Rice noodles in coconut fish gravy
Kota Bharu's morning market has its own noodle: laksam, thick sheets of steamed rice batter rolled up like little carpets and sliced into wheels. They are drowned in a pale, creamy gravy of pounded fish and coconut milk, then heaped with raw herbs and vegetables (ulam): cucumber, long beans, bean sprouts, daun kesum and torch ginger flower, with a spoonful of fiery chilli and budu, the region's fermented anchovy sauce. The result is soft and slippery, rich and cool at the same time. Locals eat it for breakfast or as a mid-morning snack. Chef's tip: pound the cooked fish with the shallots instead of blending it smooth; the gravy should feel faintly textured, like a thin porridge.
A new country every day, from every cuisine on the site.
Bara brith means 'speckled bread', and this is the fruit loaf of Welsh farmhouses and tea rooms from Snowdonia to the Gower. Dried fruit is soaked overnight in strong black tea, then mixed with sugar, egg, flour and spice, so it is moist, dark and keeps well without any butter in the mix. Slice it thickly and spread with salted Welsh butter. Chef's tip: wrap it and wait a day before cutting; it gets stickier and slices cleaner.
Every village fête in the Aveyron, the old province of Rouergue, has a baker selling fouace: a big golden brioche ring scented with orange flower water and topped with crunchy sugar, carried home in a paper bag to be torn up at breakfast or after Sunday lunch. Laguiole and Rodez bakeries are famous for it, and families bake one for Easter, weddings and christenings. It is softer and less buttery than a Paris brioche, with a light, cottony crumb. Chef's tip: let the shaped crown rise until it is puffy and a fingertip leaves a dent that springs back slowly; underproved fouace tears in the oven.
Red, white and green, the colours of the Basque flag, sit in one pan in piperade, the summer dish of Bayonne, Espelette and the villages of the French Basque Country. Green peppers, onions and ripe tomatoes are stewed in olive oil until soft and sweet, then warmed with the region's mild, fruity Espelette pepper. Basque families eat it at lunch with crusty bread, spooned beside rice, or with eggs softly scrambled into it; restaurants often add a slice of Bayonne ham, which this version leaves out. Chef's tip: cook it slowly and let the liquid reduce; a good piperade is jammy, not watery.
Faggots are the thrifty meatballs of the Black Country, the industrial towns west of Birmingham, sold by butchers and served at chip shops with mushy peas and gravy. They are made from pork liver, pork belly and onion with breadcrumbs, sage and mace, and baked in a deep onion gravy. This is a pork dish. Chef's tip: wrap each faggot in caul fat if your butcher has it; it bastes them and holds them together.
Boxty is the potato pancake of the north midlands, from Leitrim, Cavan and Fermanagh, remembered in the rhyme 'boxty on the griddle, boxty in the pan'. Raw grated potato is mixed with mashed potato, flour and buttermilk, then fried, giving a cake that is crisp and lacy outside and soft and slightly chewy inside. Eat it for breakfast with eggs and tomatoes, or wrapped round a creamy mushroom filling. Chef's tip: squeeze the grated potato hard in a cloth; wet potato gives soggy, grey boxty.
İzmir mornings begin at a boyoz stand in Alsancak or Kemeraltı: a small round pastry of paper-thin, oil-stretched dough, coiled into a snail and baked until the layers shatter, eaten beside a halved hard-boiled egg and a glass of tea. Sephardic Jews brought it to the city centuries ago, and İzmir has guarded it ever since. The dough itself is plain; the magic is in the long rest in oil and the stretching. Chef's tip: let the dough balls sit submerged in oil for a full two hours; they relax so completely that you can stretch them almost transparent without tearing.
Bozghormeh is a dish of Kerman, the desert city in south-east Iran, cooked on winter weekends and for family gatherings. Lamb and chickpeas are simmered with turmeric until soft, then pounded together and finished with kashk (salty fermented whey), lots of fried onion and garlic and a dusting of dried mint; it is scooped up with flatbread rather than eaten with rice. The result is creamy, tangy and deeply savoury. A common mistake is boiling after the kashk goes in; it turns grainy, so add it at the end over a low heat. Chef's tip: if you can't find kashk, mix thick Greek yogurt with a pinch of salt and a squeeze of lemon; it's milder but close.
