Şərbət is poured at the start of every Azerbaijani wedding, and the rose kind, scented with rosewater from the Absheron rose gardens, is the most loved; in Baku it is set out in crystal jugs for Novruz guests and at Ramadan iftar. This version adds two kinds of basil (reyhan): purple basil leaves steeped in the syrup for a clove-like scent, and soaked basil seeds that swell into soft, jelly-coated pearls. Lemon keeps it from tasting like perfume. Serve very cold, with ice, alongside sweets or a rich plov. Chef's tip: soak the basil seeds in plenty of water, at least 20 times their volume; crowded seeds clump into a single lump.
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The marionberry was bred at Oregon State University and named after Marion County in the Willamette Valley, and in July it fills farm stands and pie shops from Portland to Salem. It is a blackberry with a deeper, wine-like flavour and more juice. Elsewhere, use blackberries mixed with a few raspberries. Chef's tip: let the sugared berries sit for 15 minutes and add only half the juice they release, or the pie will be runny.
In August, families in northern Idaho, Montana and the Washington Cascades hike to mountain slopes to pick wild huckleberries, which have never been farmed and taste like a sharper, more perfumed blueberry. Lodges and diners from Sandpoint to Glacier National Park serve them in fluffy buttermilk pancakes. Wild blueberries are the best substitute. Chef's tip: drop the berries onto each pancake in the pan instead of stirring them into the batter, so the batter doesn't turn purple and the berries don't sink.
Lowcountry boil, also called Frogmore stew after a village on St Helena Island, South Carolina, is the one-pot party of the Carolina and Georgia coast: new potatoes, corn cobs, smoked pork sausage and fresh shrimp boiled in spiced water, drained and tipped straight onto a newspaper-covered table for everyone to dig in. It is summer food for beach houses, church picnics and Fourth of July. Chef's tip: add everything in stages, timed so the shrimp go in last for only a few minutes.
Farm wives across Minnesota, Iowa and the Dakotas called rhubarb 'pie plant', because the first stalks in May went straight into this pie after a long winter without fresh fruit. Chopped rhubarb is baked in a sweet egg custard, so each slice is soft, creamy and tart at the same time. It turns up at Memorial Day picnics and church bake sales. Chef's tip: toss the rhubarb with the sugar and flour and let it sit 10 minutes before adding the eggs; it starts drawing out juice and the custard sets more evenly.
In Iowa, scalloped corn is the dish everyone brings to the Thanksgiving table, the church potluck and the Sunday dinner after a funeral. Sweetcorn kernels and creamed corn are baked with milk, eggs and buttery crushed crackers into a soft, spoonable pudding with a golden, crunchy top. Chef's tip: save a third of the crackers for the top and mix them with melted butter so they crisp instead of going soggy.
The Shaker communities of Ohio and Kentucky wasted nothing, so they sliced whole lemons, peel and all, and left them overnight in sugar until the rind turned soft and syrupy. Baked with eggs between two crusts, the filling is like a bright, chunky marmalade custard, sweet, sour and faintly bitter. Shaker villages and Ohio bakeries still make it for spring. Chef's tip: slice the lemons paper-thin, ideally on a mandoline; thick slices stay chewy and bitter.
Malasadas came to Hawaii with Portuguese workers from Madeira and the Azores in the 1870s, and on Malasada Day, the Tuesday before Lent, bakeries in Honolulu have queues round the block. They are eggy, airy yeast doughnuts with no hole, fried golden and rolled in sugar while hot; some are filled with haupia or custard. Chef's tip: the dough is very soft and sticky, so oil your hands rather than adding more flour, or the malasadas turn heavy.
Butter mochi is the sweet of Hawaii's potlucks, school fundraisers and family parties, a local mix of Japanese mochi and the islands' coconut. Glutinous rice flour is baked with coconut milk, evaporated milk, butter and eggs into a golden, chewy cake with crisp edges and a soft, bouncy middle. Chef's tip: cut it with a plastic knife once fully cooled; a metal knife drags and sticks.
