Lamb with honey and raisins
Families make a big pot of mrouzia in the days after Eid al-Adha, partly as a treat and partly as a way to keep meat: cooked down with honey, smen and spices until almost confit-like, it keeps for days, and in the past for weeks. The lamb is very tender and dark, coated in a thick, sweet-spiced sauce heavy with ras el hanout, cinnamon and saffron, with plump raisins and fried almonds on top. Serve small portions with bread and a sharp salad to balance the richness. The usual mistake is adding the honey too early, so it catches and turns bitter before the lamb is tender. Chef's tip: add the honey only once the meat is tender; added early, it scorches on the base during the long cook.
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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.
Pepperoni rolls were first baked for Italian immigrant coal miners in Fairmont, West Virginia, in the 1920s as a lunch that needed no refrigeration down the mine, and they are now sold in every petrol station and school canteen in the state. Soft, slightly sweet bread is rolled around sticks of cured pork-and-beef pepperoni, whose spicy oil seeps into the dough as it bakes. Chef's tip: use sticks of pepperoni rather than slices, which is the original Fairmont way and keeps the bread from going greasy.
In the prairie towns of Acadiana around Lafayette and Eunice, a pot of chicken and andouille gumbo goes on the stove for Sunday dinners, Mardi Gras runs and cold winter evenings. It starts with a roux of flour and oil stirred until the colour of dark chocolate, then the holy trinity of onion, celery and pepper, chicken thighs and andouille, a spicy smoked pork sausage. Serve in bowls over rice with potato salad on the side, as many Cajun families do. Chef's tip: never stop stirring the roux and keep the heat medium; a single black fleck means it has burnt and must be thrown out.
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.
In Minnesota, any one-dish bake is a hotdish, and the tater tot version is what turns up at church basement suppers, Lutheran funerals and family reunions all over the state. Seasoned beef mince and vegetables go into a creamy mushroom sauce, the top is covered in neat rows of crisp potato tots, and everything bakes until golden. This version makes the sauce from scratch. Chef's tip: lay the tots in tight, even rows; gaps let steam escape and the tots crisp instead of going soggy.
The loose meat sandwich, sometimes called a Maid-Rite after the Iowa chain that started it in Muscatine in 1926, is beef mince simmered until finely crumbled and tender, then piled loose on a soft bun with mustard, pickles and onion. It falls apart as you eat it, so it comes with a spoon. Small-town Iowa cafés have served it at lunch counters for generations. Chef's tip: break the meat up constantly with a potato masher as it cooks; you want fine, even crumbs, not lumps.
King Ranch chicken is the layered casserole every Texan has eaten at a potluck, baby shower or after a funeral, named, without any proof, after the famous ranch in South Texas. Corn tortillas are layered like lasagne with shredded chicken, peppers, tinned tomatoes with green chiles, a creamy sauce and lots of cheese. This version makes the sauce from scratch instead of tinned soup. Chef's tip: lightly fry or toast the tortillas first so the layers hold up instead of turning to mush.
The puffy taco is San Antonio's own: a ball of fresh corn masa pressed flat and dropped into hot oil, where it puffs into a light, crisp, hollow shell, then shaped into a U and filled with seasoned beef mince, lettuce and tomato. Family-run Tex-Mex restaurants on the West Side have served them since the 1950s, and the city's baseball team even has a puffy taco mascot. Chef's tip: as soon as the dough puffs, press a spatula into the middle to make the fold, before it sets.
Carne guisada is the South Texas comfort stew of the Rio Grande Valley and Corpus Christi, ladled into fresh flour tortillas for breakfast tacos or eaten from a plate with rice and refried beans. Cubes of beef chuck are browned and slowly stewed with onion, pepper, garlic and cumin in a thick, peppery brown gravy. Chef's tip: dust the beef with flour as it browns; it thickens the gravy just enough to cling to a tortilla.
When the Hatch chile harvest comes in each September, the smell of roasting green chiles fills supermarket car parks across New Mexico, and green chile stew becomes the dish of football Fridays and cold Santa Fe nights. It is a brothy stew of pork shoulder, potatoes and plenty of roasted, peeled green chile, served with a warm tortilla. Chef's tip: roast the chiles until the skins blister black all over, then sweat them in a covered bowl; the skins slip off easily.
