Tamarillo chilli sauce
No Ecuadorian table in the Sierra, from Quito to Cuenca, is complete without a small bowl of ají, and the tamarillo version is the household favourite. Tomate de árbol, the egg-shaped, wine-red tree tomato, is blanched and peeled, blended with fresh hot chilli, salt and a little water, then finished with finely chopped onion and fresh coriander. It is spooned over locro de papa, llapingachos, empanadas de viento, hornado and fritada at the long Sunday family lunch, and onto everything at the street stalls of the Saturday markets. The flavour is tangy, fruity and slightly bitter-sweet, more sour than a tomato salsa, with a fresh bite of onion and a clean chilli heat. The common mistake is blending the tamarillos with their skins on, which makes the sauce bitter; blanch them until the skins split and slip off. It is ready when it is bright orange-red, loose and juicy, and the onion is still crisp. Abroad, tamarillos turn up in larger supermarkets; ripe plum tomatoes with the pulp of a passion fruit are the best stand-in. Chef's tip: rinse the chopped onion in salted water first, which tames its sharpness, as Ecuadorians do.
A new country every day, from every cuisine on the site.
In Austin and San Antonio the breakfast taco is the morning commute: soft flour tortillas wrapped around fillings like crispy potato, scrambled egg and cheese, bought in foil from taquerías and petrol stations and eaten with salsa. Potato and egg is the classic meatless pairing. Chef's tip: fry the diced potatoes in one layer without stirring for the first few minutes so they get a real crust.
When the sweetcorn stands in late summer at farm stands from Maine to Connecticut, corn chowder is what goes on the stove. It is a milky, chunky soup of corn, potato and onion, thickened by simmering the stripped cobs in the stock. Many cooks start it with salt pork; this vegetarian version gets its depth from butter, smoked paprika and the cob stock instead. Chef's tip: scrape the bare cobs with the back of a knife to get the sweet corn 'milk' into the pot.
Angu is to a mineiro kitchen what bread is elsewhere: a pot of fine yellow fubá cooked with water into a smooth, soft mush, traditionally without salt, to sit under saucy dishes. In Minas Gerais and Rio it is spooned beside frango com quiabo, braised greens, mushroom ragouts and anything with a gravy, and the old roadside restaurants bring it in clay bowls. Plain angu tastes clean and gently sweet of corn, which is why it suits strongly seasoned food. The classic mistake is pouring dry cornmeal into boiling water, which creates lumps that never cook out; start it in cold water instead. Chef's tip: keep the heat low and give it the full 20 minutes even when it looks thick already; raw cornmeal tastes gritty and bitter, while cooked angu is silky and comes away from the sides of the pan.
Fried pies are a staple of Appalachian bake sales, country stores and Grand Ole Opry-era lunch pails across Tennessee, Kentucky and north Georgia, made from apples dried on the porch roof in autumn. The rich filling of stewed dried apple is folded into rounds of tender pastry, crimped with a fork and fried crisp in a skillet. Chef's tip: let the filling go completely cold and use only a heaped tablespoon; overfilled pies burst in the pan.
Shoofly pie is the signature sweet of the Amish and Mennonite farms around Lancaster, Pennsylvania, sold at roadside stands and farmers' markets and eaten for breakfast with strong coffee as often as for dessert. This is the 'wet-bottom' kind: a gooey layer of molasses custard under a cakey middle and a buttery brown-sugar crumb. Chef's tip: use mild, light molasses; strong blackstrap makes it bitter.
Blackened redfish was the dish that made Cajun cooking famous across America in the 1980s, created in a New Orleans restaurant by a chef from Opelousas. Fillets are dipped in butter, coated thickly in paprika, cayenne, thyme and pepper and seared in a white-hot cast-iron pan, so the spices char into a dark, smoky crust while the fish stays moist. It produces a lot of smoke, so open the windows or cook it outside. Chef's tip: the pan must be heated empty for a full 5 minutes; a lukewarm pan steams the fish instead of blackening it.