Shave ice came to Hawaii with Japanese plantation workers, and on hot afternoons on Oahu's North Shore families still queue at roadside stands for a towering, soft cone of ice soaked in rainbow syrups. The ice is shaved so fine it is like fresh snow and soaks up the syrup instead of letting it run to the bottom. Without a shaver, freeze ice in a block and scrape it with a fork. Chef's tip: let the ice block sit out for 5 minutes before shaving; slightly tempered ice gives fluffier flakes.
Every Hawaiian plate lunch, from drive-ins in Hilo to the lunch wagons of Honolulu, comes with two scoops of rice and one of this soft, creamy macaroni salad. It is simpler than American pasta salads: overcooked elbow macaroni soaked in vinegar while hot, then folded with lots of mayonnaise, a little milk and grated carrot. Chef's tip: cook the pasta past al dente, a few minutes longer than the packet says; plate-lunch mac is meant to be soft so it soaks up the dressing.
Carne adovada is the slow-braised red chile pork of northern New Mexico, a speciality of Chimayó and the Española Valley, eaten in burritos, with eggs for breakfast or with sopaipillas on the side. Pork shoulder marinates overnight in a smooth sauce of dried red chile pods, garlic and oregano, then bakes until it falls into soft shreds stained deep red. Chef's tip: marinate it overnight in the fridge; the chile works into the meat and makes it extra tender.
The green chile cheeseburger is the pride of New Mexico, with an official trail of roadside diners and bars from San Antonio, New Mexico, to Santa Fe competing for the best one. A juicy beef patty is topped with melted American or cheddar cheese and a heap of roasted, chopped green chile, which adds smoky heat that cuts through the richness. Chef's tip: put the chile on before the cheese and let the cheese melt over it, so it holds the chile in place.
Sauce piquante is the fiery tomato-and-roux braise of the Cajun parishes, cooked in big black pots for family reunions and the Raceland sauce piquante festival, with chicken, rabbit, alligator or turtle. This chicken version simmers until falling off the bone in a sauce sharp with chilli, vinegar and plenty of black pepper. Serve over rice. Chef's tip: let it sit for 20 minutes off the heat before serving; the heat and sharpness mellow and blend.
Manhattan clam chowder swaps New England's cream for tomatoes, a style that grew up in the Portuguese and Italian fish restaurants of New York and Coney Island and is still ladled out in Fulton Street lunch counters. It is a brothy red soup with clams, potato, carrot, celery and a little bacon (pork), lighter than the white kind and peppery with thyme. Chef's tip: add the chopped clams only for the last few minutes; long boiling turns them to rubber.
Around Chesapeake Bay, from Baltimore's crab houses to the docks of the Eastern Shore, a proper crab cake is judged by how little holds it together: sweet lump blue crab, a spoon of mayonnaise and mustard, a little seasoning and just enough crumbs to bind. They are eaten as a platter with coleslaw or in a soft roll with tartare sauce through the summer crab season. Chef's tip: chill the shaped cakes for an hour; it firms them so they don't fall apart in the pan.
Maryland crab soup is the red, vegetable-packed soup of Baltimore crab houses and Eastern Shore church fundraisers, simmered in a beef broth with tomatoes, corn, beans and lots of crab seasoning, with blue crab meat stirred in at the end. Locals eat a cup before a tray of steamed crabs. Chef's tip: let the vegetables cook fully before the crab goes in; crab meat only needs warming, and stirring too much shreds it.
The cheesesteak was born in South Philadelphia in the 1930s, and the rival stands on Passyunk Avenue still keep the city arguing over whether it should come with melted cheese sauce, provolone or American cheese, and 'wit' or 'witout' fried onions. Paper-thin ribeye is chopped on a hot griddle, cheese is melted over it and the lot is scooped into a soft, crusty hoagie roll. Chef's tip: freeze the beef for 40 minutes before slicing; it firms up so you can cut it almost see-through.
