Grilled fish in coconut tamarind sauce
Samaki wa kupaka is a Swahili coast favourite from Mombasa, Lamu and Zanzibar, grilled over charcoal for family feasts, Eid and evening food markets. Whole fish or thick fillets are marinated with lemon, garlic and turmeric, grilled until charred, then basted again and again with a thick sauce of coconut milk, tamarind, chilli and spices so it forms a sticky, golden coat. This version uses light coconut milk and is suitable as part of a balanced diet; serve with kachumbari and greens, or a small portion of brown rice. About 370 kcal and 8 g carbohydrate per portion. The usual mistake is flipping the fish too soon, before the skin crisps, so it sticks and breaks. Chef's tip: oil the grill rack well and use a fish basket if you have one.
A new country every day, from every cuisine on the site.
Harissa is Tunisia's essential condiment, made in every household from the dried red chillies of Nabeul and Cap Bon, which are hung in strings on house walls in late summer to dry. It goes into lablabi, brik, kafteji, couscous and soups, and is spread on bread with olive oil as a snack. Homemade harissa is brighter and less salty than the tubes. Chef's tip: toast the caraway and coriander seeds only until they smell warm; burnt seeds make the paste bitter.
Linseneintopf is the one-pot lentil stew that German families cook on cold weekdays, and in many school and works canteens it's still the Thursday or Saturday lunch. Brown lentils simmer with potatoes, carrots, celeriac and leek until thick and soft; the finishing touch, all over Germany, is a good splash of vinegar at the table, which wakes the whole bowl up. It's usually made with smoked sausage or bacon; here smoked paprika and vegetable stock give the smoky depth instead. Chef's tip: add the vinegar only at the end, because acid added early keeps the lentils hard.
In Moldavia, on both sides of the Prut, plăcintă means a flat round pie fried or baked on a griddle, and the cheese and dill one is what grandmothers in Iași and Chișinău make for weekend breakfasts and for guests at the door. A soft, stretchy dough is pulled thin, wrapped around salty cheese with fresh dill and egg, coiled into a snail and flattened, then cooked in a pan until blistered and crisp. They are eaten hot with a glass of sour milk or tea. Chef's tip: rest the oiled dough properly so it stretches without tearing; skipping the rest is the common mistake and you'll be fighting a springy dough that leaks its filling.
Litti chokha is Bihar's signature meal, cooked on street corners and at village gatherings over smouldering embers. Litti are rustic wheat balls stuffed with sattu (roasted gram flour) sharpened with garlic, ginger, mustard oil and pickle masala; they bake until crusty outside and crumbly inside. Chokha is a smoky mash of fire-roasted aubergine, potato and tomato with raw mustard oil and green chilli. Together they are filling, protein-rich and deeply savoury. Many Biharis dunk hot litti in melted ghee; for a vegan plate, brush them with mustard oil instead. Chef's tip: roast the aubergine and tomatoes right on a gas flame until the skins are black all over; that charring is the whole flavour of chokha.
No Bolivian table is set without llajwa, the fiery, bright salsa that goes on soups, potatoes, cheese empanadas and anything grilled. In La Paz and Cochabamba it's ground on a batán, a flat grinding stone with a rocking stone on top, which crushes tomatoes and locoto (a fleshy, very hot chilli) into a rough, juicy sauce. The signature herb is quirquiña, with a smell somewhere between coriander and rocket. Chef's tip: no stone? Pound in a mortar or pulse briefly; a blender whips in air and turns llajwa pink and foamy.
Llapingachos come from the central highlands of Ecuador, especially Ambato and the markets of Riobamba, where women fry them by the dozen on huge round griddles. The patties are mashed potato coloured with achiote, stuffed with cheese and spring onion, and browned until crisp. A full plate adds peanut sauce, a lime-dressed onion and tomato salad, avocado and a fried egg (the market version also includes chorizo, left out here). Chef's tip: chill the shaped patties for 30 minutes; cold patties hold their shape and get a better crust.
