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Ximbó
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Ximbó

Ximbó comes from the Otomí (Hñähñu) communities of Hidalgo's Valle del Mezquital, where it is cooked for village fiestas: pieces of chicken, and often pork, are coated in a guajillo and pasilla sauce with nopales and onion, wrapped in the thick leaves of the maguey and slow-cooked in a pit oven like barbacoa. The meat comes out tender and juicy, in a concentrated, smoky red sauce. Maguey leaves are almost impossible to buy outside Mexico, so this home version wraps everything in banana leaves and baking paper and steams it on the hob; the pork is optional, but if you use it this becomes a pork dish too. Eat it straight from the parcel with tortillas, salsa and pickled chillies. Chef's tip: pass the banana leaves briefly over a gas flame or hot pan until they turn glossy; they become supple and stop cracking when you fold them.

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Boerenkoolstamppot

When the first frost hits the Dutch polders, farmers say the kale (boerenkool) finally turns sweet, and that is the signal for boerenkoolstamppot: floury potatoes mashed with finely shredded raw kale until the green is just wilted by the heat of the mash. Across the Netherlands it is the dinner of dark December evenings and the meal people want after skating on a frozen canal. Every plate gets a kuiltje, a little well pressed into the mash and filled with gravy. The classic partner is a smoked rookworst sausage; this vegetarian version keeps the smoky note with pan-fried smoked tofu and a slow-cooked onion gravy, and a spoon of mustard on the side. Chef's tip: shred the kale as fine as you can and stir it in raw at the very end, so it stays bright green with a little bite instead of turning grey and soggy.

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Hutspot

Every year on 3 October the city of Leiden celebrates Leidens Ontzet, the end of the Spanish siege of 1574, and the whole town eats hutspot. The story goes that a hungry boy found a pot of stewed root vegetables left behind in the abandoned Spanish camp. Today it is a rough, orange mash of winter carrots, onions and potatoes boiled together in one pot, then stamped coarsely with butter. In the rest of the Netherlands it turns up all autumn and winter as a weekday supper. It is traditionally served with slow-braised beef (klapstuk); here it goes with a fried egg or a spoon of piccalilli, which suits it just as well. Chef's tip: layer the vegetables with the potatoes on top and the carrots at the bottom, in just enough water to reach the potatoes; the potatoes steam, the carrots soak up the flavour of the onions, and nothing turns watery.

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Vegetarian erwtensoep

Erwtensoep, or snert, is the soup that Dutch skaters drink from paper cups at the koek-en-zopie stalls on frozen lakes, and that families leave to simmer on a Saturday in January. A proper snert is so thick that a spoon should stand upright in the pan, and it tastes better on the second day. The traditional pot is full of pork and smoked sausage; this version gets its depth from celeriac, leek, a little smoked paprika and a long, slow simmer. Serve it with dark rye bread (roggebrood), butter and mustard. Chef's tip: stir the bottom of the pan every 10 minutes in the last half hour; split peas settle as they thicken and catch easily, and a scorched taste spreads through the whole pot.

140 minDutchSoupsVeganGluten free
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Pannenkoeken

Dutch pannenkoeken are a meal, not a dessert: plate-sized, thicker than a French crêpe, and eaten for dinner with whatever has been baked straight into the batter. A pannenkoekenhuis in Amsterdam or by the dunes in Zeeland will offer dozens of fillings, but at home the favourites are apple (appel), young Gouda (kaas), or the two together, all finished with a thread of dark syrup (stroop). Kids eat them rolled up by hand. Chef's tip: lay the apple slices or cheese in the pan first and pour the batter over them, not the other way round; the fruit caramelises against the hot pan and the cheese becomes a crisp golden lace.

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Kaassoufflé

Despite the French-sounding name, a Dutch kaassoufflé has nothing to do with a baked soufflé. It is a snack-bar classic, fried in the frituur of every cafetaria from Groningen to Maastricht: a rectangle of thin pastry wrapped around a slab of young Gouda, coated in breadcrumbs and deep-fried until the cheese inside goes molten. It is the vegetarian's answer to the kroket, eaten at lunch or on the way home from football, with a squeeze of mayonnaise or sweet chilli sauce. Chef's tip: chill the filled, breaded pockets for at least 30 minutes before frying; cold pastry and cheese stay sealed in the hot oil, while warm ones burst and leak.

