked beetroot (not pickled) to keep it a fifteen-minute job, or boil your own the day before. The usual slip is grating the beetroot fine and leaving it in its juice, which makes the salad watery and purple-grey; grate coarsely and squeeze lightly first. For a lighter dish use thick yoghurt or sour cream in place of mayonnaise. Chef's tip: toast the walnuts; raw ones taste bitter against the beet.

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Eggplant rolls

Every birthday buffet in Russian flats seems to have a plate of these little rolls, brought out with the herring and the salads: thin strips of fried aubergine wrapped around a sharp garlic and cheese filling with a slice of tomato peeking out. The aubergine is silky, the filling creamy and punchy, and the tomato keeps it fresh. They are a cold starter, so make them an hour before guests arrive and keep them chilled. Where most people go wrong is frying thick slices in lots of oil, which leaves them greasy and stiff; slice thin, salt them, pat dry and fry in a shallow film of oil. Many hard cheeses use animal rennet, so pick a vegetarian one. Chef's tip: press the fried slices between paper towels while still warm; they shed surprising amounts of oil.

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Mushroom julienne

Restaurants in Moscow took the French word for thin strips and gave it to a hot starter: mushrooms and onion in sour cream, baked bubbling under melted cheese in little metal cocottes with a handle. It became a fixture of New Year and birthday tables, served after the cold zakuski and before the main course, with a teaspoon and a slice of bread. The sauce is creamy and savoury, the top blistered and golden. Use mushrooms you can cut into neat strips; button or chestnut mushrooms work, and a handful of wild ones adds depth. The usual slip is crowding the pan so the mushrooms stew; fry them in a hot pan until their liquid has gone. Many hard cheeses are made with animal rennet, so choose a vegetarian hard cheese. Chef's tip: no cocottes? Bake it in ramekins or hollowed-out bread rolls.

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Salted saffron milk caps

Northern Russians rank ryzhiki, the orange saffron milk caps of the pine woods, above almost every other mushroom, and salted ones from around Arkhangelsk once travelled to the tsar's table. Salted, they keep their bright colour, turn firm and juicy with a clean, resinous taste, and are served with thin onion rings, sunflower oil and hot boiled potatoes; for non-vegans a spoon of sour cream is classic. Old cellars dry-salted them raw for months; this safer fridge version blanches the caps briefly and keeps them in a measured brine in the fridge, ready in about a week. Only use mushrooms identified by an experienced forager or bought from a trusted seller. Where most people go wrong is guessing the salt; too little lets spoilage start, so weigh it. Chef's tip: the caps bruise green where handled, which is normal, so don't worry when the edges darken.

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Mors

Northern Russia picks cranberries and lingonberries from the bogs in autumn, and many of them end up as mors, a tart, crimson drink served from a jug at family dinners and offered in cafes and canteens from Arkhangelsk to Siberia. Unlike kissel it is thin and refreshing, made by pressing out the raw berry juice, cooking the skins in water and then combining the two so the fresh vitamin-rich juice is never boiled. Honey goes in last, once the liquid has cooled a little, to keep its flavour. Where most people go wrong is boiling the pressed juice along with the pulp; keep it aside until the end. Honey is not for babies under one year old. Chef's tip: serve it cold with ice in summer or warmed gently in winter; it is good both ways.

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Kissel

Kissel is the drink of Russian childhoods: a glass of silky, ruby-red berry juice, just thick enough to coat the tongue, poured warm at kindergarten lunch or cold in summer from a jug on the dacha veranda. It is also the old Maslenitsa and wake-table drink, and frozen berries make it possible all year. The flavour is sweet-sharp and fresh, the texture smooth and slightly jelly-like. A common mistake is adding the starch mixture to boiling liquid and letting it bubble for minutes; bring it just back to a simmer, then take it off, or it thins out again and can turn gluey. More starch makes a spoonable dessert kissel. Chef's tip: lay cling film or sprinkle a little sugar on the surface as it cools to stop a skin forming.

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Blini

Maslenitsa, the week of butter before Lent, is when Russia makes blini by the stack: thin, lacy, slightly sour pancakes raised with yeast and fried one after another in a hot pan, each brushed with melted butter. Old Moscow recipes used buckwheat, and a share of it here gives a nutty, earthy flavour and a speckled grey-gold colour. Eat them folded into quarters with sour cream, jam, honey or condensed milk; red caviar is the festive classic, but this version stays vegetarian. The usual slip is a pan that is not hot enough, which makes thick, pale blini that stick; the first one is always a test. A splash of boiling water whisked in at the end gives the lacy holes. Chef's tip: stack the blini on a plate and cover with a bowl as you go; the steam keeps them soft and supple.

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CervelatGrilled sausage

The cervelat, a short, fat, smoked sausage of beef and pork, is called Switzerland's national sausage, and it is what every Swiss child grills on a stick over a campfire on 1 August, National Day, on school trips and on mountain hikes: the ends are cut into a cross so they curl open like a flower as they cook, and it is eaten with bread and mustard. This sausage contains pork. Cervelat is bought ready-cooked and smoked; grilling heats it through and crisps it. A common mistake is grilling over flames, which burns the skin black before the inside is hot. Chef's tip: grill over glowing embers and turn often until the scored ends open out; heat until piping hot, 71 °C.

15 minSwissMeat
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Napoleon cake

Legend links this cake to 1912, the centenary of Napoleon's retreat from Moscow, when St Petersburg confectioners cut triangular pastries shaped like his hat. By Soviet times it had grown into the tall round cake every family baked for birthdays and New Year's Eve. Eight wafer-thin rounds of quick flaky pastry are stacked with vanilla custard enriched with butter, then left overnight so the layers soften into something between a mille-feuille and a tender sponge; crushed trimmings give the snowy finish. Where most people go wrong is serving it the same day; without the long rest in the fridge it is crisp and dry instead of melting. Chef's tip: roll each piece of pastry straight onto baking paper and trim it around a 24 cm plate before baking, so you never have to lift thin raw dough.

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Jamaican green banana porridge

Green banana porridge is the breakfast many Jamaicans remember from their grandmothers' kitchens in St Mary and St Ann, where bananas are cheap and plentiful and the porridge was said to "build you up" for the day. Unripe bananas grated or blended with water cook into a smooth, silky porridge with a gentle, earthy flavour, sweetened with condensed milk and scented with nutmeg, cinnamon and vanilla. The common mistake is not whisking as it heats; the starch thickens suddenly and goes lumpy within a minute. Peel the green bananas with oiled hands or gloves, because the sap stains. Chef's tip: blend the bananas with the water until completely smooth before they go into the pot, which makes it far easier to keep lump-free.

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Bajan coconut turnovers

Glass cases in Bridgetown bakeries hold rows of turnovers, soft golden half-moons of sweet yeasted dough with a sticky filling of grated coconut, brown sugar, almond essence and spice peeking out at the edges, often tinted red. Bajans eat them mid-morning with a mug of cocoa or a cold sweet drink. The mistake is overfilling, which bursts the seams in the oven; leave a clear border to seal. Chef's tip: cook the coconut filling until almost dry and cool it fully before using, as warm wet filling makes the dough soggy.

