Every 1 January, Haitian families from Port-au-Prince to Brooklyn wake up to soup joumou. It marks independence from France on 1 January 1804: under French rule, enslaved Haitians cooked this pumpkin soup but were forbidden to eat it, so the free people of the new nation made it their own as a dish of freedom. In 2021 it was added to UNESCO's list of the intangible cultural heritage of humanity. The base is a velvety purée of joumou (Caribbean pumpkin) with epis, and in it simmer chunks of carrot, potato, cabbage, celery and turnip, with pasta and a squeeze of lime. It's usually made with beef; this vegetable version is full and golden, rich enough for the day. Chef's tip: roast half the pumpkin before puréeing it; the caramelised edges give the soup the depth that slow-cooked meat usually provides.
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Perloo (or purloo, pilau) is the Charleston and Savannah family of rice dishes born on the Carolina Gold rice plantations, where West African cooks simmered rice in rich broth with whatever the coast or yard gave. This one uses smoked bacon (pork), tomato and fresh shrimp, so every grain is separate, red-tinged and full of flavour. Chef's tip: once the lid goes on, don't lift it or stir; perloo should be fluffy, never creamy like risotto.
Burgoo is the thick, peppery stew Kentuckians cook in iron kettles for Derby parties, church picnics and political rallies, stirred for hours with a wooden paddle. Traditionally it used whatever meat was shot or raised; today it is usually beef, pork shoulder and chicken simmered with tomatoes, corn, okra, butter beans and potatoes until it all melts together. Chef's tip: burgoo should be thick enough that the paddle stands up; cook it down more if it's soupy.
In the palm oases of the Draa Valley, south of the Atlas, barley grows where wheat struggles, and the couscous cooked for family meals is often belboula: cracked barley grains steamed three times until fluffy, nutty and slightly chewy. It is heaped on a big platter, crowned with vegetables from the broth bubbling beneath it, such as carrots, turnips, pumpkin, courgettes and cabbage, plus chickpeas, then moistened with ladles of the turmeric-and-ginger broth. On hot days the same couscous is eaten cold with buttermilk instead. It takes time but very little skill once you know the rhythm of steaming. Chef's tip: oil and rub the grains between your palms before each steaming so they stay separate.
In the villages of the Anti-Atlas and the south, tafarnout is named after the domed clay oven it is baked in, lined with pebbles that are heated by a wood fire until the dough slapped onto them puffs and blisters within minutes. The stones leave the bottom deeply dimpled and charred in spots, while the top stays soft; it is torn and dipped into argan oil, amlou or olive oil, or eaten with tagines. You can come close at home with a tray of clean, smooth river pebbles or a baking stone in a very hot oven. Allow about 1 1/2 hours for the dough to rise. Use only smooth, dense pebbles, scrubbed and dried for an hour in a low oven first: stones with trapped water can crack in the heat. Chef's tip: let the pebbles heat for a full 40 minutes; lukewarm stones make a pale, flat loaf.
Early in the morning, in medina lanes from Fez to Casablanca, the sfenji pulls handfuls of sticky dough from a bowl, pokes a hole through each with his thumb and drops the rings into a big pan of oil, where they puff into crisp, golden, irregular doughnuts with a chewy, airy inside. Customers carry them away threaded on a strip of palm leaf, to eat hot with mint tea or coffee, plain, dusted with sugar or dipped in honey. The dough is just flour, yeast, salt and water, and deliberately very wet; that is what gives the open, holey crumb. Allow about 1 1/2 hours for it to rise. Where sfenj go wrong is a dough that is too stiff; it should be sticky and slack, or the rings come out bready instead of open and chewy. Chef's tip: keep a bowl of water beside you and wet your hands before every piece, so the sticky dough slides off your fingers instead of clinging to them.
On chilly evenings, street carts in the medinas steam a great pot of chickpeas and scoop them, piping hot, into paper cones with a shake of cumin, salt and sometimes a little chilli. It is one of the cheapest and most comforting snacks in the country, eaten while strolling, and the chickpeas should be tender and creamy but whole, never mushy. At home they make a lovely warm nibble, a lunchbox protein or something to pick at alongside soups. Dried chickpeas give the best texture and need an overnight soak; tinned ones work in a hurry, just warmed through in salted water. Chef's tip: toss the cumin and salt onto the chickpeas the moment they come out of the water, while they are still steaming and damp, so the seasoning clings.
Batbout, also called mkhamar, are small soft rounds of semolina and flour dough cooked on a dry griddle rather than in the oven, so they puff up like balloons and open into a pocket when split. Moroccan families make them for breakfast and teatime, and snack bars stuff them with all sorts of fillings; vegetarian favourites are zaalouk, egg and potato, soft cheese, or simply butter and honey or amlou. They are tender and slightly chewy, with a pale, freckled surface. The dough needs about an hour to rise and another short rest after shaping. A frequent slip is rolling the rounds too thin or cooking them on a fierce heat, so they scorch before they puff into pockets. Chef's tip: roll them no thinner than 5 mm and cook over a medium-low heat; thin rounds or a fierce pan scorch before they have a chance to puff.
