Noodle soup with beans and yogurt
Aush is the bowl Afghan mothers make when someone in the house has a cold or the first snow falls on Kabul, a thick, tangy soup of hand-cut noodles, kidney beans and chickpeas, enriched with garlicky yogurt and finished with a spoonful of spiced minced meat and a heavy dusting of dried mint. The broth is slightly sour, creamy and warming with chilli, and the noodles are soft and a little slippery. It is a meal in itself, eaten with nothing more than naan and pickles. For a vegetarian version, leave out the meat sauce and add a handful of cooked mung beans. Noodles dropped into a soup that has gone off the boil stick together into a clump, so keep it bubbling as you add them a few at a time. Chef's tip: stir the yogurt in only after the pan is off the heat, so it turns the broth creamy without splitting.
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Empire biscuits sit in the window of every Scottish high-street bakery: two rounds of crisp shortcake stuck together with raspberry jam, topped with white icing and a jelly sweet or half a glacé cherry. They were called Linzer or German biscuits until the First World War. Chef's tip: let the biscuits cool completely before sandwiching, or the jam soaks in and they go soft.
Alentejo convents, Évora's among them, used the yolks left over from egg whites used to starch linen and clarify wine, and encharcada, 'drenched', is one of their richest creations. Egg yolks are poured into boiling syrup, where they set into soft, golden threads and curds, then everything is dusted with cinnamon and browned under a hot grill. It is very sweet, so serve small portions in little dishes, at Christmas or a family celebration. A common mistake is stirring the yolks as they hit the syrup, which turns them into scrambled bits; let them set for a few seconds first, then lift them gently. Chef's tip: strain the yolks first, so no stringy white clings to them.
Think of enfrijoladas as enchiladas that swap chilli sauce for beans: warm tortillas dipped in a silky black-bean purée, folded into quarters and scattered with fresh cheese and raw onion. In Oaxaca they are a breakfast and supper dish, made from yesterday's pot of beans, and the purée is perfumed with toasted avocado leaves, which taste faintly of anise. Serve two or three per person with a fried egg or a spoonful of salsa. Queso fresco is often made with animal rennet; use a vegetarian feta or paneer-style fresh cheese if that matters to you. Chef's tip: keep the bean sauce loose, like double cream; it thickens on the plate and a stiff sauce tears the tortillas.
This contains pork: the name comes from saïm, the pork lard brushed over the dough before it is coiled, and it is what gives an ensaïmada its shattering, flaky layers. Mallorcans eat them for breakfast with hot chocolate or coffee, and at Palma airport you will see travellers carrying flat hexagonal boxes of large ones home as gifts. The dough is enriched with egg and sugar, stretched until thin enough to see through, rolled into a rope and wound into a loose spiral, then proved overnight. Chef's tip: oil your hands and the worktop generously before stretching, so the dough slides rather than sticks and tears.
Iquitos restaurants and the riverside cafés of the Peruvian Amazon serve ensalada de chonta as a cool counterpoint to grilled fish and juanes: long, pale ribbons of fresh palm heart, crisp and faintly sweet, tossed with tomato, avocado, red onion and lots of lime. At Belén market you can watch sellers shave the chonta into curls with a big knife. Outside the Amazon, fresh palm heart is hard to find, but good jarred hearts of palm cut into thin strips work well, and the salad becomes a ten-minute job. It's crunchy, juicy and sharp, perfect with rice and beans or any fried snack. Where most people go wrong is adding the avocado and salt early, so the salad turns soupy and grey; dress it at the last moment. Chef's tip: slice the palm hearts lengthwise on a mandoline or with a peeler for thin, curling ribbons that look like the Iquitos original.
In the markets of Milpa Alta, south of Mexico City, the nopal growers sell paddles already scraped of their thorns, stacked in towers, and the salad they become is on the side of every comida corrida in the region. Cooked cactus tastes a little like green beans with a lemony edge; dressed with tomato, white onion, chilli, coriander and lime, it is cool and crisp, and the crumbled cheese softens the sharpness. Serve it with rice and beans, inside tacos, or on a tostada. Chef's tip: cook the nopales with a few onion slices and a pinch of bicarbonate of soda; they keep their bright colour and the slime washes away faster.