Borshch is the soup Ukrainians measure every kitchen by: a deep ruby pot of beetroot, cabbage, potato and beans, soured just enough and finished with garlic and dill. Every region argues for its own version, from Poltava's with beans to Kyiv's with apples, and in 2022 the cooking of Ukrainian borshch was added to UNESCO's list of culture in need of urgent safeguarding. Traditionally it is simmered on a pork or beef bone stock; this version uses a well-seasoned vegetable stock and white beans, which is how many families cook it during Lent anyway. Serve it hot with a spoon of sour cream and garlic pampushky, and know that it tastes even better the next day. Chef's tip: fry the grated beetroot with a splash of vinegar before it goes into the pot; the acid fixes the red colour, so the soup stays bright instead of fading to brown.
Lobiani is a round bread stuffed with spiced mashed kidney beans, and in Georgia it belongs above all to Barbaroba, St Barbara's Day on 17 December, when households across the country bake it for neighbours and guests. In the highland region of Racha it is often made with ham; this is the plain bean version that is also baked through Orthodox Lent, so the dough here is made with water and oil and the whole bread is vegan. The filling is soft and peppery with coriander and blue fenugreek, and the crust is thin and chewy. A common mistake is making the bean filling too wet, which turns the dough soggy and makes it burst: the mash should hold its shape on a spoon. Chef's tip: fry the onion for the filling until properly golden, not just soft; its sweetness is what makes the beans taste of something.
Lobio simply means beans, and in Georgia it means this thick, herb-scented stew of red kidney beans, cooked and served in a clay pot (a ketsi or kotani). In Imereti and Racha it is everyday winter food and a mainstay of the Lenten table, eaten with hot mchadi, pickled cabbage or green chillies and a spoon of tkemali. Some of the beans are crushed so the stew turns creamy while the rest stay whole. A common mistake is mashing everything to a purée; crush only about a third. Raw kidney beans must also boil hard for 10 minutes before simmering, or they can make you ill. Chef's tip: stir in the fresh coriander and garlic only at the end, off the heat, so they stay bright and sharp against the soft beans.
Sydney and Wellington both claim the flat white, first poured in their cafés in the mid-1980s, and today it's the everyday coffee across Australia and New Zealand, from Melbourne's laneway cafés to a beach kiosk in Raglan. It's smaller and stronger than a latte: a double shot of espresso topped with milk steamed to a smooth, glossy microfoam with only a thin layer of froth on top, so the coffee stays at the front. It's velvety, rich and sweet-tasting without sugar. For a vegan version, use a barista-style oat milk. Chef's tip: stretch the milk only for the first few seconds, then sink the wand and let it spin; you want paint-like milk, not a hat of stiff foam.
Locro comes from the Andean northwest, from Salta, Jujuy and Tucumán, and today the whole country eats it on 25 May and 9 July, the two national holidays, when it simmers in huge pots at clubs and church halls. Dried white corn, white beans and squash cook down with beef, pork belly and chorizo into a stew so thick a spoon stands up in it. This is a pork dish. It is topped with quiquirimichi, a red oil of paprika, chilli and spring onion. The classic mistake is not soaking the corn and beans overnight; without it they never soften. Chef's tip: stir often in the last hour, scraping the bottom, as the squash breaks down and the locro catches easily.
Locro de papa is Quito's comfort soup, eaten on cold afternoons in the Andean highlands where nights drop near freezing. Potatoes are cooked until half of them dissolve into a thick, achiote-tinted broth, then finished with milk and cubes of fresh cheese that soften into strings. Bowls are crowned with avocado slices and served with ají (chilli sauce) on the side. Ecuador uses two potatoes, a floury one to thicken and a waxy one to hold its shape. Chef's tip: add the cheese off the heat; it should soften and go stretchy, not melt into an oily layer.
