Pumpkin soup
Every 1 January, Haitian families from Port-au-Prince to Brooklyn wake up to soup joumou. It marks independence from France on 1 January 1804: under French rule, enslaved Haitians cooked this pumpkin soup but were forbidden to eat it, so the free people of the new nation made it their own as a dish of freedom. In 2021 it was added to UNESCO's list of the intangible cultural heritage of humanity. The base is a velvety purée of joumou (Caribbean pumpkin) with epis, and in it simmer chunks of carrot, potato, cabbage, celery and turnip, with pasta and a squeeze of lime. It's usually made with beef; this vegetable version is full and golden, rich enough for the day. Chef's tip: roast half the pumpkin before puréeing it; the caramelised edges give the soup the depth that slow-cooked meat usually provides.
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Yellowman is the bright yellow, brittle honeycomb toffee hacked from great slabs at the Ould Lammas Fair in Ballycastle, County Antrim, at the end of every August, often eaten with dulse. Golden syrup, sugar and butter are boiled to the hard-crack stage and then foamed with bicarbonate of soda into a crunchy, airy toffee. Chef's tip: have the tin and the soda ready before you start; once it reaches temperature you have seconds.
Barazek are the cookies Damascene families bring out for Eid and to go with an afternoon glass of tea: thin, crisp and buttery, with a glassy crust of sesame seeds held on with honey on top and a scattering of chopped pistachios pressed into the bottom. They are made by the tin-load in Damascus sweet shops and keep for weeks. Common mistake: using untoasted sesame — they should be lightly toasted before going on, or the cookies taste raw. Chef's tip: dip the sesame side into the honey syrup and then the seeds, not the other way round; you get an even, shiny layer that bakes to amber.
Barbajuans are Monaco's national snack, little fried pastry pockets of chard, leek and ricotta that come out at every apéritif, and by the hundred on 19 November, the principality's National Day. The name is said to mean 'Uncle John' in the Monegasque dialect, after the cook who first made them. You will also find them in bakeries in Menton and along the Riviera towards Nice. Parmesan usually contains animal rennet; a vegetarian hard cheese works just as well. Chef's tip: roll the dough so thin you can almost see the worktop through it; thick pastry turns chewy instead of crisp.
In summer, harbour tavernas from Naxos to Paros fry small red mullet whole, dusted in flour and crackling in olive oil, and bring them to the table with lemon, a horiatiki salad and bread. The skin turns crisp and rosy-gold while the flesh stays sweet and delicate, and islanders eat the little ones bones and all. Common mistake: crowding the pan, which drops the oil temperature so the fish soaks up oil and goes soggy. Chef's tip: ask the fishmonger to scale and gut the mullet but leave the heads on; they hold the fish together and are the tastiest part for many Greeks.
Barmbrack is the speckled fruit loaf eaten in Ireland at Halloween, when a ring wrapped in baking paper is baked inside, and whoever finds it is said to marry within the year. This is the quick tea brack version made all over Connacht and Munster, with the dried fruit soaked overnight in strong tea so the loaf is dark, moist and fragrant with mixed spice. Serve sliced and buttered with a cup of tea. Chef's tip: soak the fruit for a full night; short soaking gives dry, chewy fruit.
Order a barraquito in any café in Santa Cruz de Tenerife or La Laguna and it comes in a small glass showing neat stripes: sweet condensed milk at the bottom, then espresso, then foamed milk, perfumed with lemon peel and cinnamon. The bar classic adds a measure of a vanilla-citrus Spanish liqueur between the layers, which makes it contain alcohol; this recipe leaves it optional, and without it the drink is often called a zaperoco or barraquito sin licor. Chef's tip: pour each layer slowly over the back of a spoon, so the layers sit on top of each other instead of mixing.
