Raspberry cone candies
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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Mince and tatties is the weekday tea of Scottish homes and school canteens, so familiar that 'mince' is Scots slang for nonsense. Beef mince is browned and simmered with onion, carrot and a little oatmeal to thicken, then served with plain boiled or mashed potatoes and often peas. Chef's tip: brown the mince in batches until it crackles and turns properly brown; grey mince gives a flat flavour.
Every traveller to Tabriz is expected to bring back a box of ghorabieh from the bazaar confectioners: pale, domed almond cookies with a thin crackled shell and a soft, chewy middle, scented with vanilla and sometimes topped with a sliver of pistachio. They are a Nowruz favourite in Azerbaijan province and keep well, so families bake them a week ahead. A common mistake is baking them too hot, which browns the outside before the inside sets and leaves them hollow. Chef's tip: let the piped cookies sit for 20 minutes before baking so a skin forms; that skin gives the classic crackled top.
Höşmerim is a winter dessert of the Erzurum plateau and the Bolu highlands, made from unsalted fresh cheese melted with butter and semolina until it turns golden and gives off its own butter, then soaked with syrup. It's eaten warm in small bowls, chewy and rich, topped with crushed walnuts or pistachios, often after a long cold day. Common mistake: using salty or aged cheese, which turns oily and bitter; you need a soft, unsalted fresh cheese such as lor or ricotta. Chef's tip: keep cooking until the fat starts seeping out at the edges and the mixture is the colour of light toffee; that's where the flavour comes from.
Adasi is the winter breakfast of Iran's cafés and university canteens, ladled out early in the morning in Tehran, Tabriz and Mashhad from big pots that have bubbled since dawn. Whole brown lentils are cooked soft with turmeric and onion until thick and spoonable, then finished with cumin, a little golpar (ground angelica seed), black pepper and lemon. It is eaten with warm barbari or sangak and sweet tea. The common mistake is cooking it at a hard boil, which leaves the skins split and the soup grainy rather than velvety. Chef's tip: mash a ladleful of lentils against the side of the pot at the end; it thickens the adasi without any flour.
At Eminönü, by the Galata Bridge, boats rocking at the quay grill mackerel fillets over charcoal and pass them up in half a loaf with raw onion, lettuce and a squeeze of lemon; you eat it on a low stool with a cup of pickle juice. It is the simplest fish sandwich imaginable and depends entirely on fresh, oily fish and a hot pan. Serve with turşu (pickles) and a salgam or ayran. Chef's tip: grill the fillets skin side down for most of the cooking time; the skin crisps and protects the soft flesh so it doesn't stick and tear.
On winter mornings in Damascus, handcarts with steaming pots of chickpeas park outside schools and offices, and vendors ladle balila into paper cups with a squeeze of lemon and a shake of cumin. In Beirut it is a mezze dish and a light Sunday breakfast, served warm in a shallow bowl with pine nuts and parsley and bread on the side. It is simply chickpeas, cooked until creamy inside, dressed while hot so they soak up the garlic and oil. The usual mistake is dressing cold chickpeas from the fridge; they stay waxy and the flavours sit on the surface. Chef's tip: keep a ladle of the hot cooking water and add it to the dressing; it turns the oil and lemon into a light, clinging sauce.
Chayote is so cheap and common in Minas Gerais that Brazilians joke it tastes of nothing; this everyday refogado proves the point wrong. Peeled and diced, it is softened in garlic, onion and a little tomato with its own juices until it turns tender, pale green and silky, picking up all the flavour of the base. It is the side you find at every self-service lunch in Belo Horizonte, alongside rice, beans and couve, and works with grilled tofu, eggs or a bean stew. Adding water is the most common error: chuchu releases plenty of liquid, and extra water makes it bland and soupy. Chef's tip: rub a little oil on your hands, or wear gloves, before peeling; the cut fruit releases a sticky sap that leaves your skin tight and dry.