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Poffertjes

The smell of poffertjes drifts across every Dutch kermis (funfair), Christmas market and summer street festival, where they are flipped by the hundred on a cast-iron plate full of shallow hollows. They are tiny, puffy, yeasted pancakes made partly with buckwheat, served a dozen at a time on a cardboard dish with a slab of melting butter and a snowfall of icing sugar. At home you need a poffertjespan, a pan with small round dips; a Danish æbleskiver pan is too deep. Chef's tip: put the batter in a squeeze bottle or a piping bag; filling 30 hollows quickly by spoon is almost impossible, and the first ones burn while you fill the last.

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Stroopwafels

Stroopwafels come from Gouda, the cheese town in South Holland, where bakers once made them from leftover crumbs and syrup. Today they are made fresh at Dutch markets, split while still hot and glued back together with warm caramel syrup. The Dutch way to eat one is to rest it on top of a cup of hot coffee or tea for a minute, so the steam softens the caramel. You need a thin waffle iron (a pizzelle or stroopwafel iron) to make them at home. Chef's tip: cut each waffle open the moment it comes off the iron; after 20 seconds it stiffens and shatters instead of splitting.

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Appeltaart

Dutch appeltaart is a tall, generous pie baked in a springform tin, piled so high with apple chunks that a slice stands almost as tall as it is wide. A buttery, cake-like crust holds apples with cinnamon, lemon and raisins, and the top is woven into a lattice. It is what Dutch cafés serve with coffee, and what people bake for a birthday, always with a spoon of slagroom (lightly whipped cream). Amsterdam's Winkel 43 made it famous with tourists. Chef's tip: use firm, tart apples such as Goudreinet, Elstar or Bramley mixed with Jonagold; soft dessert apples collapse into purée and leave a gap under the lattice.

115 minDutchBaking
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Oliebollen

On the last day of December the queues outside the oliebollenkraam, the caravan-like stalls that pop up in every Dutch town, stretch round the block. Oliebollen ('oil balls') are the food of Oudejaarsavond, New Year's Eve: round, yeasted fritters full of raisins, currants and apple, deep-fried and buried in icing sugar. Families fry big batches at home in the afternoon and eat them with champagne at midnight. They are best within a few hours. Chef's tip: dip your two scooping spoons in the hot oil before each ball; the sticky dough slides off cleanly and the balls come out round instead of ragged.

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Speculaas

In the weeks before 5 December, Sinterklaas evening (pakjesavond), Dutch kitchens and bakeries fill with the smell of speculaas: thin, crisp, dark-brown biscuits heavy with cinnamon, clove, nutmeg, ginger, cardamom and a little white pepper. Traditionally they are pressed into carved wooden moulds shaped like windmills or Saint Nicholas himself; at home most people roll and cut them, scatter almonds on top and bake them crisp. Make your own spice mix (speculaaskruiden) once and you'll never buy it again. Chef's tip: let the dough rest overnight in the fridge; the spices bloom into the butter and the flavour is twice as deep the next day.

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Hagelslag toast

Ask anyone who grew up in the Netherlands what they ate before school and the answer is usually a boterham met hagelslag: a slice of soft bread, well buttered, and covered edge to edge in chocolate sprinkles. It is not a treat for special days but an ordinary Dutch breakfast and lunchbox filler, and the country gets through millions of kilos of hagelslag every year. There are milk and dark chocolate versions, plus vruchtenhagel (fruity pastel sprinkles) and anijshagel (aniseed sprinkles). Chef's tip: the butter is the glue, so spread it right to the crusts and press the sprinkles down gently with the flat of a knife before you lift the slice.

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Chicons au gratin

Chicons au gratin, or witloof in de oven in Flemish, is the winter Sunday dish of Belgian grandmothers: whole heads of Belgian endive braised until silky, then baked in a nutmeg-scented cheese sauce until bubbling and brown. Endive was first forced in the dark cellars around Brussels in the 1800s, and it is still grown in the fields of Flemish Brabant. Traditionally each chicon is rolled in a slice of cooked ham; this vegetarian version leaves the ham out and lets the gentle bitterness of the endive meet the sweetness of the cheese. Serve it with mashed potato or crusty bread. Chef's tip: squeeze the braised endives firmly in a clean towel before they go in the dish; they hold a lot of water, and skipping this turns the sauce thin and watery in the oven.

