Cheese-stuffed onion pizza
Fugazzeta is a Buenos Aires original from the pizzerias of the Corrientes and La Boca neighbourhoods, where Genoese immigrants' focaccia (fugazza) met mozzarella. A thick, soft pan dough is filled with a layer of mozzarella, sealed with a second layer of dough, then covered with a mound of thinly sliced onions and more cheese and baked until the onions are sweet and golden. It's a big, rich pizza to share. Use mozzarella made with vegetarian rennet. Chef's tip: salt the onions and squeeze them out before using; this keeps the pizza from going soggy.
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Bubble and squeak is what English households, especially in London, make on Boxing Day and Monday mornings from the Sunday roast's leftover potatoes and greens. It's named for the noise it makes in the pan. The mash and cabbage or sprouts are fried until a deep brown crust forms, then turned and crisped again. Serve with a fried egg and brown sauce. Chef's tip: press it flat and leave it alone in the pan; the crust only forms if you don't keep stirring.
Thessaloniki is Greece's mussel capital, with farms in the Thermaic Gulf a few kilometres from the seafront ouzeries where this two-handled pan arrives, still bubbling, at the table. Mussels steam open in a quick sauce of peppers, tomato and chilli, and crumbled feta melts into the juices at the end. Bread is essential. The classic version adds a splash of ouzo; this one is alcohol-free, using a pinch of fennel seed for that aniseed note (add 2 tbsp ouzo with the tomatoes if you like). Common mistake: overcooking — take the pan off the heat as soon as the shells open. Chef's tip: buy mussels on the day and keep them in the fridge in a bowl covered with a damp cloth, never in water.
In El Palmar and the other villages around the Albufera lagoon south of Valencia, the restaurants that are famous for paella serve something older first: all i pebre, "garlic and pepper", a brick-red stew of lagoon eel and potatoes thickened with a pounded almond and fried-bread picada. It is rich, garlicky and gently hot, eaten with bread to mop up the sauce. Ask your fishmonger to skin and cut the eel, and handle it with gloves: raw eel blood is irritating, though harmless once cooked. If you can't find eel, monkfish or hake works well. A common mistake is letting the paprika burn; it turns bitter in seconds, so add it off the heat. Chef's tip: break the potatoes with a knife instead of cutting cleanly; the rough edges release starch and thicken the sauce.
This contains pork (pork belly and pork mince). On Christmas Day, Catalan families sit down to escudella i carn d'olla, served in two courses: first the broth with giant snail-shaped galets pasta, then the carn d'olla, a platter of the meats, chickpeas and vegetables that made it, including the pilota, a large herby meatball. The pot simmers for hours, and the leftovers become the next day's canelons. Chef's tip: start the meats in cold water and skim patiently as it comes to the boil; it is the only way to a clear, golden broth.
Bogotá wakes up to caldo de costilla. Cafeterías near markets and bus terminals ladle it out from early morning, and it is the city's famous cure after a late night: beef short ribs simmered until tender in a clear, golden broth with potatoes, onion, garlic and a big handful of coriander. It's simple, beefy and restoring, served with an arepa, a cup of hot chocolate or coffee and maybe a slice of bread. People are tempted to boil it hard to save time; the broth turns cloudy and greasy and the meat tightens, so give it a slow, steady simmer. Chef's tip: make the broth the night before and chill it; you can lift off the solid fat in the morning and simply reheat with the potatoes for a fast, clean breakfast.
Millionaire's shortbread, called caramel shortcake in much of Scotland and caramel squares across the water in Belfast, is the traybake of school bake sales, cafés and church teas. A crisp shortbread base is covered with thick condensed-milk caramel and a layer of chocolate, rich enough to justify the name. Chef's tip: keep stirring the caramel the whole time it bubbles; it catches on the bottom in seconds.
Few plates say Puglia as plainly as this one: a pale, velvety purée of dried broad beans beside a tangle of boiled wild chicory, the two joined by a stream of green olive oil. Families from the Murgia to the Salento cook it on winter weekdays and through Lent, and Bari trattorias still put it on the menu as the true taste of cucina povera. The beans are sweet and earthy, the greens bitter, and every forkful should carry a little of both. Chef's tip: buy dried broad beans that are already skinned and split; they cook to a cream on their own, with no sieving.