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Pumpkin millet porridge

Autumn in central Ukraine means piles of grey-skinned pumpkins in every yard, and the first thing many grandmothers make with them is this golden breakfast porridge. Diced pumpkin is simmered until it collapses, then millet and milk are added and the pot is left to cook down into something thick, creamy and faintly sweet, finished with butter and a spoon of honey. In villages around Cherkasy and Vinnytsia it was once baked for hours in the clay stove; a heavy pan on a low heat gives a very similar result. Serve it hot in deep bowls, with extra honey and a few raisins for children. The usual slip is skipping the rinse: millet carries a bitter dust, and only washing it in several changes of hot water takes it away. Chef's tip: choose a dense, deep-orange pumpkin such as butternut or a Ukrainian 'muscat' type; watery Halloween pumpkins make a thin, pale kasha.

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Easter pâté

A thick slice of homemade pasztet belongs on the Easter breakfast table after the blessing of the food basket, next to ham, eggs, ćwikła and white sausage. This baked loaf combines pork shoulder, chicken thighs and pork liver, simmered with root vegetables and allspice, minced twice and baked until firm, so it slices cleanly yet stays moist and spreadable. Marjoram and nutmeg give it the classic Polish flavour; serve it cold with horseradish, beetroot relish and pickles. Overbaking dries it out, but underbaking is the bigger risk with poultry and liver, so always check the centre with a thermometer. Bake it two days ahead: it needs to chill overnight to set, and it keeps for five days in the fridge. Chef's tip: save the cooking stock and add it a ladle at a time as you mix; the mixture should be as soft as thick porridge, which keeps the finished loaf juicy.

180 minPolishMeat
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Fried Christmas carp

For many Polish families, Wigilia, the meatless Christmas Eve supper, is not complete without fried carp, bought live from market tanks in mid-December or, more often today, cleaned and cut into steaks at the fishmonger. The steaks are salted, floured and fried until the skin crisps and the white flesh turns sweet and juicy. Serve with boiled potatoes, sauerkraut with peas, or simply bread and a lemon wedge, after the beetroot barszcz. Keeping a scale from the Christmas carp in your wallet is said to bring money all year. Carp has a reputation for tasting muddy, and the usual culprit is skipping the salting and resting time. Ask the fishmonger to score the steaks finely so the small Y-shaped bones soften as they fry. Chef's tip: salt the steaks and leave them in the fridge for 20 minutes, then pat completely dry; the flesh firms up and the flour clings in a thin, even crust.

40 minPolishFish
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Smoked eel

Fish smokehouses dot the shores of the Great Masurian Lakes, and an eel hot-smoked over alder, golden-skinned and glistening, is the prize of any summer trip to Węgorzewo or Ruciane-Nida. The flesh is rich, soft and smoky-sweet, and it is eaten cold on rye bread with grated horseradish and a squeeze of lemon. European wild eel is endangered, so buy farmed eel from a responsible fishmonger, ready gutted. This is a fully hot-smoked version: the fish is brined in the fridge and cooked through in the smoker. Smoked fish can carry listeria if it is not cooked through or kept cold, so it is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system unless reheated until steaming. Many home smokers run the heat too low throughout, which leaves the eel smoky but undercooked. Chef's tip: ready hot-smoked eel from a lakeside smokehouse is the easy route; just serve it well chilled with the same garnishes.

240 minPolishFishGluten free
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Fried vendace

Sielawa, the small silvery whitefish of the deep Masurian lakes, is a holiday treat in Mikołajki, Giżycko and the lakeside fish huts, sold freshly fried on paper plates with a lemon wedge and a slice of bread. The fish are so slender that, once floured and fried in butter, the fine bones become soft enough to eat and the skin turns golden and crunchy around sweet, delicate flesh. A cold cucumber salad or chips are the usual companions. Overcrowding the pan is the chief error: the fish steam instead of frying and the coating goes pale and soggy. If vendace is hard to find, smelt, small whiting or sprats work the same way. Chef's tip: dry the fish properly before flouring and fry in two batches, adding a little fresh butter and oil each time so it never burns.

25 minPolishFish
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Roast goose with apples

On 11 November, St Martin's Day and Poland's Independence Day, roast goose comes back to tables from Poznań to Gdańsk, and Pomeranian and Kujawy farms still raise their own white geese for it. The bird is rubbed with marjoram, garlic and salt, left overnight in the fridge, then stuffed with sharp apples and roasted slowly so the fat renders out and the skin turns crisp and mahogany. The meat is dark and rich, the apples collapse into a tart sauce. Serve with braised red cabbage, potato dumplings and the pan juices. Most people forget to drain the fat as it roasts, and the bird ends up frying in its own puddle; pour it off every half hour and save it for roast potatoes. Allow an extra night for the marinade. Chef's tip: prick the skin all over, especially under the wings and thighs, without piercing the meat, so the fat has somewhere to escape.

240 minPolishMeatGluten free
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Rose petal jam

Ask a Polish baker what goes inside a proper pączek and the answer is rose jam, not strawberry. In June, families gather the scented pink petals of wild beach roses (Rosa rugosa) from hedges along the Baltic coast and in gardens, then pound them with sugar into a sticky, intensely perfumed paste that keeps for a year. The flavour is floral and sweet with a little sharpness from lemon, lovely in doughnuts, swirled into yoghurt or spread on cheesecake. Pick only from plants that have not been sprayed and away from roads. Where most people go wrong is leaving the bitter white base of the petals on; snip it off. Chef's tip: lemon juice turns dull petals bright magenta, so add it right at the start.

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Stuffed eggs

The clever bit of the Polish Easter version is that the eggs are halved lengthways shell and all with a sharp knife, then the filling goes back into the shells and the cut sides are fried until crusty. It is a dish of the Easter breakfast and of name-day parties, served hot from the pan or cold from the fridge. The filling of mashed yolk, chives, mayonnaise and a little mustard turns golden and slightly crisp on top while staying soft beneath. Where most people go wrong is cutting with a blunt knife, which shatters the shell; use a large, very sharp knife and one firm stroke. Chef's tip: chill the boiled eggs fully before cutting so the white holds together.

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Cabbage with peas

Of the twelve dishes on a Polish Christmas Eve table, this is the humblest and often the one people go back to for seconds. Sour, tangy sauerkraut is braised slowly with yellow split peas until the peas collapse into a soft, savoury mash that binds the cabbage, with dried mushrooms and golden onion for depth. Serve it warm next to pierogi or potatoes, and know that it tastes even better reheated the next day. The usual slip is adding salt before the peas are cooked, which keeps them hard; season only at the end, as the sauerkraut is salty anyway. Chef's tip: if your sauerkraut is very sour, rinse it once and squeeze it, keeping a little juice to adjust the sharpness later.

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Christmas mushroom soup

In many Polish homes the Christmas Eve supper opens with either beetroot barszcz or this soup, and families argue about which is better. Dried porcini picked and threaded on strings in September are soaked and simmered with root vegetables into a clear, deep-brown broth with a smoky, almost meaty depth, then served with thin noodles or łazanki. It is fully meat-free, as Wigilia tradition requires, and kept dairy-free here. A common mistake is pouring the soaking water in with its grit; let it settle and leave the last spoonfuls behind. Chef's tip: soak the mushrooms overnight in cold water and cook them in that water for the most flavour.