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Stoemp with leeks and spinach

Stoemp (from the Brussels dialect word for 'to mash') is what Brussels brasseries such as those around the Marolles serve on cold days: potatoes crushed together with whatever vegetable is in season, rich with butter and nutmeg. Unlike Dutch stamppot, the vegetables are usually cooked separately and softened in butter first, which gives a sweeter, silkier mash. Leek and spinach is one of the most popular versions in Brussels, and a fried egg with a runny yolk on top turns it into supper. The meat versions come with sausages; this is meat-free. Chef's tip: cook the leeks slowly in butter until they almost melt; quick-fried leeks stay stringy and squeaky in the mash.

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Asperges à la flamande

In May and June, white asparagus from Mechelen and the sandy fields around Limburg arrive in Belgian markets, and asperges à la flamande (asperges op Vlaamse wijze) is the way to eat them. The pale spears are peeled and cooked until tender, then covered with a warm sauce of melted butter, chopped hard-boiled egg, parsley and nutmeg that is half sauce and half garnish. It is served as a starter in Flemish restaurants all through the short asparagus season, sometimes with a slice of ham alongside; here it stays meat-free. Chef's tip: peel the spears from just below the tip all the way down with a swivel peeler; white asparagus has a thick, bitter skin, and missing even a strip leaves woody threads.

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Liège waffles

In Liège, in French-speaking Wallonia, the waffle is not a light batter but a rich yeasted dough studded with pearl sugar, eaten warm from a paper sleeve as you walk down the street. As it cooks in a deep-grid iron, the sugar nuggets melt and caramelise into a crackling, toffee-like crust, while the inside stays soft and chewy like brioche. Belgians eat them plain, any time of day, not loaded with cream (that is the lighter Brussels waffle). Chef's tip: knead the pearl sugar in only at the very end, after the dough has risen; if it goes in earlier, it dissolves and the waffles lose their crunch.

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Speculoos spread

Speculoospasta, a sweet spread made from crushed spiced caramel biscuits, is a Flemish invention of the 2000s: a home cook took the idea to a Belgian TV contest for inventors, and within a few years it sat next to chocolate spread on breakfast tables across Belgium and the Netherlands. Belgians spread it thickly on bread or toast, stir it into yoghurt, or warm it to pour over ice cream. Homemade, it tastes more of cinnamon and caramel and less of sugar than shop jars. Chef's tip: blitz the biscuits to a powder as fine as flour before adding liquid; any grit left now stays gritty in the jar.

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Tarte au riz

In the province of Liège, and above all in the town of Verviers, no village fair (ducasse) or family celebration happens without tarte au riz, called rijsttaart in Flanders. A thin, soft yeast-dough crust holds a thick layer of rice cooked slowly in milk with vanilla and sugar, enriched with egg yolks and baked until the top is speckled brown. People buy whole tarts from the bakery for a birthday and eat them cold with coffee. Chef's tip: cook the rice until a spoon drawn through it leaves a clear path that closes slowly; a runny filling never sets in the oven, and the crust turns soggy.

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Cuberdons

Cuberdons are the purple, cone-shaped sweets sold from handcarts on the Groentenmarkt in Ghent, where locals call them neuzekes, 'little noses'. A thin, firm sugar crust encloses a syrupy raspberry centre, and they only stay that way for about three weeks before the inside crystallises, which is why they have never become an export. They are made with gum arabic, not gelatine, so they suit vegetarians and vegans. Making them at home is a fun weekend project: the syrup is poured into cone-shaped hollows pressed into a tray of dry cornflour, which slowly draws moisture out and forms the crust. Chef's tip: use a sugar thermometer and be exact; just a few degrees too low and the cones never form a crust, a few too high and they set solid all the way through.

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Geraardsbergse mattentaart

The small town of Geraardsbergen in East Flanders is so proud of its mattentaart that the little round puff-pastry tart has protected (PGI) status in the EU, and only bakers in the area may sell it under that name. It is filled with matten, a fresh curd made by curdling hot milk with buttermilk, mixed with eggs, sugar and a hint of almond, and baked until puffed and golden. Locals eat it with coffee, especially in late February when the town holds its Krakelingen festival. You make the curd yourself the day before. Chef's tip: hang the curd for a full night; too much whey left in it makes the filling weep and the pastry soggy.