Morretes and Antonina, the little colonial towns at the foot of Paraná's Serra do Mar, are famous for barreado: beef layered with smoked bacon, onion, garlic, cumin and bay in a clay pot, sealed with a paste of cassava flour and water, and cooked for many hours until it falls into soft, dark strands in a rich broth. It was a Carnival dish, left on the fire so revellers could eat without cooking, and today the restaurants along the Rio Nhundiaquara serve it every day. This recipe contains pork, in the bacon that gives the broth its smokiness. At the table you put cassava flour on your plate, ladle over hot broth and stir it into a soft pirão, then add the meat and slices of banana. The common mistake is opening the pot to check, which lets the steam out and toughens the meat; trust the seal and the oven. A heavy cast-iron casserole works if you have no clay pot. Chef's tip: use two cuts, a lean one and a gelatinous one like shin, for broth with real body.
Baslogh is one of the soft confections that fill the sweet shops of Tabriz's covered bazaar, especially before Nowruz and at Ramadan: a pale, wobbly slab of starch cooked in rose-scented syrup, studded with walnuts, cut into squares and dusted so it does not stick. It is related to Turkish lokum but softer and less sweet, eaten with tea in the afternoon. A common mistake is stopping the cooking too early; undercooked baslogh never sets and weeps syrup. Chef's tip: cook until the paste turns translucent and pulls away from the pan in one mass, which takes longer than you expect.
On summer evenings in Tehran, queues form outside old ice-cream shops for bastani sonnati, scooped between two thin wafers or into a glass beside faloodeh. The custard is rich with egg yolks and coloured deep gold with saffron, perfumed with rosewater and studded with pistachios and little shards of frozen cream that melt on the tongue. This home version uses an ice-cream machine or a fork-and-freezer method. Chef's tip: freeze the cream chips in a thin sheet the day before, so they are hard enough to stay as separate shards when folded in.
Order bacalhau na brasa in a Minho tasca and it arrives with these: small potatoes roasted in their skins on a bed of coarse salt, given a sharp punch to split them, then soaked in hot olive oil and garlic. The skins go crisp and salty while the flesh turns fluffy and drinks up the oil. They are just as good next to grilled sardines in June or a roast chicken on Sunday. Chef's tip: pick potatoes the size of a hen's egg so they cook through before the skins burn.
Long after the meat comes off, the fire of an Argentine asado still has work to do. Sweet potatoes pushed into the glowing embers (el rescoldo) at the start of the cook come out an hour later with charred, papery skins and flesh that is soft, sticky and almost caramelised, with a smoky edge. They are split open at the table, filled with butter and coarse salt and eaten as a side to the asado or as supper by the fire on a camping trip. Burying them in live flames is the trap: the skin blackens right through while the inside stays hard, so wait for a bed of settled embers and ash. Wrapping them in foil gives softer skins and less risk if you are new to it, and an oven at 200 °C does a fine job indoors. Chef's tip: choose sweet potatoes of the same thickness, around 250 g each, so they cook evenly together.
Batzina is the lazy pie of Thessaly and the Pelion villages, the one you make in summer when courgettes are taking over the garden and nobody wants to roll filo. Grated courgette and feta are mixed with a thin batter of flour, cornmeal, milk and eggs, poured into an oiled tin and baked until the top is cracked and golden and the inside soft and savoury, like a crustless quiche. It travels well to the beach. Feta is usually made with animal rennet; choose a vegetarian feta-style cheese if needed. Common mistake: skipping the squeezing — watery courgettes make a soggy pie. Chef's tip: sprinkle cornmeal over the oiled tin before pouring in; it gives a crisp base.
Bauernbrot, the farmer's loaf, is the everyday bread of village bakeries from the Black Forest to Lower Saxony, carried home in a paper bag every Saturday and eaten all week for Abendbrot, the cold evening meal of bread, cheese and pickles. It mixes rye and wheat roughly half and half, so the crumb is moist and tangy but still springy, under a thick, crackled crust dusted with flour. The flavour deepens over two or three days. A common mistake is baking at too low a heat, which gives a pale, soft crust; the oven should be properly hot at the start. Chef's tip: prove the loaf upside down in a floured basket or bowl lined with a floured cloth, so the top cracks into the classic crazy-paving pattern when you tip it out.
