Semolina yoghurt cake in syrup
Walk through İzmir's Kemeraltı bazaar and you'll see huge copper trays of şambali, cut into diamonds, each topped with a blanched almond and glistening with syrup. It is a dense, moist semolina cake made with yoghurt, sold by street vendors and old pastry shops, sometimes with a spoon of kaymak on top. Plainer than it looks and dangerously easy to eat. Chef's tip: rest the batter for a few hours, or overnight, so the semolina softens fully; otherwise the cake is gritty.
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Dirty rice gets its name from the brown speckles of chicken liver and minced pork that colour it, and it is the side dish of Cajun Thanksgivings, church fairs and plate lunches around Lafayette, often served next to fried chicken. It is deeply savoury, peppery and good enough to eat as a main. This recipe contains pork. Chef's tip: chop the livers very finely, almost to a paste, so they melt into the rice rather than sitting in lumps.
Piperrada belongs to late summer on both sides of the Pyrenees, when the market stalls of Bayonne, Gernika and Pamplona are piled with green and red peppers. The vegetables are stewed slowly in olive oil until sweet and jammy, and in many Basque homes beaten eggs are stirred in at the end for a light supper. It is often served with cured ham alongside; this version is vegetarian. A common mistake is rushing the peppers over a high heat: they should collapse slowly, or the dish tastes raw and sharp. Chef's tip: take the pan off the heat while the eggs still look slightly wet, because they keep cooking on the way to the table.
Olive pickers in the province of Jaén used to carry the makings of pipirrana into the groves, and in the city it is still the salad people set out on a hot July evening, with bread for the juices. What sets the Jaén version apart is the dressing: garlic, salt and boiled egg yolk are pounded together, then loosened with the province's own peppery oil until it turns creamy. Some cooks add tinned tuna; this one stays vegetarian. The usual mistake is chopping the vegetables in large chunks; everything should be cut small enough to fit a fork. Chef's tip: peel the tomatoes before dicing, so the dressing clings to soft flesh instead of slipping off tough skin.
Every household in La Mancha seems to own a flower-shaped iron, a long-handled mould that is dipped in hot oil, then in batter, then back in the oil, where a lacy flower slides off as it sets. Grandmothers make towers of them for Holy Week and Carnival, and they are sold in bags at village fiestas from Cuenca to Tomelloso. You can buy the iron, sometimes called a rosette iron, in kitchen shops. Chef's tip: the iron must be very hot each time it goes into the batter, or the batter won't cling.
Boiled peanuts are sold steaming from roadside stands and petrol stations all along the back roads of South Carolina, Georgia and Alabama, ladled into paper bags in late summer when the green peanut harvest comes in. Raw peanuts are simmered for hours in heavily salted water until soft as cooked beans, salty and earthy. A Cajun-spiced version with chilli is popular too. Chef's tip: taste a peanut every hour; they are done when the kernel is completely soft with no crunch.
Sweet tea is the house wine of the South, poured by the jug at every barbecue joint, meat-and-three and Sunday lunch from South Carolina to Texas. Strong black tea is sweetened while hot so the sugar dissolves completely, then cooled and poured over plenty of ice with lemon. A pinch of bicarbonate is an old trick that softens bitterness and keeps it clear. Chef's tip: let the tea cool to room temperature before chilling; putting it straight in the fridge hot makes it go cloudy.
Chess pie is the plain-pantry pie of Virginia, Kentucky and the Carolinas, made with nothing but butter, sugar, eggs and a spoonful of cornmeal, so it was baked year-round when there was no fruit. It sets into a rich, translucent custard with a crackly, golden sugar crust on top. Nobody agrees on the name; one story says a cook called it 'jes' pie'. Chef's tip: the cornmeal and vinegar aren't optional; they stop the very sweet custard from being cloying and help it set.
Georgia calls itself the Peach State, and in June and July roadside stands around Fort Valley sell peaches by the basket for this summer cobbler. In the old Southern style, a simple batter is poured over melted butter, then the peaches go on top; as it bakes the batter rises up around the fruit into a golden, cakey crust with crisp edges. Serve warm with vanilla ice cream. Chef's tip: don't stir after the peaches go in; the layers sort themselves out in the oven.