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Fondue moitié-moitié

Moitié-moitié means half and half, and in Fribourg it names the canton's own fondue: equal weights of nutty Gruyère and soft, buttery Vacherin fribourgeois melted with dry white wine in a glazed earthenware caquelon. Families light the burner in the middle of the table on cold evenings from October to March, and ski huts above Gruyères serve it after a day on the slopes. The Vacherin makes it silkier and milder than a Gruyère-only fondue, so it clings to the bread in a thick, glossy coat. Serve with day-old bread, a plate of cornichons and small boiled potatoes, and drink white wine or warm black tea with it; locals say cold water sits badly with all that cheese. Traditional Gruyère and Vacherin are made with animal rennet, so for a vegetarian table look for wheels labelled with microbial or vegetarian rennet, or ask a cheesemonger for a similar Alpine cheese that uses it. Chef's tip: grate the cheese rather than cubing it and let it come to room temperature for 30 minutes; it melts evenly and the fondue stays smooth.

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Raclette

In the Valais, the vineyard-and-glacier canton along the upper Rhône, raclette began as a herders' meal: half a wheel of cheese propped beside an open fire, the melting face scraped (racler) onto a plate of potatoes. Today Valais families and village festivals still serve it the slow way, one plate at a time, while at home most people use a tabletop grill with small pans. The cheese is soft and pungent from the wheel and turns sweet and nutty as it bubbles, set off by sharp cornichons and little pickled onions. A proper Valais raclette needs nothing else: no charcuterie, just potatoes, pickles, pepper and a glass of Fendant or hot tea. Raclette cheese is usually made with animal rennet; choose a wheel or slices labelled with microbial or vegetarian rennet. Chef's tip: keep the potatoes hot in a covered basket wrapped in a cloth, so each scoop of cheese lands on a steaming potato and stays runny.

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Rösti

Rösti was once the farmer's breakfast in the canton of Bern, fried in the morning from potatoes boiled the night before, and it is still the plate Bernese families make on a Sunday or eat with a fried egg for supper. It is so tied to German-speaking Switzerland that the language border with the French-speaking west is jokingly called the Röstigraben, the rösti ditch. Coarsely grated, cold, parboiled potato is pressed into a hot pan of butter and left alone until the underside turns a deep, crunchy gold, while the inside stays soft. Serve it with fried eggs and a tomato salad, with melted cheese on top, or next to mushrooms in cream. Chef's tip: parboil the potatoes a day ahead and chill them overnight; cold, firm potato grates into clean strands that stay separate and crisp.

60 minSwissSidesGluten free
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Älplermagronen

Älplermagronen is what dairymen cooked in the summer huts of central Switzerland, from Uri to the Bernese Oberland, using what they carried up and what the cows gave: pasta, potatoes, cream and their own cheese. Today it is a fixture of mountain restaurants and a quick weeknight supper across German-speaking Switzerland, always eaten with a bowl of warm apple sauce (Apfelmus) on the side, the sweet-sour fruit cutting the rich cheese. Many versions scatter bacon over the top; this one leaves it out and leans on a heap of slow-browned onions for depth. Use cheese made with vegetarian rennet. Chef's tip: cook the potatoes and pasta in the same pot, adding the macaroni once the potatoes are half done, so they finish together and the starchy water helps the sauce cling.

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Malakoff

In the wine villages of La Côte above Lake Geneva, especially Vinzel, Bursins and Luins, a malakoff is a dome of Gruyère bound with egg and white wine, set on a round of bread and deep-fried until puffed and golden. The name is said to come from Swiss soldiers who fought at the siege of the Malakoff fort in the Crimean War and brought a taste for cheese fritters home. Locals eat them at village festivals and in pinte-style wine taverns with a glass of chilled Chasselas, cornichons and pickled onions. The crust shatters to a molten, gently stringy inside that tastes of wine and nutmeg. Use Gruyère made with vegetarian rennet. Chef's tip: press the cheese mixture firmly into a tall dome over the bread and chill it for 20 minutes before frying; it holds its shape in the hot oil instead of spreading.

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Cholera

Cholera is a Valais pie from the upper Rhône valley, especially the Goms district, filled with layers of potato, leek, apple, pear and mountain cheese under a pastry lid. One story ties the name to the 1830s cholera outbreak, when people stayed home and baked whatever was in the cellar; another to the old Valais word for a coal stove, chola. It is eaten warm or cold, as a Sunday lunch, picnic food or a slice with a green salad, and the sweet fruit against salty cheese and soft leek is the whole point. Some Valais cooks add bacon; this vegetarian version doesn't need it. Use cheese made with vegetarian rennet. Chef's tip: slice the potatoes, apples and pear thinly and evenly (3 mm) so everything cooks through in the time the pastry takes to brown.