In Seoul, bulgogi restaurants still cook it on a domed grill set into the table, with a moat around the edge that catches the sweet juices for spooning over rice. At home it is made in a hot pan, and it is a favourite for family dinners, lunch boxes and birthday tables. Grated Asian pear softens the meat and adds a gentle sweetness to the soy and garlic. Wrap it in lettuce with a little ssamjang, or eat it over rice. Chef's tip: put the beef in the freezer for 30 minutes before slicing; firm meat cuts into wafer-thin slices easily.
Lohikeitto is what Finns cook when they want something warming after a day outside, ladled up in Helsinki lunch cafés and in lakeside summer cottages alike. Chunks of salmon and potato simmer in a light fish stock with leek and allspice, then a little cream turns it pale and gentle and a big handful of dill makes it taste of summer. It takes about forty minutes and is served with dark rye bread and butter. The common mistake is boiling the salmon hard, which turns it dry and stringy; it only needs a few minutes at a bare simmer. Chef's tip: add the salmon last and switch off the heat with the lid on; the fish finishes in the hot soup and stays in juicy flakes.
Okinawa soba has nothing to do with buckwheat: the noodles are thick, chewy and made from wheat, and the dish is the islands' everyday lunch. Small soba shops all over Okinawa serve it in a clear, gentle broth of pork and bonito, and the soki version is crowned with spare ribs braised so long that even the cartilage turns soft. Slices of fishcake, spring onions and red pickled ginger finish the bowl, and every table has a bottle of chilli steeped in awamori to splash on. October 17 is Okinawa Soba Day on the islands. Chef's tip: braise the ribs a day ahead; cold, the fat sets on top of the cooking liquid and lifts off in one piece, and the broth is cleaner for it.
In İzmir and along the Aegean coast, lokma is the sweet of shared moments: families hire a lokma master with a big cauldron to fry hundreds of these golden balls on the street after a funeral or to mark an anniversary, handing them out to anyone passing by, and stalls sell them by the paper cup all year. Each fritter is a little ball of yeasted batter, crisp outside, hollow and soft within, soaked briefly in lemon syrup so it crunches before it melts. This home version needs no eggs or butter, and kids love squeezing out the balls. Eat them warm, on their own or with a sprinkle of cinnamon or crushed pistachios. Chef's tip: dip your spoon or fingers in a cup of water before each ball; the batter then slides off cleanly into round shapes instead of stringy tails.
Kagoshima, at the southern tip of Kyushu, is known across Japan for kurobuta, black Berkshire pork raised on farms in the prefecture. The meat is sweet with soft, clean-tasting fat, and shabu-shabu restaurants in Kagoshima city serve it sliced paper-thin so diners can cook it themselves at the table. Any thinly sliced pork loin or belly works well at home; Asian grocers sell it frozen for hot pots. Each slice is swished through the simmering kombu broth, then dipped in tangy ponzu or creamy sesame sauce. Chef's tip: when the meat is finished, cook a handful of rice or noodles in the leftover broth; it has taken on all the flavour of the pork and vegetables.
Kumamoto's ramen grew from the same Kyushu pork-bone tradition as Hakata's, but it took its own road. The broth blends pork bones with chicken for a rounder, milder soup, the noodles are thicker and firmer, and every bowl is finished with mayu, a black oil made by slowly burning garlic, plus a handful of crisp fried garlic chips. Ramen shops around Kumamoto city and its castle serve it with chashu, wood ear mushroom and a seasoned egg. This version is a long weekend project, but the mayu and the chashu can be made a day ahead. Chef's tip: make the mayu over low heat and keep stirring; the garlic must go slowly from gold to brown to black, which takes about 15 minutes.
The smell of poffertjes drifts across every Dutch kermis (funfair), Christmas market and summer street festival, where they are flipped by the hundred on a cast-iron plate full of shallow hollows. They are tiny, puffy, yeasted pancakes made partly with buckwheat, served a dozen at a time on a cardboard dish with a slab of melting butter and a snowfall of icing sugar. At home you need a poffertjespan, a pan with small round dips; a Danish æbleskiver pan is too deep. Chef's tip: put the batter in a squeeze bottle or a piping bag; filling 30 hollows quickly by spoon is almost impossible, and the first ones burn while you fill the last.