Stovies, from the Scots word for stewing on the stove, is the Monday dish made from Sunday's roast all over Scotland, and the ceilidh and wedding supper served late in the evening with oatcakes and beetroot. Potatoes and onions are cooked slowly in beef dripping with the leftover meat and its jelly until some potatoes collapse into a thick, savoury mash and some stay in chunks. Chef's tip: don't stir too often; let the bottom catch a little, as those brown bits are the best part.
The Scotch pie is the straight-sided, double-crust mutton pie eaten at half time on football terraces and bought from butchers' counters in every Scottish town, with an open rim at the top for adding gravy, beans or mash. The pastry is a hot water crust made with lard (an animal fat) and the filling is peppery minced mutton or lamb. Chef's tip: shape the pastry while it is still warm; cold hot-water pastry cracks.
Sold in plastic cups from coolers at Salta's Mercado San Miguel and on village plazas at the end of a hot afternoon, anchi is a thin, sweet pudding of fine maize semolina cooked with water, sugar and plenty of lemon. It sets only softly, so it is half eaten and half drunk, cold and refreshing, often with slices of poached peach or a few rehydrated orejones (dried peaches) on top, and sometimes a dusting of cinnamon. There's no milk or egg in it, which is what keeps it light. Too much semolina is the easy error: anchi should pour slowly from the spoon when cold, not slice like polenta, so stick to the ratio and remember it thickens as it cools. Fine maize semolina is the Salta choice; fine wheat semolina works too. Chef's tip: add the lemon juice off the heat at the end; boiled lemon loses its fresh sharpness.
Chuño are potatoes freeze-dried the ancient way on the Altiplano: left out on frosty nights, trampled to squeeze out the water and dried in the high sun, so they keep for years. In Puno and across the border in Bolivia, they are soaked, crumbled and fried with onion, then scrambled with egg and fresh cheese to make phuti, a hearty breakfast or supper eaten with a hot tea. The texture is dense and slightly chewy, and the flavour earthy and a little tangy. Chuño is sold dried in Andean shops; it must soak overnight (ideally 24 hours, with the water changed) and then be peeled, which adds time before you start. The mistake is not soaking or rinsing enough: under-soaked chuño smells strong and stays hard in the middle. Serve with a fresh tomato salsa or uchucuta. Fresh cheese is usually made with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian one if needed. Chef's tip: squeeze the soaked chuño hard between your palms before crumbling; the drier it is, the better it fries.
Arequipa's picanterías serve one chupe on each day of the week, and the prawn one, made with crayfish-like camarones from the Majes and Ocoña rivers, is the grandest, especially on Fridays in Lent. It is a big orange chowder: a broth made from the prawn shells and heads, coloured with ají panca, filled with potatoes, corn, broad beans and a little rice, then softened with evaporated milk and fresh cheese, with an egg poached in each bowl. Rich, sweet and gently spicy, it needs nothing but bread. Large shell-on prawns stand in well for river prawns. Many cooks boil the prawns from the start and they turn to rubber; add them at the end and cook only until pink and opaque. Chef's tip: fry the heads and shells in the oil first and press them hard; the orange fat that comes out is what gives chupe its colour and depth.
Haggis, neeps and tatties is the centre of every Burns Supper on 25 January, when the haggis is piped in, addressed with Robert Burns's poem and cut open with a flourish. Haggis is a peppery, oaty pudding of minced lamb's offal, onion and spice; nearly everyone in Scotland buys it from a butcher, then simply heats it and serves it with mashed swede (neeps) and potatoes (tatties). The cream sauce has a splash of whisky, which contains alcohol; leave it out and add a teaspoon of mustard for an alcohol-free sauce. Chef's tip: wrap the haggis tightly in foil before it goes in the water so the casing doesn't burst.
In Newlyn, Padstow and St Ives, harbourside kiosks sell crab sandwiches made with the morning's catch: sweet white claw meat and rich brown body meat on buttered brown bread with a little lemony mayonnaise. It is a summer lunch for eating on the harbour wall. Buy fresh, cooked and picked crab from a fishmonger, keep it in the fridge and use it the same day. Chef's tip: keep the white and brown meat separate and use both; the brown meat gives the flavour.