Pink, sticky and crunchy, sweet popcorn is the smell of a São João fairground and of the pipoqueiro carts outside schools and squares all year. The popcorn pops directly in a sugar syrup, so every kernel gets a thin, glassy, crackly shell; a few drops of red colouring turn it the classic festival pink. It takes about 10 minutes, so it is a favourite to make with kids watching from a safe distance. Use a plant-based red colouring if you want it vegan, as some red colourings are made from insects. Many cooks add too much colouring or sugar, which makes a sticky clump that never goes crisp. Chef's tip: shake the pan constantly once the popping slows, then tip it out immediately onto a tray and separate the kernels with two forks while still hot.
Every bouchon in Lyon, the small checked-tablecloth restaurants of the old town and the Presqu'île, puts salade lyonnaise on its menu as a starter or light lunch. Bitter, crunchy frisée is tossed with a sharp mustard vinaigrette, then topped with hot smoked pork lardons, garlicky croutons and a poached egg whose yolk spills into the leaves and turns the dressing creamy. It's the meeting of hot and cold, soft and crisp that makes it work. The egg is served runny, so use pasteurised eggs for pregnant women, young children, older people or anyone with a weakened immune system, or cook the egg until set. Chef's tip: deglaze the lardon pan with the vinegar and pour it warm over the leaves so they wilt very slightly.
Bubble and squeak is what English households, especially in London, make on Boxing Day and Monday mornings from the Sunday roast's leftover potatoes and greens. It's named for the noise it makes in the pan. The mash and cabbage or sprouts are fried until a deep brown crust forms, then turned and crisped again. Serve with a fried egg and brown sauce. Chef's tip: press it flat and leave it alone in the pan; the crust only forms if you don't keep stirring.
Cali bakeries sell pandeyucas warm in paper bags from early morning, often in a horseshoe shape, to go with a glass of kumis yoghurt drink or a café con leche. Made only from cassava starch, cheese, egg and a little butter, they are gluten free, puff up in the oven and stay hollow and stretchy inside with a thin crisp skin. Unlike pandebono, there is no corn flour, so they are lighter and chewier. Use tapioca (cassava) starch, sold in Asian and Latin shops; the cheese is typically a salty queso costeño made with animal rennet, so mix a vegetarian feta-style cheese with vegetarian mozzarella. Dough that is too wet makes them spread flat; it should feel like soft play dough. Chef's tip: they are at their best within 30 minutes of baking, so shape them ahead and bake just before eating.
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.
Banana pudding is the potluck and barbecue-joint dessert of Tennessee, the Carolinas and Mississippi, scooped from a deep dish next to the pulled pork. Vanilla wafers, sliced bananas and a stove-top custard are layered so the biscuits soften to cake, then the top is finished with toasted meringue the old-fashioned way. Chef's tip: pour the custard on while it is still warm so it seeps into the wafers.
Pimento cheese is the 'caviar of the South', sold in tubs in every Carolina supermarket and spread in white-bread sandwiches at the Masters golf tournament in Augusta. Grated sharp cheddar, sweet red pimento peppers and mayonnaise are mashed together with a little heat, and it ends up on crackers, celery, burgers and fried green tomatoes. Traditional cheddar is made with animal rennet, so choose a vegetarian cheddar if you need to. Chef's tip: grate the cheese yourself; pre-grated cheese is coated in starch and makes a dry, grainy spread.
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.
Balmoral chicken, named after the royal castle on Deeside, is the Scottish hotel and wedding-dinner dish of chicken breast stuffed with haggis, wrapped in smoked streaky bacon (pork) and roasted, usually with a whisky cream sauce. This version uses a peppercorn cream sauce with no alcohol. Chef's tip: make a deep pocket rather than butterflying the breast, so the haggis stays inside as it cooks.
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.
Shepherds in Barbagia, the mountainous heart of Sardinia, took stacks of pane carasau with them for weeks on the high pastures, because this dry, glass-thin flatbread never goes stale. Each disc is baked until it balloons, split in two while hot, then baked again until crisp and golden; Italians call it carta da musica, music paper, for how thin and crackly it is. Sardinians eat it with olive oil and salt as a snack, break it into soups and layer it into pane frattau. Making it at home takes patience and a very hot oven. Chef's tip: split each puffed disc the moment it comes out of the oven; once it cools, the two layers fuse together.