Pobra de Trives, a mountain town in Ourense, holds a festival every August in honour of its bica, a rich, close-textured cake made with fresh cream and butter from local dairies. It is baked in a rectangular tin, sold in paper and eaten in thick slices with coffee or a glass of milk. The sugar scattered on top bakes into a thin, crackly crust. A common mistake is overmixing once the flour goes in, which makes it tough; fold just until no streaks remain. Chef's tip: whip the egg whites separately and fold them in last for a lighter crumb.
Paisas finish lunch with a glass of mazamorra the way others take dessert: soft, swollen kernels of hulled white corn in their own starchy cooking liquid, topped up with cold milk and eaten with a piece of panela or guava paste to nibble between sips. In Medellín it is sold from carts as well as made in big pots at home for the week, and it is mild, milky and quietly filling. Look for dried hulled white corn (maíz pilado or peto) in Latin American shops. Soak it overnight first. A common mistake is serving it before the corn is fully soft; the kernels should split open and be tender to the bite. Chef's tip: save the thick cooking liquid; it gives the drink its silky body, and the corn keeps in it for 4 days in the fridge.
High in the Vosges above Munster, the farm-inns called fermes-auberges serve their pungent washed-rind cheese in the simplest way: a wedge laid over hot potatoes in their skins, with a little dish of cumin seeds for sprinkling. Alsatians eat it as a winter supper or as the cheese course after a walk in the hills, with a green salad and a glass of something cold. The cheese smells strong but tastes mild and milky once warm, and cumin is its traditional partner. Most Munster is made with animal rennet; for a vegetarian meal choose a vegetarian washed-rind cheese, or a ripe vegetarian brie or reblochon-style cheese. Chef's tip: toast the cumin seeds in a dry pan for a minute before serving; they go from dusty to nutty and lift the whole plate.
Each June farmers around Gaziantep cut wheat while it is still green and burn off the husks in the field, which gives firik its gentle campfire smell. Cooked as a pilaf with onion, pepper paste and a handful of chickpeas, it has a chewy, nutty bite that sits well beside grilled kebabs or simply a bowl of ayran and a tomato salad. It is the everyday grain of the region's home kitchens, cheaper than rice and more filling. Rinse the grains well: grit and bits of chaff are common in firik. Chef's tip: let it rest under a tea towel for ten minutes after cooking; the steam finishes the grains and they separate beautifully.
Gaziantep's baklava shops lay out trays of şöbiyet beside the classic squares: buttery filo triangles hiding a soft semolina cream and a thick seam of pistachio, soaked in cool syrup. Families buy them by the kilo for bayram visits and engagement days, and they are best eaten the day they are made, while the top layers still crackle. Home versions use shop filo and a quick milk cream instead of the clotted cream the masters fold in. Pour cold syrup over hot pastry, never hot over hot, or the layers turn soggy. Chef's tip: chill the cream until it is firm enough to slice; a soft filling oozes out as you fold the triangles.
Order an Adana kebab in its home city and a tall glass of şalgam arrives with it, deep purple, salty, sour and often fiery. It is made by fermenting black carrots with a little bulgur and salt for a week or more, and the sharpness clears the palate between bites of lamb and grilled onion. Street carts in Adana sell it by the glass in summer. This home version skips the separate bulgur-sour-dough stage the big producers use. Use non-iodised salt: iodised salt can stall the ferment. Chef's tip: taste from day 5; when it is sour enough to make you blink, strain and chill it, because it keeps fermenting at room temperature.
Late summer in southeastern Turkey, from Urfa to Gaziantep, means patlıcan kebabı: thick rounds of unpeeled aubergine threaded between small patties of spiced lamb, so the fat from the meat bastes the aubergine as it chars. Served on lavaş, the aubergine is pressed with a spoon into the bread and the whole thing is eaten with onions and green chillies. Use small, firm aubergines that won't split on the skewer. Common mistake: cutting the aubergine thinner than the meat; it burns before the köfte is cooked. Chef's tip: peel the charred aubergine skin off on the plate, but leave it on while grilling.
Málaga's fishermen once made gazpachuelo on the beach with whatever the nets brought in, and today it is a winter comfort soup in the city's homes and old-style taverns: a clear broth with potatoes, hake and prawns, slowly poured over a homemade mayonnaise until it turns pale and creamy. Done right it is silky, lemony and light. The eggs in the mayonnaise must be heated through properly, so this method brings the soup to 72 °C at the end without boiling it. Chef's tip: add the broth to the mayonnaise, never the other way round, and at first only a ladle at a time.