Australians and New Zealanders have argued for a century over who invented pavlova, named after the Russian ballerina Anna Pavlova after her tours of both countries in the 1920s; both make it for Christmas lunch in the height of summer. A good pav has a thin, crisp shell that cracks under the knife and a soft, marshmallowy centre, piled with whipped cream and the sharp fruit of the season, above all passionfruit, kiwifruit and strawberries. Chef's tip: add the sugar one spoon at a time and keep whisking until you can't feel any grains when you rub a little meringue between your fingers.
Gołąbki, little doves, are cabbage leaves rolled around a filling and baked in sauce, and they turn up at name-day parties, weddings and Sunday dinners all over Poland. The best-known filling is pork and rice, but in the east, around Lublin and Podlasie, gołąbki filled with kasza gryczana (toasted buckwheat) and mushrooms are an old meatless version, often made for Christmas Eve and Lent. This one is fully plant-based: nutty buckwheat, fried onion and mushrooms, wrapped in soft cabbage and baked in a sweet-sour tomato sauce. They taste even better reheated the next day. Chef's tip: shave down the thick central rib of each leaf with a small knife; it lets the leaf roll tightly without cracking.
In Jakarta, lontong sayur is what the morning carts sell before offices open: firm slices of pressed rice sitting in a thin, golden coconut broth with chayote, long beans and squares of tofu and tempeh. Betawi families also cook a big pot of it for Lebaran morning. Street versions often add dried shrimp to the spice paste; this one keeps the flavour with candlenuts, galangal and salam leaf instead. Serve with sambal, fried shallots and crackers. Chef's tip: cook the lontong the day before and chill it overnight; cold rice cakes slice cleanly and soak up the broth without falling apart.
Sausage rolls are the snack of Australian bakeries, school canteens and footy grounds, eaten from a paper bag with a squeeze of tomato sauce, and they're on the table at every kids' party from Perth to Hobart, and across the Tasman too. This vegetarian version wraps crisp, buttery puff pastry around a savoury filling of browned mushrooms, lentils, carrot, cheddar and sage, firm enough to slice and with the peppery, herby taste of a good bakery roll. The meat original uses raw seasoned pork or beef mince in place of the filling, as noted in the steps. Chef's tip: cook the mushrooms until they are dry and browned; any leftover liquid will turn the pastry soggy from the inside.
Guatemala's mole is not the savoury Mexican sauce but a dessert: fried sweet plantains bathed in a dark sauce of chocolate, tomato, a gentle dried chilli, sesame, pumpkin seeds and cinnamon. It appears at Christmas and during Semana Santa, and in the market comedores of Guatemala City all year, eaten warm with a sprinkle of toasted sesame. It's sweet, spiced and only faintly hot. Chef's tip: use Guatemalan or Mexican-style table chocolate (grainy, with sugar and cinnamon) if you can find it; with dark eating chocolate, add a little more sugar.
When wild bilberries ripen in the pine forests of Podlasie and Masuria in July, roadside sellers appear with jars of them and half of Poland makes pierogi z jagodami for lunch. The dumplings are boiled, so the berries burst into a hot, purple, jammy filling inside a soft dough, and they are eaten with cold sweetened soured cream and a dusting of sugar. Cultivated blueberries work well; frozen wild bilberries are closer to the original. Chef's tip: toss the berries with potato starch, but add the sugar only on top when you serve; sugared berries weep juice, and that juice is what makes the pierogi burst.
On Wigilia, the meatless Christmas Eve supper, almost every Polish family puts out a plate of pierogi z kapustą i grzybami, sour cabbage and forest mushroom dumplings. The filling is dark and savoury: sauerkraut simmered until soft, then chopped with dried ceps or bay boletes gathered in autumn and onion fried in oil, so the whole dish is plant-based and fits the old fasting rules of the evening. In Kraków and the south they are boiled; in many homes the leftovers are fried crisp on 25 December. Chef's tip: save the mushroom soaking water; a few spoons of it in the filling give far more depth than any stock cube.