Around Ica, on Peru's southern desert coast, pallares grow in irrigated valleys and dry into fat, flat beans the size of a thumbnail; the region holds them in high regard and sells them by the sack at the Ica market. Cooked until creamy and dressed while warm, they become a filling salad that sits on the table beside fried fish, rice or a plate of boiled sweet potato, and it works as a light lunch on its own. The onion is cut the Peruvian way, in fine half-moons, rinsed so it stays crisp without biting, and the ají limo gives a fruity heat that you can turn up or down. A frequent slip is dressing the beans straight from the fridge: they stay chalky and the lime slides off instead of soaking in. Using dried beans adds an overnight soak; good jarred or canned large lima beans make it a 20-minute dish. Chef's tip: dress the beans while they are still warm with half the lime and salt, then add the onion, tomato and the rest of the lime just before serving.
Sunday asados in Argentina tend to come with two salads: the green ensalada mixta and this one, chunks of boiled potato and hard-boiled egg dressed while warm with oil, vinegar, salt and plenty of parsley. Some households stir in mayonnaise, which takes it close to ensalada rusa, but the oil-and-vinegar version is lighter and lets the potatoes taste of themselves. It is mild, soft and slightly tangy, and good at room temperature, which is why it suits an outdoor lunch that goes on for hours. Dressing cold potatoes is the error that leaves the salad bland: warm potatoes soak up the vinegar and oil, cold ones don't. Choose waxy potatoes that hold their shape, and cook the eggs fully for 10 minutes. Chef's tip: sprinkle the vinegar on the hot potatoes first and wait five minutes before adding the oil; the potatoes absorb the acid and the salad tastes seasoned all the way through.
Simplicity is the whole idea of the ensalada mixta, the salad that comes with almost every order at a parrilla and sits beside the meat at every family asado: crisp lettuce, ripe tomato and thinly sliced onion, dressed at the table with oil, vinegar and salt from the cruets. There's no mustard, no sugar, no herbs, so the quality of the tomatoes and the crunch of the lettuce carry it. It is cool, sharp and refreshing, and cuts through grilled meat, provoleta and fries. The usual blunder is dressing it too early: the salt pulls water from the tomato and the lettuce goes limp in minutes, so toss it just before it goes to the table. Round butterhead lettuce (criolla) is the classic, but any crisp lettuce works. Chef's tip: soak the sliced onion in iced water for 10 minutes and drain; it stays crunchy but loses its harsh edge.
This is Murcia's summer salad, and it surprises visitors because it is built on tinned peeled tomatoes rather than fresh ones. Murcia has long been a canning region, and the sweet, soft preserved tomatoes give a juicy base that is mopped up with bread in bars and on terraces from the city to the Mar Menor. Black olives, onion and hard-boiled egg go on top; bars very often add tinned tuna, which this vegetarian version leaves out. Chef's tip: dress it at least 20 minutes before serving so the onion softens in the tomato juice.
Before the paella pan reaches the table at a Valencian Sunday lunch, a big shared bowl of ensalada valenciana goes round: crisp lettuce, thick wedges of summer tomato, sweet onion and black olives, dressed at the table with olive oil, a little vinegar and salt. Restaurants in the Huerta often add hard-boiled egg and tinned tuna; here the tuna is left out and the egg is optional, so without it the salad is vegan. A common mistake is dressing it in advance; the salt pulls water from the tomatoes and the lettuce goes limp within minutes. Chef's tip: soak the onion slices in iced water for 10 minutes, which takes the sharp edge off and keeps them crunchy.