Baumkuchen is the king of German cakes, and the little town of Salzwedel in Saxony-Anhalt has baked it on a turning spit over an open flame for two centuries; in December, Baumkuchenspitzen, chocolate-dipped triangles of it, fill the shelves before Christmas. Without a spit you can build it at home in a tin under the grill, one thin layer at a time, and each slice shows the golden rings of a tree. The mistake people make is spreading the batter too thickly, which gives fewer, stodgy layers that cook unevenly; aim for 2 tablespoons at a time. Chef's tip: stand by the oven; each layer turns from pale to burnt within a minute once it browns.
Late-night students at Largo do Paissandu in São Paulo invented the Bauru in the 1930s, named after the nickname of the friend who ordered it, and the bar where it was born still makes it the original way. A French roll has its crumb pulled out so it is all crust, then it is stuffed with thin warm roast beef, a pool of cheese melted in a bain-marie until it stretches, slices of tomato and pickled cucumber, with a pinch of oregano. It is hot, tangy, juicy and stringy. Plenty of snack bars around the country use ham instead, but beef is the classic. The thing that ruins it is cheese melted straight in a dry pan, which goes oily; melting it slowly over water with a splash of milk keeps it smooth and elastic. Chef's tip: warm the roast beef in a little of its own juices or stock, just until hot, so it stays pink and tender.
Bayerische Creme is the light, wobbling vanilla cream that Munich coffee houses and Bavarian wedding buffets have served for generations: a cooked egg custard folded with whipped cream and set in moulds, then turned out onto a pool of berry sauce. It is traditionally set with gelatine, which is made from animal bones and skin; this version uses agar so it stays vegetarian. A common mistake with agar is adding it to a cool custard: it only sets after it has boiled, so it is simmered in milk first and then whisked into the warm custard. Chef's tip: fold in the cream when the custard has cooled to just warm and is starting to thicken, so the cream stays airy and doesn't melt into it.
Every Bavarian inn serves this pale, glossy cabbage salad beside roast pork and dumplings, and it is just as good on its own at a summer barbecue. The white cabbage is shaved very finely, salted and kneaded, then dressed with hot vinegar, oil and caraway so it softens while keeping a crunch. Many cooks finish it with crisp bacon bits; this version leaves them out and is vegan. The common mistake is dressing it cold and serving it at once: it needs the warm dressing and at least half an hour to turn silky. Chef's tip: shave the cabbage as thin as paper; thick shreds never soak up the dressing properly.
Drive through the villages around Konya or Sivas and you'll see bazlama cooking on a domed sac over a fire: thick rounds of yeasted dough that puff up like pillows and come off freckled brown. A heavy frying pan does the job at home. Warm bazlama is torn and dunked into soups, spread with butter and honey for breakfast, or folded round grilled köfte. Common mistake: rolling the dough too thin; it should be about 1 cm, or it turns into a cracker. Chef's tip: a spoon of yoghurt in the dough keeps the bread soft for a day, and covering the cooked rounds with a cloth traps steam so they stay tender.
The Bedfordshire clanger is a long suet-crust roll that held a whole working lunch for farm labourers and the lace and straw-hat workers of Bedfordshire: savoury pork and potato at one end and sweet jam or apple at the other, marked by slashes so you knew which end to start with. Bakeries in Luton and Bedford still sell them. Chef's tip: build a pastry wall between the two fillings so the jam doesn't run into the meat.
Guests leaving a Brazilian wedding are handed a bem-casado, 'well married', wrapped in crepe paper and tied with ribbon, as a wish for the couple's happiness. The sweet is said to have taken its modern shape in Campos dos Goytacazes, in the north of Rio de Janeiro state, where confectioners still make it by the thousand. Two thin, airy sponge rounds hold a layer of doce de leite and are dipped in a thin sugar glaze that sets matt white and slightly crisp, so the inside stays soft for days. Doce de leite is sold in jars in Latin shops; use a thick, spoonable one. Over-baking the discs is where most batches fail: they turn dry and crack when sandwiched. Chef's tip: pipe the batter in small rounds and pull them from the oven as soon as they spring back and the edges barely colour; pale is right.