In Lebanese homes loubieh bi zeit belongs to the 'bi zeit' family, vegetables cooked in olive oil and served cool, which turn up on the mezze table in summer and fill lunchboxes the next day. Flat runner beans or wide Romano beans are best: they soak up the garlicky tomato sauce and turn silky. It is eaten at room temperature with Arabic bread to mop the oil, and often with a few spring onions and radishes alongside. Chef's tip: cook the garlic only until it smells sweet before adding the beans; browned garlic turns the whole dish bitter.
A lovo is Fiji's earth oven, dug in the ground for weddings, church feasts and Christmas in villages on Viti Levu and Vanua Levu: hot stones are covered with parcels of meat, fish and root vegetables in banana leaves, then buried for hours. This home version wraps chicken marinated in coconut, garlic and ginger with taro, cassava and sweet potato in foil and banana leaves and roasts them slowly, giving the same steamed, smoky-sweet result. The mistake is wrapping loosely, so the steam escapes and everything dries; seal the parcels tightly. Chef's tip: a few drops of liquid smoke or a smoked paprika rub gives a hint of the earth oven.
Lu pulu is a Sunday dish in Tonga, cooked in the umu (earth oven) after church in Nuku'alofa and by Tongan families in Auckland and Sydney: taro leaves are layered into a cup, filled with corned beef, onion and thick coconut cream, wrapped in foil or banana leaf and baked until the leaves melt into a rich, silky parcel. It is served with boiled taro, yam or sweet potato. The mistake is undercooking the taro leaves: they must cook for at least an hour, as raw taro leaves irritate the mouth and throat. Chef's tip: if you can't find taro leaves, use large spinach or silverbeet leaves, cooked for 45 minutes.
Malva pudding is a South African classic with roots in the Cape, served warm after Sunday lunch and at almost every South African restaurant with a pudding menu. A light, caramelised sponge made with apricot jam and a dash of vinegar is baked, then drenched while hot with a buttery cream sauce that it drinks up completely, so it ends up sticky, spongy and toffee-like. It is eaten with custard or vanilla ice cream. Chef's tip: pour the sauce over the pudding the moment it comes out of the oven and give it time to soak in; a cold pudding won't absorb it.
Akara is fried at dawn on street corners across south-west Nigeria, where it is bought hot in paper and eaten with soft agege bread, or dunked into a bowl of warm ogi (fermented corn porridge). It is made from nothing but peeled beans, onion, chilli and salt, whipped until airy, then dropped into hot oil, so the outside turns crisp and craggy while the inside stays soft and light. It is a weekend breakfast at home too, often with custard or pap. Chef's tip: beat the blended bean paste hard for a few minutes before frying; the trapped air is what makes akara puff instead of turning heavy and oily.
Nigerian fried rice sits next to jollof at nearly every party buffet from Abuja to Port Harcourt, its pale yellow colour and confetti of vegetables making the two a classic pair on one plate. It owes nothing to Chinese fried rice: the grains are first boiled in stock with curry powder and thyme, then tossed in a hot pan with small diced vegetables. Party versions often hide liver or prawns; this one stays fully vegetable and serves well with fried plantain, moi moi or a spicy pepper sauce. Chef's tip: cut every vegetable to the size of a pea so they cook in the same couple of minutes and each spoonful gets a bit of everything.
Every Nigerian wedding, naming ceremony and Saturday owambe in Lagos has a giant pot of jollof, and the guests judge it before they judge the bride's dress. The rice is long-grain parboiled rice, cooked in a thick base of fried red peppers, tomatoes and scotch bonnet until every grain is orange, separate and lightly smoky. The prized bit is the slightly scorched layer at the bottom of the pot, which party cooks call the 'bottom pot' flavour. Serve it with fried ripe plantain, moi moi and a crunchy coleslaw. Chef's tip: fry the tomato paste and the blended pepper base hard, until the oil floats on top and the raw, sour smell is gone, before a single grain of rice goes in.