Ensopado means soaked, and the bread is the point: Alentejo shepherds' lamb is stewed with garlic, onion, paprika and a little white wine until it falls off the bone, then the rich broth is ladled over slices of country bread in deep plates. It is Easter food in the region, when the spring lambs are ready, and a dish for long Sunday lunches. The wine contains alcohol; use extra stock with a spoonful of vinegar if you prefer. A common mistake is using lean leg meat, which turns dry; shoulder or neck stays juicy. Chef's tip: marinate the lamb overnight in the fridge with the garlic and paprika; the flavour goes right through.
Bordeaux's brasseries, from the quays of the Garonne to the old Chartrons wine-merchant quarter, still grill entrecôte over vine cuttings and serve it with sauce bordelaise: shallots, thyme and red wine reduced to a syrup, then enriched with stock and cold butter. Poached bone marrow, folded in at the end, is the old-school touch and well worth trying. The sauce is glossy, deep and a little sweet against the well-browned, juicy steak. The sauce uses red wine; the ingredient note gives an alcohol-free version. Serve with frites or sautéed potatoes and a crisp green salad. Chef's tip: let the steaks sit out of the fridge for 30 minutes before cooking so the centre cooks evenly.
In the cold highlands of Santa Catarina, Lages throws a Festa do Pinhão every winter, and the star is entrevero: a huge pan of beef, pork loin, pork sausage and bacon fried with onions, peppers, tomato and pinhão, the large, starchy seeds of the Araucaria pine. The name means a jumble, and that is what it is, cooked in stages on a wide pan over the fire and eaten straight away. Pinhão tastes like a cross between a chestnut and a potato; vacuum-packed cooked chestnuts are the best stand-in. There is plenty of pork here, so cook every strip through. The pitfall is throwing everything in at once, which stews the meat; add each meat in turn so it browns. Chef's tip: cook the pinhão in a pressure cooker, then peel it while still warm, when the shell and the bitter inner skin come off easily.
Bakeries and street vendors in Cartagena, Barranquilla and Montería sell enyucado by the square, wrapped in paper, as an afternoon sweet with coffee. It is a dense, moist cassava cake held together by coconut milk, sweetened with sugar, scented with aniseed and given a salty edge by grated white cheese; the top bakes to a golden, slightly chewy crust while the middle stays soft and pudding-like. It is also a fixture at birthday and holiday tables along the coast. Queso costeño is the cheese used; a firm feta-style one is the nearest swap, and as both are usually set with animal rennet, choose a vegetarian (microbial-rennet) cheese. People most often go wrong by cutting it warm: the starch needs at least an hour to set, otherwise the slices are gummy and fall apart. Frozen grated cassava from Latin or African shops saves a lot of work. Chef's tip: squeeze the grated cassava lightly so the cake sets well but stays moist.
White asparagus grows under mounded earth in the sandy fields along the Ebro and its tributaries, and the Espárrago de Navarra label covers the spears picked there from April to June. In spring, restaurants from Pamplona to Tudela serve them freshly boiled, still warm or just cool, as a starter on their own or with a sharp vinaigrette full of finely diced peppers and egg. The rest of the year the jarred ones are a pantry staple. Chef's tip: add a teaspoon of sugar to the cooking water; it softens the faint bitterness of the stems.
In the lanes of old Damascus and Aleppo, the erk sous seller is heard before he is seen, clacking brass cups as he walks with a great curved jug strapped to his back. His drink is liquorice root, slowly dripped through with cold water, dark, earthy, faintly bitter and naturally sweet, poured with a flourish over the shoulder during Ramadan iftars and hot afternoons. At home a sieve and a cloth do the job. The mistake people make is pouring boiling water over the root, which pulls out harsh bitterness; cold water and patience give a smooth, foamy drink. Liquorice root raises blood pressure if you drink a lot of it, so keep to a glass or two a day and skip it if you are pregnant or have high blood pressure. Chef's tip: a pinch of bicarbonate of soda in the damp root gives the drink its traditional thick, frothy head.
The name comes from the Catalan escalivar, to cook in the embers, and in country masies across Catalonia the vegetables still go straight into the dying fire after a Sunday grill. Aubergines, red peppers and onions char black outside and turn smoky and soft within, then are peeled, torn into strips and dressed with nothing but olive oil, salt and a little garlic. Serve it warm or at room temperature with bread, beside grilled meat, or on toast. Chef's tip: wrap the roasted vegetables in a cloth or put them in a covered bowl for 15 minutes; the steam lifts the skins clean off.
