Custard and coconut cardamom bun
Skolebrød, 'school bread', is the bun Norwegian children found in their lunch boxes and still buy at the bakery after school: a soft cardamom bun with a pool of vanilla custard in the centre, iced around the edge and dipped in desiccated coconut. In western Norway they are called skoleboller. A common mistake is pressing too shallow a hollow; the custard puffs up and runs off. Chef's tip: press a deep well with the bottom of a glass just before baking, and pipe the custard right to the edges of the well.
A new country every day, from every cuisine on the site.
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.
Welsh cakes, picau ar y maen or 'cakes on the stone', are cooked on a cast-iron bakestone in kitchens across Wales and sold warm at markets and rugby matches, and they are a must on St David's Day, 1 March. The dough is like a rich scone with currants and mixed spice, and they are dusted with sugar while hot. Chef's tip: keep the heat medium-low; they need time for the middle to cook before the outside darkens.
Every 15 May, crowds head to the Pradera de San Isidro on Madrid's southern edge for the patron saint's festival, and stalls sell rosquillas by the dozen: plain "tontas" (silly ones) and iced "listas" (clever ones). Many families now bake them at home that week. Old recipes ice the listas with raw egg white; this one uses a lemon and icing-sugar glaze, which is safer and sets just as white. Chef's tip: oil your hands to shape the rings; the dough is soft and sticky by design.
On the night of 31 October and on All Saints' Day, families across La Mancha make sweet gachas: flour toasted in olive oil with aniseed, loosened with milk and sugar into a soft cream, and topped with crisp cubes of fried bread. Each person dips a spoon into the communal dish while the season's first cold nights settle in. Chef's tip: toast the flour in the oil until it smells nutty before adding any milk; raw flour tastes pasty.
Ceará grows more cashews than anywhere in Brazil, and in the season from September to December the soft, fragrant cashew apples are everywhere: pressed for juice, sold at roadside stalls and preserved whole in syrup like this. The fruit is pricked, squeezed of its astringent juice, blanched and then cooked slowly with sugar and cloves until it turns amber, glossy and tender with a chewy bite. Fortaleza families keep jars for Christmas and serve the fruit with a slice of white cheese or simply on a saucer with its syrup. Outside Brazil look for whole frozen cajus in Brazilian shops. Twist off and discard the grey nut before cooking: its raw shell holds a caustic oil and should not be cut, burnt or eaten at home. Skipping the squeezing and blanching is where it goes wrong; the sweet ends up rough and furry in the mouth. Chef's tip: let the fruit rest overnight in the syrup halfway through; it plumps up and soaks in the sugar evenly.
Fried catfish is the Friday night fish-fry and Delta church supper of Mississippi and Arkansas, where much of America's catfish is farmed. Fillets are soaked in seasoned milk or buttermilk, rolled in cornmeal and fried until the crust crackles and the mild, sweet fish inside flakes apart. Serve with hushpuppies, slaw and lemon. Chef's tip: cut thick fillets in half lengthways so they cook in the same time as the crust browns.
Sea and mountain: the cooks of the Empordà, between the Pyrenees and the Costa Brava, have long put chicken and seafood in one pot, and this version with prawns is the one most families make for a celebration lunch. The sauce is a dark sofrito finished with a picada of almonds, hazelnuts, garlic and a little dark chocolate, which adds depth rather than sweetness. It uses wine; the alcohol-free option is in the ingredient list. Chef's tip: cook the prawns only briefly at the start and return them at the end, so they stay juicy while the chicken braises.
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.
Up on the Altiplano around Lake Titicaca, where quinoa grows at almost 4,000 metres, pesque is everyday food: quinoa cooked until it collapses, then beaten with milk, a knob of butter and crumbled fresh cheese until it looks like a loose, savoury risotto. Puno families eat it for a warming lunch or supper, often with a glass of milk poured over or a fried egg on top, and in the cold dry air it is exactly what the body wants. It is soft, nutty and mildly salty. The step people skip is rinsing the quinoa, and the natural saponins then leave a soapy, bitter edge; rub it under running water until the foam stops. Serve with a tomato salad or a spoon of uchucuta for some heat. Andean fresh cheese is usually set with animal rennet, so choose a vegetarian fresh cheese if needed. Chef's tip: cook the quinoa in a little more water than usual and leave it a few minutes longer than for a salad, so it turns creamy and the grains burst.
On the beaches of Pedregalejo and El Palo in Málaga, chiringuito cooks shake small fish in flour and fry them by the basketful: whole fresh anchovies (boquerones), rings of squid, strips of dogfish and little red mullet, served piled on paper with lemon. The secret is a coarse frying flour, partly durum semolina, and very clean, hot oil, so each piece comes out crisp and dry. Eat it at once, at the table, with a cold drink and a salad. Chef's tip: shake off every bit of loose flour in a sieve before frying; excess flour burns and makes the oil dark and bitter.
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.
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.
In Basque kitchens from Bilbao to Tolosa, porrusalda (literally 'leek broth') is what families cook in the quiet days after Christmas, when everyone wants something plain and warming. Leeks are the star, simmered with potatoes and carrots until the broth turns pale gold and slightly thick. Many households flake in desalted salt cod at the end; this version keeps it vegetarian with water or vegetable stock, so it is also vegan. A common mistake is slicing the potatoes neatly: snap them into rough chunks instead, so they release starch and give the broth body. Chef's tip: cook the leeks slowly in the oil before any liquid goes in, until they smell sweet, because that is where the flavour comes from.
Rumbledethumps comes from the Scottish Borders, a thrifty supper of mashed potato, buttery cabbage and onion baked under a crust of cheddar, usually made with the Sunday roast leftovers on a Monday night. The name is said to come from the rumbling and thumping of the pans. Traditional cheddar is often made with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian cheddar if that matters to you. Chef's tip: cook the cabbage only until bright and just tender so it keeps some bite in the bake.