Ankara's signature dish is a tava, a baking pan, in which tender braised lamb is laid over a pilaf of rice and orzo and finished in the oven so the top grains go crisp and the meat juices soak right through. Old Ankara families serve it for guests and at festival lunches, with a bowl of cacık and pickles. Common mistake: using fully cooked pilaf, which dries out and turns hard in the oven; cook the rice only halfway. Chef's tip: save every spoon of the lamb's braising liquid; it's what flavours and finishes cooking the rice underneath.
New Orleans barbecue shrimp never touch a grill or a barbecue sauce: they are big head-on Gulf prawns baked or pan-cooked in an outrageous amount of butter, black pepper, garlic, Worcestershire sauce and lemon, made famous in an Uptown restaurant in the 1950s. You peel them at the table and mop up the sauce with French bread. Some cooks add a splash of beer, which contains alcohol; this version uses stock, so it is alcohol-free. Worcestershire sauce contains anchovy. Chef's tip: keep the heads on; they hold the juices that make the sauce.
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.
Boudin is a soft Cajun sausage of pork, pork liver, rice and the holy trinity sold hot from the counters of meat markets and petrol stations along Interstate 10 between Lake Charles and Lafayette. Boudin balls take the same filling, roll it in breadcrumbs and fry it, and they are the snack of LSU tailgates and crawfish boils. This recipe uses pork shoulder and pork liver. Chef's tip: chill the rolled balls for 30 minutes before frying so they keep their shape.
Along the Aegean coast from Ayvalık down to Bodrum, every meze tray in early summer carries a tangle of deniz börülcesi, the salty, crunchy samphire gathered from the marshes. It is blanched, pulled off its woody cores, then dressed with plenty of garlic, lemon and olive oil and served cold beside grilled fish. It tastes of the sea in the best way. Chef's tip: don't salt the cooking water or the dressing; samphire carries all the salt it needs.
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.
Real pumpernickel comes from Westphalia, where bakers in towns like Soest once left loaves in the cooling bread oven overnight, and it is still sliced paper-thin for breakfast with butter, quark and radishes or with a sharp cheese. There is no colouring and no molasses here: the near-black colour and the malty sweetness come only from cracked rye cooked for many hours in steam at a low heat. The crumb is moist, dense and slightly sticky, and the loaf keeps for over a week wrapped in cloth. A common mistake is slicing it on the day it comes out of the tin; it needs a full day to settle or it tears into gummy crumbs. Chef's tip: wrap the tin tightly in two layers of foil and stand it in a roasting tray of hot water, because a dry loaf turns hard instead of dark and sweet.
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.
Antikristo means 'facing each other', and in the Psiloritis mountain villages above Anogeia it describes big pieces of lamb on long skewers set upright round a wood fire, turned now and then for four or five hours until the fat has dripped away and the meat is smoky and crisp. At village feasts and saint's-day fairs it is carved straight from the skewer onto paper with nothing more than salt and a squeeze of lemon. This home version roasts salted lamb shoulder and ribs slowly in the oven, then finishes them hot for crackling edges. Common mistake: adding herbs and marinades; the Cretan way is only coarse salt, so the lamb's own flavour comes through. Chef's tip: salt the meat the night before and leave it uncovered in the fridge so the surface dries and crisps.
Linz, the Danube city in Upper Austria, has baked this tart for centuries, and it still fills bakery windows there all year, with extra demand in Advent. It is closer to a soft, crumbly nut biscuit than a pastry: ground hazelnuts, butter, cinnamon and cloves are pressed into the tin, filled with tart redcurrant jam and topped with a lattice. Serve a thin slice with coffee or tea. A common mistake is eating it on the day it is baked; it is much better after two or three days, when the jam soaks into the crumb. Chef's tip: chill the lattice strips on a tray before lifting them on, and they will not tear.
This dense, dark chocolate torte is Vienna's most famous cake, eaten in coffee houses all over the city with a cup of Melange and, always, a cloud of unsweetened whipped cream on the side. The sponge is made with melted chocolate and whisked egg whites, so it is fine-crumbed and slightly dry by design; a thin layer of sharp apricot jam runs through the middle and over the top, under a shiny, snappy chocolate glaze. A common mistake is pouring the glaze too hot or too cold; too hot and it runs off thin, too cold and it sets dull and lumpy. It is a cake for birthdays and Sunday visits, and it keeps well for days. Chef's tip: bake it the day before and let it rest overnight wrapped; it cuts far more neatly and the crumb softens.