Tatws pum munud means 'five-minute potatoes' in Welsh, a joke, since it takes half an hour, but it was the quick, cheap one-pot supper of North Wales quarry and farm families. Sliced potatoes and onions are simmered on a bed of smoked bacon (pork) in stock until the potatoes are soft and the bottom layer catches and turns golden. Chef's tip: don't stir; shake the pan instead so the layers stay intact and the bottom crisps.
Champ is the creamy mashed potato of Ulster, eaten in farmhouse kitchens from Tyrone to Monaghan, and once pounded in a big pot with a wooden beetle for the whole family. Scallions are steeped in hot milk, then beaten into floury potatoes with salt, pepper and butter, so it is soft, green-flecked and gently oniony. Serve in a mound with a pool of butter in the centre, next to sausages or a pie. Chef's tip: dip each forkful into the butter well, as is done at home; don't stir the butter through.
Walk through any German Weihnachtsmarkt, from Cologne's cathedral square to Nuremberg's Hauptmarkt, and you will smell the Champignonpfanne before you see it: a huge flat pan of button mushrooms frying with onion and garlic, scooped into paper boats and topped with a cool herb sauce. It is the market's favourite meat-free snack on a cold December evening, and it takes twenty minutes at home. Serve it with crusty bread or as a side to potato pancakes. The common mistake is piling every mushroom into the pan at once, which makes them stew grey in their own water instead of browning. Chef's tip: salt the mushrooms only once they have coloured; salt added early draws out the liquid and stops the browning.
When Lima's grey winter sets in, from June to September, champús sellers set up on street corners with big pots of this thick, fruity drink, ladled warm into glasses and eaten as much as drunk. It's made from mote (hulled white corn), simmered with pineapple, quince or apple, soursop, chancaca and warm spices, then thickened lightly with corn flour, so every spoonful has soft fruit and chewy corn in a spiced, molasses-sweet base. It is close in spirit to mazamorra morada but paler and tangier. The mistake people make is adding the thickener straight into the hot pot, where it forms lumps; always slake it in cold water first and pour it in while stirring. Canned or jarred hominy saves hours; frozen soursop (guanábana) pulp is in Latin shops and can be left out. Serve warm in glasses with spoons. Chef's tip: simmer the pineapple peel and core with the spices for the first 20 minutes, then strain them out; they give much of the flavour.
Ski stations across the Savoie, from Val Thorens to the villages above Chambéry, serve croziflette in the same bubbling dish as tartiflette, but with crozets in place of potatoes: tiny square buckwheat pasta that is a speciality of the region. It is warming après-ski food, nutty and rich, eaten with a sharp green salad. Restaurants add lardons; this one uses browned mushrooms for the same savoury depth. Reblochon is a raw-milk cheese made with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian washed-rind or soft rind cheese if you need to. Chef's tip: cook the crozets fully before baking; unlike other pasta, they stay firm and need a good 15–20 minutes.
The Ulster fry is the big weekend breakfast of Northern Ireland, from Belfast cafés to County Down B&Bs, and what sets it apart is the bread: soda farls and potato bread fried golden in the pan juices. Pork sausages, back bacon, black pudding, eggs, tomatoes and mushrooms complete the plate. Chef's tip: cook in order of what takes longest and keep things warm in a low oven, so the eggs go in last and are served soft.
Before fabada became famous, pote was what simmered on every Asturian hearth: white beans, dark winter cabbage, potatoes and the cured pork mix the locals call compango. It is still the dish for a cold, wet weekday in the mining valleys around Mieres and Langreo, served from the pot with crusty bread. This contains pork (chorizo, morcilla, pork belly and ham hock). Chef's tip: add the morcilla only for the last 20 minutes and never stir hard after that, or it breaks up and clouds the broth.
Legend says a cook at the court of the Counts of Savoy, in Chambéry, invented this sponge in the fourteenth century to impress a visiting emperor, and Savoyard families still bake it in a tall fluted mould for birthdays and Sunday tea. It has no butter and very little flour, using potato starch for a crumb so light it almost dissolves, and it is eaten plain with a dusting of icing sugar, or with jam, fruit compote or a cup of hot chocolate. Chef's tip: fold the whites in three goes with a large metal spoon, cutting down through the middle; you are keeping in the air that makes it rise.