Chicken and leek pie is the Sunday-night and pub supper of southern England, made with leftover roast chicken or fresh thighs simmered in a creamy sauce with soft leeks and a little tarragon, then topped with buttery puff pastry. It is gentle, savoury and best with mash and greens. Chef's tip: let the filling cool before the pastry goes on, or the lid will sink and stay raw underneath.
Kapchi (sometimes spelled capchi) comes from the Quechua for something like 'dressed' or 'creamed', and around Cusco it turns up when the fresh broad beans are in season: green habas, potatoes and soft fresh cheese simmered with milk until the sauce turns thick and pale, with ají and a handful of huacatay. Market stalls in San Pedro sell it with rice, and families make it at Easter as a meatless dish. It is gentle and creamy with a herby, slightly minty finish, and the beans stay sweet and tender. The trap is boiling the sauce once the cheese is in; it splits into curds and goes watery, so keep it at a bare simmer. Serve with white rice or boiled potatoes and a spoon of uchucuta. The same recipe works with sliced mushrooms instead of beans, which Cusco cooks also do. Queso fresco is usually set with animal rennet, so pick a vegetarian fresh cheese if you need to. Chef's tip: peel the beans of their pale inner skins after blanching; it takes ten minutes and makes the dish far silkier.
The fish finger sandwich is a beach-café and pub-lunch classic around the English coast from Whitstable to Brighton, and the ultimate home comfort food for anyone who grew up in Britain. Here the fingers are made from fresh cod in crunchy crumbs, piled into buttered white bread with tartare sauce and crisp lettuce. Chef's tip: cut the fish into even fingers so they all cook in the same time.
On the night of 31 October and on All Saints' Day, families across La Mancha make sweet gachas: flour toasted in olive oil with aniseed, loosened with milk and sugar into a soft cream, and topped with crisp cubes of fried bread. Each person dips a spoon into the communal dish while the season's first cold nights settle in. Chef's tip: toast the flour in the oil until it smells nutty before adding any milk; raw flour tastes pasty.
In early summer, families across Shiraz and the vineyards of Fars thin their vines and press the hard green grapes into abghooreh, a sharp, clean sour juice stored in bottles for the whole year. It sours khoresh, brightens salad shirazi and is splashed over kebabs and rice in place of lemon. The grapes must be truly unripe, hard and mouth-puckering; once they soften the juice turns sweet. A common mistake is skipping the boil and salt, which lets the juice ferment in the bottle. Chef's tip: let the boiled juice settle overnight and pour it off the sediment for a clear, bright abghooreh.
Yellowman is the bright yellow, brittle honeycomb toffee hacked from great slabs at the Ould Lammas Fair in Ballycastle, County Antrim, at the end of every August, often eaten with dulse. Golden syrup, sugar and butter are boiled to the hard-crack stage and then foamed with bicarbonate of soda into a crunchy, airy toffee. Chef's tip: have the tin and the soda ready before you start; once it reaches temperature you have seconds.
Gammon, egg and chips is the great English pub and transport-café dinner, on the menu from roadside diners on the A1 to Devon seaside pubs. A thick steak of cured pork gammon is grilled until the fat crisps, then topped with a fried egg or a ring of pineapple (or both), next to chunky chips and peas. Chef's tip: snip the fat around the edge every 2 cm before cooking so the steak stays flat.
Fish pie is a Friday supper and a family favourite from the Kent coast to Devon, where fishmongers sell a ready-cut 'fish pie mix' for it. Chunks of white fish, smoked haddock and prawns are baked in a creamy parsley sauce under a thick crust of buttery mash, so it is mild, comforting and very filling. Chef's tip: don't pre-cook the fish; it finishes in the oven and stays in big, juicy flakes.
Kedgeree came to Britain with families returning from colonial India, who adapted khichri into a breakfast of buttery curried rice, flaked smoked haddock and boiled eggs; it was served from silver dishes at Victorian country house breakfasts and is now a weekend brunch. It is gently spiced, smoky and soft. Chef's tip: poach the haddock in the milk you then use for nothing else, and cook the rice in the poaching water for more smoky flavour.