Testaccio was home to Rome's slaughterhouse, and the vaccinari who skinned the cattle were partly paid in offcuts, among them the tail. The trattorie of the quarter still serve coda alla vaccinara as their signature dish: oxtail braised for hours in tomato with a mountain of celery until the meat slides off the bone, the sauce finished with a hint of bitter cocoa, pine nuts and raisins for a sweet-sour depth. A splash of red wine goes in early, with an alcohol-free option in the ingredients. Eat the meat with bread, and toss any leftover sauce with rigatoni the next day. Chef's tip: braise it a day ahead, chill it and lift off the hard layer of fat before reheating; the sauce will be cleaner and the flavour deeper.
The po'boy was born in 1929 when two former streetcar drivers fed striking workers free sandwiches at their New Orleans restaurant, and today every neighbourhood joint from Mid-City to the Bywater fries them. The bread is a light, flaky-crusted French loaf, and a shrimp po'boy comes 'dressed' with shredded lettuce, tomato, pickles and rémoulade or mayonnaise. Chef's tip: use the lightest, crustiest baguette you can find and warm it; dense bread fights the filling.
Cheese enchiladas in chili gravy are the heart of the Tex-Mex combination plate, served in Houston, Dallas and San Antonio cafés since the early 1900s with rice and refried beans. Unlike Mexican enchiladas in fresh chile sauce, the Texas version uses a roux-thickened 'chili gravy' spiced with chili powder and cumin, and lots of melted yellow cheese with raw onion inside. Traditional cheddar is often made with animal rennet; choose a vegetarian cheese. Chef's tip: dip each tortilla in hot oil for a few seconds first, so it rolls without cracking and doesn't go soggy.
On the first day of the Persian new year, from Rasht to Tehran, the classic lunch is sabzi polo, a green herb rice, with fish, and on the Caspian side that fish is often golden hot-smoked white fish (mahi doodi). Fresh herbs stand for spring and the fish for life, so the plate is full of meaning as well as flavour. Most cooks buy the smoked fish ready made and simply warm it with a little garlic and saffron butter, which is what this recipe does; the rice is steamed with dill, parsley, coriander and chives until it forms a crisp tahdig. Hot-smoked fish is already cooked; heat it until piping hot, at least 70 °C in the middle. A common mistake is warming the fish dry in a hot oven, which makes it tough and salty; wrap it with a splash of water so it steams. Chef's tip: soak the smoked fish in warm water for 10 minutes first to draw out some of the salt.
In New Orleans a praline (say 'praw-leen') is a flat, fudgy disc of pecans set in brown sugar and cream, sold in waxed paper from candy shops along Decatur Street and by street vendors since the 1800s. It melts on the tongue rather than snapping like brittle. Chef's tip: use a sugar thermometer and take the pan off at 114 °C; a few degrees more and they turn grainy and hard.
On winter evenings in Kayseri, Konya and Yozgat, friends gather for arabaşı nights: a big pot of fiery, tomatoey chicken soup and a tray of plain set dough cut into cubes. Each person drops a cube of cold dough into a spoonful of hot soup and swallows it whole, without chewing, and the hot-cold contrast is the whole fun. Common mistake: making the dough too soft; it should set firm enough to slice cleanly once chilled. Cook the chicken until its juices run clear and it reaches 74 °C before shredding. Chef's tip: make the dough the morning before, or even the day before, so it is properly cold and firm.
Beignets are the pillowy fried dough squares served three to a plate, under a drift of icing sugar, at the open-air coffee stands of the French Quarter in New Orleans, day and night. The dough is a soft, slightly sweet yeast dough enriched with evaporated milk, and the squares puff up hollow in hot oil. Drink them with chicory café au lait. Chef's tip: roll the dough only 5 mm thick; thicker squares stay doughy in the middle.
Waste-not Southern cooks in Georgia and the Carolinas turned the white part of the watermelon rind into these sweet, glassy pickles, served on relish trays at Christmas and with fried chicken in summer. The rind is brined, then simmered in a cinnamon and clove syrup until translucent and crisp-tender. Chef's tip: cut away every bit of green skin and pink flesh; the skin stays tough and the flesh goes mushy.