M'hancha means 'the snake', and that is exactly what this festive Fez pastry looks like: a long tube of paper-thin warqa or filo filled with orange-blossom almond paste and coiled into a spiral, then baked until golden and brushed with warm honey. It is brought out whole for guests and family celebrations and cut into wedges at the table with mint tea. The pastry shatters, the filling is soft and fragrant with cinnamon, and the honey glaze makes it shine. Filo stands in well for warqa; most shop filo is made without butter, but check the label. Most people go wrong by letting the filo dry out while they roll; keep the sheets under a damp cloth so the long rolls don't crack when coiled. Chef's tip: roll the filling loosely in the pastry and coil it gently; packed too tightly, the snake cracks as you curl it.
Ramadan evenings, weddings and Eid all call for a tray of sticky almond briouats: small triangles of warqa or filo wrapped around almond paste scented with orange-flower water and cinnamon, fried until golden and then plunged into warm honey. They are crisp at first bite, then soft and chewy as the honey seeps in, finished with a few sesame seeds. Served with mint tea, they sit happily next to chebakia and sellou on the iftar table. Filo works well in place of warqa. Chef's tip: dip the briouats in honey that is warm but not boiling, for about 2 minutes; leave them longer, the common mistake, and they turn soggy.
Ktefa, also known as pastilla au lait, is the grand finale of many weddings and family feasts in Fez and Rabat: shattering layers of fried warqa piled up with a light orange-blossom milk custard and a sweet, cinnamon-scented crumble of toasted almonds, assembled at the very last moment so every bite crackles. It is served in wedges or straight from the platter. Filo fried in rounds makes an easy home version, and everything can be prepared ahead except the final assembly. The custard is cooked until it bubbles, so the eggs are fully cooked. Don't assemble ktefa ahead of time: once the custard sits on the crisp layers they go soggy within minutes. Chef's tip: assemble only when you are ready to serve; if it sits for more than 15 minutes, the custard softens the crisp layers, the most common way ktefa goes wrong.
Every Moroccan home cook seems to have a meskouta recipe, the light, fluffy sponge that is baked in a ring tin and set out for afternoon tea, unexpected guests or a children's snack. This one is flavoured with fresh orange juice and zest; many families make a yogurt version instead, using the yogurt pot to measure everything, and that variation is in the steps. The crumb is airy and moist, not too sweet, and it pairs perfectly with mint tea or a glass of milk. No mixer is strictly needed, but it helps. Chef's tip: beat the eggs and sugar for a full 5 minutes until pale and tripled in volume; under-whipped eggs, the usual mistake, make a dense, flat meskouta.
Navajo tacos, also called Indian tacos, are what the queues are for at powwows, state fairs and roadside stands across the Navajo Nation and the Four Corners. A freshly fried, crisp-edged fry bread is piled with beef and pinto bean chili, shredded lettuce, tomato, onion and cheese, and eaten with a knife and fork. Chef's tip: make the chili first and fry the bread last, so it is still crisp when the toppings go on.
Chinese chicken salad is not from China but from 1960s and 70s California, popularised by a Chinese-American restaurant in Beverly Hills and by Hollywood lunch spots, then copied by every Los Angeles café. Shredded chicken, cabbage, carrots and spring onions are tossed in a sweet sesame-ginger dressing and topped with crisp fried wonton strips, toasted almonds and mandarin segments. Chef's tip: add the crunchy toppings at the last moment, or they go soft in minutes.
Finger steaks are Idaho's diner and drive-in speciality, said to have been invented by a butcher in Boise in the 1950s who battered the trimmings of steaks and fried them. Strips of tender sirloin are dipped in a light, peppery batter and deep-fried until crisp, then eaten with chips and pink fry sauce at the county fair. Chef's tip: cut the beef into even strips about 1.5 cm thick so they cook to tender in the 2 minutes it takes the batter to brown.
Huli means turn in Hawaiian, and this chicken was named in the 1950s when a farmer on Oʻahu grilled it between two racks and flipped it over the fire; today you smell it from roadside fundraiser stands and North Shore weekend grills. Chicken is marinated in soy sauce, pineapple juice, ginger and brown sugar, then grilled and basted until sticky and charred. Chef's tip: boil the leftover marinade before basting with it, so it is safe and turns into a glaze.