Burgundy snails in green garlic butter are the festive starter of the Côte-d'Or, eaten at Christmas and New Year all over France and in Paris brasseries year round, served by the dozen in dimpled dishes. The snails themselves taste mild and earthy and have a pleasantly firm bite; the real attraction is the sizzling butter packed with garlic, shallot and parsley, mopped up with bread. Live snails need days of preparation, so this recipe uses ready-prepared tinned or jarred snails, with clean shells or snail dishes bought separately. Chef's tip: make the butter a day ahead so the garlic flavour deepens, and pack the shells well so the butter seals the snail in.
Mid-morning in Arequipa's traditional picanterías, before the big plates come out, regulars order escribano: a bowl of warm yellow potato crushed with a fork and drenched in rocoto, ripe tomato, vinegar and oil. Local lore says it was a snack for the court clerks (escribanos) who worked nearby, and it is still eaten as a sharp, spicy wake-up with a glass of chicha or a soft drink. The texture should be rough and juicy, somewhere between a salad and a mash, with the red chilli bright against the potato. Don't purée it: overworked potato goes gluey and loses the chunks that hold the dressing. Rocoto is fiercely hot, so start with half and taste. Serve it alone with crusty bread, or beside fried cheese or grilled vegetables. Chef's tip: dress the potatoes the moment they are drained and peeled, while they are steaming, so they drink in the vinegar.
Esgarraet means "torn", and that is the whole technique: red peppers are roasted until soft and sweet, then pulled into strips by hand and layered with shredded salt cod, garlic and plenty of olive oil. Valencia's bars put it out as a tapa with crusty bread, and families make a big dish of it to pick at before a summer paella. Traditionally the cod is only desalted, not cooked, which means it is raw cured fish. That version is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system; this recipe gently poaches the cod first, which keeps it tender and makes it safe for everyone. A common mistake is rinsing the roast peppers under the tap to peel them; you wash away the sweet juices. Chef's tip: make it a day ahead; the peppers and cod drink up the garlicky oil overnight.
Eshkeneh is the soup of the cold north-west, cooked in Tabriz kitchens on winter evenings when there is little in the house but onions, eggs and dried fenugreek. The onions are fried very slowly until sweet and brown, a spoon of flour and turmeric thickens the broth, and eggs are dropped in to poach at the end; a little sour from lemon or dried sour cherries balances it. Azerbaijani families crumble barbari or lavash into their bowls so the bread soaks up the broth. A common mistake is rushing the onions, which leaves the soup thin and harsh rather than mellow and golden. Chef's tip: add the dried fenugreek with the flour, not before, because it scorches quickly and turns bitter.
The long, black, sharp-toothed espada is caught at great depth off Madeira at night, and the Funchal fish market sells it every morning. Its white, tender fillets are eaten everywhere on the island, most famously dipped in egg and fried, then crowned with slices of the small, sweet local banana fried in butter. Black scabbardfish is hard to find elsewhere; hake, ling or cod fillets work well. Chef's tip: pat the fish completely dry before flouring it, so the egg coating clings and fries crisp.
From March to May, families around Granada and Córdoba walk the field edges gathering thin, bitter wild asparagus, and the classic way to cook the haul is esparragados: simmered in a sauce of pounded fried bread, garlic, cumin and paprika, with an egg poached on top. Thin green asparagus from the shop works well too. The sauce should be thick enough to hold the egg. Chef's tip: pound the bread and garlic while still warm from the pan; they break down into a smooth paste far more easily.