The Reuben is a New York deli classic, claimed by both a Manhattan delicatessen and a poker game in Omaha, and now on every Jewish-style deli menu in the city: rye bread layered with thin corned beef, sauerkraut, Swiss cheese and Russian dressing, then fried in butter until the cheese melts. It is a big, salty, tangy lunch. Chef's tip: squeeze the sauerkraut hard in your fist; wet kraut makes soggy toast.
From the silver carts on Midtown corners, often run by Egyptian and Afghan cooks, comes New York's favourite cheap late-night meal: chopped spiced chicken thighs on turmeric rice with shredded lettuce, a tangy white sauce and a fiery red chilli sauce. Office workers and taxi drivers queue for it at 2 a.m. Chef's tip: marinate the chicken in the fridge overnight; the lemon and spices soak right in.
Scrapple is the thrifty breakfast meat of Pennsylvania Dutch farm country and the Delaware Valley, made at pig-killing time from pork trimmings simmered and set with cornmeal and buckwheat into a loaf. Slices are fried until crisp and brown outside and soft within, and eaten with eggs, apple butter or maple syrup at Lancaster County diners. This home version uses pork shoulder and a little liver. Chef's tip: slice it 1 cm thick and leave it alone in the pan until a dark crust forms; it sticks if you move it early.
In Lancaster County a pot pie is not a pie at all: bott boi is a thick chicken stew with potatoes, celery and saffron in which big squares of rolled egg dough are boiled like noodles, served at firehouse suppers and Amish and Mennonite family dinners. It is soft, comforting and golden. Chef's tip: drop the dough squares in one at a time into a rolling boil so they don't stick together in a lump.
Country captain is the curried chicken of Savannah and coastal Georgia, said to have arrived with sea captains in the spice trade from India, and it is still served at Georgia Junior League luncheons and holiday buffets. Browned chicken is braised in a mild curry and tomato sauce with peppers, then finished with currants and toasted almonds, and served over white rice. Chef's tip: toast the curry powder in the fat for a full minute; raw curry powder tastes dusty.
The hot brown was invented in 1926 at the Brown Hotel in Louisville, Kentucky, as a late-night dish for dancers, and it is still ordered there and all over the city on Derby weekend. Thick slices of roast turkey on toast are covered in a rich Mornay sauce and grilled until bubbling, then topped with tomato and crisp smoked bacon (pork). Eat it with a knife and fork. Chef's tip: use leftover roast turkey breast carved thickly; thin deli slices dry out under the grill.
Many Philadelphians quietly prefer this to the cheesesteak: thinly sliced roast pork shoulder soaked in its garlic and herb juices, with bitter sautéed broccoli rabe and sharp provolone in a seeded Italian roll. It comes from the Italian markets of South Philly and the stalls of the Reading Terminal Market, where it is lunch for market workers. Chef's tip: slice the pork very thin and dunk it back in the hot juices; that soaking is what makes the sandwich.
Buffalo wings were first tossed in hot sauce and butter at a bar in Buffalo, New York, in 1964 and are now the snack of every American football Sunday. The wings are cooked until the skin is crisp, then coated in a glossy, vinegary chilli-butter sauce and served with celery sticks and a cooling blue cheese dip. This oven version skips the deep fryer. Chef's tip: dry the wings well and toss them with baking powder; it draws out moisture and blisters the skin almost like frying.
Ask in a Buffalo tavern and many people will say this, not the wing, is the city's real sandwich: thin slices of rare roast beef dipped in its juices, piled on a kummelweck roll crusted with coarse salt and caraway seeds, with sharp horseradish on the side. German bakers in western New York brought the roll in the nineteenth century. Chef's tip: dip the top of the roll in the beef juices just before serving, so it softens but the salt crust stays crunchy.
Étouffée means 'smothered', and in Breaux Bridge, which calls itself the crawfish capital of the world, this is what happens to the spring crawfish catch from February to May. Peeled tails are simmered in a butter-based light roux with the trinity, garlic and cayenne until the sauce is glossy and orange with crawfish fat. Serve over white rice. Peeled frozen crawfish tails or raw prawns work well outside Louisiana. Chef's tip: keep any yellow crawfish fat in the pack; it gives the sauce its richness and colour.