In Bandar Abbas, Lar and the villages of Hormozgan, mahyaveh is a dark, pungent sauce made by leaving tiny fish with salt, mustard seed and spices to ferment in the sun for weeks; it is smeared on hot flatbread for breakfast or with eggs. That open-air fermentation is hard to control safely at home, so this version gets the same deep, salty flavour from ready-cured anchovy fillets blended with toasted mustard seed, cumin, coriander seed, fennel and a little vinegar, and it lives in the fridge from the start. It is still a cured-fish product: not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. A common mistake is spreading it thickly like a pâté; it is a seasoning, so a thin smear is enough. Chef's tip: toast the spices until the mustard seeds just start to pop, which takes the raw bitterness out and gives the spread its roasted edge.
In Peloponnese villages from Argos to Messinia, the first sweet peas of April become this humble ladero, the olive-oil stew that fills the table during Lent and on any meatless Wednesday or Friday. Peas, potato and carrot simmer slowly in tomato and plenty of oil until the sauce is thick and the peas are soft and almost creamy. It's eaten warm with feta (or vegan cheese), olives and crusty bread to mop the oil. Common mistake: cooking for only 10 minutes as if the peas were a side; laderá need time for the oil and vegetables to come together. Chef's tip: frozen petits pois work perfectly — add them after the potatoes have had 10 minutes.
Each spring the shad (sobour) swims up the Karun and Arvand rivers, and in Ahvaz and Khorramshahr the season is marked by whole fish split open, packed with a sour paste of herbs, garlic and tamarind and cooked over coals or in a hot oven. The rich, oily flesh is a perfect match for the sharp filling. Shad is very bony, so most home cooks outside Khuzestan use sea bass, sea bream or mackerel, which take the same filling beautifully. A common mistake is overfilling the fish so it bursts open and the stuffing burns; pack it firmly but leave a finger's width at the edges. Chef's tip: cut three shallow slashes in each side and rub a little filling into them, so the sourness reaches the whole fish.
When the grapes are picked in the vineyards of Olite and the Ribera in September, quail are fat from the stubble fields and the vines still have their leaves, so Navarrese cooks bring the two together. Each bird is wrapped in a vine leaf and a strip of bacon and roasted fast; the leaf keeps the lean meat moist and adds a gentle, lemony tang. This contains pork (streaky bacon). Serve with fried potatoes or bread and, in season, a bunch of grapes. Chef's tip: taste before salting, because brined vine leaves and bacon already bring plenty.
Arayes are what Beirut grill houses and family barbecues do with kafta when they want something you can eat with your hands: pitta breads split and filled with a thin layer of lamb or beef mince mixed with onion, parsley and spices, then pressed and grilled until the bread is shatteringly crisp and the meat juices soak in. Cut into wedges, they come with tahini sauce, pickles and a tomato salad. Common mistake: spreading the meat too thickly — the bread burns before the centre is cooked; keep it about 5 mm. Chef's tip: brush the outside of the bread with the fat from the mince bowl or a little olive oil; it fries the pitta to a perfect crunch.
Boston earned the nickname Beantown from this pot: small white beans baked all day with salt pork, molasses and mustard, traditionally put in the oven on Saturday morning to be eaten that night with brown bread and kept warm for Sunday. The pork, cured belly with its rind, melts into the beans and gives a savoury richness against the dark, sweet sauce. Chef's tip: keep the beans just covered with water as they bake; if they dry out on top they turn hard and leathery.
Along the Caspian shore from Bandar Anzali to Babolsar, the silvery kutum (mahi sefid) arrives in late winter, and families fry thick steaks of it for weekday lunches and for the Nowruz table. The coating is nothing more than flour, turmeric, salt and pepper, so the sweet, firm flesh does the talking; it comes to the table with wedges of bitter orange (narenj), rice and a plate of fresh herbs. Any firm white fish with skin works if you can't find kutum: sea bass, hake or cod steaks. A common mistake is crowding the pan, which drops the oil temperature and leaves the crust pale and greasy. Chef's tip: dry the fish properly and flour it only at the last moment, so the turmeric crust fries to a crisp golden shell instead of turning pasty.