Fried fish in a Lisbon casa de pasto often comes with a spoonful of soft, dark green esparregado on the side, and the roast lamb at Easter lunch in the Ribatejo does too. Cooks use whatever leaves are in season: turnip tops in winter, spinach the rest of the year, sometimes a handful of wild asparagus. The greens are cooked, chopped very fine and stirred into garlic-scented olive oil with a little flour until creamy, then lifted with a dash of vinegar. It is good with fried cuttlefish, grilled sardines or a fried egg. A common mistake is skipping the squeeze; wet greens make a watery purée, so press out as much water as you can. Chef's tip: squeeze the cooked greens really hard before chopping; watery greens give a thin, grey purée.
In Estreito de Câmara de Lobos, on the hillsides above Funchal, the September wine harvest ends with espetada: big cubes of beef rubbed with garlic, salt and crushed bay, threaded onto bay branches and roasted over a wood fire. Restaurants hang the long skewers from hooks above the table, so everyone slides off their own pieces. It is eaten with bolo do caco, milho frito and a salad. Chef's tip: cut the beef into large 4 cm cubes, which stay juicy in the middle while the outside chars.
This dish carries the sweet-and-savoury taste of medieval Catalan cooking: spinach wilted with plump raisins and toasted pine nuts, sometimes with a little pork fat or anchovy, though olive oil is just as traditional. Families cook it in spring and autumn as a side for fish or chicken, or as a light first course before the main. It takes ten minutes. Chef's tip: soak the raisins in warm water first so they swell and burst sweetly, instead of turning hard in the hot pan.
Esqueixada, from esqueixar, to tear, is the summer starter of Barcelona's old taverns: salt cod that has been soaked, shredded by hand and dressed with tomato, peppers, onion and black olives. Traditionally the cod is never cooked, only desalted, so it stays translucent and firm; raw cured fish is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. The safer version, given in the steps, poaches the cod gently first, and this is the one to choose whenever in doubt. Chef's tip: tear the cod with your fingers along its natural flakes; a knife makes it mushy and you lose the pleasing chew.
In Tehran flats, estamboli polo is the weeknight rice that turns up when the fridge holds little more than tomatoes and potatoes, and children ask for it by name. Basmati is par-boiled, then layered back into the pot with a turmeric-and-tomato sauce and cubes of fried potato, and steamed under a cloth-wrapped lid until each grain is separate and orange-tinged. The bottom turns into a golden, crunchy tahdig that everyone fights over. Serve it with mast-o khiar, a plate of fresh herbs and torshi. A common mistake is stirring the tomato sauce through boiling rice, which makes it sticky; layer it instead and let the steam do the work. Chef's tip: lay thin potato slices on the base of the pot for the tahdig; they crisp evenly and lift out in one piece.
Named after a Hungarian noble family and claimed by both Budapest and Vienna, this torte is a showpiece of Viennese pastry shops, where it sits in the glass counter beside richer chocolate cakes. Five or six crisp-chewy almond meringue layers are stacked with a vanilla custard buttercream, then topped with white icing and the famous feathered chocolate lines. It has no flour at all, so it suits gluten-free guests. A common mistake is baking the layers too pale; they should be light golden, or they go soft and sticky in the cream. Chef's tip: draw the circles on baking paper first and spread the meringue to the line with a palette knife, so every layer matches.
Estocaficada is the old winter dish of Nice's port and old town, where Norwegian stockfish arrived in exchange for olive oil and wine centuries ago; it is still cooked for family Friday lunches and at the city's food festivals. Air-dried cod is rehydrated and stewed slowly with tomatoes, onions, peppers, black olives and potatoes, giving a rich, rust-red stew with a deep, almost meaty flavour. True stockfish is hard to find outside specialist shops and needs 4–5 days of soaking, so this recipe uses salt cod, which is easier and gives a gentler result; the note explains both. Serve in deep plates with crusty bread for the sauce. Chef's tip: add the cod at the end and keep it at a gentle simmer so it stays in juicy flakes rather than turning rubbery.