Matera's bread is a big golden loaf of durum-wheat semolina and sourdough, with a thick crackling crust and a crumb the colour of straw that stays moist for a week. It is shaped into a horned cornetto or a high-backed loaf, and until the 1950s families in the Sassi took their dough to the communal oven, each loaf marked with a carved wooden stamp so it came back to the right house. It is still eaten every day in the city, sliced thickly with olive oil and tomato or soaked in soups. Plan over two days, with a cold rise overnight. Chef's tip: feed your starter with semolina the day before, so its flavour matches the dough.
Pane e panelle is Palermo's breakfast on the run: wafer-thin squares of chickpea batter fried until puffed and crisp at the edges, stuffed five or six at a time into a soft sesame roll and squeezed with lemon. Friggitorie at the Vucciria and Ballarò markets sell them from early morning, often alongside potato crocchè, and the city eats them standing at the counter. The panelle are creamy inside and nutty with a little parsley. Chef's tip: whisk the chickpea flour into cold water, never hot, and you will have no lumps.
From Quibdó and the river towns of the Chocó comes a rice dish built on coconut, where cubes of white cheese are pushed into the pot near the end and left to melt into sticky, golden pockets; clavado means nailed in. The coconut milk, ideally pressed from freshly grated coconut, gives the rice a creamy, gently sweet base, and the Pacific herbs of the azotea, the raised kitchen garden, add a sharp green note. It is a weekday lunch at home, eaten with fried plantain, avocado or alongside fried fish for those who eat it. White cheese in Colombia is usually set with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian (microbial-rennet) halloumi or mozzarella-style cheese if needed. Stirring after the cheese goes in is the slip that turns it to mush, so poke the cheese into the rice and then leave the lid on. Chef's tip: culantro (long-leaf coriander) from Asian or Caribbean shops is close to the Chocó herbs; use ordinary coriander stems if not.
Pequi is the taste of the cerrado: a yellow-orange fruit with a powerful perfume, somewhere between cheese, apricot and petrol, that goianos love and newcomers need time to get used to. In Goiânia and around Brasília, rice cooked with pequi turns golden and absorbs that aroma; it is often made with chicken, but this meatless version is everyday food in the November-to-February season. Pequi is sold fresh in cerrado markets and frozen or jarred in brine in Brazilian shops elsewhere. Important: the stone inside the flesh is covered in fine, sharp spines. Never bite into a pequi; gnaw the flesh off gently with your teeth, and warn your guests. The usual slip is stirring the rice too much after the water goes in, which breaks the soft fruit apart. Chef's tip: fry the pequi in the oil first until it colours, because that flavoured oil is what tints and scents every grain.
Venison from red deer on the Highland estates is cooked in autumn and winter when the stalking season brings it to Scottish butchers, and a slow casserole is the warming way to eat the cheaper cuts. Shoulder is braised with red wine, juniper berries and a spoon of redcurrant jelly until tender and dark. The wine contains alcohol; for an alcohol-free version use extra stock with a tablespoon of balsamic vinegar. Chef's tip: venison is very lean, so cook it at a bare simmer; boiling makes it dry and stringy.
On Sundays in the Murcian countryside, rice with rabbit is cooked in a wide, flat pan over a fire of vine shoots, and the whole family eats straight from the edges. The rice is Calasparra, grown along the Segura river in the north of the region, and the flavour comes from rabbit browned slowly in olive oil, dried ñora pepper, saffron and a sprig of mountain rosemary laid on top at the end. Many cooks add snails too. Chef's tip: brown the rabbit really well, until golden and sticky, because that crust is where the flavour of the broth comes from.