Hot chicken has been a Nashville institution since the 1930s and is eaten at late-night shacks and the city's summer hot-chicken festival: crisp buttermilk-brined fried chicken painted while hot with a paste of cayenne and brown sugar in hot oil, served on a slice of white bread with dill pickle chips to cool things down. Chef's tip: brine the chicken overnight in the fridge; it seasons the meat right through and keeps it juicy under all that heat.
The lettuce hearts grown around Tudela in the Ribera of Navarre are small, tight and sweet, and they carry their own protected name. In the bars of Tudela and Pamplona they come to the table split lengthwise, still cold, with olive oil poured over them straight from the pan where garlic has just turned golden. Many places lay an anchovy on each quarter; this version leaves the fish out and is vegan. Chef's tip: dry the lettuce really well, because water left between the leaves makes the hot oil spit and leaves the dressing watery.
Çökertme is the kebab Bodrum is proud of: a bed of crisp, matchstick-thin fried potatoes, a layer of garlicky yoghurt, then tender strips of sautéed beef on top, finished with tomato sauce and butter. It is restaurant food in the town but easy to make at home for a Saturday lunch, and the contrast of hot, crunchy, cool and creamy is what makes it. Chef's tip: cut the potatoes very thin and fry them in two batches just before serving; made ahead, they go limp under the yoghurt.
The Coachella Valley around Palm Springs and Indio grows most of America's dates, and roadside date farms along the desert highway have sold this shake to thirsty drivers since the 1930s. Soft Medjool dates are blended with vanilla ice cream and milk into a thick, caramel-flavoured shake. Chef's tip: soak the chopped dates in a little warm milk for 10 minutes first, so they blend completely smooth instead of leaving chewy bits in the straw.
The carreros who hauled goods across Corrientes in ox carts needed food that kept for weeks, so they cooked rice in a single pot with charqui, sun-dried salted beef, plus whatever onion and pepper they carried. The guiso is still made in Corrientes homes and at country gatherings: rice swollen in a paprika-tinted broth, stringy shreds of beef with a deep, cured flavour, and a texture somewhere between a soupy risotto and a pilaf. Eat it hot from the pot with bread or chipá. Charqui is sold in Latin American shops; Brazilian carne seca works the same way. Forgetting to soak the dried beef is the classic mistake: it stays leathery and turns the whole pot too salty. Chef's tip: fry the soaked, shredded charqui in the oil before the vegetables; the caramelised edges give the broth its smoky depth. Plan for an overnight soak.
Cupuaçu, a cousin of cacao with a velvety white pulp, smells of pineapple, banana and chocolate at once and is one of the great flavours of Pará. Belém's ice-cream parlours and lunch restaurants turn it into this light, sharp-sweet mousse, and home cooks make it the night before a birthday or Sunday lunch because it is just whipped and chilled. Condensed milk and cream soften the fruit's sourness; a spoon of cupuaçu syrup on top adds colour and bite. Outside Brazil, buy frozen unsweetened cupuaçu pulp from Brazilian or Latin shops. Many cooks blend the cream with everything else, which leaves the mousse runny; whip it separately and fold it in. Chef's tip: thaw the pulp in the fridge rather than in hot water, so it keeps its perfume, and chill the mousse for at least 4 hours.
Green goddess dressing was created at the Palace Hotel in San Francisco in the 1920s, named after a popular play, and it came back as the herb-packed dressing of California salad bars and grain bowls. It is pale green and creamy, full of tarragon, parsley and chives. The hotel's original used anchovies; this vegetarian version gets its savoury punch from capers. Use it on salads, as a dip for crudités or on roast vegetables. Chef's tip: blend the herbs with the lemon first, before the creamy ingredients, so they break down fully and turn the dressing bright green.
Avocado toast took off in the cafés of Los Angeles and San Francisco, where California's Hass avocados are grown, and it is now the state's standard weekend brunch. The trick is simple ingredients done well: thick sourdough toasted hard, ripe avocado smashed with lemon and good salt, and something crunchy and sharp on top. Chef's tip: season the avocado more than you think, with salt and lemon; underseasoned avocado tastes flat.
