Khingal is Baku comfort food: squares or diamonds of thin homemade pasta boiled and layered with lamb mince fried with plenty of onion, then topped with garlicky yogurt and a sprinkle of sumac or dried mint. It is the dish Absheron grandmothers make for a crowd, rolling the dough on the big kitchen table. A common mistake is draining the pasta until dry; a little cooking water keeps the layers loose and silky. Chef's tip: fry the onion until deep brown before the mince goes in; that sweet, almost caramelised onion is what makes Baku khingal. Mince must reach 71 °C.
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Coronation chicken was invented for the banquet of Queen Elizabeth II's coronation in 1953 by the Cordon Bleu school in London, and it became the filling of choice for jacket potatoes, wedding buffets and garden party sandwiches across England. Poached chicken is folded through a creamy, mildly spiced sauce of mayonnaise, curry paste, apricot and yoghurt. Chef's tip: poach the chicken very gently and cool it in its liquid so it stays juicy.
Kedgeree came to Britain with families returning from colonial India, who adapted khichri into a breakfast of buttery curried rice, flaked smoked haddock and boiled eggs; it was served from silver dishes at Victorian country house breakfasts and is now a weekend brunch. It is gently spiced, smoky and soft. Chef's tip: poach the haddock in the milk you then use for nothing else, and cook the rice in the poaching water for more smoky flavour.
Fish pie is a Friday supper and a family favourite from the Kent coast to Devon, where fishmongers sell a ready-cut 'fish pie mix' for it. Chunks of white fish, smoked haddock and prawns are baked in a creamy parsley sauce under a thick crust of buttery mash, so it is mild, comforting and very filling. Chef's tip: don't pre-cook the fish; it finishes in the oven and stays in big, juicy flakes.
Gammon, egg and chips is the great English pub and transport-café dinner, on the menu from roadside diners on the A1 to Devon seaside pubs. A thick steak of cured pork gammon is grilled until the fat crisps, then topped with a fried egg or a ring of pineapple (or both), next to chunky chips and peas. Chef's tip: snip the fat around the edge every 2 cm before cooking so the steak stays flat.
In early summer, families across Shiraz and the vineyards of Fars thin their vines and press the hard green grapes into abghooreh, a sharp, clean sour juice stored in bottles for the whole year. It sours khoresh, brightens salad shirazi and is splashed over kebabs and rice in place of lemon. The grapes must be truly unripe, hard and mouth-puckering; once they soften the juice turns sweet. A common mistake is skipping the boil and salt, which lets the juice ferment in the bottle. Chef's tip: let the boiled juice settle overnight and pour it off the sediment for a clear, bright abghooreh.
On cold Tehran evenings, vendors push carts piled with steaming beetroot through the bazaars and past school gates, and a paper cup of laboo is what people reach for when the first snow falls. Whole beets are simmered for well over an hour with a little sugar until the cooking water reduces to a glossy, almost purple syrup that clings to every slice. You eat it hot, cut into chunks and spooned with the syrup, sometimes with a pinch of salt to wake up the sweetness. The common mistake is peeling or cutting the beets before cooking, which bleeds out the colour and leaves them pale and watery. Chef's tip: choose beets of the same size so they finish together, and keep the skins on until the very end.
When autumn rain sets in over Rasht, and through the winter on Tehran street corners, sellers ladle steaming broad beans in their skins from giant pots into paper cones. The beans are soaked overnight and boiled slowly until creamy, then each bowlful is sprinkled with sharp golpar (ground Persian hogweed seed), salt and a splash of vinegar. You pinch the beans out of their skins as you eat. A common mistake is salting the cooking water early, which keeps the skins tough. Chef's tip: golpar is strong and smells a little like celery and citrus; start with a light dusting and add more at the table.
Walk up the stepped lanes of Darband in the north of Tehran on a summer night and the air is smoky with balal: corn cobs fanned over charcoal until blistered, then dunked straight into a bucket of salty water so they hiss and steam. The quick dip seasons every kernel and softens the charred skin, so the corn is smoky, juicy and salty all at once. It is eaten standing up, between a walk and a cup of tea. The mistake people make is grilling over flames rather than glowing coals, which blackens the outside before the kernels are cooked. Chef's tip: keep the salted water warm by the grill so the corn doesn't cool down when you dip it.
In late March and April, just after Nowruz, the fruit stalls of Tehran and every small town fill with hard, bright green plums, and children walk home from school with paper bags of them and a twist of salt. The unripe plums are crunchy and mouth-puckeringly sour; a dip in salt, sometimes mixed with dried mint or chilli, makes them addictive. There is nothing to cook, only good fruit to choose. A common mistake is buying plums that have already softened and turned yellow; they lose the crunch that makes this snack. Chef's tip: chill the plums for an hour and wash them in cold water just before serving so they snap when you bite.
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