Magaj (magas) is a classic Gujarati sweet: coarse gram flour rubbed with milk and ghee (dhraba), roasted in ghee until golden, then mixed with sugar, almonds, pistachios and cardamom and set in a tray. It's crumbly, rich and nutty. Makes 20 pieces; a Diwali favourite that keeps well.
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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.
Stargazy pie is baked in the Cornish fishing village of Mousehole every 23 December for Tom Bawcock's Eve, celebrating the fisherman who is said to have sailed out in a storm and saved the village from famine. Whole pilchards or sardines are baked under pastry with egg, potato and bacon, their heads poking out so they gaze at the stars and their oil runs back into the filling. The bacon is smoked pork. Chef's tip: ask the fishmonger to bone the fish but leave the heads on; it makes the pie much easier to eat.
The Bedfordshire clanger is a long suet-crust roll that held a whole working lunch for farm labourers and the lace and straw-hat workers of Bedfordshire: savoury pork and potato at one end and sweet jam or apple at the other, marked by slashes so you knew which end to start with. Bakeries in Luton and Bedford still sell them. Chef's tip: build a pastry wall between the two fillings so the jam doesn't run into the meat.
The fish finger sandwich is a beach-café and pub-lunch classic around the English coast from Whitstable to Brighton, and the ultimate home comfort food for anyone who grew up in Britain. Here the fingers are made from fresh cod in crunchy crumbs, piled into buttered white bread with tartare sauce and crisp lettuce. Chef's tip: cut the fish into even fingers so they all cook in the same time.
Chicken and leek pie is the Sunday-night and pub supper of southern England, made with leftover roast chicken or fresh thighs simmered in a creamy sauce with soft leeks and a little tarragon, then topped with buttery puff pastry. It is gentle, savoury and best with mash and greens. Chef's tip: let the filling cool before the pastry goes on, or the lid will sink and stay raw underneath.
In Newlyn, Padstow and St Ives, harbourside kiosks sell crab sandwiches made with the morning's catch: sweet white claw meat and rich brown body meat on buttered brown bread with a little lemony mayonnaise. It is a summer lunch for eating on the harbour wall. Buy fresh, cooked and picked crab from a fishmonger, keep it in the fridge and use it the same day. Chef's tip: keep the white and brown meat separate and use both; the brown meat gives the flavour.
Haggis, neeps and tatties is the centre of every Burns Supper on 25 January, when the haggis is piped in, addressed with Robert Burns's poem and cut open with a flourish. Haggis is a peppery, oaty pudding of minced lamb's offal, onion and spice; nearly everyone in Scotland buys it from a butcher, then simply heats it and serves it with mashed swede (neeps) and potatoes (tatties). The cream sauce has a splash of whisky, which contains alcohol; leave it out and add a teaspoon of mustard for an alcohol-free sauce. Chef's tip: wrap the haggis tightly in foil before it goes in the water so the casing doesn't burst.
Cock-a-leekie is Scotland's national soup, a clear broth of chicken and plenty of leeks, traditionally served on Burns Night and St Andrew's Day. A few prunes go in at the end, which sounds odd but gives little bursts of sweetness against the peppery broth. Some families thicken it with a handful of rice or barley. Chef's tip: add most of the leeks only for the last 15 minutes, so they stay green and silky instead of turning grey.
Partan bree comes from the fishing villages of the north-east of Scotland, where partan is the Scots word for the brown crab and bree means broth. Rice is simmered in milk and fish stock until soft, blended with the crab's brown meat, and finished with sweet white claw meat and a little cream. It is the coast's answer to a bisque, simpler and milder. Buy ready-cooked crab meat and keep it chilled. Chef's tip: add the white meat right at the end and only warm it through, so it stays in flakes.
The Scotch pie is the straight-sided, double-crust mutton pie eaten at half time on football terraces and bought from butchers' counters in every Scottish town, with an open rim at the top for adding gravy, beans or mash. The pastry is a hot water crust made with lard (an animal fat) and the filling is peppery minced mutton or lamb. Chef's tip: shape the pastry while it is still warm; cold hot-water pastry cracks.
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