In March, when the sugarhouses of Vermont steam day and night boiling sap, diners and country stores sell this pale caramel-coloured pie made with the new season's syrup. The filling is a simple custard of maple syrup, cream and eggs, so the flavour is pure maple, deep and woody. Use dark, strong-tasting maple syrup, not pancake syrup. Chef's tip: bake until the edges are set but the middle still wobbles like jelly; it firms as it cools.
Málaga's fishermen once made gazpachuelo on the beach with whatever the nets brought in, and today it is a winter comfort soup in the city's homes and old-style taverns: a clear broth with potatoes, hake and prawns, slowly poured over a homemade mayonnaise until it turns pale and creamy. Done right it is silky, lemony and light. The eggs in the mayonnaise must be heated through properly, so this method brings the soup to 72 °C at the end without boiling it. Chef's tip: add the broth to the mayonnaise, never the other way round, and at first only a ladle at a time.
White barbecue sauce was created in 1925 at a barbecue pit in Decatur, north Alabama, and it is still what that corner of the state puts on smoked and grilled chicken: a peppery mixture of mayonnaise, cider vinegar and horseradish. The hot chicken is dunked in it straight off the grill, so the tangy sauce soaks into the crisp skin. Chef's tip: keep half the sauce separate before it touches raw-chicken brushes, for serving at the table.
Between Essaouira and Agadir, where argan trees grow on the dry hills, breakfast is not complete without a bowl of amlou: roasted almonds ground to a paste with culinary argan oil and honey until it is pourable, nutty and sweet with a deep, toasty flavour. It is spread on warm bread, msemen or baghrir, eaten with tea, and taken by many as a quick source of energy on cold mornings. Culinary argan oil is made from roasted kernels and is not the same as cosmetic argan oil, which is unroasted; if you cannot find it, roasted walnut oil gives a similar result. Chef's tip: roast the almonds until they are golden right through to the centre; pale almonds give a flat-tasting amlou.
Gofio, flour ground from toasted maize or wheat, has fed the Canary Islands since before the Spanish arrived, and a bowl of escaldado is its simplest, most comforting form. Hot broth is beaten into the gofio until it turns into a soft, savoury paste flecked with mint, eaten by scooping it up on chunks of raw red onion. In fishing towns the broth is usually fish stock left from a sancocho; this version uses vegetable broth so it is vegan. Pure maize gofio is gluten free, but most blends contain wheat, so check the bag. Chef's tip: add the broth gradually while you beat, as dumping it in at once makes stubborn lumps.
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.
Every May the valleys around Kashan and Qamsar fill with pickers gathering Damask roses at dawn for golabgiri, the rose-water festival, when copper stills bubble in village courtyards. Golab is the backbone of Persian sweets, sharbat and rice, and a small batch can be made at home with a stockpot, an upturned lid and a bowl of ice. You need fragrant roses that have never been sprayed: florist roses are not safe to use in food. A common mistake is boiling hard, which cooks the petals and gives a grassy, dull water; the pot should only simmer. Chef's tip: pick the roses early in the morning, when their scent is strongest, and distil the same day.
Stargazy pie is baked in the Cornish fishing village of Mousehole every 23 December for Tom Bawcock's Eve, celebrating the fisherman who is said to have sailed out in a storm and saved the village from famine. Whole pilchards or sardines are baked under pastry with egg, potato and bacon, their heads poking out so they gaze at the stars and their oil runs back into the filling. The bacon is smoked pork. Chef's tip: ask the fishmonger to bone the fish but leave the heads on; it makes the pie much easier to eat.
In Xàtiva and the villages of La Costera, arnadí is made for Holy Week and given as a gift between neighbours, its golden peaks spiked with almonds and pine nuts like a little fortress. The recipe is a legacy of the region's Moorish centuries: roast pumpkin and sweet potato cooked down with sugar and ground almonds until thick, then shaped by hand in an earthenware dish and browned in the oven. Texture-wise it sits between a fudge and a very dense pudding, fragrant with lemon and cinnamon. A common mistake is using boiled pumpkin; it holds too much water and the arnadí never firms up. Chef's tip: roast the vegetables until the edges caramelise, then leave the purée to drain in a sieve overnight for the best, densest result.