In Alsace, spätzle (also called knepfle or spaetzle) are the side every winstub, the cosy wine taverns of Strasbourg and the wine route, puts next to a stew, and at home they make a quick supper in their own right. The batter is barely more than flour, eggs and milk, pushed through a spätzle press or a colander with big holes straight into boiling water, so the noodles come out short, soft and irregular. This version skips the cheese of the German käsespätzle: the noodles are tossed in nutty browned butter and topped with a heap of slowly crisped onions, with a green salad alongside. Chef's tip: beat the batter until it forms bubbles and slaps off the spoon in thick ribbons; that elasticity is what gives spätzle their bounce.
Lorraine grows most of the world's mirabelles, small golden plums with a blush of red that ripen for only a few weeks from mid-August, when Metz holds its Mirabelle festival and every pâtisserie in Nancy fills its window with this tart. The plums are halved and packed tightly into a crisp shortcrust, sometimes over a thin layer of almond or semolina to soak up the juice, and they bake into a jammy, honey-sweet layer. Families eat it warm or cold for Sunday dessert or at four-o'clock goûter. Out of season, use small yellow plums or halved apricots. Chef's tip: stand the halves upright and overlapping, cut side up; they shrink as they bake, and a tight layer stops the tart looking bare.
From the start of Advent, kitchens across Alsace turn out bredele, dozens of kinds of little Christmas biscuits kept in tins and offered to every visitor until New Year, while the markets in Strasbourg and Kaysersberg sell them by the bag. Cinnamon stars are among the most loved: chewy almond and cinnamon biscuits with a crisp white meringue top, and no flour at all. They take patience rather than skill and keep for weeks, so families make them early in December. The same dough also works rolled into small balls. Chef's tip: spread the meringue on the rolled sheet before you cut the stars, rather than icing each biscuit; it is far quicker and gives a clean, sharp edge.
Normandy dairy farmers have always known that a Camembert just past its best is perfect for the oven, and baked Camembert is now what friends share on cold evenings across the region, from Caen to the Pays d'Auge, with crusty bread, apple slices and boiled potatoes for dipping. The cheese stays in its wooden box, gets scored, studded with garlic and thyme and baked until the inside is liquid under a just-holding rind. It is ready in 20 minutes and makes a light supper with a salad. Real Camembert de Normandie is made with animal rennet; for a vegetarian version use a vegetarian Camembert-style cheese. Chef's tip: take off any plastic wrapping and tie the box with kitchen string if it is stapled; cheap boxes can split in the heat.
The name means 'twisted mouth' in Norman dialect, after the face you pull if you eat it too hot. Teurgoule comes from the Calvados countryside around Houlgate and Honfleur, where farm women left it in the bread oven overnight after baking; it is still the dessert at village fêtes and family Sundays, served with a slice of brioche-like fallue. Short-grain rice bakes for hours in creamy milk with sugar and cinnamon until it turns thick and pale caramel inside under a dark, almost burnt crust. Use a deep ovenproof dish that holds at least 2 litres. Chef's tip: never stir it once it is in the oven; the crust that forms on top is the best part and seals the creamy pudding underneath.
Douillons are what Normandy cooks do with the small, firm pears from their orchards in autumn: each fruit is peeled, cored from the bottom, filled with butter and sugar and wrapped whole in pastry, then baked until the pastry is golden and the pear is meltingly soft inside. In the Pays de Caux and around Rouen they are served warm on cold days, often with a jug of thick Normandy cream. The same trick with apples is called a bourdelot. Choose pears that are ripe but still firm, about 150 g each. Chef's tip: cut the pastry into squares a little bigger than you think and bring the corners up over the top; tidy pleats matter less than a sealed parcel that keeps the juice inside.
The little town of Lisieux, in the Pays d'Auge, has made sablés since the 1800s, and the word means 'sandy', for the way they crumble on the tongue. They are one of the simplest things a Normandy kitchen bakes: good salted butter, sugar, egg yolks and flour, rolled into a log, sliced and baked pale gold. Normans dip them in coffee or serve them with fruit compote, teurgoule or a bowl of fromage blanc, and children grow up with a tin of them in the cupboard. Chef's tip: work the dough as little as possible once the flour goes in; the less you knead, the more tender and sandy the crumb.