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Estonian kringle

Kringel is the celebration bread of Estonia, baked for birthdays and name days and carried to every visit: a rich yeast dough rolled with cinnamon butter and sugar, sliced lengthways, twisted into a braided wreath so the layers show, and baked until golden. In Tallinn's old-town cafés it is sold by the slice with coffee. A common mistake is cutting the roll with a blunt knife, which squashes the layers. Chef's tip: chill the filled roll for 15 minutes before slicing; it cuts cleanly and twists without the filling escaping.

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Chanterelles in cream

From July, roadside sellers along the lake roads of Masuria hold up baskets of golden chanterelles, and holidaymakers in Mrągowo and Giżycko cook them the same evening. The mushrooms are fried with onion until their juices cook away, then bathed in sour cream and dill, giving a sauce that is peppery, faintly apricot-scented and very rich. Spoon it over new potatoes, buckwheat or a thick slice of toast. Where most people go wrong is washing chanterelles under the tap, so they boil in their own water and turn rubbery. Only eat wild mushrooms you have bought from a trusted seller or that an expert has identified. Chef's tip: brush the mushrooms clean, tear large ones and cook them in a hot, wide pan so they sear rather than stew.

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Grilled oscypek with cranberry

Walk down Krupówki street in Zakopane in any season and the smell of smoke and warm cheese leads you to the grills, where highlanders turn thick slices of oscypek until they are striped and soft. The real thing is a spindle-shaped, carved sheep's milk cheese smoked in mountain huts; grilled, it turns chewy and squeaky outside, salty and smoky within, and the sharp-sweet cranberry cuts through it perfectly. Oscypek is made with animal rennet, so for a vegetarian plate use a smoked sheep's or cow's cheese made with vegetarian rennet, firm enough to hold its shape. The usual slip is slicing too thin; the cheese then melts through the grill. Chef's tip: oil the pan, not the cheese, and don't move the slices until they release on their own.

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Highland grilled trout

Trout farms fed by cold Tatra streams supply the roadside grills and mountain inns of Podhale, and pstrąg po góralsku is what hikers order on the terrace with a view of Giewont: a whole fish, stuffed with garlic and fresh herbs, crisped in butter until the skin crackles. The flesh is sweet and delicate, scented by dill and parsley from the inside out. Serve it with boiled new potatoes, lemon and a cucumber salad with sour cream. The classic error is flipping too early, so the skin tears and sticks; leave it until it releases on its own. If you have a grill basket, the same fish is excellent over charcoal. Chef's tip: score the thickest part of each side twice, right down to the bone, so the head end cooks as fast as the tail.

28 minPolishFishGluten free
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Jamaican pepper shrimp

Drive through Middle Quarters in St Elizabeth and women by the roadside will lean into the car window holding bags of bright red pepper shrimp, calling "pepa swimps!" The river shrimp are boiled whole in a fiery brine of scotch bonnet, pimento, garlic and salt, then left to soak up the heat, and eaten with the fingers, shells and all sucked clean. Large shell-on prawns make a fine substitute. The usual mistake is overboiling, which leaves the shrimp rubbery; they need only a few minutes before steeping off the heat. Discard any shrimp that smell of ammonia or have soft, slimy shells before cooking. Chef's tip: a teaspoon of annatto or paprika gives the deep red colour of the roadside bags.

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Fried gobies

Odesa's beloved bychky, the little big-headed gobies of the Black Sea, are sold by the bucket at Pryvoz market and fried in sunflower oil in kitchens and beach cafés all summer. Dusted with seasoned flour and fried hard, they come out crunchy and golden, with sweet white flesh and bones so small they are eaten whole. Serve with lemon, a tomato and cucumber salad, bread and plenty of dill. Most people go wrong by using too little oil, so the fish stick and the coating flakes away; you want a good centimetre in the pan. Outside the Black Sea region, smelt, sprats or small whiting work the same way. Chef's tip: for the crunchiest result, ask for the heads to be removed and the fish gutted, salt them 10 minutes in the fridge, then dry them very well before flouring.

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Sri Lankan patties

Patties are the short eat that marks a Sri Lankan celebration, made by the hundred for weddings, Avurudu New Year visits and Christmas open houses, and sold warm from bakeries in paper bags. The pastry is the clue to their identity: rich with butter, egg and coconut milk, rolled thin, folded into half-moons and crimped with a fork, then fried until blistered and flaky. Inside is a gently spiced mix of chicken, potato and leeks with a hint of cinnamon, and a vegetable filling of potato, carrot and leek is equally common when guests are vegetarian. It goes wrong when the filling is still warm when it meets the pastry, which then softens, tears and leaks in the oil. Chef's tip: rest the pastry in the fridge for half an hour before rolling, and press the edges with a fork dipped in flour so they seal firmly.

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Sri Lankan Chinese rolls

Nobody in Sri Lanka quite knows why they are called Chinese rolls, but every bakery glass case and tea-shop counter from Kandy to Matara has a tray of them: thin crêpes wrapped around a peppery filling, dipped in batter, rolled in breadcrumbs and fried to a golden crunch. Fish is the classic, usually tuna or mackerel cooked with potato, leeks, onion, curry leaves and green chilli, and the rolls go to office tea breaks, almsgiving receptions and children's birthday parties, always with a bottle of chilli sauce. A potato and leek version without fish is just as popular and makes them vegetarian. People often go wrong by making the pancakes too thick, which gives a doughy roll that never crisps. Chef's tip: roll each one tightly like a spring roll, tucking the sides in, so the filling cannot burst out in the oil.

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Sri Lankan buryani

At a Sri Lankan Muslim wedding or a Friday gathering in Colombo's Maradana or Kandy's old town, buryani arrives on huge platters, each portion crowned with a leg of chicken, a halved boiled egg, fried cashews and sultanas. It is lighter and more perfumed than most mainland Indian versions, built on chicken marinated in yoghurt and warm spices, layered with long-grain rice, fried onions, mint and rose water, then sealed and steamed so the grains take on the aroma. It is never eaten alone: a sharp mint sambol, a sweet-sour pickle called achcharu and a bowl of raita-like salad are the expected companions. A frequent misstep is boiling the rice fully before layering, which leaves it mushy after the steaming. Chef's tip: drain the rice when it is about 70 percent cooked, still with a firm white core, because it finishes in the steam.

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Jaffna goat curry

Goat is the celebration meat of the Tamil north, and a Jaffna aattukkari cooked for a temple feast day, a wedding lunch or a Sunday at home is thick, brick-red and ferociously spicy. The secret is the local curry powder, roasted much darker and hotter than in the south, fried in oil with onion, garlic and fennel until it almost catches, then simmered slowly with the meat until the gravy reduces to a coating. Chunks of potato soak up the sauce, and the whole thing is eaten with rice, idiyappam or Jaffna-style puttu, with a cooling bowl of curd or coconut sambol on the side. The pitfall here is rushing the simmer; goat needs patience and goes chewy if it is cooked hard and fast. Chef's tip: brown the meat well in the spice paste before any liquid goes in, which gives the gravy its deep, almost smoky flavour.