Apfelstrudel is the pride of Vienna's coffee houses, eaten warm in the afternoon with Schlagobers (whipped cream), vanilla sauce or ice cream. The secret is the dough: a soft, oiled dough stretched by hand over a floured cloth on the kitchen table until it is so thin you could read a newspaper through it, then rolled around tart apples, raisins, cinnamon and butter-fried breadcrumbs. It takes practice but not special skill. Chef's tip: fry the breadcrumbs in butter until golden before scattering them over the dough; they soak up the apple juices and stop the bottom of the strudel going soggy.
Ask anyone in Accra and Ghana jollof is the only jollof worth arguing about, a friendly rivalry with Nigeria that plays out at every West African party and all over social media. The difference is real: Ghanaians favour long, fragrant basmati or jasmine rice rather than parboiled rice, a base heavier on ginger and garlic, and a softer, more aromatic finish without the smoky 'bottom pot'. It is served with fried plantain, a fresh salad and shito, Ghana's dark pepper sauce, on the side. Chef's tip: wash the basmati until the water runs clear and keep the liquid tight; fragrant rice turns sticky very quickly if it swims in sauce.
Lucknow's galouti kebab is said to have been created in the kitchens of the Nawabs of Awadh for a ruler who had lost his teeth, and 'galouti' means something that melts. The minced lamb is ground again until it's almost a paste, tenderised with raw papaya, scented with a dozen spices plus rose water and saffron, and fried gently on a flat griddle. In the old city around Aminabad they are sold all day on small, flaky ulte tawe ka paratha with sliced onion and mint chutney, and they are a must at Ramadan iftars. Chef's tip: chill the mixture well before shaping; the patties are meant to be fragile, and a cold mixture is the only way to get them into the pan in one piece.
Rooibos grows only in the Cederberg mountains north of Cape Town, and on hot Western Cape afternoons it is brewed strong and poured over ice rather than drunk hot. The tea is naturally caffeine-free and slightly sweet with notes of honey and vanilla, so it needs little added sugar. Orange, lemon and fresh mint make it a summer jug for the stoep (veranda). Chef's tip: brew the tea double strength and pour it straight over plenty of ice; it chills in seconds and the melting ice dilutes it to the right strength.
Sheermal is a soft flatbread made with milk and ghee instead of water, lightly sweet, and brushed with saffron milk so it bakes to a glossy amber colour. In Lucknow's old quarters like Chowk and Aminabad, bakers still make it in tandoors each morning, and families buy it for Eid, weddings and Ramadan iftar, eating it alongside rich kormas or simply with a cup of milky tea. It sits halfway between bread and pastry. The usual mistake is adding too much flour while kneading because the dough feels sticky; a dry dough gives a tough, crumbly sheermal. Chef's tip: oil your hands instead of flouring the surface, and let the rich dough rise until it is truly doubled.
Sauerkraut is how German households have kept cabbage through the winter for centuries, and autumn is still when families in Baden, Franconia and Alsace shred the new white cabbage into stoneware crocks. It's nothing but cabbage and salt: the salt pulls out the juice and natural lactic acid bacteria do the rest, turning it sour, crunchy and full of flavour in a few weeks. Raw homemade sauerkraut tastes far fresher than the jar and is a lovely side for Kartoffelpuffer or potato mash; for a warm side, simmer it with onion and a grated apple. Chef's tip: weigh the cabbage and use exactly 2% of its weight in salt; too little and it goes soft and mouldy, too much and it won't ferment.
No Argentine asado (barbecue), from a Buenos Aires rooftop to an estancia in the Pampas, is complete without a jar of chimichurri on the table. It is a loose, oily sauce of finely chopped parsley, garlic, dried oregano and chilli flakes in red wine vinegar and oil, sharp and herby rather than smooth like pesto. Spoon it over grilled vegetables, provoleta, halloumi, potatoes and bread. Chef's tip: chop everything by hand and let it sit for a few hours; a food processor bruises the parsley into a green purée and the flavours never settle.