For field workers in the yerba-mate plantations of Misiones, the morning starts with reviro: a simple dough of flour, egg, water and salt fried in plenty of fat and then broken up with a spatula as it cooks, until it becomes a pile of crisp, golden, irregular crumbs with soft centres. It is filling, cheap and very good dunked in a mug of mate cocido or milky coffee, and it shares its roots with the Guaraní and Paraguayan kitchen across the river. Traditionally it is fried in lard or beef fat; this version uses butter and oil so it is vegetarian. Turning it too early is the classic blunder: the batter needs to fry undisturbed until a crust forms, or it turns into a pale, doughy mash. Chef's tip: keep chopping and turning with the edge of a metal spatula for the last 10 minutes; the more edges you make, the more crunch you get.
In Antequera, north of Málaga, porra comes to the table so thick that a spoon stands up in it, and bars in the old town serve it from May until the first autumn rains as a starter or a light supper. It is a cousin of salmorejo, but with green pepper and more garlic, and the town tops it with chopped egg and a thread of oil. Locally the garnish also includes tuna and cured ham; this version keeps it vegetarian with egg and diced pepper. A common mistake is thinning it with water to make it go further: porra should be spooned, never sipped. Chef's tip: use only the reddest, softest tomatoes of the summer, because a pale tomato makes a pink, flat-tasting porra however much oil you add.
Sancocho is the Canary Islands' Good Friday dish and a Sunday favourite in Gran Canaria, where whole families sit down to a platter of desalted cherne (wreckfish), boiled potatoes and sweet potatoes, red mojo poured over the top and a ball of pella de gofio on the side. Salted cherne is soaked for a day or two in the fridge to draw out the salt, then poached gently. If you cannot find cherne, salt cod or fresh hake works well. Chef's tip: before cooking, poach a small flake in boiling water for a minute and taste it; it should be pleasantly seasoned, like well-salted fresh fish, and if it is still briny, soak a few hours more.
Quarkkeulchen are the sweet little pancakes of Saxony, the kind a Dresden or Leipzig grandmother makes on a Saturday afternoon from yesterday's boiled potatoes: mashed potato, quark, egg, a little flour and sugar, lemon zest and raisins, shaped into small thick discs and fried in butter until golden. They are crisp outside, soft and slightly tangy inside, and come dusted with cinnamon sugar beside a bowl of apple sauce. A common mistake is using freshly boiled warm potatoes, which make a sticky dough; use cold ones from the day before. Chef's tip: soak the raisins in hot water for 10 minutes so they plump up and don't burn in the pan.
On Sifnos, Saturday night means taking a clay pot of chickpeas, onions, olive oil and bay to the village baker, who leaves it in the cooling wood oven overnight; on Sunday morning, after church, families collect it and eat it for lunch. The chickpeas turn creamy and almost melting in a thick, sweet, onion-rich broth. A home oven at low heat does the same job in about five hours. Common mistake: adding salt at the start, which can keep the chickpeas firm; add it in the last hour. Chef's tip: rub the soaked chickpeas with a little bicarbonate of soda and rinse well; it helps them soften to that silky texture.
Schinkenfleckerl is the comfort bake of Viennese homes and school canteens, a simple dish that came to Vienna from Bohemian cooks in the days of the old empire. Small pasta squares are folded into a mix of butter, egg yolks, sour cream and diced cooked ham, lightened with whisked egg whites and baked until the top is golden and the edges crunchy. Swap the ham, which is pork, for 250 g fried mushrooms for a vegetarian version. Chef's tip: cook the pasta a minute short and rinse it cold, so it does not go soft in the oven.
Late at night in the bodegones of Buenos Aires, when the kitchen has been busy for hours, revuelto Gramajo is what regulars order with a glass of something cold: a pile of crisp shoestring potatoes tossed in the pan with cooked ham (pork), onion, peas and eggs scrambled just until creamy. Legend credits a colonel's aide called Gramajo with inventing it, and every porteño has an opinion about how soft the eggs should be. Done right, some potato threads stay crunchy and others soak up the egg. The mistake to avoid is adding the potatoes too early, which turns them to mush; they go in at the very end, with the pan off the heat. Cook the eggs until no liquid egg remains if you are feeding anyone pregnant, very young or elderly. For a vegetarian version, leave out the ham and double the peas and onion. Chef's tip: fry the potato matchsticks twice, first pale and then golden, so they stay crisp even after meeting the eggs.
Day-trippers queue for these in Sintra's old town, buying them by the paper-wrapped half dozen to eat on the train back to Lisbon. They have been made around the palace town for centuries: a creamy filling of fresh cheese, sugar, egg yolk and cinnamon, baked in a thin, crisp case until the top blisters brown in patches. Traditional fresh cheese is curdled with animal rennet; look for ricotta or curd cheese made with vegetarian (microbial) rennet if that matters to you. A common mistake is rolling the pastry too thick: it should be almost see-through, so it crisps instead of turning bready. Chef's tip: press the cheese through a sieve before mixing, so the filling bakes silky rather than grainy.
Along the beaches of Recife, Porto de Galinhas and Fortaleza, vendors walk the sand with a small charcoal brazier, toasting sticks of coalho cheese to order. Coalho is a firm, salty curd cheese that holds its shape over the heat, so it browns and blisters on the outside while the inside turns soft and squeaky. Buyers choose it plain, sprinkled with dried oregano, or drizzled with dark sugarcane molasses for a salty-sweet bite. At home it works on a barbecue, a ridged griddle or under a hot grill, and makes a good starter for a churrasco. Most coalho is made with animal rennet, so look for one labelled vegetarian or with microbial rennet, or use a vegetarian halloumi. Everyone's first error is turning the cheese too soon: it tears and sticks until a crust has formed. Chef's tip: pat the sticks dry and brush the grill, not the cheese, with oil, so the crust forms quickly and releases cleanly.