Llama herds have grazed the Puna of Jujuy for thousands of years, and in Purmamarca, Tilcara and Humahuaca restaurants now proudly serve their meat to visitors, most often as a slow estofado. The meat is very lean, dark red and mild, a little like venison, and it is braised with onion, red pepper, tomato, cumin, ají molido and a sprig of muña or oregano until tender, then served with Andean potatoes, quinoa or rice. Outside the Andes, llama is sold by a few specialist game and alpaca farms; lean venison or beef topside are the closest substitutes. Treat it like beef and braise it until fork-tender. Because the meat has almost no fat, the common mistake is cooking it at a rolling boil, which makes it dry and stringy: keep the heat low and the lid on. Chef's tip: dust the meat lightly with a little cornflour before browning; it protects the lean pieces and thickens the sauce without making it heavy.
Vila Real de Santo António and Tavira grew rich on tuna, and estupeta is what the fishing families made from the salted belly: shredded into threads and tossed with tomato, green pepper and onion in a sharp olive-oil dressing. Today it appears every summer in tascas along the Guadiana as a starter with bread and cold drinks. The traditional salted tuna is cured, not cooked, so it is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system; this version uses fresh tuna poached until cooked through, which anyone can eat. Chef's tip: shred the tuna with two forks while it is still warm, as it pulls into finer threads.
In Konya, etli ekmek is the city's own fast food: dough stretched into a strip almost a metre long and thin as card, spread with hand-chopped lamb or beef, onion, tomato and pepper, baked for a few minutes in a stone oven and cut into squares with a pizza wheel. Unlike lahmacun, the topping is generous and the bread is crisp all the way through. At home, make shorter strips on a hot tray and serve with ayran, lemon and a heap of parsley and onion. Common mistake: piling the topping thick, which keeps the base soft; spread it thin right to the edges. The meat must reach 71 °C. Chef's tip: chop the mince again on a board with the onion and peppers; it spreads thinner and cooks faster.
Ask anyone in Turkey for the taste of a school lunch or a lokanta set menu and many will say etli nohut with pilav: chickpeas simmered with cubes of lamb, onion, tomato and pepper paste until the sauce is thick and the chickpeas creamy. Spooned over buttery rice with a few pickles alongside, it is cheap, filling and better the next day. Soaking dried chickpeas overnight makes the biggest difference. Common mistake: adding salt and tomato paste before the chickpeas are tender, which keeps them hard. Chef's tip: brown the lamb in batches so it sears instead of stewing in its own juice; that crust flavours the whole pot.
Late summer in Sivas, Tokat and Kayseri villages means erişte days, when neighbours roll out huge sheets of egg dough, cut them into ribbons and dry them on cloths to last the winter. Freshly cut, they cook in minutes and are tossed with browned butter, toasted walnuts and crumbled white cheese, a simple dish that tastes of the farm. Common mistake: cutting the noodles before the rolled sheet has dried a little, so they stick into a clump; let it sit 15–20 minutes until leathery. Feta-style white cheese is often made with animal rennet; use a vegetarian one if needed. Chef's tip: toast a few raw noodles in the butter until golden before the boiled ones go in; they add a lovely crunch.
Along the coast, from Lastres to Ribadesella, fabes are cooked not with sausage but with clams, in a pale, saffron-tinted broth that tastes of the sea. It is a dish for a long weekend lunch in a seaside restaurant, eaten slowly with a spoon and bread. The broth uses a glass of dry white wine; an alcohol-free swap is given. Chef's tip: "scare" the beans by adding a splash of cold water whenever the pot boils up during cooking; it keeps the skins whole and the insides creamy.
In Alboraya, just north of Valencia, the horchaterías that serve cold tiger-nut horchata in summer put a plate of fartons beside every glass: long, slim, soft buns with a shiny sugar glaze, designed to be dunked and to soak up the milky drink without falling apart. The dough is enriched with egg, milk and sunflower oil rather than butter, which gives them their light, cottony crumb. They are just as good with coffee or cold milk. A common mistake is rushing the second rise; under-proved fartons stay tight and bready instead of airy. Chef's tip: roll each strip a little thinner than you think, about as thick as your finger, because they almost double in the oven.