Caldo verde comes from the Minho, the green, rainy corner of northern Portugal above Porto, where couve galega (a tall, flat-leaved cabbage) grows in every back garden. It is a plain purée of potato and onion with ribbons of dark green cabbage cut as fine as string, finished with a thread of raw olive oil, and it is drunk from earthenware bowls at the Santos Populares street festivals in June, at weddings at midnight and on any cold evening with a slice of broa (maize bread). In the north a coin of chouriço is usually floated on top; this version keeps the soup vegetarian and lets a little smoked paprika in the oil stand in for it. Chef's tip: shred the greens as thinly as you can, rolled up tight like a cigar, because they only cook for a few minutes and thick strips stay chewy.
Persian love cake is not an old Iranian recipe but a modern one from the Iranian diaspora, popular in cafés in London and Melbourne, built on the flavours of Persian sweets: almond, cardamom, nutmeg, rosewater and pistachio. The name comes from a story about a woman who baked a spell-binding cake for a prince. It has a crunchy almond base and a soft, moist, yogurt-rich top, finished with rose-scented cream, green pistachios and pink petals, and it is lovely for birthdays and Nowruz tea. Made with ground almonds and no wheat flour, it is naturally gluten free. Chef's tip: press the base layer firmly into the tin; that crunchy bottom is the signature of this cake.
No Filipino party table is complete without a platter of lumpiang shanghai, the pencil-thin pork spring rolls that disappear first at birthdays, Christmas Eve (Noche Buena) and family reunions. They came from the Chinese-Filipino cooks of Manila, and the filling is seasoned minced pork with carrot, onion and water chestnut, rolled tight in thin wrappers and fried until they crackle. Dip them in sweet chilli sauce or banana ketchup. Chef's tip: roll them no thicker than your finger; thin rolls cook through in the time the wrapper takes to turn golden.
Beetroot grows well in the cool hills around Nuwara Eliya and Welimada, and its curry is a jewel-pink regular on lunch packets and home rice-and-curry tables across the island. The beetroot is cut into thin matchsticks and cooked with onion, green chilli, curry leaves and a light, unroasted curry powder, then finished with coconut milk, so it's sweet, mildly spiced and brilliantly coloured. It's a good way to win over people who think they don't like beetroot. One frequent mistake is grating the beetroot, which turns the curry into a wet purée; matchsticks keep a pleasing bite. Chef's tip: add a squeeze of lime at the very end; it brightens the colour and cuts the earthy sweetness.
In Hakata, the old merchant half of Fukuoka, motsunabe is the winter dish of izakayas and back-street restaurants. Soft pieces of beef small intestine simmer in a garlicky soy broth under a tall heap of cabbage and garlic chives, with slices of chilli on top. When the pot is nearly empty, champon noodles go into the rich broth to finish the meal. Many butchers and Asian grocers sell the intestine already cleaned and boiled, which saves time. Chef's tip: keep the white fat on the intestine; as it melts into the broth it makes the soup rich and sweet, which is the point of the dish.
In Korea a 'hot dog' means this: a sausage, often with a stick of mozzarella above it, dipped in a sweet yeasted batter and rolled in breadcrumbs or tiny potato cubes before frying. They are sold from stalls in Myeongdong in Seoul, outside schools and at every busy station, and the cheese pull is half the fun. A roll in sugar straight from the oil, then a zigzag of ketchup and mustard, is the classic finish. Chef's tip: freeze the skewered sausages and cheese for 15 minutes before dipping; the cold cheese holds its shape and the batter grips better.
Profiteroles are a Parisian brasserie dessert: small, crisp choux pastry puffs split and filled with vanilla ice cream, then drowned at the table in warm dark chocolate sauce. The contrast is the point: hot sauce, cold ice cream, crisp pastry. Choux is easier than it looks and needs no special tools, just a wooden spoon and some elbow grease. The puffs can be baked in the morning and filled at the last minute. Check your ice cream is free of gelatine. Chef's tip: bake the puffs until deep golden and firm; taking them out pale is the common mistake and they collapse as they cool.