Shrimp Creole is the tomato-red weeknight dish of New Orleans homes and old Creole lunch counters, quite different from the brown, roux-based Cajun stews of the countryside. Gulf prawns simmer briefly in a sauce of tomato, the trinity, garlic, bay and hot sauce, and the dish is spooned over fluffy rice. Chef's tip: simmer the sauce until it is thick before the prawns go in, because they release water as they cook.
Fajitas started with the vaqueros of the Rio Grande Valley, who were paid partly in the tough skirt steak, and they became a Tex-Mex restaurant hit in Houston and Austin in the 1970s, carried to the table on a hissing iron platter. The steak is marinated in lime, garlic and cumin, seared very hot and sliced thinly against the grain, then wrapped in flour tortillas with charred peppers and onions. Chef's tip: slice across the grain; with skirt steak that one detail decides whether it is tender or chewy.
Chicken-fried steak is Texas's unofficial state dish, served in truck stops, small-town cafés and Sunday after-church lunches across the Hill Country: a tenderised beef steak breaded and fried like fried chicken, smothered in white cream gravy with lots of black pepper, next to mashed potatoes. It came from German and Austrian settlers' schnitzel. Chef's tip: double-dip in seasoned flour, buttermilk and flour again for the craggy, crunchy crust.
Mutton stew is the everyday and ceremonial dish of the Navajo (Diné) Nation, where sheep have been raised on the high desert since the 1600s; it simmers on wood stoves in hogans and is served at the Navajo Nation Fair in Window Rock with fry bread or blue corn bread. It is a plain, honest stew of bone-in mutton, potatoes, corn, onion and a little green chile. Lamb shoulder can be used, and cooks a little faster. Chef's tip: keep it at a lazy simmer and skim the fat as it rises; mutton fat is strong-tasting.
Chili pie is Friday-night-lights food across Texas, sold at high-school football concession stands, rodeos and the State Fair in Dallas: a heap of crunchy corn chips smothered in hot beef chili, grated cheese and raw onion, sometimes served right in the split chip packet. Making the chili from scratch turns it into a proper meal. Chef's tip: add the chili just before eating, because the chips should still crunch under the sauce.
Plum bread is the dark, spiced fruit loaf of Lincolnshire bakeries, sold year round but especially at Christmas, sliced and spread with butter or eaten with a wedge of Lincolnshire Poacher cheese. There are no plums in it: 'plums' was the old word for dried fruit. The dough is enriched with butter, egg and mixed spice and packed with prunes, raisins and currants. Chef's tip: soak the fruit in hot tea for an hour so it stays juicy and doesn't steal moisture from the bread.
She-crab soup was first made in Charleston, South Carolina, in the early 1900s and is still ordered at the city's oldest dining rooms: a velvety cream soup full of sweet blue crabmeat, coloured orange with crab roe from the female crabs. A splash of dry sherry is stirred into each bowl at the table; the alcohol doesn't cook off, so leave it out for children or anyone avoiding alcohol and add a few drops of lemon juice instead. Chef's tip: never let the soup boil once the cream is in, or the crab turns stringy.
Chicken and dumplings is the Sunday dinner and sick-day comfort of Mississippi, Tennessee and the Carolinas: a whole bird simmered into broth, shredded, and cooked with thin, rolled strips of dough that thicken the pot as they simmer, so it ends up halfway between soup and stew. Chef's tip: roll the dumplings thin, about 3 mm; thick ones stay doughy in the middle.
Collard greens simmered low and slow with smoked pork are at the heart of African American soul food and of Southern Sunday dinners and New Year's tables from Alabama to Virginia. The tough leaves melt into silky, savoury greens, and the cooking liquid, the 'pot likker', is so good it is sopped up with cornbread. Chef's tip: strip out the thick stems and wash the leaves in three changes of water; grit is the commonest complaint.
Grillades and grits is the long-standing New Orleans brunch for Sunday mornings, Mardi Gras day and Jazz Fest weekends: thin medallions of beef pounded, browned and braised in a rich brown Creole gravy with tomato and the trinity, then spooned over buttery grits. Chef's tip: pound the meat thin and braise it low and slow until a fork slides in easily; rushing it leaves the beef chewy.