In the arcaded Plaza Mayor of Almagro, in the province of Ciudad Real, shops sell these little aubergines from barrels, each one split, stuffed with a strip of red pepper and pinned with a fennel stalk. They are eaten as a tapa with a cold drink, or bought by the jar during the town's summer theatre festival. The tangy dressing of vinegar, cumin, garlic and paprika soaks in over a few days in the fridge. Chef's tip: use the smallest, firmest aubergines you can find, no bigger than an egg; large ones go mushy.
Jars of these marinated aubergines sit in every Argentine grandmother's fridge, a legacy of Italian and Spanish immigrants, and they come out for the picada before the asado, alongside salami, cheese and bread, or to fill a sandwich. Strips of aubergine are salted, blanched briefly in vinegar and water, then layered with garlic, chilli flakes, oregano and plenty of oil. They turn soft, silky and sharp, with a slow heat from the chilli. Overboiling is the error: the strips should be just tender after 2–3 minutes, or they turn to mush in the jar. Allow 2 hours for salting before you start and a day in the fridge before eating. Garlic kept in oil can carry botulism, so keep the jar refrigerated and eat it within two weeks. Chef's tip: press the drained aubergine hard between tea towels before jarring; the drier the strips, the longer they stay firm.
This is the soup of Berlin's cheap lunch counters and winter kitchens: potatoes and the 'Suppengrün' bundle of carrot, celeriac, leek and parsley root, simmered thick and seasoned with plenty of marjoram. In Berlin it usually comes with a sliced Wiener sausage floating on top; this vegetarian version is finished instead with crisp fried onions and croutons, which give the same savoury contrast. A common mistake is using waxy potatoes, which never thicken the soup; you want floury ones that collapse. Chef's tip: rub the dried marjoram between your palms as it goes in, which wakes up its sweet, piney scent.
In Berlin a Pfannkuchen is not a pancake but a round, sugar-dusted yeast doughnut with a pale ring around its middle and a squirt of jam inside; most of Germany calls them Berliner. Bakeries pile them up for New Year's Eve and for Carnival in February, and the old joke is to slip one filled with mustard into the batch. Good ones are light and springy, never greasy. A common mistake is frying in oil that is too hot, which browns the outside before the middle cooks; keep it at 170 °C. Chef's tip: let the shaped dough rise uncovered for the last 10 minutes so a thin skin forms; that is what gives the classic white band round the middle.
Beryani is Isfahan's signature lunch, eaten in old bazaar eateries near Naqsh-e Jahan Square for more than a century, and nothing like the rice biryanis of South Asia. Lamb shoulder and, traditionally, lamb lung are simmered, minced, seasoned with cinnamon and fried on a small round pan with the fat from the pot, then turned out onto soft sangak or taftoon bread and eaten with fresh basil, raw onion and walnuts. Lung is hard to buy outside Iran, so this home version uses lamb shoulder and a little lamb mince for the same soft texture. A common mistake is draining away the cooking fat; Isfahanis spoon it over the bread for flavour, so keep it. Chef's tip: press the meat into a small frying pan to make a neat round patty, the way the bazaar cooks do.
For many San Sebastián families, Christmas Eve dinner isn't complete without a whole sea bream, roasted or grilled and finished with a refrito: hot olive oil with sliced garlic, dried chilli and a splash of vinegar poured over at the table. The traditional fish is red sea bream (besugo), but gilt-head bream works well. A common mistake is letting the garlic go dark brown, which makes the dressing bitter; take it off when it is pale gold. Chef's tip: cut a few slashes into the thick part of the fish so it cooks evenly and the dressing soaks in.