Every autumn, Black Sea households pack crocks with green beans and brine, and through the winter those sour, soft beans are fried with onion and a little butter or oil into one of the region's most loved side dishes. Kavurma means fried, and the beans take on golden edges while keeping their tangy bite; a beaten egg sometimes goes in at the end. Eat it with cornbread, rice pilaf or a bowl of fried anchovies. Common mistake: frying the beans straight from the jar; they spit and taste harshly sour. Chef's tip: soak them in fresh water for half an hour first, tasting as you go, until they are pleasantly sour rather than puckering.
When broad beans come in across the Alentejo in April and May, this is the dish that announces them: young beans stewed with chouriço and a little cured pork belly, garlic, onion and a big handful of coriander, until the beans are soft and the sauce is red with paprika fat. It is a weekday lunch with bread, or with a poached egg on top. This contains pork (chouriço and bacon). Frozen broad beans work well out of season. A common mistake is boiling the beans until they turn grey and mealy; stop when they are tender and still green. Chef's tip: a spoonful of vinegar at the end brightens the rich, fatty sauce.
Mule drivers, the tropeiros, crossed Minas Gerais with sacks of beans, cassava flour and pork, and their trail food has become the state's pride: you will find feijão tropeiro at every comida mineira restaurant, at football grounds in Belo Horizonte and on Sunday tables, with rice, couve, torresmo and a grilled pork chop. The beans are cooked just tender, drained, and tossed in bacon and sausage fat with onions, scrambled egg, cassava flour and shredded collards, so the dish is moist but loose, smoky and very savoury. This is a pork dish: smoked bacon and pork sausage give it its flavour. If you start from dried beans, soak them overnight. The usual mistake is overcooking the beans; mushy beans turn the farofa into paste. For a vegetarian version, skip the meats and use butter and an extra egg. Chef's tip: add the farinha off the heat a handful at a time and stop when it looks moist and fluffy, not dry.
In Trás-os-Montes the cold months were the months of the fumeiro, the smoking of sausages, and this bean stew was where those sausages ended up. Unlike the Brazilian black-bean feijoada, the transmontana version uses red or white beans, with pig's ear and trotter for body, chouriço and salpicão for smoke, and carrots and cabbage cooked in at the end. It is served for Sunday lunch in Chaves and Bragança with plain rice. This contains pork (ear, trotter, belly and smoked sausages). Chef's tip: cook the beans separately in their own water first, so the cured meats do not stop them softening.
On the western Algarve coast around Sagres and Aljezur, whelks gathered from the rocks go into a thick, tomatoey bean stew that is the seaside cousin of the meat feijoada. It is winter food, served steaming from big pots at local festivals and in family kitchens, with rice on the side. This contains pork (chouriço); leave it out and add an extra teaspoon of smoked paprika if you prefer. Chef's tip: cook the whelks separately first so you can slice them and control their texture.
Fiadone is the cake of Corsican Easter and village feast days: fresh brocciu, the island's soft ewe's- or goat's-milk whey cheese, beaten with eggs, sugar and lemon zest and baked until the top is freckled brown. There is no base, so it is naturally gluten free, and it tastes lighter and less sweet than most cheesecakes. Brocciu is made from whey left after rennet cheesemaking, so it is not strictly vegetarian; well-drained ricotta labelled vegetarian is the usual stand-in outside Corsica. Some families add a spoon of local eau-de-vie; it is left out here. Chef's tip: drain the cheese well; a dry cheese gives the light, almost soufflé-like texture.
In San Miguel de Allende, families make fiambre for All Saints' and the Day of the Dead at the start of November, setting it on the table and the home altar alongside bread of the dead. It is a cold, colourful platter of vinegar-dressed vegetables, beetroot, jícama, orange, apple and banana, with cooked chicken and pork, sharp, sweet and crunchy at once. Pickled pig's trotters are the traditional meat; this version makes them optional and uses cooked pork tongue or good ham with poached chicken, so it is still a pork dish. Serve well chilled with bread or tostadas. Chef's tip: dress the sturdy vegetables and meats hours ahead, but add the lettuce, banana and avocado just before serving so they stay fresh.
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