High in the Serra da Estrela, shepherds still make Portugal's most famous cheese from raw ewe's milk, curdled with the flowers of the wild cardoon thistle, which also means it uses no animal rennet and suits vegetarians. In mountain villages such as Seia and Manteigas it is served whole, the rind cut open and the runny inside scooped onto bread, and a short bake makes it even more molten. If you use another soft cheese instead, check the label for vegetarian rennet. Raw-milk soft cheese is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system unless it is baked until piping hot throughout. Chef's tip: bake it in a dish only just bigger than the cheese, so it melts without spreading.
Every charcuterie and traiteur in Lyon sells quenelles, the soft oval dumplings that the city's bouchons bake until they swell to twice their size in a bubbling dish. The famous version contains pike, but Lyonnais families also buy quenelles nature, plain ones made from a flour, milk, butter and egg panade, and bake them for a weeknight supper with a mushroom or tomato cream sauce and a green salad. Made at home they are light and wobbly, with a hint of nutmeg. Gruyère for the top is usually made with animal rennet; use a vegetarian alternative if you prefer. Chef's tip: chill the dough well and shape it with two wet spoons; cold dough holds a neat shape and puffs evenly.
Pickert is the bread of Lippe and the Teutoburg Forest in eastern Westphalia, made where wheat was scarce and potatoes plentiful: grated raw potato, flour, eggs and yeast baked into a dense, moist loaf, studded with raisins. Locals slice it the next day and fry the slices in butter until crisp, then eat them for breakfast or supper with plum butter, sugar beet syrup, jam or, for meat eaters, liver sausage. This vegetarian version serves it with jam and syrup. A common mistake is not squeezing the potatoes, which leaves the loaf soggy in the middle. Chef's tip: bake it a day ahead; cold Pickert slices cleanly and fries far better than warm.
Samfaina is what Catalan kitchens do with a market bag full of late-summer vegetables: they go into the pan in order, each one softening before the next, until they melt into a sweet, glossy stew. It is eaten on its own with bread, spooned beside grilled fish or a fried egg, or used as a sauce for chicken or salt cod. It tastes better the next day. Chef's tip: cut everything to the same 1.5 cm dice, so it all cooks evenly and the finished dish has a soft, even texture.
Schmalzkuchen are the paper bag of tiny golden diamonds sold at fairs and Christmas markets across northern and eastern Germany, from Hamburg's Dom fair to the markets of Berlin and Leipzig. Despite the name they are now fried in vegetable oil, so this version is vegetarian. The quick quark-and-baking-powder dough puffs up into soft, slightly crisp cushions that you shake in icing sugar while warm. A common mistake is frying at too low a heat: the dough soaks up oil and turns heavy instead of puffing. Chef's tip: cut the dough into small 3 cm diamonds; bigger pieces brown outside before the middle has cooked through.
Huitlacoche is a fungus that swells the kernels of rain-soaked corn into silvery-black, inky lobes, and in central Mexico it is a delicacy prized for its deep, mushroomy, slightly smoky taste. In the rainy months, the quesadilla stalls of Mexico City and Coyoacán fry it with onion, chilli and epazote and fold it into fresh masa turnovers; in the capital you ask for cheese separately. Fresh huitlacoche turns up at Mexican grocers from July to October, and tinned or frozen works the rest of the year. Chef's tip: cook it until the black juices have mostly evaporated; a wet filling makes the masa soggy and grey.
In the Tafí del Valle hills above San Miguel de Tucumán, quesillo is made by stretching hot curd into long, thin, elastic sheets and folding them into flat rounds; along the road up from the city, stalls sell it beside jars of miel de caña, the dark syrup boiled from the juice of Tucumán's sugarcane. Put the two together and you have the province's simplest dessert: mild, milky, slightly squeaky cheese with a pour of syrup that tastes of molasses and caramel, plus walnuts for crunch. It is eaten after lunch or as a merienda with mate. Drowning the cheese is the usual misstep; the syrup is intense, so pour a ribbon, not a puddle. Real quesillo is hard to find abroad: fresh mozzarella, Oaxaca cheese or another fresh stretched-curd cheese is closest, and light cane syrup or a 2:1 mix of golden syrup and black treacle stands in for miel de caña. Most of these cheeses use animal rennet; choose a vegetarian one if needed. Chef's tip: warm the syrup slightly so it runs into the folds of the cheese.
On Ferragosto, the 15 August holiday when half of Rome heads for the coast, families who stay behind cook pollo alla romana, often the day before so it can be eaten at room temperature. Jointed chicken is browned, then stewed slowly with sweet red and yellow peppers, tomato, garlic and marjoram until the peppers collapse into a sweet, glossy sauce. A little white wine goes in at the start; there's an alcohol-free swap in the ingredients. Serve it with crusty bread for the sauce and a plate of tomatoes or green beans. Chef's tip: season the chicken a few hours ahead and keep it covered in the fridge, so the salt reaches right into the meat.
Thick slabs of semi-cured goat's cheese, seared on a hot griddle until golden outside and soft within, then splashed with red mojo: it is the starter that opens lunch at country restaurants across Fuerteventura and Gran Canaria, the islands of Majorero and Flor de Guía cheeses. Some places serve it with palm honey instead, for a sweet-salty version. Traditional Canarian cheeses use animal rennet; choose a vegetarian semi-cured goat's cheese if that matters to you. Eat it with bread while it is still soft. Chef's tip: use a firm, semi-cured cheese at least 1.5 cm thick, as fresh cheese melts flat and runs off the pan.
Despite the name, there's no cheese in it: queso helado is Arequipa's old-fashioned frozen milk dessert, cut into thick rounds that look like a slice of fresh cheese and dusted with ground cinnamon. Vendors in white aprons sell it around the Plaza de Armas and at the Yanahuara viewpoint, traditionally churned in a metal pail spun over ice and salt, and every Arequipeño has a favourite stall. It is creamy, mildly milky and fragrant with cinnamon, clove and grated coconut, less rich than ice cream and slightly icy in a pleasant way. Many recipes thicken it with egg yolks; this one uses evaporated and condensed milk with a little cornflour so it stays egg free. The common error is freezing it untouched, which gives one hard block of ice: stir it every 45 minutes for the first few hours. Allow at least 4 hours of freezing on top of the cooking time, or make it a day ahead. Chef's tip: freeze it in a loaf tin lined with cling film, then lift it out and slice it into rounds for that true street look.
