Miso soup (味噌汁) is drunk every day in homes all over Japan, at breakfast as well as dinner, beside a bowl of rice. The base is dashi; this vegan version uses kombu and dried shiitake instead of bonito, which gives it a deep, rounded flavour. Silken tofu and wakame seaweed are the classic fillings. It takes ten minutes; just remember not to boil the miso. Chef's tip: add the miso at the very end and never let it boil. Boiling kills the miso's fresh, fermented aroma; Japanese cooks say the soup should only 'smile', with the surface barely trembling.
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Chicken-fried steak is Texas's unofficial state dish, served in truck stops, small-town cafés and Sunday after-church lunches across the Hill Country: a tenderised beef steak breaded and fried like fried chicken, smothered in white cream gravy with lots of black pepper, next to mashed potatoes. It came from German and Austrian settlers' schnitzel. Chef's tip: double-dip in seasoned flour, buttermilk and flour again for the craggy, crunchy crust.
Mutton stew is the everyday and ceremonial dish of the Navajo (Diné) Nation, where sheep have been raised on the high desert since the 1600s; it simmers on wood stoves in hogans and is served at the Navajo Nation Fair in Window Rock with fry bread or blue corn bread. It is a plain, honest stew of bone-in mutton, potatoes, corn, onion and a little green chile. Lamb shoulder can be used, and cooks a little faster. Chef's tip: keep it at a lazy simmer and skim the fat as it rises; mutton fat is strong-tasting.
Chili pie is Friday-night-lights food across Texas, sold at high-school football concession stands, rodeos and the State Fair in Dallas: a heap of crunchy corn chips smothered in hot beef chili, grated cheese and raw onion, sometimes served right in the split chip packet. Making the chili from scratch turns it into a proper meal. Chef's tip: add the chili just before eating, because the chips should still crunch under the sauce.
Plum bread is the dark, spiced fruit loaf of Lincolnshire bakeries, sold year round but especially at Christmas, sliced and spread with butter or eaten with a wedge of Lincolnshire Poacher cheese. There are no plums in it: 'plums' was the old word for dried fruit. The dough is enriched with butter, egg and mixed spice and packed with prunes, raisins and currants. Chef's tip: soak the fruit in hot tea for an hour so it stays juicy and doesn't steal moisture from the bread.
Virginia and Georgia both claim Brunswick stew, and it is still cooked in huge iron kettles for fire-station fundraisers and served beside barbecue all over the two states. It is a thick, tangy tomato stew of shredded pork and chicken with lima beans and sweetcorn, sharpened with vinegar and Worcestershire sauce. Leftover smoked pork shoulder makes it even better. Chef's tip: simmer it long enough that the meat and vegetables break down a little and the stew turns thick enough to stand a spoon in.
Hoppin' John is eaten on New Year's Day across the South for luck, with collard greens for money and cornbread for gold, and its roots run back to the rice plantations of the South Carolina Lowcountry and the West African cooks who worked them. Black-eyed peas are simmered with smoked pork (here a ham hock and bacon), then cooked with rice so every grain takes on the smoky broth. Chef's tip: cook the rice in the bean liquor, not water; that is where all the flavour is.
Few street snacks are as loved in Morocco as maakouda, golden patties of mashed potato seasoned with garlic, cumin, turmeric and plenty of parsley and coriander, dipped in beaten egg and fried until crisp outside and fluffy inside. At sandwich stalls in Casablanca, Rabat and Tangier they are split into half a baguette or a round of khobz with harissa, chopped tomato and onion, and in Ramadan they appear on the iftar table beside harira. At home they make a great lunch with a salad. Chef's tip: cook the potatoes in their skins, then peel and mash them while hot and leave the mash to steam dry for 10 minutes; dry mash holds together, while wet mash, the classic mistake, falls apart in the pan.
Pepperoni rolls were first baked for Italian immigrant coal miners in Fairmont, West Virginia, in the 1920s as a lunch that needed no refrigeration down the mine, and they are now sold in every petrol station and school canteen in the state. Soft, slightly sweet bread is rolled around sticks of cured pork-and-beef pepperoni, whose spicy oil seeps into the dough as it bakes. Chef's tip: use sticks of pepperoni rather than slices, which is the original Fairmont way and keeps the bread from going greasy.