No Istanbul meyhane table in Beyoğlu or Kumkapı is complete without a plate of Arnavut ciğeri: small cubes of lamb's liver dusted in paprika flour and flash-fried until crisp outside and just set within, piled on red onion, parsley and sumac. It is served hot among the cold meze, with toasted bread and a glass of something cold; ayran or şalgam work perfectly. Liver is quick to cook and quick to ruin. Chef's tip: shake off every bit of excess flour and fry in small batches in very hot oil, so the cubes crisp instantly instead of stewing.
When cos lettuces and spring onions flood the markets around Easter, Greek cooks make arni fricassee: lamb braised slowly with mountains of greens and dill, then thickened at the last moment with avgolemono, the frothy egg and lemon sauce. The result is tender, tangy and fresh, a lighter alternative to the roast lamb of Easter Sunday, served with crusty bread to mop up the sauce. Common mistake: pouring the eggs straight into the bubbling pot, which scrambles them; temper them with hot broth first and keep the pot off the heat. Chef's tip: shake the pot to swirl the sauce in rather than stirring, so the lamb and greens stay whole.
Memphis is famous for pork ribs served 'dry': coated in a spice rub of paprika, garlic and chilli and slow-cooked until tender, then dusted with more rub instead of sauce. Basement rib joints downtown and the World Championship Barbecue Cooking Contest every May keep the style alive. This oven method gets close to the smoked version. Chef's tip: peel the papery membrane off the back of the ribs before rubbing; it blocks the seasoning and turns leathery.
Ourkimen is cooked across the Souss and the Atlas for Yennayer, the Amazigh New Year on 12–13 January, when a pot of mixed dried beans, chickpeas, wheat berries and corn is simmered for hours to wish for a plentiful harvest. Many families add lamb's feet or dried meat; this is the meat-free version, made the way many cooks prepare it when meat is not on the table, and it is still deeply savoury from tomato, cumin, paprika and a good dose of olive oil. The grains turn chewy and the pulses creamy, and the stew is eaten hot from bowls with bread. Start the soaking the night before; the stew then needs about 3 1/2 hours of gentle simmering. People who have G6PD deficiency (favism) should leave out the dried broad beans and use more white beans. Chef's tip: stir from the bottom every 20 minutes in the last hour; as the stew thickens it catches easily.
When the Valencian huerta turns cold in January, this brothy rice is what simmers on the stove for Sunday lunch: white beans, sweet turnips, chard and different cuts of pork cooked slowly with saffron, then rice added to the pot at the end, so it is a spoon dish rather than a dry paella. Each family has its own mix of meats; this version uses pork ribs, pork belly and onion morcilla. This contains pork (ribs, belly and black pudding). A common mistake is adding the rice too early; it should go in only once the beans are completely soft, and the pot should be served the moment it is done or the rice swells and drinks up the broth. Chef's tip: soak the beans with a pinch of bicarbonate of soda and start them in cold water; they cook more evenly and their skins stay on.
The 'dirty' in arròs brut is the colour the broth takes from cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg and saffron, a spice mix that goes back to the island's medieval kitchens. Inland Mallorca cooks it on autumn and winter Sundays and at hunting lunches, with chicken, pork ribs, rabbit or small game, plus mushrooms, artichoke, green beans and peas, and serves it soupy, eaten with a spoon. This contains pork (pork ribs). Chef's tip: toast the ground spices for only a few seconds in the oil, then add the tomato at once, because burnt cloves and cinnamon make the whole pot bitter.
Drive through the hills of Abruzzo on a summer evening and you'll smell arrosticini: tiny cubes of sheep's meat threaded onto thin skewers and grilled by the dozen on a long, narrow charcoal brazier called a canala. Traditionally they're made with mutton from the region's flocks; lamb shoulder is easier to find and works beautifully. They are seasoned only with salt and olive oil, eaten straight off the stick by the handful, with bread drizzled in oil and a glass of something cold. A ridged grill pan works when you can't light charcoal. Chef's tip: leave a little fat on the meat and alternate fatty and lean pieces on each skewer, so they baste themselves as they cook.