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Bircher muesli

Around 1900 the Zürich doctor Maximilian Bircher-Benner served his sanatorium patients a small bowl of raw food before every meal, which he called d'Spys (the dish): a spoonful of soaked oats, plenty of grated apple, lemon juice, nuts and condensed milk. His original was mostly apple, not mostly oats, and that is what sets it apart from the dry muesli mix sold in packets. Swiss cafés and railway kiosks still serve Birchermüesli for breakfast or a light supper, creamy, sharp and fresh, now often with yogurt and berries. This version keeps his balance: oats soaked overnight, a whole apple grated in at the last moment, lemon, hazelnuts and a little honey and yogurt. Chef's tip: grate the apple straight into the lemon juice, skin and all, and stir at once; it stays pale and juicy instead of turning brown.

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Zopf

In German-speaking Switzerland the Sunday breakfast table is not complete without a Zopf (Züpfe in Bern): a shiny, plaited white loaf made with milk and plenty of butter, sliced thick and spread with more butter and jam or honey. Bakeries from Bern to St Gallen bake them on Saturday nights, and many families plait their own on Sunday morning. The crumb is soft, light and faintly sweet from the butter, not the sugar, and the egg-yolk glaze gives a deep brown, glossy crust. Leftovers make excellent French toast (Fotzelschnitte). Chef's tip: let the shaped plait rest in a cool place for 15 minutes before glazing and baking; the strands hold their shape and the pattern stays crisp.

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Basler Läckerli

Läckerli have been Basel's own biscuit for more than 600 years, once baked by the city's spice merchants and gifted at Christmas and New Year; Basel shops still pack them in tins all year round. They are small, chewy rectangles of honey, almonds, candied orange and lemon peel and warm spices, with a thin, crackly sugar glaze. Unlike soft German gingerbread they are firm and dense when they are fresh and soften with time in a tin. Eat them with coffee or tea, or keep a box for visitors. Chef's tip: cut the slab into rectangles while it is still hot and glaze it at once; once cool it sets too hard to cut cleanly.

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Engadiner Nusstorte

The Engadiner Nusstorte comes from the high Engadine valley in Graubünden, where pastry cooks who had emigrated to Italian and French cities brought home their skills in the 1800s, and walnuts arrived from Italy over the passes. It is a shallow, closed tart of rich butter pastry filled with chopped walnuts set in thick, golden cream caramel. Bakeries all over Switzerland sell it, and it keeps for weeks, so families give it as a gift and take it on hikes. Cut it into thin wedges: it is very rich, chewy, crunchy and buttery all at once. Chef's tip: let the caramel reach a deep amber before you pour in the cream; pale caramel tastes only of sugar, dark amber gives the toffee note the tart is known for.

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Basler Mehlsuppe

Basel's Fasnacht starts at 4 a.m. on the Monday after Ash Wednesday with Morgestraich, when the city's lights go out and the cliques march with lanterns, piccolos and drums. Afterwards everyone crowds into the old-town restaurants for a bowl of Mehlsuppe: flour toasted in butter until it is the colour of hazelnuts, simmered into a smooth, savoury, deep-brown soup and finished with grated cheese. It warms you on a freezing February morning and is usually eaten with Zwiebelwähe (onion tart). The traditional soup is made with beef stock; this vegetarian version uses a strong vegetable stock with a little red wine and onion to give the same depth. Chef's tip: toast the flour slowly and stir all the time; the colour should be even chestnut brown, and the smell like toasted nuts.

60 minSwissSoups
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Mămăligă

Mămăligă is the golden cornmeal staple of the Romanian countryside, from the hill villages of Oltenia to the farms of Maramureș, where it was once eaten more often than bread. It is cooked in water until thick enough to hold a spoon upright, turned out onto a wooden board and cut with a thread, then eaten hot with crumbled salty brânză and a cold spoon of smântână (soured cream). Unlike Ukrainian banosh, which is cooked in sour cream, mămăligă is plain cornmeal and water; the richness goes on top. It sits beside stews such as tocăniță or under a fried egg for supper. Chef's tip: rain the cornmeal in through your fingers while whisking, and keep stirring from the bottom; dumping it in at once is the classic mistake that leaves raw, gritty lumps.