Manchego farmhouses have long stored cheese under olive oil so it would keep through the hot months; the oil seals it, softens the rind and deepens the flavour. In bars across Toledo and Ciudad Real a saucer of these oil-darkened wedges arrives with bread as soon as you sit down. PDO manchego is made with animal rennet; if you eat vegetarian, choose a ewe's-milk cheese made with vegetable or microbial rennet. Chef's tip: use a cheese aged at least three months; young cheese goes soft and greasy in the oil.
Ask anyone in Chiclayo or Lambayeque for the north's great Sunday dish and seco de cabrito comes up first: young goat, marinated in garlic and vinegar, then braised slowly in a deep green sauce of blended coriander, ají amarillo and chicha de jora, with grated loche, the local aromatic squash. The meat turns tender and the sauce is herby, sour and warm. It comes to the table with white rice and frejoles (stewed canary beans) and a sharp salsa criolla. Chicha de jora is a fermented maize beer and contains alcohol; the alcohol-free swap in the ingredients keeps the tang. Lamb shoulder stands in well for kid. People often blend the coriander with the stems discarded, but the stems carry the most flavour, so use the whole bunch. Chef's tip: add half the coriander at the start and half 10 minutes before the end, so the sauce stays bright green.
Southern Nariño shares the quimbolito with neighbouring Ecuador. In Pasto these small sweet cakes are steamed in achira leaves and eaten at the mid-afternoon onces with a cup of hot chocolate or coffee. The batter is a rich mix of butter, sugar, eggs, wheat and corn flours and fresh cheese, dotted with raisins; steaming makes it light and moist, closer to a sponge pudding than a cake, and the leaf adds a mild green scent. Some cooks add a splash of anise liqueur; this version uses vanilla and keeps it alcohol-free. Fresh cheese is often set with animal rennet, so pick a vegetarian (microbial-rennet) one if needed. Achira leaves are rare outside the Andes: banana-leaf pieces or squares of baking paper work. Overfilling is what usually goes wrong, as the batter rises and bursts the parcel, so fill each leaf only halfway. Chef's tip: keep the water at a steady simmer, never a rolling boil, so the cakes rise evenly and stay dry.
From late April until the traditional end of the season on St John's Day in June, German bakeries and garden tables everywhere have rhubarb cake, and the most loved version is crowned with meringue. A buttery sponge is covered with sour pink rhubarb, baked, then piled with a cloud of sweet meringue and returned to the oven until golden and crisp outside, marshmallow-soft within. The sweet topping balances the sharp fruit perfectly. A common mistake is not draining the rhubarb, so its juice pools under the sponge and the base stays wet. Chef's tip: toss the cut rhubarb with a little sugar an hour ahead, then drain it well; it softens slightly and stops weeping into the cake.
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.
Hot sambousek bi jibneh are the first thing to vanish from a Syrian mezze spread or a Ramadan iftar table, where Damascene and Aleppan cooks fry dozens at a time. A tender olive-oil pastry is folded around white cheese, parsley and nigella seeds, then crimped with a fork or twisted into a rope edge and fried or baked until blistered and golden. Eat them warm, when the cheese is soft and stringy. Common mistake: using a salty cheese straight from the brine — soak akkawi or halloumi for an hour first. Chef's tip: mix a little mozzarella into the filling for that stretchy pull. Akkawi, halloumi and mozzarella are often made with animal rennet; use vegetarian-rennet versions if needed.
Stuffies are Rhode Island's summer starter, sold at clam shacks in Warwick and Bristol and made at home for Fourth of July cookouts: big hard-shell quahog clams are steamed, the meat chopped and mixed with buttery breadcrumbs, peppers and spicy Portuguese chouriço (pork sausage), then baked back in the shells. Chef's tip: save the steaming liquid and use it to moisten the stuffing; plain water makes it bland.
Morning market stalls and street carts from Lima to Huancayo ladle quinua con manzana into glasses alongside emoliente and maca, and many people drink it as breakfast on its own, with a bread roll or a sandwich beside it. Quinoa and chunks of apple are simmered with cinnamon and cloves until the grains burst and the liquid thickens, then sweetened and served warm or cold. Some stalls blend it smooth; others leave the grains and soft apple pieces to spoon up. It is mild, fruity and filling, and children usually like it. The mistake that ruins it is skipping the rinse: quinoa's natural coating, saponin, makes the drink bitter and soapy, so rub it under running water until the foam stops. Chef's tip: add a few drops of lime at the end; it lifts the apple and keeps the drink from tasting flat.
On Pico and Terceira, octopus caught among the black volcanic rocks is stewed slowly in red wine with onions, garlic, allspice and a spoonful of pimenta da terra, until the pieces are tender and the sauce is dark and rich. It is a dish for village festas and cold winter Sundays, ladled over potatoes with bread on the side. The recipe uses red wine; for an alcohol-free version, use water with a tablespoon of red wine vinegar. Chef's tip: buy frozen octopus, or freeze fresh octopus for a day; freezing breaks down its fibres and makes it far more tender.
Italian immigrants brought polenta to São Paulo, and the city's bars and cantinas turned the leftovers into one of its best snacks: thick sticks of set polenta, deep-fried until the outside is crunchy and bubbled and the inside stays soft and creamy. They arrive in paper-lined baskets in Bixiga cantinas and corner botecos alike, sprinkled with salt, to be eaten with a cold drink; some places dust them with grated cheese, which makes them no longer vegan. Kids love them as a side with tomato sauce. They fall apart in the oil when the polenta is too soft, so cook it until very thick and let it set completely in the fridge. Chef's tip: dry the cut sticks on kitchen paper and fry in small batches, so the oil temperature stays high and the crust forms at once.