Elche and Orihuela, in the south of Alicante, finish their Sunday rice in a way no other Spanish rice is finished: a thick layer of beaten egg is poured over the cooked rice, chicken, chickpeas and sausages, and the earthenware dish goes into a hot oven until the egg puffs into a golden lid. Families argue about whether the costra should be cracked at the table or cut into wedges. This contains pork (white sausages and morcilla). A common mistake is pouring the egg over rice that is still soupy; the egg sinks in and goes rubbery, so wait until the liquid has almost all gone. Chef's tip: bake it in a wide earthenware cazuela if you have one, which holds the heat and gives the crust its traditional dome.
Lodosa, on the Ebro in southern Navarre, roasts its little pointed piquillo peppers over wood, peels them by hand and jars them under its own protected name. When the autumn rains bring mushrooms up in the Navarrese hills, the peppers get stuffed with a thick mushroom béchamel, coated and fried, and served as a starter at family lunches or as a pintxo in the old town of Pamplona. A smooth sauce made from a few extra peppers goes underneath. Chef's tip: chill the filling until it is firm enough to scoop, which makes filling the soft peppers far easier.
Brown soda bread is on every Irish table, from the Aran Islands to Wexford, sliced thickly at breakfast and served beside soup or smoked salmon in pubs. It is raised with bicarbonate of soda and sour buttermilk instead of yeast, so it is mixed and in the oven in ten minutes, with a nutty, coarse crumb and a hard crust. Chef's tip: mix with a light hand only until it comes together; kneading makes soda bread tough and heavy.
Psari plaki is how Greek island families cook the day's catch for a crowd: the fish laid on a bed of soft onions, garlic, tomatoes and parsley, drizzled with olive oil and baked until the sauce turns jammy. It is a traditional Friday and Palm Sunday dish, eaten with bread, horta and plenty of lemon. Use cod, hake, sea bream or grouper. Common mistake: putting the fish in with raw vegetables, which leaves them crunchy and watery when the fish is done; cook the base first. Chef's tip: squeeze lemon over the fish and let it sit while the base bakes; it firms the flesh and seasons it to the bone.
Fried green tomatoes are the early-summer and end-of-season treat of Alabama and Georgia kitchens, when the garden is full of firm, unripe fruit. Thick slices are dipped in buttermilk and a cornmeal crust and fried until crisp outside, while the inside softens and stays tangy. Serve them hot with a spoonful of pimento cheese or a dab of remoulade. Chef's tip: salt the slices and let them drain for 10 minutes so the crust doesn't go soggy.
Kaab el ghzal, 'gazelle ankles' or horns, are the most elegant of Moroccan biscuits: a slim crescent of fragrant almond paste flavoured with orange-flower water, wrapped in a pastry rolled so thin it is almost transparent, then baked only until it sets and stays pale. They are made for weddings, Eid, engagements and any visit that deserves honour, and are served with mint tea. The filling is soft and marzipan-like, the pastry delicate and barely crisp. They take time, so make a full batch and freeze half. Chef's tip: bake them until just firm and barely coloured; browning is the common mistake and makes the pastry hard.
Chiclayo and the northern coast claim arroz con pato as their own, and family lunches and big Sunday gatherings there often centre on a deep pot of it: duck legs browned and simmered in dark beer and a purée of coriander and spinach, then rice cooked in the same green, duck-rich liquid with peas, red pepper and ají amarillo. The rice is moist and loose, the duck tender with crisp edges, and it is served with salsa criolla and, often, papa a la huancaína. The beer contains alcohol, and not all of it cooks off; for an alcohol-free pot use alcohol-free beer or the stock swap in the ingredients. A common mistake is skipping the browning, which leaves flabby skin and a pale, fatty rice; render the duck slowly first and pour off excess fat. Chef's tip: let the cooked rice rest under the lid off the heat for 10 minutes before fluffing.
Despite the name, a Belfast pastie has no pastry: it is a round patty of seasoned pork mince, onion and potato, dipped in batter and deep-fried, and served as a 'pastie supper' with chips in chip shops across Northern Ireland. It is crisp outside and soft and peppery within, and is eaten with salt, vinegar and gravy. Chef's tip: chill the patties until firm before battering so they keep their shape in the fryer.