Order grilled sardines or fish at any beach shack between Sagres and Monte Gordo and this salad arrives alongside without anyone asking. It is little more than summer tomatoes, crisp green pepper and sweet onion, dressed with olive oil, a splash of vinegar and plenty of dried oregano, but the juices left in the bowl are the best part, mopped up with bread. Chef's tip: salt the tomatoes 10 minutes before dressing them so they release their juice into the dressing.
Black-eyed peas are the bean of Bahia, ground for acarajé and abará and simmered whole for the caruru feasts of late September. Cooked until just tender and dressed while warm, they also make this bright salad that appears on Salvador's por-quilo lunch buffets and next to grilled food at weekend gatherings. Tomato, red onion, two kinds of pepper, coriander and plenty of lime give it crunch and sharpness, and the peas stay creamy inside. It goes with rice and grilled vegetables, or stands alone as a light lunch. Soak the dried peas for at least 4 hours or overnight before you start. The trap to avoid is boiling the peas hard until the skins split; they turn to mush when tossed. Chef's tip: dress the peas while they are still warm with the lime, oil and salt only, then add the raw vegetables once they are cool so everything stays crisp.
Sunday lunch in Rio, a birthday churrasco, the Christmas Eve table: wherever Brazilian families gather, a bowl of salada de maionese is there. Potatoes and carrots are cooked in small cubes, mixed with peas, chopped hard-boiled egg, a squeeze of lime and plenty of mayonnaise, then chilled until cold and creamy. Some homes add diced green apple or olives; the soft potato and sweet carrot with the tangy dressing are the heart of it. Serve it with rice, farofa and anything grilled. Dressing the potatoes while still hot is the usual misstep: the mayonnaise splits and turns oily, so let them cool first. Keep it in the fridge and don't leave it out in the heat for more than two hours. Chef's tip: toss the warm potatoes with the lime juice and salt only, so they absorb the seasoning before the mayonnaise goes on.
Every bouchon in Lyon, the small checked-tablecloth restaurants of the old town and the Presqu'île, puts salade lyonnaise on its menu as a starter or light lunch. Bitter, crunchy frisée is tossed with a sharp mustard vinaigrette, then topped with hot smoked pork lardons, garlicky croutons and a poached egg whose yolk spills into the leaves and turns the dressing creamy. It's the meeting of hot and cold, soft and crisp that makes it work. The egg is served runny, so use pasteurised eggs for pregnant women, young children, older people or anyone with a weakened immune system, or cook the egg until set. Chef's tip: deglaze the lardon pan with the vinegar and pour it warm over the leaves so they wilt very slightly.
Salt-cured, aged country ham is a pride of Kentucky, Tennessee and Virginia smokehouses, and on mountain breakfast tables it is pan-fried in thin slices, then the pan is deglazed with black coffee to make red-eye gravy, thin, salty and bitter-sweet, spooned over the ham, grits or biscuits. This is pork, and very salty, so the slices are soaked first. Chef's tip: soak the ham in water or milk for 30 minutes if your country ham is very salty, then pat dry.
Far began as a savoury porridge in Breton farmhouses; today it is the sweet custard cake that every boulangerie from Quimper to Saint-Malo sells by the slice, dense and wobbly in the middle and browned on top, with prunes hidden inside. Bretons eat it at room temperature for goûter, at the end of a crêpe meal or packed for a day at the beach. Some cooks soak the prunes in rum; this recipe uses warm tea, which plumps them without alcohol, and a little rum can go in the batter if you want the traditional taste. Chef's tip: make the batter the night before and rest it in the fridge; the flour swells and the far bakes smoother and more custardy.
Evening in Mérida's Plaza Grande means the smell of marquesitas: thin batter pressed in hot hinged irons until crisp, then rolled like a cigar around grated Edam cheese and a sweet filling such as cajeta, chocolate-hazelnut spread or jam. Edam came to the Yucatán through the port trade with the Netherlands and became part of the local cooking, and the salty-sweet combination is the whole point. At home you can cook them in a thin, wide frying pan. Edam is usually made with animal rennet, so check the label or use a vegetarian Gouda-style cheese. Chef's tip: roll while the crêpe is still in the pan and hot; within seconds it hardens and will crack.