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Jaffna crab curry

The shallow lagoons around Jaffna and the islands of Kayts and Delft produce big, sweet mud crabs, and the town's answer to them is a curry so dark and hot that visitors are warned before they order. Jaffna curry powder, heavy with roasted red chilli, coriander and fennel, is fried in sesame oil with onion and garlic, then loosened with tamarind and a little coconut milk so the sauce clings to every crack in the shell. A handful of moringa leaves wilted in at the end adds a grassy note, and the crab is eaten with the hands, sucked from the shell, alongside plain rice or puttu. A frequent misstep is boiling the crab hard for too long, which makes the meat dry and stringy. Chef's tip: crack the claws before cooking so the sauce soaks in and the meat is easy to reach at the table.

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Hot butter cuttlefish

Along Colombo's Galle Road and in the seafood restaurants of Negombo, hot butter cuttlefish is the dish nearly every table orders first, a heap of golden, crunchy strips that disappear while the rice and curries are still on their way. The cuttlefish is scored, dipped in a light, chilli-spiked batter and fried hard, then thrown into a pan of foaming butter with garlic, dried chilli flakes, green chilli and a big handful of spring onion. The result is crisp outside, tender within, rich, salty and properly hot, and it is eaten as a starter or alongside fried rice and a fresh lime. It goes wrong when the cuttlefish fries too long, because it turns rubbery after about two minutes in the oil. Chef's tip: score the inside of each piece in a fine criss-cross so it curls and grabs the batter, and fry in small batches so the oil stays hot.

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Devilled chicken

Few plates are more Colombo than devilled chicken, the sticky, fiery stir-fry born in the city's Sri Lankan-Chinese restaurants and now cooked in home kitchens for birthday parties, Saturday fried-rice nights and office lunch boxes. Bite-sized pieces of chicken are fried crisp, then tossed in a wok with wedges of onion, green capsicum and tomato in a glossy sauce of chilli flakes, ketchup and soy, so every piece is sweet, salty and hot at once. It is served with yellow fried rice or simply as a side to a rice-and-curry spread, and for a meat-free version you can devil button mushrooms or parboiled potato cubes in exactly the same sauce. Where most people go wrong is overloading the wok with vegetables, which then steam and go limp instead of staying crunchy. Chef's tip: separate the onion wedges into single petals before they hit the pan, so they char at the edges in under a minute.

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Sri Lankan chicken curry

Sunday lunch in a Colombo family home very often means a pot of kukul mas curry, the chicken chopped small on the bone and simmered in a gravy darkened by curry powder that has been roasted until it smells almost like coffee. Pandan leaf, curry leaves, cinnamon bark and cardamom carry the perfume, while coconut milk stirred in towards the end rounds off the chilli heat without making the sauce heavy. It shares the table with red rice, parippu, pol sambol and a green mallung, and whatever is left over tastes even better the next morning with string hoppers. A common slip is using raw, unroasted curry powder, which tastes dusty and flat instead of deep and smoky. Chef's tip: roast the spices for the powder until they are the colour of milk chocolate and grind them while still warm, so the oils release into the powder.

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Sri Lankan milk toffee

Every school fair, office bake sale and Avurudu table in Sri Lanka has a plate of milk toffee, the pale golden squares that are firm when you pick them up yet melt away in a sweet, slightly grainy crumble in your mouth. A tin of condensed milk is cooked with sugar and butter, stirred constantly for half an hour until it thickens and leaves the pan, then flavoured with chopped cashews and a whisper of cardamom and vanilla. It is simple enough for children to help with, as long as an adult does the hot stirring. Stopping too early is the trap almost everyone falls into, leaving a soft, chewy fudge instead of the proper crumbly snap. Cook until the mixture rolls into a ball, turns a shade darker and a drop set in cold water is firm. Chef's tip: mark the squares with a buttered knife while the toffee is still warm, because once it cools it will only break into rough pieces.

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Pickled green tomatoes

In southern Ukraine the first cold nights of October leave every garden full of hard green tomatoes that will never ripen, and rather than waste them, cooks around Odesa and Kherson slit each one and stuff it with a punchy paste of garlic, dill, parsley and hot chilli. A week in brine turns them sour and fizzy, with a crunch and a slow burn from the chilli. They are the pickle everyone reaches for at the winter table, next to potatoes fried with onions or a bowl of buckwheat. Most people go wrong by cutting the tomatoes right through, so the filling falls out; slice only two-thirds of the way. As with any ferment, keep everything below the brine and discard the jar if it grows fuzzy or coloured mould or smells rotten. Chef's tip: pick tomatoes that are just starting to blush pale; fully hard dark-green ones stay bitter.

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Pickled watermelon

When the melon fields of Kherson and Mykolaiv end their season, the small, late watermelons that never got properly sweet go into barrels of brine. A few weeks later they come out fizzy, salty and sour, with the pink flesh still faintly sweet and the rind crisp like a pickled cucumber. Southern families eat them through the winter with boiled potatoes, buckwheat or a plate of fried mushrooms. A big glass jar works just as well as a barrel for wedges. The classic error is using a ripe, soft watermelon, which turns to mush in the brine; pick small, firm ones with pale pink flesh. Keep everything under the brine and throw out the batch if fuzzy or coloured mould appears or it smells rotten rather than sour. Chef's tip: slip a horseradish or cherry leaf into the jar; the tannins keep the rind crunchy for weeks.

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Beet kvass

Before lemons and vinegar were easy to buy, Ukrainian cooks soured their borscht with beet kvass, a ruby-red brine made by leaving sliced raw beetroot in salted water for a few days. It is lightly fermented, so it contains no more than a negligible trace of alcohol, and it tastes earthy, salty and pleasantly sharp. In Poltava and Chernihiv villages a jar always stood by the stove; a splash went into the soup pot and a small glass was drunk in the morning as a tonic. Some families add a crust of rye bread to speed things up, which makes it no longer gluten-free. The mistake most people make is leaving the beetroot floating: anything above the brine can grow mould, so keep it weighed down. Discard any batch with fuzzy or coloured mould, a slimy texture or a rotten smell. Chef's tip: a few slices left in the jar from the previous batch start the next one in half the time.

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Batticaloa fish curry

Batticaloa sits between a long lagoon and the sea, and its Tamil and Muslim cooks make a fish curry that tastes of both: sour with tamarind, round and mellow with coconut milk, and fragrant with fennel, fenugreek and curry leaves. Seer fish, called thora or vanjiram, is the favourite because its firm steaks hold together in the gravy, though any meaty sea fish works. The curry is a weekday staple, cooked in the morning and eaten at lunch with rice, a lentil dhal and a fried vegetable, and it is even better a few hours later once the fish has absorbed the sauce. Most disappointing versions come from stirring the pot after the fish goes in, which breaks the steaks into flakes. Chef's tip: swirl the pan instead of stirring, and spoon the sauce over the fish so it cooks evenly without being moved.

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Sri Lankan vegetable roti

The glass cabinet of every Colombo bakery and railway canteen holds a pile of short eats at teatime, and the neat, golden triangles of vegetable roti are usually the first to go. They are made from godamba dough, oiled and rested until it can be stretched almost transparent, then wrapped around a peppery potato filling with leek, carrot, curry leaves and chilli, and cooked on a hot griddle until crisp and blistered. People eat them hot from the paper bag with a bottle of chilli sauce or a cup of milk tea. Fish and egg roti are just as common; this one is fully vegan. Most first attempts fail because the dough is not rested long enough and springs back when stretched; give it at least two hours under oil, or overnight in the fridge. Chef's tip: make the filling fairly dry and cool it completely before folding, otherwise the steam tears the delicate dough.