No Tehran dinner table is complete without sabzi khordan, literally 'herbs for eating': a basket or plate of whole sprigs of basil, mint, tarragon, chives and coriander with radishes, spring onions, walnuts and a block of white cheese. People tear off bread, add a little cheese and a walnut, then stuff in a few leaves, eating between mouthfuls of stew or rice. The mistake most people make is serving the herbs wet or limp; they should be crisp, dry and cold. Traditional Iranian white cheese is set with animal rennet, so choose a feta labelled vegetarian (microbial rennet) if that matters to you. Chef's tip: wash the herbs an hour ahead, spin them dry and chill them wrapped in a damp tea towel so they stay perky on the table.
Schokofrüchte stalls glow under strings of lights at almost every German Christmas market, from Stuttgart to Hamburg, with rows of strawberries, grapes and banana chunks on wooden skewers dipped in dark, milk and white chocolate. Children choose with their noses pressed to the glass, and at home they are a fun job for small hands. The usual mistake is dipping wet fruit: even a drop of water makes chocolate seize into a grainy lump and stops it sticking. Chef's tip: melt the chocolate gently and let it cool to just warm before dipping; it then clings in a neat, thin shell and sets glossy. Many chocolates contain milk, so check the label if you need it dairy free.
Çeşme looks across the water to Chios, the island where mastic trees weep their resin, and the town's pudding shops have long used it to perfume a simple, wobbly milk pudding. The flavour is hard to describe: piney, a little floral, very fresh against cold creamy milk. It is the dessert to order after a long fish lunch in Alaçatı. Chef's tip: grind the mastic with a teaspoon of sugar in a mortar; on its own it gums up into sticky lumps.
The 'old clothes' of the name are the leftover meats from Sunday's puchero, shredded and fried the next day with chickpeas, potatoes, peppers and tomato; it is a different dish from the Cuban ropa vieja, and on the islands it is Monday lunch and a fixture of bar menus in Las Palmas. Some versions include pork; this one uses beef and chicken, poached from scratch if you have no leftovers. A splash of white wine is common; it is optional and the dish is complete without it. Chef's tip: fry the chickpeas until a few catch and crisp, because those browned bits make the dish.
The name honours the lagareiros, the men who worked the olive presses, and the dish is about as generous with olive oil as you'd expect: octopus first simmered until tender, then roasted hot with garlic and oil until the tentacles crisp at the tips. It is a Christmas Eve favourite in many Lisbon homes and a Friday treat in restaurants, always with batatas a murro, small potatoes roasted in their skins then punched open. A common mistake is a rolling boil, which turns octopus tough and peels the skin; keep the water at a lazy simmer. Chef's tip: buy frozen octopus, or freeze fresh for a day; freezing breaks the fibres and makes it far more tender.
In Bavaria a Radi is a single big white radish, cut into one long spiral or paper-thin slices and salted until it 'weeps', then eaten with your fingers in the beer garden between bites of pretzel. Stalls at Munich's Viktualienmarkt sell the long white roots from spring to autumn, and old regulars carry a special spiral cutter. It is crisp, peppery and cooling, the opposite of everything rich on the table. A common mistake is eating it straight away: the salt needs ten minutes to draw out the bitter juice and soften the bite. Chef's tip: pick a heavy, firm radish with a smooth skin; a light one is often woody and hollow inside.
Argentine Easter Sunday breakfast centres on the rosca de Pascua, a ring of soft, orange-scented brioche-like dough laid with stripes of pastry cream, candied cherries and pearl sugar, with whole boiled eggs pressed into the dough as a symbol of new life. Bakeries in every barrio stack them in the window from Holy Thursday, and families share it with coffee or mate after the Easter egg hunt. The crumb is fluffy and pale yellow, and the custard bakes into soft, golden ridges. Because the eggs bake for 30 minutes on top of their boiling, they are fully cooked; many people keep them for decoration and peel them later. The mistake to avoid is piping the pastry cream too thick, which slides off as the ring rises; thin lines give neat ridges. Chef's tip: cook the custard until it is very thick and chill it before piping, and brush the ring with egg before (not after) the cream goes on.
Touraine, the stretch of the Loire Valley around Tours, has made rillettes since the Middle Ages, and every charcuterie counter in the region sells them alongside rillons, their chunky cousins. This is pork through and through: pork shoulder and belly cooked very slowly in their own fat with a little water until they collapse, then shredded with forks into a soft, rich spread that is brown at the edges and deeply savoury. Pots of it go on the table at apéritif time with crusty bread, cornichons and a glass of something cold. Kept sealed under a layer of fat, they last a week in the fridge. Chef's tip: cook it long enough that the meat colours lightly in the fat at the end; that browning is what gives Tours rillettes their deeper taste.
The English-speaking Raizal islanders of San Andrés and Providencia call it rundown, and it is cooked for a crowd on weekends and at beach gatherings: coconut milk boiled down until it 'runs down' and starts to release its oil, with cassava, green plantain, breadfruit or sweet potato, flour dumplings, salted pig tail and, on top, fish and conch steamed in the creamy broth. Pork appears as the salted tail, which seasons the pot. The broth is rich, coconut-sweet and herby with thyme, with a perfume of whole Scotch bonnet that gives aroma rather than fire as long as it doesn't burst. Start the day before: the pig tail needs overnight soaking. A common mistake is stirring once the fish goes in, which breaks it up; layer it and let the steam do the work. Chef's tip: queen conch is protected in much of the Caribbean, so buy only legally sourced frozen conch, or swap in large raw prawns added with the fish.
Qidra takes its name from the tall copper or clay pot it is cooked in, which in Hebron is sealed and carried to the neighbourhood bakery to cook slowly in the bread oven for Friday lunch, weddings and Eid. The rice is golden with turmeric and cumin, studded with whole garlic cloves and chickpeas, and the lamb underneath turns meltingly tender. At home, a heavy lidded casserole in the oven does the job. Common mistake: lifting the lid to stir, which breaks the rice and lets the steam escape. Chef's tip: soak the rice for 30 minutes and use only as much broth as the recipe says; the sealed pot loses almost nothing.