Small paper-wrapped panelitas are sold by the bagful at roadside sweet stalls through Santander, often next to obleas and bocadillo. They are milk boiled with sugar and panela until it becomes a thick caramel, then beaten off the heat until it loses its shine and sets into a soft, crumbly fudge with a warm cinnamon and molasses taste. Kids and grandparents both reach for them after lunch with a coffee. The batch here makes a tray of bite-sized squares that keep for a week. Most failures come from beating too little: the mixture stays glossy and never sets beyond soft arequipe, so keep going until it turns matte and starts to hold its shape. A pinch of bicarbonate of soda stops the milk from curdling as the panela heats. Chef's tip: lightly score the squares while the fudge is still warm, then cut through once cold, for neat edges.
Cape Cod and the bogs of south-eastern Massachusetts grow much of America's cranberry crop, and this uncooked relish is the sharp, bright alternative to cooked cranberry sauce on many New England Thanksgiving tables. Fresh cranberries are chopped with a whole orange, peel and all, then sweetened, so it is crunchy, tart and fragrant, lovely with roast vegetables, nut roasts or cheese. Chef's tip: make it a day ahead; the sugar draws out the juices and softens the bitterness of the peel overnight.
For the Castanyada on 31 October and All Saints' Day, Catalan families roast chestnuts, eat sweet potatoes and make panellets: little balls of almond marzipan, bound with a spoonful of cooked potato, then rolled in pine nuts, glazed with egg and baked until golden. The pine-nut ones are the classic, and children often help roll them. They are eaten with a glass of sweet wine or a cup of coffee. Chef's tip: wet the marzipan balls lightly with egg white before rolling; it is the glue that holds the pine nuts on.
Green-flecked, sharp and nutty, arroz de cuxá is the signature rice of São Luís, served in Maranhão homes and seafood restaurants with fried fish, torta de camarão or a simple fried egg. The sourness comes from vinagreira, the leaves of the roselle hibiscus, cooked down into a thick cuxá sauce with dried shrimp, toasted sesame and a little cassava flour, then stirred into fluffy white rice. Roselle leaves are sold as gongura in Indian grocers and as sorrel leaves in Caribbean shops; spinach with lime juice is a mild stand-in. The common error is under-cooking the leaves, which leaves them stringy; they should collapse into a dark, soft purée. For a vegetarian version, leave out the shrimp and add a spoonful more sesame. Chef's tip: toast the sesame until it just turns gold and starts to pop, then grind it while warm so it releases its oil into the sauce.
When the tide drops on the Ria Formosa near Fuzeta, pickers dig razor clams from the mud, and by lunchtime the riverside tascas are serving them in this loose, brothy rice, called malandrinho because it should still ripple in the bowl. Tomato, garlic and a big handful of coriander carry the sweet, briny clam flavour. The recipe uses a little white wine; for an alcohol-free version use the same amount of water with a teaspoon of lemon juice. Chef's tip: add the razor clams for the last 2 minutes only, or they turn rubbery.
This is not paella. Portuguese arroz de marisco is wet and soupy, eaten with a spoon straight from the pot, and Lisbon families order a big one to share at seafood restaurants on a Sunday, waiting while it is made fresh. The rice simmers in a rich tomato and shellfish broth, then prawns, clams and mussels go in at the end so they stay tender. White wine is traditional and contains alcohol; use more stock instead. A common mistake is letting it stand: the rice keeps drinking the broth, so serve it the moment it is ready. Chef's tip: make the broth from the prawn heads and shells; it is where most of the flavour comes from.
In Braga, duck rice is moister than the crisp-topped versions elsewhere: the rice is cooked in a deep duck broth, layered with shredded meat and slices of chouriço, then given a short spell in a hot oven so the top just colours. It is a festive dish for christenings, weddings and Sunday lunches. This contains pork (chouriço and smoked bacon). Chef's tip: make the broth the day before and chill it, so you can lift off the duck fat and use a spoonful of it to fry the onion.
'Pica no chão' means 'pecks the ground', the Minho name for a free-range farmyard hen, and this soupy rice is how it is cooked for a family gathering in Barcelos or Vila Verde. Traditionally the bird's blood is stirred in at the end with vinegar, cabidela style, giving a dark, tangy, velvety sauce; without it you get a lighter but equally good chicken rice. Use a free-range bird or thighs for proper flavour. A common mistake is letting the rice sit before serving; this is a loose, soupy rice and it thickens fast, so bring it to the table at once. Chef's tip: the rice must be served the moment it is ready, still swimming in broth, because it keeps absorbing liquid.