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Sri Lankan love cake

Love cake is the Burgher Christmas and birthday cake, a legacy of Portuguese rule shaped by Sri Lankan spice gardens, and Colombo families argue happily over whose grandmother's recipe is best. Roasted semolina, butter and a huge quantity of whisked egg yolks and sugar are folded with chopped cashews, pumpkin preserve, rosewater, cardamom, cinnamon and nutmeg, then baked slowly so the top forms a crisp, sugary crust while the inside stays moist, dense and almost chewy. It is cut into small squares because it is very rich, and served with tea or packed into little boxes for guests. A common mistake is baking until a skewer comes out completely clean, which leaves it dry; the centre should still be slightly sticky. Pumpkin preserve (puhul dosi) is sold in Sri Lankan shops; candied winter melon, sold as petha, is the closest substitute. Chef's tip: make it two days ahead, as the spices and rosewater deepen as the cake rests.

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Curd and treacle

Driving the southern coast road past Tangalle towards Hambantota, you pass stall after stall stacked with round clay chatties of meekiri, the firm, slightly sour curd made from buffalo milk, with bottles of dark kithul treacle hanging beside them. Turned out into a bowl and flooded with treacle, it is the South's great dessert: cool, rich and tangy against the smoky, toffee-like sweetness of the palm syrup, eaten after lunch or as a snack in the heat of the day. Setting it at home is easy with pasteurised buffalo milk or creamy whole cow's milk, a spoon of live curd and a warm spot overnight. The mistake that ruins most first batches is adding the starter while the milk is still too hot, which kills the culture and leaves you with warm milk in the morning. Chef's tip: unglazed clay pots draw out a little whey, which is why traditional curd is so thick; soak them in water and dry them well before using.

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Kogel-mogel

Ask anyone who grew up in a Warsaw block of flats about kogel-mogel and they will remember standing in the kitchen beating yolks and sugar in a mug with a teaspoon, waiting for it to turn pale. It is the simplest Polish treat: thick, mousse-like and very sweet, sometimes with cocoa, eaten from a glass with a spoon or dolloped on fruit. Because the yolks are raw, use pasteurised eggs, which most supermarkets sell as cartons of yolks or as pasteurised whole eggs. Even so, raw eggs are not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. The common mistake is stopping too soon; it needs a good 5 minutes of whisking until it doubles and almost all the sugar has dissolved. Chef's tip: use caster sugar, which disappears faster and gives a silkier result.

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Amba maluwaSweet spicy mango curry

Maluwa usually means a fish curry, yet in Matara and the southern villages the name also goes to this mango dish, perhaps because it is cooked with the same bold spices and was once a stand-in for fish on fasting days. Half-ripe mangoes are cut into chunks with their skin on, then simmered with dark roasted curry powder, chilli, cinnamon and a sharp paste of ground mustard seed and vinegar, sweetened with sugar and finished with coconut milk. The result is hot, sweet and tangy at once, and it is a favourite on wedding and almsgiving spreads, eaten in small amounts with yellow or white rice. Fully ripe mangoes are the wrong choice, because they collapse into jam; pick fruit that is just turning yellow and still firm to the touch. Chef's tip: keep the skin on the mango pieces, as it holds them together during cooking and adds a pleasant, slightly chewy texture.

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Polish-style cauliflower

‘Po polsku’ on a Polish menu means one thing: a vegetable topped with crumbs fried in plenty of butter. In Warsaw canteens and on Sunday tables, a whole cauliflower arrives this way next to potatoes and a salad, and children who claim to hate cauliflower eat it happily. The florets are tender and sweet, the crumbs nutty and crisp. A common mistake is boiling the cauliflower until it falls apart; it should keep a slight bite in the stalk. Chef's tip: a pinch of sugar and a splash of milk in the boiling water keep the cauliflower white and sweet.

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Norwegian heart waffles

In Norway, waffles are not a breakfast but an everyday treat: thin, soft heart-shaped vafler made with sour cream and cardamom, sold at school fairs and football matches and made at home on Sunday afternoons, eaten folded with strawberry jam and sour cream or brown cheese. Their texture is soft rather than crisp. A common mistake is opening the iron too early, which tears them. Chef's tip: let the batter rest for 30 minutes and brush the iron with butter before each waffle; they lift out whole and golden.

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Muri ghonto

For a Bengali family, the head of a big rohu is the part saved for the guest of honour or the new son-in-law at Jamai Shashthi, and the finest thing to do with it is muri ghonto. The head is fried in mustard oil, broken into pieces and cooked with a handful of fragrant short-grain rice, diced potato and warm spices until it becomes a thick, almost dry mash, finished with ghee and garam masala. In Dhaka homes it is eaten in the middle of a meal, after the shak and dal and before the main fish curry, with plain rice. Many cooks leave the head in big lumps, but it should be broken up after frying so the rich flavour from the head spreads through the rice. Chef's tip: buy the head from a large fish of at least 2 kg and ask the fishmonger to remove the gills and split it for you.

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Bangladeshi dal puriLentil-filled puri

Wherever there is a tea stall in Dhaka, from the Nilkhet book market to the gates of the university, there is a wok of oil and a man rolling dal puri at speed, three or four at a time. These are thin and flat, not puffed, with a seam of dry, cumin-scented red lentil filling that you can see through the blistered skin; they are eaten straight from the wok with a cup of sweet tea, a spoon of tamarind chutney or just a pinch of raw onion and green chilli. Students treat them as lunch and office workers as an afternoon snack. Where people usually go wrong is a filling that is too wet, which bursts through the dough and spits in the oil. Chef's tip: cook the lentils just until they crush, then dry the mash in the pan with the onions until it holds together like crumbly dough.

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Chakma bamboo shoot curry

When the monsoon reaches the Chittagong Hill Tracts, young bamboo shoots push up through the forest floor around Rangamati and Bandarban, and Chakma and Marma families cut them for a quick, clean-tasting curry. Hill cooking uses very little oil and few dry spices; the flavour comes from fistfuls of green chilli, garlic and herbs such as culantro (sawtooth coriander), and a spoon of ground rice thickens the broth. At home it is very often cooked with shidol, a fermented dried fish paste, or nappi; this version is fully vegetarian. The shoots are crunchy and faintly sweet, and the curry is eaten with plenty of plain rice. Raw fresh bamboo shoots contain natural toxins, so they must always be boiled first and the water thrown away; skipping that step is the one mistake you cannot make here. Chef's tip: if you use canned or vacuum-packed shoots, rinse and boil them for 5 minutes anyway to freshen their taste.

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Afghan green chutney

No Afghan table of kebab or palaw feels complete without a little bowl of green chutni, the sharp, fiery relish spooned beside the rice, onto bolani and over grilled meat from Kabul to Kandahar. Unlike many South Asian green chutneys, the Afghan one leans on vinegar rather than lime and is thickened with walnuts, so it is slightly creamy, bright green and properly hot, with a pungent hit of raw garlic. Households make a jar at a time and keep it in the fridge through the week. People often blitz it into a thin juice; pulse it instead so you can still see flecks of leaf and nut. Chef's tip: keep the coriander stalks in, as they have more flavour than the leaves and help the chutney stay green for days.