In Hidalgo, the pulque country north of Mexico City, the pulquerías serve curados: pulque blended with fruit, and the strawberry one is pink, thick and creamy. Home cooks and taquerías make this alcohol-free cousin for the whole family, a strawberry agua fresca blended with evaporated milk, so it is like a light milkshake that you drink with tacos on a hot afternoon. It contains no pulque or alcohol. Chef's tip: use the ripest, darkest strawberries you can find; pale ones give a thin, sour drink.
The Selkirk bannock is a round, glossy fruit bread from the Border town of Selkirk, first baked in the 1850s and famously eaten by Queen Victoria at Abbotsford. Unlike a plain oat bannock it is a rich yeast dough that is mostly sultanas, sliced and buttered with afternoon tea. Chef's tip: work the sultanas in only after the dough has risen once, or they tear the gluten and the loaf won't lift.
In Boston, Irish families made corned beef the centre of St Patrick's Day, swapping the bacon joint of home for the cheaper brisket sold by Jewish butchers, and New Englanders still call the whole pot a boiled dinner. Salt-cured beef brisket is simmered for hours with spices, then potatoes, carrots and wedges of cabbage cook in the same broth. Serve with grainy mustard. Chef's tip: slice the beef across the grain, thinly; cut along the grain it looks stringy and chews tough.
At beach shacks along Narragansett Bay and in Galilee, clam cakes are bought by the paper bag, half a dozen at a time, to dunk in a cup of clear clam chowder. They are not patties but craggy, golden fritters, crisp outside and soft inside, studded with chopped quahog clams. Chef's tip: use the clam juice as part of the liquid; it puts the sea flavour into every bite of batter.
Palets are the thick cousin of the thin Breton galette biscuit: chunky rounds as wide as a small cookie and nearly a centimetre high, crisp on the outside and crumbly within, tasting strongly of salted butter. Bakeries in Pont-Aven and all along the Finistère coast sell them in tins, and Breton families serve them with coffee, with a bowl of cider-poached apples or crumbled over ice cream. Baking them in muffin tins or metal rings keeps their shape and straight edges. Chef's tip: use proper salted butter rather than adding salt to unsalted; the flavour is rounder and the dough handles better.
Unlike Italian potato gnocchi, the Paris version is made from choux paste flavoured with cheese and mustard, piped straight into simmering water and cut into little logs with a knife. The poached dumplings go into a dish with béchamel and more cheese and are baked until puffed and golden. It was a classic of old Parisian brasseries and grand-hotel kitchens and still turns up as a comforting supper or a side in bistros. Gruyère and Comté are traditionally made with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian mountain cheese. Chef's tip: dip the knife in hot water between cuts; the paste drops off cleanly instead of stretching into strings.
Welsh cakes, picau ar y maen or 'cakes on the stone', are cooked on a cast-iron bakestone in kitchens across Wales and sold warm at markets and rugby matches, and they are a must on St David's Day, 1 March. The dough is like a rich scone with currants and mixed spice, and they are dusted with sugar while hot. Chef's tip: keep the heat medium-low; they need time for the middle to cook before the outside darkens.
Every 15 May, crowds head to the Pradera de San Isidro on Madrid's southern edge for the patron saint's festival, and stalls sell rosquillas by the dozen: plain "tontas" (silly ones) and iced "listas" (clever ones). Many families now bake them at home that week. Old recipes ice the listas with raw egg white; this one uses a lemon and icing-sugar glaze, which is safer and sets just as white. Chef's tip: oil your hands to shape the rings; the dough is soft and sticky by design.
On the night of 31 October and on All Saints' Day, families across La Mancha make sweet gachas: flour toasted in olive oil with aniseed, loosened with milk and sugar into a soft cream, and topped with crisp cubes of fried bread. Each person dips a spoon into the communal dish while the season's first cold nights settle in. Chef's tip: toast the flour in the oil until it smells nutty before adding any milk; raw flour tastes pasty.
Fried catfish is the Friday night fish-fry and Delta church supper of Mississippi and Arkansas, where much of America's catfish is farmed. Fillets are soaked in seasoned milk or buttermilk, rolled in cornmeal and fried until the crust crackles and the mild, sweet fish inside flakes apart. Serve with hushpuppies, slaw and lemon. Chef's tip: cut thick fillets in half lengthways so they cook in the same time as the crust browns.
Sea and mountain: the cooks of the Empordà, between the Pyrenees and the Costa Brava, have long put chicken and seafood in one pot, and this version with prawns is the one most families make for a celebration lunch. The sauce is a dark sofrito finished with a picada of almonds, hazelnuts, garlic and a little dark chocolate, which adds depth rather than sweetness. It uses wine; the alcohol-free option is in the ingredient list. Chef's tip: cook the prawns only briefly at the start and return them at the end, so they stay juicy while the chicken braises.