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Zacuscă

Zacuscă is the autumn preserve of Moldavia and Transylvania: in Iași and the villages around it, families spend a September weekend charring aubergines and red peppers over a grill and slowly frying them down with onion and tomato into a thick, chunky spread. The jars go into the cellar and come out all winter, spread on bread or eaten with mămăligă during the Orthodox fasts. It is coarser and more oniony than smooth Balkan ajvar, with bay and a long, jammy cook. Chef's tip: let the onions go fully soft and sweet before adding anything else; rushing them leaves a sharp, raw edge that the long cook never removes.

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Salată de vinete

Salată de vinete is on every Romanian table from Bucharest to Brașov in late summer, when market stalls are piled with aubergines and every balcony grill is busy charring them. The smoky flesh is chopped with a wooden knife and beaten with sunflower oil into a pale, fluffy spread, almost like a mayonnaise, then finished with sharp raw onion. There is no tahini or yogurt, which sets it apart from baba ganoush. It is eaten on toasted bread with sliced tomatoes for supper or as a meze before grilled vegetables. Chef's tip: drain the cooked aubergine well; leaving in the brown juices is the usual mistake and makes the salad bitter and watery.

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Ciorbă de legume

Ciorbă is the sour soup that opens a Romanian lunch, from canteens in Cluj to Sunday tables in Moldavia, and the vegetable version is cooked all through the fasting weeks before Easter and Christmas. Root vegetables, beans and peppers simmer in a light broth that is soured at the end with borș, the fermented wheat-bran liquid sold in bottles at Romanian shops, or with lemon juice. Fresh lovage (leuștean) gives its unmistakable celery-like perfume. It is eaten piping hot with bread and a fresh green chilli on the side. Chef's tip: add the borș only at the end and let it come back just to a simmer; boiling it hard dulls the sour tang.

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Fasole bătută

Fasole bătută, 'beaten beans', is the fasting-day spread of Romania: on Christmas Eve and through Lent, plates of it appear in homes from Bucharest to the monasteries of Bucovina. Soft white beans are mashed smooth with garlic and oil, then crowned with a tangle of slow-fried onions stained red with paprika. It is spread thickly on bread, or served beside pickles and mămăligă. Chef's tip: beat the beans while they are still warm; cold beans turn stiff and pasty, and a common mistake is adding too little liquid, so loosen with a splash of cooking water until the purée is light and fluffy.

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Tocăniță de ciuperci

Tocăniță is the everyday stew of Romanian home cooking, and the mushroom version is a fixture of the Orthodox fasting days, when Transylvanian cooks use forest mushrooms gathered in the Apuseni hills and city cooks use button mushrooms from the market. Onions, garlic, tomato, white wine and thyme cook down into a thick, glossy sauce, without the sour cream and paprika of a Hungarian paprikás. It is always eaten with hot mămăligă and a spoon of the sauce over the top. Chef's tip: brown the mushrooms in batches in a hot pan; crowding them is the usual mistake, and they then stew grey in their own water instead of turning golden.

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Papanași

Papanași are the dessert Romanians order after almost any restaurant meal, from the old town of Bucharest to the mountain chalets of Sinaia and Bran. A soft dough of fresh cheese, egg and semolina is shaped into a ring with a little ball on top, fried until puffed and golden, then crowned with cold smântână and sour cherry or blueberry jam. Warm, tangy and very rich, one is a full dessert. Chef's tip: use dry, crumbly cheese and drain it if it's wet; a common mistake is a sloppy dough that soaks up oil and falls apart, so add flour only until it just stops sticking.

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Mish-mash

Mish-mash is the quick summer supper of Bulgaria, cooked in every home from Sofia flats to Black Sea holiday villas once the peppers and tomatoes are cheap and ripe. Roasted peppers, onion and tomato are fried down, then sirene and beaten eggs are stirred through until soft and creamy, finished with parsley. The crumbled white brined cheese melting into the eggs is what makes it Bulgarian rather than Turkish menemen. It is eaten straight from the pan with fresh bread, often with a glass of cold beer. Chef's tip: cook the eggs gently and take them off while still a little wet; overcooking is the common mistake, and they turn rubbery and weep water.