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Kata-kat

You hear kata-kat before you see it: on Karachi's Burns Road and around Lahore's Gawalmandi, the cook stands over a tawa a metre wide, chopping kidneys, hearts and meat with two heavy steel blades in a clattering rhythm that gives the dish its name. Butter, tomatoes, green chillies and spice go in by the handful, and the mix is cooked down until rich and sticky, then scooped up with naan late at night. Traditional versions include brains, cooked in at the end; here they are optional. The danger is undercooking the offal while the meat is still chewy, so start the meat first and add kidney and heart later, cooking until there is no pink at all. Chef's tip: soak the kidneys in salted water for 20 minutes after removing the white core, which takes away any strong smell.

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Pakistani chicken corn soup

Come the first cold evening of winter, carts with steaming steel pots appear on Karachi's Tariq Road and Lahore's Liberty Market, and queues form for chicken corn soup in disposable cups. It is Pakistani-Chinese food at its most loved: a thick, glossy soup of shredded chicken, creamed sweetcorn and silky egg ribbons, which each person seasons at the cart with chilli vinegar, soy sauce and chilli sauce from squeezy bottles. Children love it plain; adults douse it. Pouring the egg into a rapidly boiling soup turns it into scrambled lumps, so keep it at a gentle simmer and stir slowly in one direction. Chef's tip: for a vegetarian version, use a good vegetable stock, leave out the chicken and add a handful of finely chopped carrot and cabbage.

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Kandahari pomegranate juice

Kandahar's pomegranates, heavy fruits with dark ruby seeds and soft pips, are the pride of southern Afghanistan, and in October and November juice stalls in the city's bazaars press them to order in big iron hand presses. The juice is deep red, sweet with a clean sour finish and a faint tannic grip, drunk on its own in a tall glass, often with a pinch of salt. At home you can get almost the same thing with a citrus press or a blender. The bitterness that ruins many homemade glasses comes from crushing the white pith and hard pips, so blend the seeds only for a few seconds, or press the halves gently. Chef's tip: roll each whole pomegranate firmly on the worktop before cutting it, which bursts many of the seeds inside and makes juicing faster.

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Jamaican peanut porridge

Before an early shift or a long day in the field, plenty of Jamaicans swear by peanut porridge, thick, nutty and filling enough to last until lunch; it is sold hot in cups from carts in downtown Kingston in the mornings. Roasted peanuts are blended with oats and water into a smooth paste, then cooked with milk until creamy and finished with nutmeg, vanilla and condensed milk. The mistake people make is cooking it over too high a heat, which scorches the bottom within minutes; peanuts burn easily, so stir and keep it at a simmer. This contains peanuts, milk and oats (gluten unless certified gluten-free). Chef's tip: toast the peanuts in a dry pan until they smell rich before blending, which deepens the flavour enormously.

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Jamaican roast corn

Drive the road over Mount Diablo or past Faith's Pen and you will see vendors fanning half-drums of glowing coal, with corn cobs turning slowly until the kernels are charred, chewy and smoky. Jamaican roast corn is drier and nuttier than boiled corn, closer to a snack to gnaw on the move, sometimes rubbed with salted butter and sometimes eaten plain with a cup of hot "fish tea" soup. The most common mistake is roasting over flames rather than embers, which blackens the outside before the inside cooks. Starchy, slightly mature cobs are traditional; very sweet corn burns faster, so keep it moving. Chef's tip: pull off the husks before roasting, as the vendors do, so the kernels char directly and pick up all the smoke.

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Mchewek (almond cookies)

Mchewek means something like 'prickly', which is exactly how these cookies look: balls of almond paste rolled in flaked almonds so the flakes stick out like spines, each topped with half a candied cherry and baked only until the tips turn gold. Inside they stay soft and chewy, like a rustic macaroon. Being made with no flour, they suit anyone avoiding gluten, and they appear on Eid and wedding trays all over Algeria, often brushed with a little honey syrup for shine. Chef's tip: take them out when the edges are just golden and the centres still feel soft; overbaking is the classic mistake and leaves them dry and crumbly once cool.

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Arayeche (almond star pastries)

Picture a star with three plump arms: arayeche are shaped from a ball of orange-blossom almond paste wrapped in very thin pastry and pinched into points, baked pale, dipped in honey and then rolled in icing sugar until snow-white. Along with dziriettes and makrout, they are fixtures of the sweet trays at weddings and Eid in Algiers, set out in paper cases with mint tea. The pastry is crisp and fine, the almond filling dense and fragrant, and the coating of sugar sticks to the honey in a sweet crust. Chef's tip: pull them out of the oven while still pale with barely golden tips; browned arayeche are a common mistake and taste dry once the sugar goes on.

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Seven-layer tea

Visitors to the tea gardens of Srimangal, in Sylhet's Moulvibazar district, queue at small tea cabins to see a glass of tea striped in seven distinct bands, from creamy white at the bottom to pale green-gold at the top. The original recipe is a closely guarded secret of the tea-maker who made it famous, but the principle is simple physics: each layer carries a different amount of sugar, so the heaviest sits at the bottom and the lightest floats on top. This home version uses condensed milk, green tea, strong black tea, milk tea, lemon tea, spiced tea and plain tea, and it is drunk slowly, layer by layer, with a long spoon. Pouring too fast is what ruins it; each layer should trickle down the inside of the glass over the back of a spoon. Chef's tip: let all the brews cool to warm, about 50 °C, so temperature differences don't stir the layers.

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Sharmout (Sudanese dried beef, oven method)

Across Darfur and Kordofan, and in kitchens throughout Sudan around Eid al-Adha, strips of lean beef are salted and hung to dry in the hot, dry air for several days until they turn hard and dark. That sharmout is then pounded and fried with onion to give tagalia, kawal and other stews their rich, savoury depth. Air-drying raw meat at home is risky, so this safer version heats the strips to 71 °C first and then dries them slowly in a low oven, and the finished sharmout is kept in the fridge. The traditional raw air-dried version is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. Leaving fat on the strips is the usual mistake: fat does not dry and turns rancid, so trim every bit. Chef's tip: partly freeze the beef so you can slice it into even 5 mm strips along the grain.

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Kamounia (Sudanese cumin offal stew)

Named after kammoun, cumin, this Sudanese stew of lamb offal is a Khartoum favourite after Eid al-Adha, when every household has fresh heart, kidneys and liver from the sacrifice, and it is also sold in restaurants for breakfast and lunch. The meat is cooked with lots of onion, garlic, tomato and a heavy hand of cumin until the sauce is thick and dark and smells wonderful. It is eaten with bread or kisra and a squeeze of lime. Putting the liver in with the heart is the classic mistake: liver turns grainy and dry when overcooked, so add it only in the last 10 minutes. Chef's tip: toast whole cumin seeds in a dry pan and grind them yourself; the flavour is twice as strong.