In the prairie towns of Acadiana around Lafayette and Eunice, a pot of chicken and andouille gumbo goes on the stove for Sunday dinners, Mardi Gras runs and cold winter evenings. It starts with a roux of flour and oil stirred until the colour of dark chocolate, then the holy trinity of onion, celery and pepper, chicken thighs and andouille, a spicy smoked pork sausage. Serve in bowls over rice with potato salad on the side, as many Cajun families do. Chef's tip: never stop stirring the roux and keep the heat medium; a single black fleck means it has burnt and must be thrown out.
Seafood gumbo is the New Orleans Creole style, made in coastal kitchens from the French Quarter to the bayou towns of Plaquemines Parish, with a medium-brown roux, tomato and sliced okra to thicken it, and as much Gulf prawn, crab and oyster as the market offers. It is a Friday, Lent and Christmas Eve dish. Serve over rice with a dash of hot sauce. Chef's tip: make a quick stock from the prawn shells; it carries the sea flavour through the whole pot.
Before white flour became cheap, barley bread was everyday food in much of rural Morocco, from the Rif to the Atlas, and khobz chair is still baked at home and sold in markets by people who love its dense, slightly sweet, nutty crumb. Barley has very little gluten, so the loaves are flat-domed rather than tall, with a crust dusted in barley grits or semolina. Tear it while warm and dip it in olive oil, eat it with bissara, lentils or olives, or spread it with honey and butter at breakfast. A little white flour helps it rise; allow about 1 1/2 hours for rising. Chef's tip: do not keep adding flour to make it less sticky; barley dough is meant to feel tacky, and extra flour, the common mistake, makes a dry, crumbly loaf.
Moroccan bakeries pile their windows with krachel, round, glossy buns of enriched dough perfumed with aniseed, toasted sesame and orange-flower water, and families bake them at home for breakfast, for guests and for feast days. They are soft and pillowy, lightly sweet, with a distinctive liquorice-like scent from the anise and a nutty crunch of sesame on top. Eat them warm with butter and jam, dipped into milky coffee, or with mint tea in the afternoon. The dough needs two rises, about 1 1/2 hours in all. Don't rush the rise: under-proved krachel bake dense and tight instead of soft and fluffy. Chef's tip: lightly toast the aniseed and sesame in a dry pan before adding them to the dough; it doubles their fragrance.
New Orleans rémoulade is not the pale French sauce but a brick-red, punchy mix of Creole mustard, paprika, horseradish and the trinity, and in the grand old Creole restaurants it is served as a cold starter over boiled Gulf prawns and shredded lettuce, especially in the summer heat. Chef's tip: make the sauce the day before so the flavours marry; it tastes raw and harsh straight after mixing.
When the Hatch chile harvest comes in each September, the smell of roasting green chiles fills supermarket car parks across New Mexico, and green chile stew becomes the dish of football Fridays and cold Santa Fe nights. It is a brothy stew of pork shoulder, potatoes and plenty of roasted, peeled green chile, served with a warm tortilla. Chef's tip: roast the chiles until the skins blister black all over, then sweat them in a covered bowl; the skins slip off easily.
M'hancha means 'the snake', and that is exactly what this festive Fez pastry looks like: a long tube of paper-thin warqa or filo filled with orange-blossom almond paste and coiled into a spiral, then baked until golden and brushed with warm honey. It is brought out whole for guests and family celebrations and cut into wedges at the table with mint tea. The pastry shatters, the filling is soft and fragrant with cinnamon, and the honey glaze makes it shine. Filo stands in well for warqa; most shop filo is made without butter, but check the label. Most people go wrong by letting the filo dry out while they roll; keep the sheets under a damp cloth so the long rolls don't crack when coiled. Chef's tip: roll the filling loosely in the pastry and coil it gently; packed too tightly, the snake cracks as you curl it.
Ramadan evenings, weddings and Eid all call for a tray of sticky almond briouats: small triangles of warqa or filo wrapped around almond paste scented with orange-flower water and cinnamon, fried until golden and then plunged into warm honey. They are crisp at first bite, then soft and chewy as the honey seeps in, finished with a few sesame seeds. Served with mint tea, they sit happily next to chebakia and sellou on the iftar table. Filo works well in place of warqa. Chef's tip: dip the briouats in honey that is warm but not boiling, for about 2 minutes; leave them longer, the common mistake, and they turn soggy.