Cima alla genovese is a summer dish from Genoa and the Ligurian coast, sold by the slice in old delicatessens and set out for festive lunches and picnics. A pocket of veal breast is filled with a soft mixture of minced veal, egg, peas, parmigiano, pine nuts and marjoram, sewn shut and poached gently in broth, then pressed overnight so each cold slice shows a mosaic of green peas and golden egg. Traditional recipes add brains, sweetbreads and udder; this version keeps to veal mince so it is easier to make at home. Ask the butcher to cut the pocket for you. Serve it cool with a green salad and a little salsa verde. Chef's tip: fill the pocket only two-thirds full; the stuffing swells as it cooks and will burst the seams if packed tight.
Corozo is a tiny, glossy red-black palm fruit that grows wild across Colombia's Caribbean lowlands, and in Sincelejo, Montería and Cartagena it is boiled into a deep wine-red juice that is tart, slightly bitter and very refreshing. It is sold in bags from street coolers and served with lunch at home, especially in the dry season when the fruit is plentiful. The fruit is mostly stone and skin, so it is boiled to release the colour and flavour, then mashed and strained. Blending the whole fruit is the trap here: the hard stones can break a blender and add bitterness, so only mash them. Frozen corozo pulp is sold in some Latin shops; there is no true substitute, but tart cherry juice with a squeeze of lime gives a similar colour and sourness. Chef's tip: dissolve the sugar while the juice is still warm, then chill well; it tastes sharper and brighter cold.
Goetta is Cincinnati's breakfast meat, brought by German immigrants who stretched a little pork and beef with steel-cut oats; the city even holds a summer Goettafest beside the Ohio River. Pork mince, beef mince and pinhead oats are simmered with onion and spices into a thick loaf, chilled, then sliced and fried until crisp and brown outside and soft within. Serve with eggs and toast. Chef's tip: fry the slices in a dry, hot non-stick pan and leave them alone for 5 minutes; turning too early makes them crumble.
Coronation chicken was invented for the banquet of Queen Elizabeth II's coronation in 1953 by the Cordon Bleu school in London, and it became the filling of choice for jacket potatoes, wedding buffets and garden party sandwiches across England. Poached chicken is folded through a creamy, mildly spiced sauce of mayonnaise, curry paste, apricot and yoghurt. Chef's tip: poach the chicken very gently and cool it in its liquid so it stays juicy.
Every December, the old confectioners of Zaragoza stack trays of guirlache in their windows: snapped slabs of toasted almonds held in a dark, glassy caramel, sometimes speckled with tiny coloured sugar sprinkles on top. It is eaten after Christmas dinner alongside turrón and dried fruit, and it keeps for weeks in a tin. Made only from almonds, sugar and a few drops of lemon, it is vegan and gluten free. A common mistake is stirring the caramel while the sugar melts, which makes it crystallise into grainy lumps; swirl the pan instead. Chef's tip: warm the almonds in the oven before they go into the caramel; cold nuts make it seize and set before you can spread it.
During Lent and on fasting days, coastal families in Crete and the islands turn to octopus, which the church counts as fasting food. In this one-pot dish it is first stewed in its own juices until tender, then simmered in tomato with cinnamon and allspice, and finally the little cut pasta tubes cook right in the sauce, soaking up the deep red, faintly sweet liquid. It is served hot with a squeeze of lemon and a green salad. Common mistake: salting the octopus at the start, which tightens it; season only once it is tender. Chef's tip: buy frozen octopus or freeze fresh for a day; freezing breaks down the tough fibres and saves you the traditional beating on the rocks.
Octopus tentacles hanging to dry on a line outside a harbour taverna are a summer sight across the Greek islands, and they end up on the grill as one of the great ouzo mezedes, though they are just as good with a cold lemonade. Simmering first makes the octopus tender; the grill adds smoky, crisp tips. It is also a favourite Lenten dish, since shellfish and octopus are allowed on fasting days. Common mistake: grilling raw octopus straight away, which leaves it rubbery. Chef's tip: cook it in its own juices without added water; it gives off plenty of liquid and stays more flavourful.