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Kawari (Sudanese trotter soup)

Small restaurants in Khartoum's markets open early to sell bowls of kawari, a soup of cow's or sheep's trotters cooked for hours until the meat and gelatinous skin slip off the bone and the broth turns rich and sticky. It is seasoned simply with onion, garlic, cardamom and black pepper and then brightened at the table with lime, chilli and raw garlic, and it is eaten with bread, especially on cold mornings and as a reviving breakfast. The flavour is deep and meaty, the texture silky. Skipping the first blanch is the usual mistake: it leaves the soup murky and smelling of the farmyard. Buy trotters already cleaned and cut by the butcher, and scrape off any remaining hair. Chef's tip: a pressure cooker cuts the simmering to about 1½ hours.

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Mullah tagalia (Sudanese dried-meat and okra stew)

Tagalia is the stew northern Sudanese families turn to for everyday lunches and when guests arrive unannounced, because it is made almost entirely from the store cupboard: pounded sharmout, dried okra powder called weika and a mountain of onions fried slowly until dark. Unlike mullah bamia, which uses fresh okra, it is smooth, thick and dark brown, with a rich, savoury, slightly smoky taste, and it is scooped up with kisra or aseeda from one shared bowl. Cooks in Nubia and along the Nile say good tagalia is all in the onion. Dumping the weika in at once is the classic mistake, and it sets into slimy lumps; sprinkle it slowly while whisking. Chef's tip: keep frying the onions until they are a deep chestnut colour but never black; burnt onion makes the whole pot bitter.

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Mullah kawal (Darfur fermented-leaf stew)

Kawal is one of Darfur's great pantry secrets: the leaves of a wild legume that grows among the sorghum are pounded, fermented in a buried pot for a couple of weeks and dried into dark little balls with a smell as strong as blue cheese. Crumbled into a stew of fried onion, dried meat and tomato and thickened with okra powder, it gives a deep, savoury, almost meaty flavour that people in Darfur and Kordofan crave, and the stew is eaten with aseeda or kisra. Kawal is very hard to find outside Sudan; fermented locust beans (dawadawa or iru) from West African shops are the closest substitute, or use mashed fermented black beans. Too much kawal is the beginner's mistake; start with a little and taste. Chef's tip: soak the kawal in warm water for 10 minutes and mash it before it goes in, so it dissolves evenly.

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Agashe (Sudanese peanut-crusted beef skewers)

On Khartoum evenings the smoke from agashe grills drifts across the streets: thin slices of beef threaded onto sticks, coated in a dry rub of ground roasted peanuts, ginger, chilli and garlic, and grilled fast over charcoal until crusty and fragrant. The style came to Sudan with West African communities and is close cousin to Nigerian suya, but it has become a Khartoum favourite in its own right, served with sliced onion, tomato, lime and a sprinkle of extra spice. Slicing the beef too thick is the usual error, because the crust burns before the inside is done; aim for 5 mm. Marinate in the fridge, never on the counter. Chef's tip: dust the skewers with a second coat of peanut mix halfway through grilling for the best crust.

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Sudanese shorba (lamb and peanut Ramadan soup)

Every evening during Ramadan, Khartoum tables are set with dates, juices and a big pot of shorba, a lamb broth full of carrots, potato and onion made creamy with peanut butter and sharpened with lime. It is the first thing many families eat after the dates, warm and gentle on an empty stomach, and it is made in quantity to share with neighbours. The soup is savoury, nutty and lightly spiced, thick enough to coat a spoon. Adding peanut butter straight into the pot is a mistake, as it clumps; whisk it smooth with hot broth first. Chef's tip: skim the broth carefully in the first 10 minutes for a clean taste, and finish with lime just before serving.

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Dama (Sudanese beef and tomato stew)

Thick, red and full of garlic, dama is the tomato stew that Khartoum families make for weekday lunches and that restaurants serve in shiny steel bowls with gurasa, the soft, thick Sudanese pancake, or with bread and rice. Beef is browned, then simmered with a generous amount of onion, fresh tomato, tomato paste and gentle warm spices, cardamom and a little cinnamon, until the sauce is rich enough to cling to every piece. The meat ends up spoon-tender. Adding all the liquid at once is the common mistake; it gives a thin, watery sauce, so add water little by little as the stew needs it. Chef's tip: grate the onions rather than chopping them, so they melt into the sauce and thicken it without flour.

105 minSudaneseMeatGluten free
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Abreh (Sudanese white sorghum flake drink)

Where hilu-mur is dark and spiced, abreh abyad, white abreh, is its pale, gentle partner: a batter of white sorghum flour is left to sour lightly, then baked into thin cream-coloured flakes that are soaked in cold, sweetened water and served at iftar across northern Sudan. The drink is cloudy, refreshing and faintly tangy, a good way to rehydrate after a long day of fasting; some families add a splash of lime or a little cardamom. The overnight souring takes 12–18 hours and is not counted in the totals; it is non-alcoholic, and the flakes are dried hard on the griddle. Spreading the batter too thickly is the classic mistake, so work fast and thin. Chef's tip: make a big batch in one session; the dry flakes keep for months in a tin, so a jug of abreh is only an hour away.

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Hilu-mur (Sudanese spiced sorghum Ramadan drink)

Weeks before Ramadan, households across Sudan fill with the smell of hilu-mur, literally 'sweet-bitter', as sorghum is sprouted, dried, ground and mixed with flour, dates and a heady spice blend, left to sour for a day, then spread paper-thin on a hot griddle into brittle reddish-brown flakes. Each evening during the month a handful is soaked in water, strained and sweetened, giving the dark, tangy, clove-and-ginger-scented drink that breaks the fast. The souring is short, like a sourdough, and the flakes are cooked dry; the drink is non-alcoholic and served to the whole family. The full process takes about 5 days: 3 days to sprout, 1 to dry and a night to sour, so only active and cooking time are in the totals. Many people buy ready-made flakes from Sudanese shops. Discard any grain that smells musty or shows mould while sprouting. The usual mistake is pouring the batter too thick on the griddle; the flakes should be paper-thin to dry crisp. Chef's tip: spread the batter as thinly as you can; thick flakes stay chewy and go mouldy in storage.

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Madeeda (Sudanese warm millet and milk drink)

Thick enough to sip slowly from a glass but thinner than porridge, madeeda is a warming drink from northern Sudan made by cooking flour, often pearl millet, in milk and sweetening it with sugar or dates. Families make it on cool winter mornings, for anyone feeling under the weather and for new mothers, and it is a gentle way to break the fast in Ramadan. This version uses millet flour with cardamom and a little cinnamon, so it is smooth, nutty and lightly spiced. Lumps are the usual problem: whisk the flour into cold milk before it goes onto the heat. A frequent slip is not stirring enough, so the millet catches and the milk scorches. Chef's tip: for a date version, blitz 6 soft pitted dates with the milk and halve the sugar.

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Aradeib (Sudanese tamarind drink)

Tamarind trees shade villages throughout Darfur and Kordofan, and their sticky brown pods become aradeib, one of the best-loved Sudanese cold drinks. The pulp is soaked, rubbed and strained, then sweetened to make a deep amber, puckeringly sour drink that cuts through rich food and is much loved at iftar through Ramadan. It is also drunk as a home remedy for upset stomachs and heat. Seedy block tamarind from any Asian or African shop works perfectly. Pouring boiling water straight onto the pulp and leaving it too long draws out a harsh, tannic edge, so use hot rather than boiling water and strain after an hour. Avoid squeezing the soaked tamarind through a cloth too hard; fibres get through and make the drink cloudy and gritty. Chef's tip: make a concentrate and keep it in the fridge for up to a week; dilute with cold water by the glass.