Despite its name there is no rice in it: chicken long rice is a gingery chicken broth with bean thread noodles, brought to Hawaii by Chinese plantation workers and now a fixture at every lūʻau and baby's first-birthday party alongside kalua pig and poi. The glassy noodles soak up the broth until it is almost a stew. Chef's tip: soak the noodles and cut them into short lengths before they go into the pot, or you get one long, tangled clump.
In Yorkshire the pudding was once served first, on its own with gravy, to fill people up before the meat; today these puffed, crisp-edged cups sit beside the roast at Sunday lunch all over England. The batter is nothing but eggs, flour and milk, and the trick is in the heat: smoking-hot fat in the tin and a hot oven. Serve with onion gravy for a vegetarian roast. Chef's tip: rest the batter for at least 30 minutes, which helps the puddings rise tall and even.
Mince pies are handed round with mulled drinks at every English Christmas gathering, from carol services to office parties, and children leave one out for Father Christmas. The mincemeat once held meat; this home-made version is all fruit, apple and spice, with vegetarian suet, and brandy is optional, so it can be alcohol-free. Chef's tip: make the mincemeat a week ahead so the flavours mellow; it keeps for months.
Crumpets are the spongy, holey griddle cakes that Londoners and the whole of England toast on winter afternoons, soaked in melting butter. A loose yeasted batter is lifted with a little bicarbonate, poured into rings on a griddle and cooked gently on one side only, so bubbles rise and set into the famous holes. Chef's tip: grease the rings generously and keep the heat low; the top must set before the bottom burns.
At Moroccan weddings and engagement parties, silver trays of tall glasses filled with sharbat louz are passed among the guests: chilled milk blended smooth with blanched almonds, sugar and a perfume of orange-flower water. It is also a favourite summer drink at home and is often offered to break the fast in Ramadan. The taste is creamy, delicate and nutty, a world away from carton almond milk, since it is real dairy milk enriched with almonds. Serve it very cold, on its own or with sweets. A common mistake is skipping the straining, which leaves a gritty drink instead of a smooth, silky one. Chef's tip: blend the almonds with the sugar and a little milk first, into a fine paste, before adding the rest; that way it ends up silky rather than gritty. Not for anyone with a nut allergy.
The breaded pork tenderloin sandwich is the pride of small-town diners in Indiana and Iowa: a pork cutlet pounded so thin and wide that the crisp, golden edges stick out far beyond the bun. It came from the German schnitzel tradition of the farming towns, and people drive miles to compare them. It's dressed simply with mustard, pickles, onion and lettuce. Chef's tip: pound the pork evenly to 5 mm; thin pork cooks through in the time it takes the crumb to turn golden.
Two bars in south Minneapolis both claim to have invented the Juicy Lucy in the 1950s, and the city still argues about it over beers. Instead of cheese on top, the cheese is sealed inside the beef patty, so it melts into a molten pocket that spurts when you bite. It is served simply, with fried onions and pickles. Chef's tip: warn everyone to wait a minute before biting; the cheese inside is scalding hot.
On the Door County peninsula of Wisconsin, Scandinavian fishermen cooked their catch in a cauldron over a wood fire, and summer 'fish boils' are still a show for visitors: when the fish is done, the boil master throws kerosene on the fire and the pot boils over, carrying off the fish oils. At home, a big pot and a skimmer do the same job. Lake whitefish, potatoes and onions are boiled in very salty water and served with melted butter, lemon and, for dessert, cherry pie. Chef's tip: the salt is high, so don't cut back; it raises the boiling point and seasons the fish without making it salty.
Every Friday night in Wisconsin, supper clubs, taverns and church halls hold a fish fry, a Catholic Lenten tradition that became a year-round social event. Beer-battered cod, perch or bluegill is fried crisp and served with rye bread, coleslaw, tartare sauce and a lemon wedge. Many taverns use lager in the batter; it contains alcohol, which mostly cooks off, so for an alcohol-free version use sparkling water, which gives the same light, crisp coat. Chef's tip: dust the fish in flour before it goes in the batter, so the batter clings instead of sliding off.
Burnt ends were once the charred trimmings that Kansas City barbecue joints handed out free at the counter; today they are the most prized thing on the menu. The fatty point end of a beef brisket is smoked low and slow until tender, cubed, tossed in sweet, tangy Kansas City sauce and smoked again until sticky and caramelised. They're eaten on white bread with pickles and beans. Chef's tip: wait for the brisket to probe tender, like pushing into soft butter, before cubing; temperature is only a guide.