Ponte de Lima, the old market town on the river Lima, is the capital of sarrabulho, and on market Mondays its restaurants serve this dark, soupy rice from enormous pots. This contains pork (pork shoulder, belly and chouriço) and cooked pig's blood. Several meats are simmered together for a rich broth, then shredded and cooked with rice, cumin and blood until it turns deep brown and creamy. It is usually served next to rojões, with lemon to cut the richness. Chef's tip: add the blood at the very end and stir constantly, so it thickens the rice smoothly instead of forming lumps.
Fish restaurants in Aveiro, Figueira da Foz and the fishing town of Praia de Mira serve this rice in the pot it was cooked in, steaming and loose, with chunks of firm monkfish and a broth coloured by tomato and peppers. It is a lunch for the weekend, eaten slowly near the beach. Monkfish holds its shape well, and its head and bones make a fine stock. You can add prawns if you like. Chef's tip: it should be 'malandrinho', loose and soupy, so take it off the heat while the rice is still slightly firm; it carries on softening at the table.
The name means "the little gentleman's rice", after the well-to-do diners at Valencia's beach restaurants in Las Arenas and El Saler who refused to get their hands dirty peeling prawns. So every piece of seafood goes into the pan already peeled and cut to fork size, while the shells are fried into the stock to keep all their flavour. The result is a thin layer of saffron-gold rice dotted with sweet prawn, squid and monkfish, eaten straight from the pan on a summer Sunday. A common mistake is throwing the prawn shells away; they give the stock its depth. Chef's tip: grate the tomato rather than chopping it; the pulp melts into the sofrito and lets it darken quickly.
Before Eid and during Ramadan, Moroccan kitchens fill with the scent of fekkas: logs of a soft, eggy dough studded with almonds, raisins, aniseed and sesame are baked, cooled, sliced thin and baked again until dry, golden and very crunchy. They are offered to guests on trays with ghriba and other biscuits and dunked into mint tea or milky coffee, and they keep for weeks in a tin, so they are perfect to make ahead. The flavour is gently sweet, with liquorice notes from the anise and a little lemon. Avoid slicing the logs while they are still hot from the first bake; they crumble. Let them firm up first. Chef's tip: let the baked logs cool completely, ideally overnight, before slicing; warm logs crumble under the knife.
On the evening Passover ends, Moroccan Jewish families celebrate Mimouna by opening their doors to neighbours and friends, and the star of the table is mufleta: paper-thin rounds of unleavened dough stretched by hand and cooked one on top of another in a single pan, so a whole warm stack comes out at once. Each layer is peeled off, spread with butter and drizzled with honey, and rolled up to eat with mint tea, among sweets, dried fruits and flowers. They are soft, a little chewy and lightly crisp at the edges. The dough has no yeast, fitting for the night bread returns. The usual mistake is stretching the dough with too little oil on the board, so the sheets tear and stick together in the stack. Chef's tip: cook over a medium-low heat; a pan that is too hot scorches the bottom layer before the stack is built.
On Fastnacht Day, the Tuesday before Lent, bakeries and church kitchens across south-central Pennsylvania fry thousands of these square potato doughnuts to use up the fat and sugar before the fast. Mashed potato in the yeast dough makes them light but slightly dense and moist. They are eaten plain, sugared, or split and spread with molasses. Chef's tip: cut them into squares with a knife and make a slit in the middle of each; that is the traditional Fastnacht, and there are no scraps to re-roll.
On the Gower peninsula near Swansea, the cocklewomen of Penclawdd have raked cockles from the estuary sands for centuries, and Swansea market still sells them beside laverbread, a dark purée of laver seaweed. Together with smoked bacon (pork) they make the traditional South Wales breakfast: laverbread rolled in oatmeal and fried into little cakes, cockles tossed in the bacon fat with pepper and vinegar. Chef's tip: soak live cockles in salted water so they spit out their sand before cooking.
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