Córdoba claims rabo de toro as its own, and its taverns near the Mezquita serve it all year, though it is most at home on a cold winter Sunday. Once it was made with the tails of bulls from the ring; now it is beef or veal oxtail, browned and braised for hours in red wine with vegetables until the meat slips off the bone into a glossy, sticky sauce. This recipe uses wine; the alcohol-free option is in the ingredient list. Chef's tip: make it a day ahead, chill it and lift off the set fat; the sauce is cleaner and the flavour deeper.
Dirty rice gets its name from the brown speckles of chicken liver and minced pork that colour it, and it is the side dish of Cajun Thanksgivings, church fairs and plate lunches around Lafayette, often served next to fried chicken. It is deeply savoury, peppery and good enough to eat as a main. This recipe contains pork. Chef's tip: chop the livers very finely, almost to a paste, so they melt into the rice rather than sitting in lumps.
Every household in La Mancha seems to own a flower-shaped iron, a long-handled mould that is dipped in hot oil, then in batter, then back in the oil, where a lacy flower slides off as it sets. Grandmothers make towers of them for Holy Week and Carnival, and they are sold in bags at village fiestas from Cuenca to Tomelloso. You can buy the iron, sometimes called a rosette iron, in kitchen shops. Chef's tip: the iron must be very hot each time it goes into the batter, or the batter won't cling.
Somewhere between a shortbread and a cake, gâteau breton is the big round that Breton bakeries cut into wedges for the road, and families buy one for the weekend or a picnic at the coast near Concarneau or Lorient. It is made from almost as much salted butter as flour, with lots of egg yolks, and baked thick so the edges are crisp and the middle is dense, moist and fudgy. The top is glazed and marked with a criss-cross pattern using a fork. Plain is traditional; some bakers add a layer of prune purée in the middle. Chef's tip: chill the dough in the tin before baking; it holds its pattern and bakes up with a sharp, shiny crust.
Toledo's convents have shaped marzipan for centuries, and in December the city's pastry shops fill their windows with coiled eels, half-moons and little figures, glazed golden and sold by weight for Christmas. Toledo's version is firm and almond-rich, with less sugar than many, and the best is made with Marcona almonds. Chef's tip: let the shaped pieces dry, uncovered, overnight before glazing; they hold their shape and the glaze sets glossy instead of soaking in.
In the Algarve, Christmas trays are never without figos cheios, sun-dried figs split open, packed with a paste of toasted almonds and cocoa, pressed together in pairs and baked until fragrant. They come from a time when every farm in the Barrocal dried its own figs on cane racks in August. They take half an hour to make and keep for weeks, so they make an easy edible present. Chef's tip: choose soft, plump dried figs; if yours are hard, steam them over simmering water for 5 minutes first.
Salted butter caramel was made famous by a confectioner in Quiberon in the 1970s, and now every crêperie from Rennes to Brest pours it over sweet crêpes, and every Breton cupboard has a jar for ice cream, apples or simply a spoon. Brittany kept the habit of salted butter long after the rest of France, so the salt is part of the flavour, not a trend. The caramel is cooked dark, loosened with hot cream and finished with butter flecked with sea salt. It keeps for two weeks in the fridge. Chef's tip: warm the cream before adding it; cold cream makes the caramel seize into hard lumps and spit furiously.
Restaurants on the shores of Nahuel Huapi, in Bariloche and Villa La Angostura, put rainbow trout from the cold Andean lakes on almost every menu, and this butter version is the one locals order most. Fillets are fried with crisp skin, then drenched in butter browned with flaked almonds and sharpened with lemon. Serve with boiled new potatoes and a green salad. Any trout or char works. People commonly start the fish in butter, which burns before the skin crisps; fry it in a film of oil and make the brown butter after. Chef's tip: dry the skin really well and dust it with rice flour; it gives a thin, glassy crust without any gluten.
Showing 45 of 7,762 recipes
Show more recipesPage 376 of 863
Indian
Spanish
Italian
American
Chinese
Mexican
Brazilian
Japanese
Paraguayan
British
French
Irish
Turkish
Persian
Colombian
German
Peruvian
Portuguese
Argentinian