When Adana's July heat pushes past 40 °C, handcarts on every corner serve bici bici: cubes of wobbly starch jelly piled with shaved ice, splashed with rose syrup and dusted with icing sugar. Children eat it in the shade of the clock tower; grown-ups claim it is the only thing that works in that heat. The jelly is just cornflour, water and a little sugar, set and cut into cubes. The usual mistake is undercooking it, which leaves a cloudy, floury jelly that won't hold a cut. Chef's tip: freeze water in a shallow tray and scrape it with a fork for snowy ice if you have no ice shaver.
Late every summer, rooftops in Gaziantep, Kilis and Hatay turn red with trays of puréed peppers drying in the sun, and families fill jars that will season soups, köfte, bulgur and lahmacun through the winter. This oven method makes a smaller batch with the same deep, sweet and slightly smoky flavour; use some hot peppers if you like it acı (spicy). Store it under a film of oil in the fridge. The common mistake is a too-hot oven: the edges scorch and turn bitter before the middle thickens. Chef's tip: stir every 20 minutes and scrape the dried rim back in; the paste is ready when a spoon drawn through it leaves a clean trench.
Pink balls of fudge in a paper cup, sitting in a row between the chocolate brigadeiros: that is bicho-de-pé, a fixture of children's parties in São Paulo and Rio. The odd name comes from a tiny burrowing flea, which the speckled pink sweet supposedly resembles, but it tastes nothing but fruity and creamy. Brazilian cooks usually flavour it with strawberry gelatin powder, which is not vegetarian; this version uses freeze-dried strawberry powder, which gives a brighter, real-fruit flavour and a natural pink. Find freeze-dried strawberries in supermarket baking aisles and crush them yourself. Over-thickening is the commonest mistake: cooked too long, the brigadeiro turns hard and sugary once cold. Chef's tip: take the pan off the heat as soon as the mixture slides away from the base as one piece; it firms more as it cools.
High in the mountains of Gran Canaria, the village of Tejeda is ringed by almond trees, and its pastry shops are famous for bienmesabe, 'it tastes good to me'. Finely ground almonds are cooked in a sugar syrup with lemon zest and cinnamon, then enriched with egg yolks into a thick, golden cream. Islanders eat it by the spoonful, over vanilla ice cream or layered on sponge; it is the dessert brought out in late January and February, when the Almond Blossom Festival fills the village. Chef's tip: temper the yolks with a little hot syrup before adding them, so they thicken the cream smoothly instead of scrambling.
On the chalkboard of any neighbourhood bodegón in Buenos Aires you will find bife a caballo, steak "on horseback": a thick bife de chorizo (sirloin) or rump seared hard in a hot pan, crowned with two fried eggs whose yolks run into the meat juices, and served with a pile of chips. It is the plate for hungry taxi drivers at lunch and for anyone recovering from a long night. Cook the steak to your taste; Argentines usually ask for it jugoso (medium rare, about 55 °C in the centre) or a punto (medium, about 60 °C). Use eggs fried until the whites are fully set, and cook the yolks firm for anyone vulnerable. Crowding a pan that isn't hot enough is the classic mistake, which stews the steak grey, so let the pan smoke first. Chef's tip: rest the steak while you fry the eggs in the same pan; the beef juices in the fat give the whites crisp, savoury edges.
In Greek grill houses (psistaries) and in summer back gardens, bifteki are big, flattened patties of minced beef with grated onion, mint and oregano, and the stuffed version hides a slab of feta that melts as they cook. Serve with chips fried in olive oil, a village salad and tzatziki. Common mistake: using lean mince, which makes dry patties; 15–20 % fat keeps them juicy. Chef's tip: grate the onion and squeeze out its juice before mixing; you keep the flavour without making the mixture too wet to seal around the cheese.