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Cozonac

Cozonac is the festive loaf every Romanian family bakes for Easter and Christmas, filling kitchens from Craiova to Suceava with the smell of butter, rum, lemon and orange zest. The rich yeast dough is rolled around a walnut and cocoa filling studded with pieces of rahat (Turkish delight), then braided and baked in a tall loaf tin so each slice shows a dark swirl. Unlike Slovenian potica, which is rolled into a thin spiral ring, cozonac is a braided loaf. It is eaten in thick slices with coffee on the feast mornings. Chef's tip: knead until the dough is silky and comes away from the bowl, then be patient with the rises; under-proving is the classic mistake and gives a dense, heavy loaf.

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Plăcintă cu brânză

In Moldavia, on both sides of the Prut, plăcintă means a flat round pie fried or baked on a griddle, and the cheese and dill one is what grandmothers in Iași and Chișinău make for weekend breakfasts and for guests at the door. A soft, stretchy dough is pulled thin, wrapped around salty cheese with fresh dill and egg, coiled into a snail and flattened, then cooked in a pan until blistered and crisp. They are eaten hot with a glass of sour milk or tea. Chef's tip: rest the oiled dough properly so it stretches without tearing; skipping the rest is the common mistake and you'll be fighting a springy dough that leaks its filling.

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Cornulețe

Cornulețe are the little crescent cookies that fill tins in Romanian kitchens before Christmas and New Year, and that grandmothers in Sibiu and Timișoara bake by the hundred for weddings and name days. This version uses a tender yeasted dough made with butter and yogurt, wrapped around a spoonful of thick plum jam (magiun) or rose rahat and rolled into horns. They bake pale and soft, not flaky, and are rolled in vanilla sugar while warm (the recipe makes 32, two per serving), which sets them apart from the cream-cheese rugelach of Jewish baking. Chef's tip: use thick jam and pinch the ends shut; runny jam is the usual mistake and bubbles out and burns on the tray.

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Shopska salad

Shopska salata is named after the Shopi people of the Sofia region and has become Bulgaria's national salad, the first thing ordered at any mehana (tavern) with a cold glass of rakia. Ripe tomatoes, cucumber, onion and soft roasted peppers are dressed simply with sunflower oil and vinegar, then buried under finely grated sirene, the Bulgarian white brined cheese, so the top looks like fresh snow. Unlike a Greek village salad, there are no olives and the cheese is grated, not in a slab. Chef's tip: salt and dress the vegetables before the cheese goes on; dressing over the cheese is the common mistake and turns the white snow soggy.

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Tarator

Tarator is what Bulgarians eat on hot July days, from the Black Sea resorts of Varna and Burgas to Sofia lunch counters: a cold, thin soup of tangy yogurt and water with grated cucumber, garlic, dill and crushed walnuts, a drizzle of sunflower oil on top and sometimes an ice cube floating in the bowl. It is served as a starter or drunk from a glass beside a plate of grilled vegetables. Chef's tip: use full-fat, sour, set yogurt and thin it to the consistency of single cream; making it too thick is the usual mistake, and it should be sippable.

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Banitsa

Banitsa is the Bulgarian breakfast pie, bought warm in paper from corner bakeries in Sofia and Plovdiv with a bottle of ayran or boza, and baked at home on New Year's Eve with lucky charms (kasmeti) tucked inside. Crumpled sheets of filo are layered with crumbled sirene and a custard of yogurt and eggs, then baked until the top is shatteringly crisp and the inside soft and tangy. It is not boiled like Turkish su böreği: the yogurt custard is what makes it Bulgarian. Chef's tip: crumple the filo loosely rather than laying it flat; flat, tightly packed sheets are the usual mistake and give a dense, doughy pie.

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Lyutenitsa

Lyutenitsa is Bulgaria's pantry relish, cooked in huge pans in courtyards around Plovdiv and the Thracian plain every September, when the red peppers are at their sweetest. Roasted peppers, tomatoes and a little aubergine and carrot are ground smooth and simmered for hours into a thick, brick-red spread, warm with garlic and a little hot pepper. It is smoother and more tomato-rich than ajvar or zacuscă. Children grow up on it spread on bread with grated sirene (filiyka), and it goes with everything from eggs to beans. Chef's tip: stir from the bottom often as it thickens; walking away is the common mistake, and a scorched base will taint the whole pot.

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