Ktefa, also known as pastilla au lait, is the grand finale of many weddings and family feasts in Fez and Rabat: shattering layers of fried warqa piled up with a light orange-blossom milk custard and a sweet, cinnamon-scented crumble of toasted almonds, assembled at the very last moment so every bite crackles. It is served in wedges or straight from the platter. Filo fried in rounds makes an easy home version, and everything can be prepared ahead except the final assembly. The custard is cooked until it bubbles, so the eggs are fully cooked. Don't assemble ktefa ahead of time: once the custard sits on the crisp layers they go soggy within minutes. Chef's tip: assemble only when you are ready to serve; if it sits for more than 15 minutes, the custard softens the crisp layers, the most common way ktefa goes wrong.
Every Moroccan home cook seems to have a meskouta recipe, the light, fluffy sponge that is baked in a ring tin and set out for afternoon tea, unexpected guests or a children's snack. This one is flavoured with fresh orange juice and zest; many families make a yogurt version instead, using the yogurt pot to measure everything, and that variation is in the steps. The crumb is airy and moist, not too sweet, and it pairs perfectly with mint tea or a glass of milk. No mixer is strictly needed, but it helps. Chef's tip: beat the eggs and sugar for a full 5 minutes until pale and tripled in volume; under-whipped eggs, the usual mistake, make a dense, flat meskouta.
Navajo tacos, also called Indian tacos, are what the queues are for at powwows, state fairs and roadside stands across the Navajo Nation and the Four Corners. A freshly fried, crisp-edged fry bread is piled with beef and pinto bean chili, shredded lettuce, tomato, onion and cheese, and eaten with a knife and fork. Chef's tip: make the chili first and fry the bread last, so it is still crisp when the toppings go on.
Chinese chicken salad is not from China but from 1960s and 70s California, popularised by a Chinese-American restaurant in Beverly Hills and by Hollywood lunch spots, then copied by every Los Angeles café. Shredded chicken, cabbage, carrots and spring onions are tossed in a sweet sesame-ginger dressing and topped with crisp fried wonton strips, toasted almonds and mandarin segments. Chef's tip: add the crunchy toppings at the last moment, or they go soft in minutes.
Finger steaks are Idaho's diner and drive-in speciality, said to have been invented by a butcher in Boise in the 1950s who battered the trimmings of steaks and fried them. Strips of tender sirloin are dipped in a light, peppery batter and deep-fried until crisp, then eaten with chips and pink fry sauce at the county fair. Chef's tip: cut the beef into even strips about 1.5 cm thick so they cook to tender in the 2 minutes it takes the batter to brown.
Huli means turn in Hawaiian, and this chicken was named in the 1950s when a farmer on Oʻahu grilled it between two racks and flipped it over the fire; today you smell it from roadside fundraiser stands and North Shore weekend grills. Chicken is marinated in soy sauce, pineapple juice, ginger and brown sugar, then grilled and basted until sticky and charred. Chef's tip: boil the leftover marinade before basting with it, so it is safe and turns into a glaze.
Burnt ends were once the charred trimmings that Kansas City barbecue joints handed out free at the counter; today they are the most prized thing on the menu. The fatty point end of a beef brisket is smoked low and slow until tender, cubed, tossed in sweet, tangy Kansas City sauce and smoked again until sticky and caramelised. They're eaten on white bread with pickles and beans. Chef's tip: wait for the brisket to probe tender, like pushing into soft butter, before cubing; temperature is only a guide.
Walleye is Minnesota's state fish, pulled through the ice of its northern lakes in winter and fried at the cabin the same evening; restaurants from Duluth to Lake of the Woods sell walleye sandwiches and shore lunches. The mild, sweet white fillets are coated in crushed crackers or a light seasoned flour and pan-fried in butter until golden. Perch, pike-perch or haddock work too. Chef's tip: fry skin-side down first and don't move the fish for 3 minutes; that is how the crust sets.
Cooking salmon on cedar comes from the Coast Salish peoples of Puget Sound, who roasted split salmon on wooden stakes beside the fire, and today a cedar board on the grill is the backyard summer supper from Seattle to Portland. The soaked plank smoulders and steams, giving the fish a gentle, woody smokiness, here with a brown sugar and mustard glaze. Chef's tip: soak the plank for at least an hour, weighted under water, so it smokes rather than burns.