Bigoli in salsa is the dish of Venice's lean days, once eaten on Fridays, Christmas Eve and Ash Wednesday, and still served in the city's bacari and osterie today. Thick, rough wholewheat strands are tossed in a sauce of onions cooked slowly in olive oil until sweet and almost creamy, with salted anchovies melted through. It is salty, sweet and deeply savoury, with no cheese. If you can't find bigoli, thick wholewheat spaghetti or bucatini work well. Serve with a bitter leaf salad such as radicchio. Chef's tip: add the anchovies off the heat and let them dissolve in the warm oil; fried hard, they turn bitter.
Birnen, Bohnen und Speck is late-summer cooking from Hamburg and Schleswig-Holstein, made in August when green beans and small, firm cooking pears ripen at the same time in the Vierlande market gardens. A piece of smoked pork belly bacon is simmered until tender, and its smoky broth then cooks the beans, whole pears and potatoes, with summer savory to tie the sweet and salty together. It is one pot, served straight from the stove with the bacon sliced on top. Chef's tip: choose pears that are still hard; ripe dessert pears collapse into the beans.
Birria comes from Jalisco, where it is the dish of weddings, baptisms and Sunday mornings after a long night, ladled out at market stalls in Guadalajara from dawn. Beef on the bone is rubbed with a paste of guajillo and ancho chillies, vinegar, garlic and warm spices, left overnight in the fridge, then braised for hours until it falls into soft, glossy strands. The cooking liquid becomes the consommé: sip it from a cup, spoon it over the meat in a bowl, or dip tortillas in its red fat and fry them with the beef and a little cheese for crisp-edged tacos. Serve with chopped onion, coriander, lime and a fiery chile de árbol salsa. Chef's tip: skim the red fat off the top of the finished consommé and keep it for frying the tortillas; it gives the tacos their colour and crunch.
Light enough to float off the plate, these rings are sold by the bagful at bus stations, beaches and football grounds all over Brazil, but they belong to Minas Gerais, where sour cassava starch (polvilho azedo) has been made for centuries. Scalding the starch with hot milk, water and oil and then beating in eggs gives a sticky paste that puffs in a hot oven into crisp, airy, slightly tangy shells. Mineiros eat them with coffee in the afternoon or nibble them all day. Bake them in a hot oven and do not open the door: the rings collapse into flat, hard discs if the heat drops in the first 20 minutes. Chef's tip: the paste should pipe like thick mayonnaise; add a spoon of water if it is too stiff, because a soft dough is what makes the biscuits hollow.
Bitoque is the dish Portuguese office workers order when they can't decide: on every café lunch menu in Lisbon there is a thin steak in a garlicky pan sauce, a fried egg sliding over it, and chips, rice and a little salad heaped alongside. It is cheap, filling and quick, and a good one depends on a properly hot pan and a runny yolk that mixes into the sauce. Some cooks splash in beer; this version keeps it alcohol-free with stock. A common mistake is crowding the pan, which stews the steaks instead of searing them. Chef's tip: fry the eggs in the steak pan's garlicky fat so they pick up its flavour.
A paper bag of bizcochitos de grasa sits next to the mate gourd in kitchens, offices and roadside service stations across Argentina, from Buenos Aires to the Andes. These little rounds, a couple of bites each, are layered with beef fat, so they flake and crumble, salty and plain enough to eat by the dozen with bitter mate in the afternoon. The fat is rendered beef fat (grasa vacuna), so they are not vegetarian; ask your butcher for dripping or render suet yourself. A dough worked too warm is the mistake that robs them of their layers; the fat melts into it instead of staying in sheets. Chef's tip: chill the dough for 10 minutes between folds whenever it starts to feel greasy, and prick each round right through so it puffs in flakes rather than domes.
Achira is a canna plant whose root gives a fine, silky starch, and in Huila and Tolima it becomes bizcochos: crunchy, cheesy little sticks and rings that dissolve on the tongue. They are sold in long plastic bags at roadside stands near Neiva, Altamira and the Magdalena valley, and they travel everywhere as a snack with coffee or a cold drink. Look for achira flour in Colombian shops; arrowroot powder is the nearest substitute, while tapioca starch gives a chewier result. The cheese is traditionally a dry, aged curd made with animal rennet, so pick a vegetarian hard cheese. The usual mistake is pulling them from the oven too early: they look done but go soft as they cool. Chef's tip: bake them right through until dry and only lightly coloured; they should snap cleanly once cold.