Every autumn the long crimson peppers of Florina, near the borders of north-west Macedonia, are roasted over wood in courtyards and either jarred for winter or stuffed and eaten straight away. Here they are charred, peeled and filled with soft feta beaten with herbs and a little chilli, then baked until the cheese just begins to melt. They're a meze for the ouzeri table, with bread for the juices, or a light supper with a salad. Feta is traditionally made with animal rennet, so pick a vegetarian feta-style cheese if that matters. Common mistake: tearing the peppers while peeling — let them steam under a lid first and the skins slip right off. Chef's tip: keep the stalks on; they hold the peppers together and make them easy to lift.
Tourists queue for it at the Mercado Municipal in São Paulo, where the sandwich counters on the mezzanine fold slice after slice of mortadella onto a hot griddle until the stack is taller than the bread. Mortadella is a cooked pork sausage, and warming it this way crisps the edges, softens the fat and makes it taste sweeter and more peppery; a layer of melted provolone or mild cheese glues it together inside a crusty French roll. It is gloriously over the top, best eaten with both hands and a paper napkin. The mistake most people make is stacking cold mortadella flat, which stays rubbery; fold the slices loosely so the heat gets between them. Chef's tip: ask for the mortadella sliced very thin, almost see-through; thin slices ruffle up and give the sandwich its height and tenderness.
Beurre blanc was first whisked up on the banks of the Loire near Nantes, and riverside restaurants from Anjou to the Muscadet vineyards still serve it with sandre, the firm, mild pike-perch of the river. The sauce is nothing but shallots reduced in white wine and vinegar, then mounted with cold butter into a pale, foamy emulsion that tastes sharp and creamy at once. The crisp-skinned fish sits on top, with steamed potatoes or leeks alongside. The reduction uses dry white wine; an alcohol-free option is in the notes. If you can't find pike-perch, sea bass or hake fillets are good substitutes. Chef's tip: keep the butter fridge-cold and add it a few cubes at a time, and the sauce will never split.
No cheese at all: that is the whole point of pizza canchera. Vendors walk the terraces at Buenos Aires football grounds with a wicker basket of these thick rectangles wrapped in paper, and the name comes from la cancha, the pitch. Because it is eaten at room temperature, the topping is a heavy, garlicky tomato paste, almost jammy, with dried oregano, a pinch of ají molido (crushed red chilli) and a good slick of olive oil; the base underneath is soft, a little oily and chewy, more focaccia than Neapolitan. Today it also turns up at kids' parties and on Sunday tables as a snack before the asado. Where people slip up is the sauce: a thin, watery sauce soaks the dough and turns it soggy by the time it has cooled, so the tomato has to be cooked down until a spoon leaves a trail. Chef's tip: cut it into squares only once it has cooled for 15 minutes; it will hold its shape like the slices sold in the stands.
Qizha is Gaza's own sweet: a dense, near-black semolina cake made with a paste of roasted nigella seeds, eaten especially in winter and during Ramadan, when bakeries in Gaza City stack trays of it. It tastes nutty and slightly bitter, a little like dark sesame, softened by syrup and topped with almonds or pistachios. Nigella paste is sold in some Middle Eastern shops; if you can't find it, grind toasted nigella with tahini as below. Common mistake: over-toasting the nigella, which turns it acrid; stop as soon as it smells fragrant. Chef's tip: rest the mixed batter for 30 minutes before baking so the semolina swells and the cake slices cleanly.
Every Portuguese child seems to have helped make one: crushed Maria-style tea biscuits folded through rich chocolate, rolled into a log, chilled and dusted with icing sugar until each slice looks like salami. It turns up at birthday parties, in café display cases around Lisbon and on Christmas dessert tables. The traditional mix uses raw eggs; this version leaves them out and sets with melted chocolate and butter instead, so there is nothing raw in it. A splash of port is often added, which contains alcohol; leave it out or use milk. A common mistake is crushing the biscuits to crumbs; leave some larger pieces, or the slices lose their marbled look. Chef's tip: break the biscuits by hand into pieces the size of a fingernail; crumbs turn it into fudge and you lose the salami look.
On the last evening before Nowruz, and on the first night of the new year in many Tehran households, a platter of reshteh polo is set out so the family can 'take hold of the reins' of their luck for the year ahead; the noodles are the reins. Long-grain rice is par-boiled with toasted reshteh (thin, salty Persian noodles), layered with buttery dates, raisins and cinnamon and steamed until each grain separates, with a golden tahdig crust underneath. Meat is often served alongside, but the polo itself is meat-free. A common mistake is skipping the noodle toasting, which leaves them pale and gummy. Chef's tip: wrap the lid in a clean tea towel while the rice steams so condensation doesn't drip back and make the rice wet.
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.
Glossy, wine-dark and wobbling with little translucent pearls, sagu is the dessert of the serra gaúcha, the Italian-settled wine country around Caxias do Sul and Bento Gonçalves, where it ends Sunday lunch at family tables and galeteria buffets. Tapioca pearls are cooked until clear, then simmered in red wine with sugar, cloves and cinnamon so they soak up the colour and spice. Locally it comes with a spoon of vanilla custard on top. The dish contains red wine, and simmering does not remove all the alcohol; for an alcohol-free version, use red grape juice and cut the sugar by half. Choose a vegan wine if that matters to you, as some are fined with egg or fish products. The common mistake is adding the wine before the pearls are clear, which leaves white chalky centres. Chef's tip: rinse the cooked pearls under cold water before they go into the wine, so the starch washes off and the dessert stays glossy.
Porchetta is the street food of central Italy: in Ariccia, in the hills south of Rome, and across Umbria, vans at markets and village festivals carve thick slices of this slow-roasted pork, stuffed with garlic, rosemary, fennel and pepper, straight into crusty rolls. Whole pigs are used there; at home, a piece of pork belly rolled around the loin gives the same juicy meat, herby centre and shatteringly crisp crackling. Serve it in rolls, or hot in slices with roast potatoes and greens, and the leftovers are just as good cold. Chef's tip: leave the tied roll uncovered in the fridge overnight; a dry skin is what turns into blistered crackling.