Lula kebab is the kebab Baku's grill houses are proudest of: minced lamb mixed with onion and a little tail fat, squeezed by hand around wide skewers and cooked fast over charcoal. It comes to the table on thin lavash with sliced raw onion tossed in sumac, grilled tomatoes and a pile of herbs, usually at long family lunches and weddings. The meat is only salted and peppered, so it tastes of lamb rather than spice. Many people skip chilling the mince, and soft warm meat slides straight off the skewer into the fire. Chef's tip: knead and slap the mince against the bowl for a few minutes; it becomes sticky and clings to the skewer.
Lulada is the drink of Cali and the Valle del Cauca, sold in tall glasses from street stalls and juice shops on hot afternoons. Lulo (naranjilla) is a small orange fruit with a green, sour, citrus-like pulp; for lulada it is chopped and crushed by hand rather than blended, then mixed with lime, sugar, cold water and ice, so you drink it with a spoon as much as a straw. Look for frozen lulo pulp or whole fruit in Latin American shops. Chef's tip: crush the lulo with a fork or muddler; blending smashes the seeds and makes the drink bitter.
Madeleines come from Commercy, a small town in Lorraine, where they've been sold in boxes to travellers since the 1700s, and Proust made them famous dipped in lime-blossom tea. These little scallop-shaped sponges are crisp and golden at the edges, soft and buttery inside, and should have a proud hump on the back. French children eat them for goûter, the after-school snack, and they are best within an hour of baking. You'll need a madeleine tin. Chef's tip: chill the batter and the buttered tin before baking; putting room-temperature batter in a warm tin is the common mistake and the madeleines come out flat with no hump.
Vichyssoise is a creamy leek and potato soup served cold, named after the spa town of Vichy and made famous by a French chef in New York in 1917, who based it on his mother's hot potage. In France it's made in hot weather, when a bowl of something cool and silky is all anyone wants, and served in small portions as a starter, sprinkled with chives. It needs only a few ingredients, so the leeks must be cooked gently to keep the colour pale and delicate. Chef's tip: let the leeks soften without browning; colouring them is the common mistake that turns the soup grey-beige and bitter.
Liuzhou, an industrial city in Guangxi, turned its late-night snail noodle stalls into a national obsession, and the smell alone makes luosifen famous: sour fermented bamboo shoots give it a funky, love-it-or-hate-it aroma that fills the kitchen. The broth itself is rich and savoury from pork bones and river snails, red with chilli oil, and the bowl is piled with crunchy fried tofu skin, peanuts, pickled beans, greens and slippery rice noodles. Taste-wise it is hot, sour and deeply savoury all at once. It is a meal in a bowl, best eaten with the window open and a cold drink. Chef's tip: use only snails sold ready-cooked and cleaned, frozen or canned, never wild-gathered ones, and still boil them in the broth for at least 15 minutes; if you can't find them, dried shrimp make a good snail-free broth.
When the sun goes down during Ramadan in Dubai, Sharjah or Muscat, plates of luqaimat appear on iftar tables and in mosque courtyards. The little balls of yeasted batter, scented with saffron and cardamom, are fried until crisp and golden outside and soft as a cloud inside, then drizzled with dibs (date syrup) and scattered with sesame. Unlike syrup-soaked fritters, they are glazed only lightly, so they stay crunchy. Chef's tip: a teaspoon of oil on your thumb and a wet spoon stop the sticky batter clinging, so the balls drop round into the oil.
Fonio is a tiny ancient grain grown in the Sahel and in southern Senegal's Casamance and Fouta regions, where it is steamed like couscous and eaten with a vegetable or peanut sauce. It cooks in minutes and has a light, nutty taste, which has made it popular again in Dakar restaurants. Here it is fluffed with a little oil and topped with a quick stew of courgette, carrot, aubergine and tomato. Chef's tip: wash fonio in several changes of water and drain it in a fine sieve; it often carries fine sand, and gritty fonio is the most common complaint.
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