From Twelfth Night on 6 January until Mardi Gras, every office, school and party in New Orleans has a king cake: a ring of soft, cinnamon-swirled brioche, glazed and covered in sugar in the Carnival colours of purple, green and gold. A small trinket or bean is hidden inside, and whoever finds it buys the next cake. Chef's tip: push the trinket in from underneath after baking, and warn your guests, so nobody bites on it.
Texas caviar is a bright, chunky salad of black-eyed peas, peppers, corn and jalapeño soaked in a sharp vinaigrette, created in Dallas in the 1940s and now a fixture at Texas tailgates, barbecues and New Year's Day parties, where black-eyed peas are eaten for luck. Scoop it with tortilla chips or serve as a side. Chef's tip: dress it at least an hour ahead; the peas soak up the dressing and get much tastier.
In southern Indiana, wild persimmons drop from the trees after the first frost, and the town of Mitchell holds a festival every September where this pudding is judged and sold. The pulp is baked with buttermilk and warm spices into something between a cake and a custard: dense, moist, dark orange-brown and tasting of dates and pumpkin. Use very ripe, jelly-soft Hachiya or wild persimmons. Chef's tip: serve it warm with whipped cream, as it firms up and darkens as it cools.
Sugar cream pie, Indiana's official state pie, came from Shaker and Amish farm kitchens that had cream and sugar in winter when there was no fruit. There are no eggs: cream, sugar and a little flour bake into a pale, silky, vanilla custard with a dusting of nutmeg, sold at diners and county fairs across the state. Chef's tip: stir the filling gently with your finger in the pastry case during the first 20 minutes of baking, as old Hoosier cooks do; it keeps the flour from settling.
Traverse City, on the shores of Lake Michigan, calls itself the cherry capital of the world and holds a National Cherry Festival every July, where this bright red, lattice-topped pie is everywhere. It uses Montmorency sour cherries, not sweet ones, so the filling is sharp and jammy with a hint of almond. Frozen or jarred pitted sour cherries work well. Chef's tip: cook the filling on the hob until it thickens before it goes in the pie, so the bottom crust doesn't drown.
The Dutch baby was first served in the early 1900s at a family café in Seattle, whose owner's daughter supposedly mispronounced 'Deutsch' and gave it the name. A thin batter poured into a sizzling buttered pan balloons in the oven into a crisp-edged, custardy bowl. It is a Pacific Northwest brunch dish, eaten straight from the pan with lemon juice and icing sugar or summer berries. Chef's tip: blend the batter until frothy and have the pan really hot; that is what makes it climb the sides.
The marionberry was bred at Oregon State University and named after Marion County in the Willamette Valley, and in July it fills farm stands and pie shops from Portland to Salem. It is a blackberry with a deeper, wine-like flavour and more juice. Elsewhere, use blackberries mixed with a few raspberries. Chef's tip: let the sugared berries sit for 15 minutes and add only half the juice they release, or the pie will be runny.
In August, families in northern Idaho, Montana and the Washington Cascades hike to mountain slopes to pick wild huckleberries, which have never been farmed and taste like a sharper, more perfumed blueberry. Lodges and diners from Sandpoint to Glacier National Park serve them in fluffy buttermilk pancakes. Wild blueberries are the best substitute. Chef's tip: drop the berries onto each pancake in the pan instead of stirring them into the batter, so the batter doesn't turn purple and the berries don't sink.
Lowcountry boil, also called Frogmore stew after a village on St Helena Island, South Carolina, is the one-pot party of the Carolina and Georgia coast: new potatoes, corn cobs, smoked pork sausage and fresh shrimp boiled in spiced water, drained and tipped straight onto a newspaper-covered table for everyone to dig in. It is summer food for beach houses, church picnics and Fourth of July. Chef's tip: add everything in stages, timed so the shrimp go in last for only a few minutes.
Farm wives across Minnesota, Iowa and the Dakotas called rhubarb 'pie plant', because the first stalks in May went straight into this pie after a long winter without fresh fruit. Chopped rhubarb is baked in a sweet egg custard, so each slice is soft, creamy and tart at the same time. It turns up at Memorial Day picnics and church bake sales. Chef's tip: toss the rhubarb with the sugar and flour and let it sit 10 minutes before adding the eggs; it starts drawing out juice and the custard sets more evenly.
In Iowa, scalloped corn is the dish everyone brings to the Thanksgiving table, the church potluck and the Sunday dinner after a funeral. Sweetcorn kernels and creamed corn are baked with milk, eggs and buttery crushed crackers into a soft, spoonable pudding with a golden, crunchy top. Chef's tip: save a third of the crackers for the top and mix them with melted butter so they crisp instead of going soggy.
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