Cioppino was cooked by Italian and Portuguese fishermen in San Francisco's North Beach in the late 1800s from whatever was left of the day's catch, and it is now the big, messy, bib-wearing dinner of Fisherman's Wharf, especially in Dungeness crab season from November. The broth is tomato, garlic, herbs and white wine; for an alcohol-free version, use extra fish stock with a tablespoon of white wine vinegar. Serve with sourdough to mop it up. Chef's tip: add the seafood in stages, slowest-cooking first, so nothing turns rubbery.
In the Santa Maria Valley on California's Central Coast, ranchers' barbecues over red oak fires gave the state its own style: a triangular tri-tip roast of beef rubbed simply with salt, pepper and garlic, grilled until crusty, then sliced thin. It comes with pinquito beans, salsa and garlic bread at fundraisers and Saturday roadside barbecues. Chef's tip: tri-tip's grain changes direction in the middle, so cut the roast in two where the grain turns and slice each piece across its own grain.
Sit down at a café terrace in Casablanca, Rabat or Marrakech and order a 'nous-nous' (from 'nus', half) and you will get a small glass of half espresso, half steamed milk, often layered so the coffee floats in a dark band over the pale milk with a cap of foam. It is the default morning and afternoon coffee for many Moroccans, sipped slowly while watching the street, usually with a sugar lump or two on the saucer. It is smaller and stronger than a latte and milkier than a macchiato. A moka pot works fine at home if you have no espresso machine. Chef's tip: heat the milk only to 60–65 °C, hot to the touch but not scalding; boiled milk loses its sweetness and the foam collapses, a common mistake.
Crab Louie was on the menus of San Francisco's grand hotels and wharf restaurants by the early 1900s and is still a winter lunch when Dungeness crab is in season. Sweet crab meat is heaped on crisp lettuce with hard-boiled eggs, tomato, asparagus and avocado, and covered with a creamy, tangy pink dressing. Chef's tip: keep the crab in big pieces and add the dressing at the table, so the salad stays crisp.
This is the pie of the Lancashire chippy and the Bolton market stall, a vegetarian staple of the North West long before the word was common. Sliced onions and potato are softened, then mixed with plenty of crumbly Lancashire cheese and baked in shortcrust until the filling is creamy and tangy. Traditional Lancashire is usually made with animal rennet, so choose a vegetarian Lancashire or a vegetarian crumbly cheese. Serve with mushy peas or beans. Chef's tip: let the onions cool before mixing in the cheese, or it melts into oil before the pie is baked.
Sticky toffee pudding was made famous by a country hotel and a village shop in the Lake District, and Cumbria still claims it, though it now ends Sunday lunch in pubs across Britain. A soft, dark sponge made with soaked dates is soaked in a buttery brown-sugar sauce and served with more sauce, plus cream, custard or vanilla ice cream. Chef's tip: poke holes in the hot sponge and pour on a third of the sauce, so it soaks right in.
The village of Grasmere in the Lake District has sold its own gingerbread since the 1850s, a cross between shortbread and a biscuit with a crumbly top and chewy base, wrapped in paper for walkers and visitors to Wordsworth's grave. The real recipe is a closely kept secret; this is our home version, made with oatmeal, brown sugar and plenty of ground ginger. Chef's tip: press only the bottom half of the crumb mixture firmly and scatter the rest loosely on top, which gives the two textures.
Pease pudding is the thick yellow split pea spread of Newcastle and the North East, eaten in a stottie cake with ham or simply with buttered bread, and the 'pease pudding hot, pease pudding cold' of the nursery rhyme. It was traditionally boiled in a cloth beside a ham; this plant-based version is simmered with onion, bay and a little smoked paprika for the savoury depth. Chef's tip: soak the split peas overnight; unsoaked peas take hours and cook unevenly.
The stottie is the big flat round loaf of Tyneside and County Durham, with a dimple pressed in the middle and a dense, chewy crumb; bakers in Newcastle split them and stuff them with pease pudding, cheese or a bacon filling. Its name is said to come from 'stotting', or bouncing, because it is heavy enough to bounce off the floor. Chef's tip: bake it low in the oven so the bottom gets a deep golden colour while the top stays pale.