Walleye is Minnesota's state fish, pulled through the ice of its northern lakes in winter and fried at the cabin the same evening; restaurants from Duluth to Lake of the Woods sell walleye sandwiches and shore lunches. The mild, sweet white fillets are coated in crushed crackers or a light seasoned flour and pan-fried in butter until golden. Perch, pike-perch or haddock work too. Chef's tip: fry skin-side down first and don't move the fish for 3 minutes; that is how the crust sets.
Cooking salmon on cedar comes from the Coast Salish peoples of Puget Sound, who roasted split salmon on wooden stakes beside the fire, and today a cedar board on the grill is the backyard summer supper from Seattle to Portland. The soaked plank smoulders and steams, giving the fish a gentle, woody smokiness, here with a brown sugar and mustard glaze. Chef's tip: soak the plank for at least an hour, weighted under water, so it smokes rather than burns.
Cioppino was cooked by Italian and Portuguese fishermen in San Francisco's North Beach in the late 1800s from whatever was left of the day's catch, and it is now the big, messy, bib-wearing dinner of Fisherman's Wharf, especially in Dungeness crab season from November. The broth is tomato, garlic, herbs and white wine; for an alcohol-free version, use extra fish stock with a tablespoon of white wine vinegar. Serve with sourdough to mop it up. Chef's tip: add the seafood in stages, slowest-cooking first, so nothing turns rubbery.
In the Santa Maria Valley on California's Central Coast, ranchers' barbecues over red oak fires gave the state its own style: a triangular tri-tip roast of beef rubbed simply with salt, pepper and garlic, grilled until crusty, then sliced thin. It comes with pinquito beans, salsa and garlic bread at fundraisers and Saturday roadside barbecues. Chef's tip: tri-tip's grain changes direction in the middle, so cut the roast in two where the grain turns and slice each piece across its own grain.
Sit down at a café terrace in Casablanca, Rabat or Marrakech and order a 'nous-nous' (from 'nus', half) and you will get a small glass of half espresso, half steamed milk, often layered so the coffee floats in a dark band over the pale milk with a cap of foam. It is the default morning and afternoon coffee for many Moroccans, sipped slowly while watching the street, usually with a sugar lump or two on the saucer. It is smaller and stronger than a latte and milkier than a macchiato. A moka pot works fine at home if you have no espresso machine. Chef's tip: heat the milk only to 60–65 °C, hot to the touch but not scalding; boiled milk loses its sweetness and the foam collapses, a common mistake.
Crab Louie was on the menus of San Francisco's grand hotels and wharf restaurants by the early 1900s and is still a winter lunch when Dungeness crab is in season. Sweet crab meat is heaped on crisp lettuce with hard-boiled eggs, tomato, asparagus and avocado, and covered with a creamy, tangy pink dressing. Chef's tip: keep the crab in big pieces and add the dressing at the table, so the salad stays crisp.
Musubi is Hawaii's favourite grab-and-go snack, sold wrapped in cling film by the till in every convenience store from Honolulu to Hilo and packed for beach days and school lunches. A slice of tinned pork luncheon meat is fried in a sweet soy glaze, set on a block of rice and belted with a strip of nori, a Japanese rice-ball idea adapted after the Second World War. Chef's tip: wet the mould and your hands so the rice doesn't stick, and press firmly so the block holds.
The shrimp trucks parked along Kamehameha Highway in Kahuku, on Oʻahu's North Shore, serve this on paper plates to surfers and day-trippers: shell-on prawns from the local farms fried in a heap of garlic and butter until the shells are crisp enough to eat, with two scoops of rice and lemon. Chef's tip: dust the prawns in a little cornflour before frying; it helps the garlic butter cling and the shells crisp.
Saimin was born in the sugar plantation camps of Hawaii, where Chinese, Japanese and Filipino workers shared pots and combined their noodle soups into one, and it is still sold everywhere from old Kauaʻi diners to the snack bars at Little League games. Springy wheat noodles sit in a clear dashi and shrimp broth, topped with sliced char siu (roast pork), pink fish cake, egg and spring onion. Chef's tip: cook the noodles separately and rinse them, so their starch doesn't cloud the clear broth.
