Kimchi fried rice (김치볶음밥, kimchi bokkeumbap) is the dish Korean households all over the country make when the kimchi has turned sour and there is leftover rice in the fridge. The kimchi and its juice are fried first so they caramelise, then the rice is tossed through until every grain is red, tangy and a little smoky. A fried egg with a runny yolk on top makes it a meal. Use well-fermented vegetarian kimchi, such as the baechu kimchi in this collection; many shop-bought kimchis contain fish sauce or shrimp, so check the label. Chef's tip: the kimchi must be properly sour, at least two or three weeks old. Fresh kimchi makes a flat, watery fried rice; fry it until it catches slightly before the rice goes in.
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Seafood gumbo is the New Orleans Creole style, made in coastal kitchens from the French Quarter to the bayou towns of Plaquemines Parish, with a medium-brown roux, tomato and sliced okra to thicken it, and as much Gulf prawn, crab and oyster as the market offers. It is a Friday, Lent and Christmas Eve dish. Serve over rice with a dash of hot sauce. Chef's tip: make a quick stock from the prawn shells; it carries the sea flavour through the whole pot.
Before white flour became cheap, barley bread was everyday food in much of rural Morocco, from the Rif to the Atlas, and khobz chair is still baked at home and sold in markets by people who love its dense, slightly sweet, nutty crumb. Barley has very little gluten, so the loaves are flat-domed rather than tall, with a crust dusted in barley grits or semolina. Tear it while warm and dip it in olive oil, eat it with bissara, lentils or olives, or spread it with honey and butter at breakfast. A little white flour helps it rise; allow about 1 1/2 hours for rising. Chef's tip: do not keep adding flour to make it less sticky; barley dough is meant to feel tacky, and extra flour, the common mistake, makes a dry, crumbly loaf.
Moroccan bakeries pile their windows with krachel, round, glossy buns of enriched dough perfumed with aniseed, toasted sesame and orange-flower water, and families bake them at home for breakfast, for guests and for feast days. They are soft and pillowy, lightly sweet, with a distinctive liquorice-like scent from the anise and a nutty crunch of sesame on top. Eat them warm with butter and jam, dipped into milky coffee, or with mint tea in the afternoon. The dough needs two rises, about 1 1/2 hours in all. Don't rush the rise: under-proved krachel bake dense and tight instead of soft and fluffy. Chef's tip: lightly toast the aniseed and sesame in a dry pan before adding them to the dough; it doubles their fragrance.
New Orleans rémoulade is not the pale French sauce but a brick-red, punchy mix of Creole mustard, paprika, horseradish and the trinity, and in the grand old Creole restaurants it is served as a cold starter over boiled Gulf prawns and shredded lettuce, especially in the summer heat. Chef's tip: make the sauce the day before so the flavours marry; it tastes raw and harsh straight after mixing.
In the barbecue towns of central Texas, Lockhart, Luling and Taylor, brisket is smoked over post oak for half a day with nothing on it but coarse salt and black pepper, then sliced on butcher paper and sold by the pound with white bread, pickles and onion. The fatty point and the leaner flat both turn meltingly tender under a black, peppery bark. Chef's tip: cook to feel, not just time: it is ready when a probe slides into the thickest part like going into soft butter, usually around 95 °C inside.
Tucson and Phoenix both claim to have invented the chimichanga, and the story told in Tucson is of a cook who dropped a burrito into the fryer by accident and swore in Spanish. It is now a staple of Arizona Mexican diners: a flour tortilla wrapped around shredded beef and beans, fried golden and crisp, then topped with guacamole and soured cream. Chef's tip: roll the burrito tightly and fry it seam-side down first so it seals and doesn't open in the oil.
Italian beef was born at Italian-American weddings and family stands on Chicago's West Side in the 1930s, when cooks sliced roast beef paper-thin so a little meat could feed a crowd. The slices are soaked in a garlicky, oregano-spiced jus and piled into a crusty roll with hot giardiniera or sweet peppers; order it 'dipped' and the whole sandwich gets a dunk in the jus. Chef's tip: chill the roast overnight before slicing; cold beef slices far thinner, and thinness is everything here.
A Chicago dog is one of the city's proudest foods, sold from hot dog stands across the city and outside Wrigley Field: an all-beef frankfurter in a steamed poppy seed bun, 'dragged through the garden' with yellow mustard, bright green relish, onion, tomato, a pickle spear, pickled sport peppers and celery salt. Chicagoans have one firm rule: never ketchup. Chef's tip: steam the buns instead of toasting them, so they are soft and warm and hold everything together.
Toasted ravioli was invented on the Hill, St. Louis's old Italian neighbourhood, when, as the story goes, a cook dropped ravioli into hot oil by accident; now 'T-ravs' are on nearly every bar and restaurant menu in the city. Beef-filled ravioli are breaded and fried, not toasted, until crisp, then dusted with grated cheese and dipped in marinara. Chef's tip: chill the breaded ravioli for 20 minutes before frying so the crumb sticks and doesn't fall off in the oil.
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