Fish restaurants on the harbours of Byblos, Batroun and Tyre bring bizri to the table within minutes of ordering: a heap of tiny whitebait, dusted in seasoned flour and fried so crisp you eat them whole, heads and all, with a squeeze of lemon. It is a mezze for sharing with fattoush, tahini sauce and fried pitta, usually while waiting for the bigger grilled fish. Buy the fish very fresh and keep it on ice until it goes into the pan. The common mistake is crowding the pan, which drops the oil temperature and leaves the fish greasy and soft. Chef's tip: toss the damp fish in flour in a sieve and shake off every bit of excess; a thin coating fries glassy-crisp.
In Martinique, blanc-manger coco is the cool, wobbly dessert that closes a Christmas or Sunday family lunch: coconut milk and sweetened condensed milk scented with lime zest, cinnamon, vanilla and nutmeg, set and turned out of a mould. Many island cooks set it with gelatine, which is not vegetarian; this recipe uses agar-agar, a seaweed setting agent, so it is meat-free and holds well even in the heat. Serve it chilled with passion fruit or a guava coulis. Chef's tip: once the agar is in, keep the mixture boiling for 2 full minutes; agar only sets after it has been properly boiled.
Madrid sits hundreds of kilometres from the sea, yet its most famous snack is a crusty roll stuffed with hot fried squid rings, eaten standing at the bars around the Plaza Mayor at any hour. Locals order one with a cold drink at the counter and squeeze over a little lemon; some add a smear of mayonnaise. Chef's tip: fry the squid in very hot oil and for barely a minute, so it stays tender inside a crisp coat.
Vélez, a hill town in Santander, has given its name to Colombia's favourite sweet. Bocadillo veleño is guava pulp cooked down with panela and sugar until it sets into a firm, sliceable paste, deep red and fruity with a caramel edge, then cut into bars and wrapped in dried bijao leaves. It is the snack of bus journeys and school lunchboxes, and with a slice of fresh white cheese it becomes the classic pairing Colombians call a matrimonio. Plan for overnight setting. Stopping the cooking too early is the familiar mistake: the paste looks thick in the pan but stays soft and weeps once cool, so cook until it pulls away from the pan and a spoon drawn across the bottom leaves a clear track. Long sleeves are a good idea; it splutters. Bijao leaves are hard to find abroad; banana leaves or baking paper work. Chef's tip: use pink-fleshed guavas for colour, and add the lime early so the pectin sets firm.
Lamego, the cathedral town above the Douro, is famous for its cured hams, and its bola is a bread baked with them inside: a soft, slightly rich yeasted dough layered with presunto, chouriço, salpicão and often chicken or veal. It is taken on picnics, to the pilgrimage of Nossa Senhora dos Remédios in September, and sold by the slice in local cafés. This contains pork (presunto and chouriço). Chef's tip: let the bola cool for an hour before slicing; the juices from the meats settle into the crumb.
Friars' balls, to translate them literally, are a fixture of the Buenos Aires panadería counter among the facturas that porteños buy by the dozen on Sunday morning: soft, round yeast doughnuts, fried golden, rolled in sugar and split or piped with dulce de leche or crema pastelera. Children dive for them first. Inside they are light and fluffy, outside slightly crisp and sweet, and they are at their best within a few hours, with mate or coffee with milk. Oil that is too hot is the mistake: the outsides brown in seconds and the centres stay raw and doughy, so keep it at 170 °C and fry slowly. A thermometer helps a lot. Pastry cream is the other classic filling if you prefer it. Chef's tip: let the shaped balls rise on individual squares of baking paper and slide them into the oil on the paper; they keep their round shape and the paper peels off after a few seconds.
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