The pionono was invented in Santa Fe, on the plain outside Granada, in the late nineteenth century by a local pastry maker who named it after Pope Pius IX, Pío Nono in Spanish. The town still sells them by the dozen from its bakeries, and granadinos carry boxes home for Sunday coffee. Each one is a little standing roll of thin sponge soaked in cinnamon syrup, filled with custard and capped with a dome of custard burnt under a hot iron or torch. Chef's tip: roll the sponge while it is still warm and pliable; once cool it cracks instead of curling.
Every Bogotá bakery has a tray of roscones by the counter: soft, enriched bread rings glazed and sprinkled with sugar, hiding a seam of melted guava paste inside. They are eaten at onces, the afternoon coffee break, or for breakfast with hot chocolate, and they are a favourite thing to bring when visiting. The dough is a gently sweet milk-and-butter bread, close to a brioche but lighter. Chunks of guava paste that are too big are what normally goes wrong: they melt, burst the seam and burn on the tray, so cut it into thin batons and seal the dough firmly around them. Plan about 2 hours, most of it rising time. Look for guava paste (bocadillo or goiabada) in Latin shops; quince paste works in a pinch. Chef's tip: brush with the egg wash twice, once before the second rise and once before baking, for a deep, shiny crust that holds the sugar.
Rajas means strips, and in Puebla they mean poblano chillies, the dark green pepper the state is named after, charred, peeled and sliced, then simmered with onion, sweetcorn and cream. Poblanos are mild with a grassy, gently smoky bite, so the dish is rich rather than fiery. It turns up on Puebla tables as a side for rice, as a taco filling at fondas, or in a tamal for breakfast. Some cooks melt in Chihuahua or Oaxaca cheese, which may be made with animal rennet; use a vegetarian melting cheese if needed. Chef's tip: sweat the peeled chillies in a covered bowl for 10 minutes; the steam lifts the skins off cleanly without rinsing away the smoky flavour.
Porceddu is Sardinia's feast: a whole suckling pig spit-roasted for hours beside an open wood fire at weddings, village saints' days and Ferragosto, then laid on a bed of myrtle branches so the hot meat soaks up their scent. The skin turns glass-crisp and the pork underneath is soft and juicy. Suckling pig and fresh myrtle are hard to find outside Sardinia, so this home-oven version uses a skin-on piece of pork belly or shoulder, with bay leaves and rosemary standing in for myrtle. Serve with bread, roast potatoes and a salad. Chef's tip: salt the dried skin and leave it uncovered in the fridge overnight; dry skin is the secret to real crackling.
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.
Samanu is one of the seven 's' items on the Nowruz haft-sin table, standing for strength and abundance, and in many neighbourhoods of Tehran and Shiraz women still gather to stir the great pot through the night, singing and taking turns. It is made from nothing but sprouted wheat juice and flour, cooked very slowly for many hours until the natural malt sugars caramelise into a thick, toffee-brown, gently sweet pudding. This home version uses a smaller batch, but it still takes days of sprouting and a long, patient simmer. The common mistake is turning the heat up to rush it, which scorches the base and makes the samanu bitter. Chef's tip: drop a few clean walnut halves into the pot near the end; tradition says whoever finds one in their bowl will have a lucky year.
Pochas are white beans picked in late summer before they dry, when the pods have gone soft and yellowish, and in Navarre September means bowls of them in every village from Sangüesa to the Ribera. Because they are fresh they need no soaking and cook in about 40 minutes into something creamy, sweet and gentle. Many homes add chorizo or quail; this version keeps to the vegetables and is vegan. Pickled guindilla chillies on the side are the usual partner. Chef's tip: if you can't find fresh pochas, frozen ones are sold in Spanish shops and are very good.
On Réunion Island, rougail saucisses is the everyday favourite cooked in a big cast-iron pot for family lunches, beach picnics and Sunday gatherings, and it is a pork dish built on smoked pork sausages. The sausages are blanched, browned, then simmered in a thick sauce of onions, ripe tomatoes, garlic, ginger, turmeric and fresh chilli until everything turns rich and slightly smoky. It is always served Creole-style with white rice and grains (red beans stewed with garlic and thyme) and, for those who like heat, a spoonful of fresh tomato-chilli rougail on the side. Chef's tip: blanch the sausages first; it removes excess salt and fat so the sauce tastes clean and bright.
Riz a djej is the centrepiece of Lebanese celebrations and Eid lunches, carried to the table on a huge platter: rice cooked in chicken broth with a little spiced minced beef, crowned with pulled poached chicken and a heavy scattering of fried almonds, pine nuts and cashews. The flavours are gentle and warm — cinnamon, allspice, nutmeg — so it is a favourite with children too. Plain yoghurt and a crisp salad go alongside. Common mistake: skipping the rinse; unrinsed rice turns sticky in the rich broth. Chef's tip: poach the chicken the day before and chill the broth so you can lift off the fat; you get a cleaner, more savoury rice.
Chilindrón is the red sauce that Aragon is known for across Spain: sweet red peppers, onion and tomato cooked down slowly with serrano ham until thick and glossy. Chicken is the most common partner (lamb is the other), and a big pot of it is a typical dish at summer village fiestas in the Pyrenees foothills and at family meals all year. This contains pork (cured serrano ham). The recipe uses a little white wine; use chicken stock instead for no alcohol. A common mistake is hurrying the sofrito: the peppers need a slow 20 minutes to soften and sweeten before the chicken goes back in. Chef's tip: if you have roasted red peppers or a spoonful of choricero pepper paste, stir some in for a deeper, smokier colour.
Any chifa in Lima, from the old dining rooms of Barrio Chino on Calle Capón to the corner chifa in every district, will have chi jau kay on the menu: boneless chicken marinated in soy and ginger, fried in a crisp coating and served under a dark, glossy oyster sauce, scattered with sesame seeds and spring onion. The crust stays crunchy where the sauce hasn't reached and goes sticky where it has. It is shared with arroz chaufa or plain rice and a Chinese soup. The usual misstep is tossing the chicken in the sauce in the pan, which makes it soggy; Lima chifas pour the sauce over at the table. Chef's tip: fry the chicken twice, once to cook and once very hot for a minute to crisp, and it will stay crunchy under the sauce.