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Guddaim (Sudanese grewia berry drink)

Small, round guddaim berries, the fruit of a wild grewia shrub that grows across Kordofan and Darfur, are dried and sold by the cupful in Sudanese markets. Soaked in water and rubbed off their stones, they give a cloudy reddish-brown drink that tastes a little like dates and sour cherries, with a pleasantly sharp finish. It is drunk ice-cold in the heat of the day, at iftar and to welcome guests. Look for dried guddaim in Sudanese or East African shops. If you cannot find it, a mix of 150 g pitted dates and 50 g tamarind pulp soaked the same way gives a similar sweet-sour drink, though not the same. Rubbing too hard and breaking the stones is the usual mistake, as it clouds the drink with grit; rub gently. Chef's tip: soak the berries in cool water overnight in the fridge for the fullest flavour.

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Tabaldi (Sudanese baobab drink)

The great baobab trees of Kordofan and Darfur drop hard pods full of chalky, cream-coloured pulp, and Sudanese cooks soak it in water to make tabaldi, a thick, milky-looking drink with a sherbet-like tang. It is sold from big cool-boxes in Khartoum markets in summer, served at weddings, and appears on the iftar table during Ramadan. Fresh pulp pieces with seeds are sold in African and Middle Eastern shops; baobab powder is a good substitute and needs no straining. Leave the drink to soak for an hour in the fridge before straining (soaking time is not counted in the total). The usual mistake is blending the seeds, which makes the drink bitter; rub the pulp off by hand instead. Chef's tip: a few drops of rose water or a pinch of ground cardamom makes it feel festive.

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Bitifoor (Sudanese Eid butter biscuits)

During the last days of Ramadan, Khartoum neighbourhoods smell of butter and vanilla as women bake bitifoor, the piped biscuits whose name comes from the French petit four, for the Eid visits that follow. They are piped into rosettes, fingers and swirls, sometimes topped with a piece of glacé cherry or dipped in chocolate, and arranged on platters with ka'ak and sweets for guests. The texture is melt-in-the-mouth, short and delicate. Over-soft butter is the classic mistake, giving biscuits that spread into flat puddles; use butter soft enough to dent, not oily, and chill the piped trays for 15 minutes. Chef's tip: a little cornflour in the flour keeps them extra tender and crisp.

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Sudanese shata (dried chilli, garlic and lime sauce)

No Sudanese meal is complete without a little dish of shata on the side, and every household and roadside grill from Port Sudan to Nyala has its own version. This one is the classic everyday type: dried red chillies soaked soft and pounded with raw garlic, salt and plenty of lime juice into a loose, brick-red sauce that is fiery, sour and garlicky all at once. A spoonful goes over ful, fried fish, grilled meat, salads and stews. Wear gloves when handling the chillies, and do not rub your eyes. Using the soaking water in place of fresh water is a mistake, as it can taste bitter and dusty; drain it off. Chef's tip: make it a few hours ahead and keep it in the fridge; the heat settles and the garlic mellows.

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Soor (Somali maize porridge with butter and milk)

Herding families in Somaliland and the countryside around Hargeisa have long relied on soor, a thick porridge of maize meal stirred until it holds its shape on a plate. It is shaped into a mound, a well is pressed into the centre and filled with melted butter or ghee, then warm milk and a little sugar are poured round the edge; on other days the well is filled with a meat sauce instead. You eat it with your right hand or a spoon, scooping porridge through the butter. The result is mild, sweet and very filling. Lumps are the usual complaint, and they come from tipping the meal in all at once; mix part of it with cold water first, then rain the rest in while stirring. The usual mistake is adding the maize meal too fast, so it goes lumpy; whisk constantly as you pour. Chef's tip: cover the pan and let the porridge steam for 5 minutes at the end to cook out any raw taste.

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Kimis (Somali thick pan bread)

Thicker and plainer than sabaayad, kimis is the everyday bread of Hargeisa and the north, cooked in a heavy pan and cut into wedges to soak up maraq, the thin spiced meat or vegetable broths eaten at lunch. The dough is simple flour and water raised with a little baking powder, so it puffs into a soft, bready round about 2 cm thick with a lightly freckled crust. It is also good for breakfast with tea and a spoonful of sugar or honey. This version uses oil, so it is vegan. Cooking over too high a heat is the classic mistake: the outside scorches before the middle is done, so keep the flame medium-low and cover the pan. Chef's tip: knock the bread on its base when you think it is ready; it should sound hollow.

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Sabaayad (Somali flaky layered flatbread)

Hargeisa cooks are proud of their sabaayad, a soft, flaky flatbread made by brushing a thin sheet of dough with oil or ghee, rolling it into a coil and flattening it again so it cooks into dozens of buttery layers. It is eaten for breakfast with sugar and shaah, torn into pieces with muqmad or liver, and served at lunch with beef or chicken stews; at Eid and weddings it is made in big stacks. The texture should be tender and pliable with crisp spots, never dry. Rolling the dough straight after kneading is a common mistake: it springs back and tears, so give it at least 20 minutes to relax. Chef's tip: once each bread is cooked, scrunch it between your hands while hot to open up the layers.

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Shushumow (Somali syrup-soaked rolled pastries)

Trays of shushumow appear for Eid across Somalia and in Somali homes abroad, made by the dozen a day or two ahead so there is plenty for visitors. A soft, buttery dough is rolled very thin, rolled up like a cigar, sliced and pressed so the layers show, then fried until crisp and soaked briefly in cardamom syrup. The result is flaky and crunchy at the edges with a sticky, sweet centre that is perfect with black tea. Soaking for too long is the usual error; a quick dip of a few seconds keeps the crunch, while minutes in the syrup leaves them soggy. Chef's tip: have the syrup warm and the pastries hot from the oil when they meet, so the syrup soaks in evenly without making them heavy.

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Doolsho (Somali cardamom sponge cake)

Ask a Somali host what goes with afternoon shaah and doolsho will be near the top of the list: a plain, airy sponge flavoured with cardamom and sometimes a little vanilla, baked in a tray and cut into generous squares. It turns up at Eid visits, weddings and family get-togethers, and is just as welcome at breakfast. The crumb should be fine and springy, never dense, which comes from whisking the eggs and sugar for a long time. Knocking the air out when the flour goes in is the mistake that ruins it; fold gently with a large spoon, in three goes, and stop as soon as no dry flour shows. Chef's tip: use eggs at room temperature; cold eggs never whip to the thick, pale ribbon that holds the cake up.

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Kac kac (Somali fried dough cubes in cardamom sugar)

Jars of kac kac sit on the table at Somali weddings, Eid gatherings and afternoon tea across the country and in the diaspora, ready to be handed round by the fistful. The dough is enriched with egg and butter, cut into small cubes, fried until hard and golden, then tossed in hot cardamom syrup that dries to a frosty white crust. Each piece cracks loudly when bitten, which is how it got its name. Undercooking the syrup is the usual problem: it stays sticky instead of turning to a dry, sugary coat, so boil it until it forms a thread and keep stirring the cubes as it cools. Chef's tip: cut the cubes no bigger than 1.5 cm; small pieces fry right through and stay crunchy for weeks in an airtight jar.

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