In Cajun country, courtbouillon (say 'coo-boo-yon') is not the French poaching broth but a thick, spicy red stew of firm fish, made in the fishing communities of Vermilion Bay and the Atchafalaya Basin after a good day's catch of redfish or catfish. It is built on a roux and tomatoes and finished with lemon and spring onions, then served over rice. Chef's tip: lay the fish on top of the sauce and spoon it over rather than stirring, so the pieces stay whole.
Oysters Rockefeller were created at Antoine's in the French Quarter in 1889 and named after the richest man in America because the sauce was so rich; the restaurant has never shared its exact recipe. Live Gulf oysters on the half shell are covered with a bright green butter of herbs and greens and baked until bubbling, a classic starter at New Orleans celebration dinners. This version uses a dash of anise-flavoured liqueur, which is traditional; it can be replaced with a pinch of ground fennel seed for an alcohol-free version. Chef's tip: bed the shells on coarse salt so they sit level and the juices don't spill.
The muffuletta was first made by Sicilian grocers on Decatur Street in New Orleans in the early 1900s for dock workers' lunches, and it is still sold whole or in quarters to take to the levee or a Saints game. A big round sesame loaf is filled with layers of ham, salami, mortadella (all pork) and provolone and soaked with a chunky olive salad. Provolone is traditionally made with animal rennet. Chef's tip: press the sandwich under a weight for an hour so the oil soaks into the bread.
Poke, from the Hawaiian word for cut into pieces, began as fishermen's snack of raw reef fish with sea salt, seaweed and roasted kukui nut, and is now sold by the pound from the deli counters of every Hawaiian supermarket, eaten over rice as a quick lunch or with drinks after work. This shoyu ahi style dresses cubes of yellowfin tuna in soy sauce, sesame oil, sweet onion and chilli. Traditional poke is raw fish, which is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system, so this version quickly sears the cubes until cooked through. Chef's tip: dress the tuna just before eating; the soy sauce draws out moisture and turns it soft if it sits for hours.
Shoyu chicken is the home-cooked comfort of Hawaii's plantation families, a Japanese-influenced braise of chicken thighs in soy sauce (shoyu), sugar, ginger and garlic, and a staple of the plate lunch: two scoops of rice, a scoop of macaroni salad and chicken with plenty of sauce. Chef's tip: simmer uncovered at the end and spoon the sauce over until it turns glossy and coats the chicken.
Virginia and Georgia both claim Brunswick stew, and it is still cooked in huge iron kettles for fire-station fundraisers and served beside barbecue all over the two states. It is a thick, tangy tomato stew of shredded pork and chicken with lima beans and sweetcorn, sharpened with vinegar and Worcestershire sauce. Leftover smoked pork shoulder makes it even better. Chef's tip: simmer it long enough that the meat and vegetables break down a little and the stew turns thick enough to stand a spoon in.
Hoppin' John is eaten on New Year's Day across the South for luck, with collard greens for money and cornbread for gold, and its roots run back to the rice plantations of the South Carolina Lowcountry and the West African cooks who worked them. Black-eyed peas are simmered with smoked pork (here a ham hock and bacon), then cooked with rice so every grain takes on the smoky broth. Chef's tip: cook the rice in the bean liquor, not water; that is where all the flavour is.
Few street snacks are as loved in Morocco as maakouda, golden patties of mashed potato seasoned with garlic, cumin, turmeric and plenty of parsley and coriander, dipped in beaten egg and fried until crisp outside and fluffy inside. At sandwich stalls in Casablanca, Rabat and Tangier they are split into half a baguette or a round of khobz with harissa, chopped tomato and onion, and in Ramadan they appear on the iftar table beside harira. At home they make a great lunch with a salad. Chef's tip: cook the potatoes in their skins, then peel and mash them while hot and leave the mash to steam dry for 10 minutes; dry mash holds together, while wet mash, the classic mistake, falls apart in the pan.
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