Borojó is the pride of the Chocó: a heavy brown fruit with a dense, sticky pulp and a sour, almost tamarind-like flavour. In Quibdó it is sold as pulp at the market and blended into thick shakes at juice stalls, and it carries a folk reputation as a restorative, sometimes jokingly called juice of love. Blended with cold milk and sugar it becomes creamy, tangy and filling, more a small meal than a drink. Outside Colombia, look for frozen borojó pulp in Latin American shops; there is no real substitute, though a mix of tamarind paste and banana gives a rough idea. Using too much pulp is easy to do, and the shake turns into a paste that will not go through a straw, so start with the amount below and thicken to taste. Chef's tip: blend the pulp with a little milk first to loosen it, then add the rest; borojó is so dense it can stall a blender.
Bozghormeh is a dish of Kerman, the desert city in south-east Iran, cooked on winter weekends and for family gatherings. Lamb and chickpeas are simmered with turmeric until soft, then pounded together and finished with kashk (salty fermented whey), lots of fried onion and garlic and a dusting of dried mint; it is scooped up with flatbread rather than eaten with rice. The result is creamy, tangy and deeply savoury. A common mistake is boiling after the kashk goes in; it turns grainy, so add it at the end over a low heat. Chef's tip: if you can't find kashk, mix thick Greek yogurt with a pinch of salt and a squeeze of lemon; it's milder but close.
Pobra de Trives, a mountain town in Ourense, holds a festival every August in honour of its bica, a rich, close-textured cake made with fresh cream and butter from local dairies. It is baked in a rectangular tin, sold in paper and eaten in thick slices with coffee or a glass of milk. The sugar scattered on top bakes into a thin, crackly crust. A common mistake is overmixing once the flour goes in, which makes it tough; fold just until no streaks remain. Chef's tip: whip the egg whites separately and fold them in last for a lighter crumb.
In the port of Veracruz, fish a la veracruzana shows the city's centuries of trade with Spain: red snapper baked in a sauce of tomato, onion and garlic with green olives, capers, bay and herbs, sharpened with pickled yellow chillies. It is served at seafront restaurants on Sundays and is a favourite on Christmas Eve, when many families eat fish. The sauce is tangy, briny and gently hot, and the fish stays moist under it. Serve it with plain white rice to soak up the sauce. Chef's tip: cook the sauce down until thick before the fish goes in; the fish releases juices as it bakes and will thin it out.
After the potato harvest in May and June, families in Puno, Cusco and across the highlands build a huatia in the field: a little dome of dry earth clods heated with dried brush until the clods glow, then knocked down over freshly dug potatoes and oca so they bake slowly underground. Opened an hour later, the potatoes are smoky, floury and so soft their skins split, and the oca turns sweet and tangy. Everyone eats them with their hands, with salt, chilli sauce and fresh cheese. This recipe gives an oven method for home cooks: a lidded pot bedded with coarse salt and herbs, which traps heat and steam much like the earth. If you do try a real huatia outdoors, use a clear patch of ground away from anything that can catch fire and keep water nearby. Don't uncover the pot early to check: the steam escapes and the potatoes turn leathery. Fresh oca is sold in some markets as New Zealand yam; small sweet potatoes will do. Chef's tip: choose potatoes of a similar size so they all finish together, and serve with uchucuta.
Paisas finish lunch with a glass of mazamorra the way others take dessert: soft, swollen kernels of hulled white corn in their own starchy cooking liquid, topped up with cold milk and eaten with a piece of panela or guava paste to nibble between sips. In Medellín it is sold from carts as well as made in big pots at home for the week, and it is mild, milky and quietly filling. Look for dried hulled white corn (maíz pilado or peto) in Latin American shops. Soak it overnight first. A common mistake is serving it before the corn is fully soft; the kernels should split open and be tender to the bite. Chef's tip: save the thick cooking liquid; it gives the drink its silky body, and the corn keeps in it for 4 days in the fridge.
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