Singin' hinnies are the girdle cakes of Northumberland and Tyneside, named for the singing hiss of the butter as they cook ('hinny' is a Geordie word of affection, like 'honey'). Mothers made them for children coming home from school, cooked on a heavy griddle and eaten hot, split and buttered. They are scone dough studded with currants and cooked in the pan instead of the oven. Chef's tip: keep the heat medium-low so they cook through before the outside darkens.
In Stoke-on-Trent and the Potteries towns, oatcakes are not crisp biscuits but large, soft, holey pancakes made from a yeasted oat and wheat batter, sold warm from shop hatches in the morning. They are rolled around fillings of melted cheese, tomato and mushroom, or folded up with beans. Chef's tip: the batter should be thin like single cream; if it is thick the oatcakes come out stodgy instead of lacy.
The Derbyshire market town of Bakewell in the Peak District is home to the Bakewell pudding, and its descendant, the Bakewell tart, is the one baked in every English home and village tea shop. Shortcrust is spread with raspberry jam and filled with a soft almond frangipane, then scattered with flaked almonds. Chef's tip: spread the jam thinly and leave a 1 cm border, or it boils up through the frangipane.
Simnel cake is England's Easter fruit cake, once baked by girls in service to take home on Mothering Sunday and now the centrepiece of Easter tea. A light fruit cake has a layer of marzipan baked through the middle and more on top, decorated with eleven marzipan balls for the apostles, leaving out Judas. Chef's tip: wrap a band of baking paper round the outside of the tin; it stops the edges drying out during the long, slow bake.
The balti was born in the 1970s in the Pakistani and Kashmiri restaurants of Sparkbrook and Balsall Heath in Birmingham, an area still called the Balti Triangle. It is cooked fast in a thin steel bowl over fierce heat, so the sauce is reduced and the peppers keep some bite, and it is served sizzling in the same bowl and scooped up with a huge naan. Chef's tip: make the base sauce first and keep the final cook hot and quick; slow simmering turns it into a stew.
On the wide sands of Morecambe Bay in Lancashire, tiny brown shrimps have been caught by tractor and horse-drawn nets for centuries, boiled on the boats and picked by hand. Potted in butter flavoured with mace, nutmeg and cayenne, they are a classic English starter, served with hot toast so the butter melts. Buy shrimps ready cooked and peeled. Chef's tip: warm the shrimps in the butter only briefly; boiling them makes them tough and rubbery.
In the tiny harbour village of Craster on the Northumberland coast, herring have been split and oak-smoked in the same smokehouse for over a century, and kippers are the classic English breakfast fish in seaside hotels and on dining cars. A kipper is cold-smoked but not cooked, so it must be heated through; grilled with butter it turns rich, salty and smoky. Serve with brown bread and butter, a poached egg or a squeeze of lemon. Chef's tip: grill them skin-side up first so the skin crisps and the flesh stays juicy.
The parmo is Middlesbrough's own takeaway dish, said to have been created by an American soldier who settled on Teesside after the Second World War, and it's sold in boxes with chips across the town on a Friday night. A flattened, breaded chicken breast is fried, then covered with white sauce and a thick layer of cheese and grilled until bubbling. Chef's tip: bash the chicken to an even 1 cm, so it cooks through before the crumb burns.
Steak and kidney pudding is the steamed suet pie of old English chop houses and Northern family kitchens, the kind of dish that filled up mill workers through Lancashire winters. Beef and lamb's kidney in rich gravy are sealed in a basin lined with suet pastry and steamed for hours until the crust is soft and the filling falls apart. Chef's tip: cook the filling first; it gives tender meat and a crust that isn't soggy.
Liver and onions is a café and works-canteen classic across the North and the Midlands, cheap, quick and full of iron, eaten with mash and a dollop of gravy. Thin slices of calf's or lamb's liver are fried briefly in butter after the onions have turned slow and sweet. Chef's tip: soak the liver in milk for 30 minutes if you find its flavour strong; it softens the taste.
Beef and ale pie is the pub supper of Yorkshire and the Midlands, where brewing towns like Burton upon Trent made a dark ale gravy part of the region's cooking. Chuck steak is braised slowly in ale with onions and mushrooms until tender, then topped with flaky pastry. This recipe contains alcohol, most of which cooks off; for an alcohol-free pie use the same amount of beef stock with 1 tablespoon of malt vinegar and a teaspoon of brown sugar. Chef's tip: let the filling cool before topping, so the pastry stays crisp and puffy.
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