Salzburger Nockerl is the dessert Salzburg serves to visitors after a concert or a walk through the old town: three golden, sugar-dusted peaks said to stand for the hills around the city. Under the airy egg-white soufflé is a layer of tart lingonberries or redcurrants, warmed with vanilla milk in the baking dish. It is meant to be shared from the dish and eaten the moment it leaves the oven, before it sinks. This version uses cornflour instead of wheat flour, so it is gluten free. A common mistake is over-folding the yolks into the whites; streaks are fine, and too much stirring makes it collapse. Chef's tip: keep the oven door shut until the end; the peaks are ready when they are golden outside but still creamy inside.
Robiols belong to Easter week in Mallorca, when grandmothers and grandchildren shape them by the trayful alongside crespells and panades. They are soft, crumbly half-moons of pastry with a frilled edge, filled with brossat (a fresh curd cheese like ricotta), cabell d'àngel pumpkin jam or apricot jam, and showered with sugar. Traditional dough uses pork lard; this vegetarian version uses butter and olive oil. Ricotta can be made with or without animal rennet, so check the label if that matters. Chef's tip: keep the dough cool and handle it as little as possible, because a short, tender crumb is what makes a robiol.
Pionono is the flat, springy sponge sheet that Argentine supermarkets sell ready-made for party rolls; at home it takes 10 minutes to bake and makes a far lighter roll. The sweet version, filled with dulce de leche and softly whipped cream, is a birthday and Sunday-tea classic in Buenos Aires and Córdoba, cut into spirals that show off the swirl. Savoury piononos rolled around ham, cheese, tomato and mayonnaise are just as common at parties; this one is the sweet, vegetarian kind. The sponge is a fatless, egg-rich batter that relies on air, so whisk the eggs until they hold a trail for several seconds. Most cracked rolls come from letting the sponge cool flat before rolling. Chef's tip: turn the hot sponge out onto a clean tea towel dusted with sugar, peel off the paper and roll it up in the towel while warm, then unroll to fill once cool; it remembers the shape and doesn't split.
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.
Pica-pau means woodpecker, and that is how you eat it: a crowd round a shared dish in a Lisbon cervejaria, pecking cubes of beef out of the sauce with toothpicks and dunking bread into the rest. The beef is seared quickly, then bathed in garlic, butter, mustard and a splash of white wine, and finished with tangy pickled vegetables. The wine contains alcohol; use stock with a teaspoon of vinegar instead. A common mistake is putting in all the meat at once: it stews grey instead of browning. Chef's tip: cut the beef into small, even 2 cm cubes so every piece browns fast and stays tender.
Purslane grows wild between the tea rows and maize fields of Giresun and Ordu, and in high summer it ends up in pirpirim çorbası, a lemony, slightly tangy soup thickened with cracked wheat and soft white beans. Families make it in big pots on hot days because it is just as good served lukewarm as piping hot. The fleshy leaves turn silky, the bulgur gives a gentle chew and a spoon of yoghurt on top makes it a full lunch. Common mistake: adding the purslane too early so it turns slimy and grey; it needs only 10 minutes. Chef's tip: keep a few raw sprigs back and stir them in at the end for crunch and a fresh green colour.
In Baden, Schäufele ("little shovel") is the bone-in pork shoulder blade, cured and lightly smoked by the butcher, and it belongs on New Year's Eve and family get-togethers. It is gently simmered so the meat stays juicy and rosy from the cure, then sliced thick and served with a warm potato salad dressed with broth and vinegar. Ask a German butcher for a ready-cured Schäufele, or use a cured and smoked pork shoulder joint. Chef's tip: keep the water barely trembling; a rolling boil tightens the meat and squeezes out its juices.
The Pays d'Auge, the green orchard country around Lisieux and Pont-l'Évêque, puts its three great products into one pan here: apples, cider and thick Normandy cream. Chicken pieces are browned in butter, flamed with a splash of Calvados if you like, braised in dry cider with mushrooms and finished with crème fraîche, so the sauce is tangy, gently sweet and pale gold. It is a Sunday lunch dish, served with rice or steamed potatoes and wedges of apple caramelised in butter. The recipe uses cider and optional Calvados; alcohol-free swaps are in the ingredient notes. Chef's tip: choose a dry cider, because a sweet one makes the sauce cloying once it reduces.
Bursa, the city that gave the world İskender, has its own everyday answer for those who don't want doner: pideli köfte, served in workers' lokantas around the Ulu Cami. Small grilled köfte are laid over cubes of soft pide, drenched in a thin tomato sauce, then finished at the table with browned butter poured over so it hisses, with thick yoghurt on the side. It is rich, messy and very satisfying. Chef's tip: warm the pide in the oven before adding the sauce, so it soaks up the juices but keeps some chew.
Farm kitchens in the Cantal and the Aveyron uplands bake pounti as a way to use the garden's chard and a few prunes from the cupboard: a soft savoury loaf, green-flecked and studded with dark sweet fruit, served warm with a salad for supper or cold in slices for a picnic. It is traditionally made with bacon or ham; this version leaves the meat out and adds a little smoked paprika for the same savoury edge. Chef's tip: wring the blanched chard really dry, or the loaf will be soggy in the middle.
Poulaki are the paper-thin golden sugar coins sold by weight in Isfahan's sweet shops, meant to be held between the teeth while you sip strong black tea. The name comes from 'poul', the old word for coin, and Isfahanis serve them with tea to guests at any hour, flavoured with saffron, cardamom or sesame. Only sugar, a little vinegar and spice are needed, but timing matters. A common mistake is pouring the drops too big: they should spread no wider than 4 cm or they stay chewy in the middle. Chef's tip: work on a cold, lightly oiled marble or steel tray, which sets the coins in seconds and keeps them glassy.
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