Every December, kitchens across the Beiras fill with the smell of these broas: soft, cakey cookies made with mashed sweet potato, flour, olive oil and honey, spiced with cinnamon and fennel seed and glazed with egg yolk. Families bake big batches to share with neighbours and keep in tins over the holidays. They are only lightly sweet, with a tender crumb and a shiny top. Chef's tip: dry the cooked sweet potato in the pan for a minute before mashing, as watery mash makes a sticky dough that spreads.
Biscuits and gravy is the working breakfast of the rural South and Appalachia, served at truck stops in Tennessee and diners in the Virginia mountains: fresh biscuits split open and smothered in a thick white 'sawmill' gravy made from crumbled pork sausage, its fat, flour, milk and plenty of black pepper. Chef's tip: don't drain the sausage fat; it is what thickens and flavours the gravy.
Easter Sunday in the Minho means cabrito: young goat rubbed with garlic, paprika and lard, soaked overnight in white wine and roasted until the meat falls from the bone. Families in Arcos de Valdevez and Monção serve it with roast potatoes and a tray of rice baked in the meat juices. This contains pork (lard and smoked bacon) and uses wine; an alcohol-free option is in the ingredient note. Chef's tip: baste every 20 minutes, as kid is lean and dries out quickly without it.
No sidrería in Oviedo's Calle Gascona is without a clay dish of chorizo bubbling in cider, served with bread to mop up the paprika-red juices. It takes minutes, is cheap, and is the first thing ordered while the waiter pours cider from shoulder height. This contains pork (chorizo) and uses dry Asturian cider, which is alcoholic; for an alcohol-free version use cloudy apple juice with a splash of cider vinegar, as noted below. Chef's tip: prick the chorizo all over first so it releases fat into the cider and drinks the cider back in.
In the Savoyard valleys, especially around Albertville and the Val d'Arly, farçon was the Sunday dish left to cook slowly while the family was at Mass: grated potatoes mixed with eggs, cream, prunes and raisins, set in a tall mould and cooked for hours in a water bath. The result is a sliceable, sweet-and-savoury cake, soft and golden, served with a green salad or as a side at a winter feast. Traditionally the mould is lined with bacon; this version uses a buttered mould instead, so it is vegetarian. Chef's tip: let it rest for 15 minutes in the mould before turning it out; it firms up and slices cleanly.
Fariñes, or farrapes in some valleys, fed Asturian farming families through the winter: a pot of maize meal stirred over the fire, eaten for breakfast or as a light supper with cold milk poured over the hot porridge. Today it is comfort food again, offered at rural guesthouses in the Oriente and made at home when the weather turns. The contrast of warm, soft porridge and cold milk is the whole point. Chef's tip: whisk the cornmeal into cold water before it heats so it never forms lumps.
Asturias has two great loves at table, the fish landed at ports like Cudillero and Avilés and the cider pressed from its orchards, and merluza a la sidra brings them together. Families cook it for Sunday lunch, the hake settled on a bed of soft onion and potato with cider poured over, until the sauce turns sweet-sharp. The cider is alcoholic; cloudy apple juice with a little cider vinegar makes a good alcohol-free swap. Chef's tip: add the hake only when the potatoes are nearly tender, so the fish stays juicy.
Fegato alla veneziana is one of the oldest dishes in Venice and still a weekday staple in the trattorie around the Rialto market. Mountains of onions are cooked gently until soft and sweet, then thin strips of calf's liver are tossed through them for barely two minutes, so the liver stays tender against the jammy onions, with a splash of vinegar and parsley to finish. The classic partner is soft white or yellow polenta, which soaks up the buttery juices. Chef's tip: slice the liver into thin strips, no thicker than your little finger, so it cooks through in moments without going tough.
At every Asturian romería, the summer pilgrim fairs held in meadows from Llanes to Cangas del Narcea, stalls sell bollos preñaos by the dozen, warm from the oven, to eat with cider on the grass. The name means "pregnant buns": each soft roll carries a chorizo inside, and its paprika fat seeps into the crumb as it bakes. This contains pork (chorizo). Chef's tip: use semi-cured chorizo sausages that are already safe to eat; raw fresh chorizo may not cook through inside the dough.
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