Along the Alicante coast, from Santa Pola to Dénia, arroz a banda began as a fishermen's meal: the small, bony fish that wouldn't sell were simmered into a deep, rust-coloured stock, rice was cooked in it, and the fish was eaten "a banda", on the side. Today the rice comes first, thin, golden and intensely savoury, with a spoonful of allioli, and the poached fish and potatoes follow. A common mistake is a weak stock; the rice tastes of nothing more than what it cooks in, so use plenty of fish and reduce it well. The allioli here uses pasteurised egg; raw-egg allioli is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. Chef's tip: let the rice catch slightly on the base in the last minute to form socarrat, the toasty crust everyone fights over.
Nothing Greek about it: the name is pure Brazilian whimsy, and every carioca Christmas and New Year's Eve table has a big platter of this colourful rice next to the roast. Long-grain rice is cooked with onion and garlic and then tossed with diced carrot, peas, red pepper, raisins and spring onion, so each spoonful is savoury, a little sweet and full of colour. It also turns up at weekend lunches and as a side with grilled vegetables or bean dishes. Most people overload the pan and steam everything together, which turns the vegetables dull and soft. Cook the rice and the vegetables separately and fold them together at the end. Chef's tip: soak the raisins in a little hot water for 10 minutes; they plump up and don't pull moisture out of the rice.
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.
Along the Veracruz coast, from Alvarado to the port itself, fishermen's families make arroz a la tumbada: a loose, soupy red rice cooked in tomato and fish stock and loaded with prawns, squid, clams and mussels. It sits between a paella and a seafood soup, eaten with a spoon at long Sunday lunches in beachside palapas, with lime wedges and hot sauce on the table. Epazote gives it its local scent; parsley with a pinch of oregano will do if you can't find it. Chef's tip: take it off the heat while it still looks too wet; the rice keeps drinking the broth on the way to the table.
Small enough to eat in two bites, colaciones have been Córdoba's sweet gift since colonial times, when they were made in the city's convents; today confiterías in the old centre still sell them stacked in paper trays, and visitors carry them home with the alfajores. A crumbly short pastry encloses a spoon of dulce de leche, shaped into a little dome, baked pale and then dipped in a glossy white glaze that hardens into a crisp sugary shell. They are lovely with coffee or mate after lunch. The usual problem is leaking: too much filling, or edges that aren't sealed, and the dulce de leche boils out in the oven, so use a level teaspoon and press the rims firmly. The glaze is a light Italian meringue, where hot syrup cooks the egg white. Chef's tip: chill the filled colaciones for 15 minutes before baking; cold pastry keeps its shape and seals better.
Diots are the small pork sausages of Savoie, sold in every butcher's from Chambéry to Annecy and eaten at ski-resort tables and village fêtes all winter. They are browned, then braised slowly with plenty of onions in dry Savoie white wine with a bay leaf, until the onions melt into a sweet, winey sauce around the plump sausages. The traditional partner is crozets, tiny square buckwheat or wheat pasta, or a soft polenta. The braise uses white wine; an alcohol-free version is in the notes. If you can't find diots, use any coarse, garlicky pork sausage. Chef's tip: brown the sausages slowly over a medium heat rather than fiercely, so the skins colour without bursting.
The village of Lighvan, on the slopes of Mount Sahand south of Tabriz, gives its name to Iran's most loved breakfast cheese: a white, holey, tangy sheep's milk cheese matured in brine, traditionally in goatskins or tins in mountain caves. Across Azerbaijan province it is eaten every morning with warm bread, walnuts, fresh herbs and sweet tea. This home version uses pasteurised sheep's milk (or a mix with goat's milk) so it is safe to make in your kitchen. Village Lighvan is set with animal rennet; use a vegetarian (microbial) rennet to keep it vegetarian. The commonest mistake is cutting the curd before it gives a clean break, which loses yield and makes a crumbly cheese. Chef's tip: let the cheese firm in the fridge for a full week in the brine; it develops its classic tang and little holes as it matures.
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