Piccalilli is the bright yellow pickle of the English ploughman's lunch, the Boxing Day cold cuts and the cheese board, and it has been made in farmhouse kitchens since the 18th century, when Indian pickles inspired it. Crunchy cauliflower, beans and onions are salted, then folded into a sweet, sharp sauce of mustard, turmeric and vinegar. Chef's tip: salt the vegetables overnight; it draws out water and keeps them crunchy for months.
The Christmas pudding is the dark, fruit-packed pudding that ends Christmas dinner in English homes, traditionally mixed on Stir-up Sunday in late November when every family member stirs and makes a wish. This one uses vegetarian suet and is soaked with brandy or stout, so it contains alcohol; for an alcohol-free pudding use the same amount of strong black tea or orange juice. It is set alight at the table with warmed brandy (skip that for alcohol-free) and served with brandy butter or custard. Chef's tip: steam it again for 2 hours on the day; the second steaming darkens and enriches it.
Curd tart is the Yorkshire tea-shop tart that was made at Whitsuntide, when farms had more milk than they could drink and turned it into fresh curds. The filling of curd cheese, eggs, currants and a good pinch of allspice is set in shortcrust, so it is creamy, slightly grainy and lightly spiced, a cousin of cheesecake. Market cafés from York to Ripon still sell it by the slice. Chef's tip: use proper curd cheese or well-drained ricotta; soft cream cheese makes it heavy and smooth instead of crumbly.
Fat rascals are big, rough, fruit-studded cakes from the North York Moors, halfway between a scone and a rock cake, and the famous Harrogate tea rooms made them a visitor's treat. Each one gets a face of glacé cherries and blanched almonds before baking. Eat them warm, split and buttered, with a pot of tea. Chef's tip: work the dough as little as possible, just until it holds; overmixed rascals bake up tough.
From the town of Eccles near Manchester, these flat pastry cakes are filled with butter-soaked currants and peel, slashed three times on top and baked until sugary and crackly. Lancashire people eat them with a slice of crumbly Lancashire cheese, the sweet and salty pairing locals swear by. Chef's tip: chill the filled cakes for 20 minutes before baking, so the pastry stays flaky and the filling doesn't leak.
This is the pie of the Lancashire chippy and the Bolton market stall, a vegetarian staple of the North West long before the word was common. Sliced onions and potato are softened, then mixed with plenty of crumbly Lancashire cheese and baked in shortcrust until the filling is creamy and tangy. Traditional Lancashire is usually made with animal rennet, so choose a vegetarian Lancashire or a vegetarian crumbly cheese. Serve with mushy peas or beans. Chef's tip: let the onions cool before mixing in the cheese, or it melts into oil before the pie is baked.
Sticky toffee pudding was made famous by a country hotel and a village shop in the Lake District, and Cumbria still claims it, though it now ends Sunday lunch in pubs across Britain. A soft, dark sponge made with soaked dates is soaked in a buttery brown-sugar sauce and served with more sauce, plus cream, custard or vanilla ice cream. Chef's tip: poke holes in the hot sponge and pour on a third of the sauce, so it soaks right in.
The village of Grasmere in the Lake District has sold its own gingerbread since the 1850s, a cross between shortbread and a biscuit with a crumbly top and chewy base, wrapped in paper for walkers and visitors to Wordsworth's grave. The real recipe is a closely kept secret; this is our home version, made with oatmeal, brown sugar and plenty of ground ginger. Chef's tip: press only the bottom half of the crumb mixture firmly and scatter the rest loosely on top, which gives the two textures.
Pease pudding is the thick yellow split pea spread of Newcastle and the North East, eaten in a stottie cake with ham or simply with buttered bread, and the 'pease pudding hot, pease pudding cold' of the nursery rhyme. It was traditionally boiled in a cloth beside a ham; this plant-based version is simmered with onion, bay and a little smoked paprika for the savoury depth. Chef's tip: soak the split peas overnight; unsoaked peas take hours and cook unevenly.
The stottie is the big flat round loaf of Tyneside and County Durham, with a dimple pressed in the middle and a dense, chewy crumb; bakers in Newcastle split them and stuff them with pease pudding, cheese or a bacon filling. Its name is said to come from 'stotting', or bouncing, because it is heavy enough to bounce off the floor. Chef's tip: bake it low in the oven so the bottom gets a deep golden colour while the top stays pale.
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