Roast suckling pig
In Segovia, in the shadow of the Roman aqueduct, restaurants bring out the roast suckling pig whole and carve it with the edge of a plate to show how tender it is, then smash the plate for luck. It is the great Castilian Sunday and celebration lunch, served with a plain lettuce salad and nothing else. This contains pork (suckling pig and lard). At home, half a pig fits in most ovens; ask your butcher to split it. Chef's tip: roast it skin-side down in water first, then flip it, so the meat steams tender before the skin turns to glass.
A new country every day, from every cuisine on the site.
A simple, homely East African dish of butter beans (or kidney beans) tossed with tender cabbage and carrots in butter with deeply browned onions. It's mild, filling and good for every day; the book's Handy Hints note that cabbage is high in fibre and good for digestion. Serve hot with chapati, rice or ugali.
Paturi means 'wrapped in a leaf', and in Bengal the favourite fish for it is bhetki, the meaty barramundi of the Sundarbans estuaries. Fillets are coated in a sharp paste of mustard, coconut and green chilli, tied up in banana leaf and steamed or cooked on a griddle, so they come out moist and fragrant. It is a dish for celebration lunches in Kolkata and is unwrapped at the table over hot rice. Chef's tip: no banana leaves? Use baking paper inside foil; you lose a little aroma but none of the texture.
In Dhaka, the first heavy monsoon downpour sends people home craving bhuna khichuri, and Eid mornings in old Dhaka often start with a pot of it too. Unlike the loose, porridge-like khichdi of north India, the Bangladeshi bhuna version is dry and fluffy: dry-roasted moong dal and short-grain rice are fried in ghee with onions and whole spices until fragrant, then cooked with just enough water so the grains stay separate. Serve it hot with begun bhaja, a bhorta or two and a spoon of pickle. Chef's tip: roast the moong dal in a dry pan until it smells like toasted nuts before you wash it; that roasted note is what makes this khichuri taste of Bangladesh.
In monsoon Indore, when the fields around the city are full of tender maize, sweet shops turn the same corn into halwa: kernels ground coarsely, roasted in ghee until they smell like buttered popcorn, then cooked with milk and sugar until glossy. It is lighter and less cloying than many halwas, with a gentle bite from the corn. Families make it for guests and for small festivals, and it is just as good warm from the pan or at room temperature the next day. Chef's tip: grind the corn in short pulses to a coarse, porridgy texture; a smooth purée turns gluey and sticks.
Bhutte ka kees is a monsoon favourite from Indore in Madhya Pradesh, sold at the city's famous night market, Sarafa. Fresh corn is grated and cooked in ghee with mustard seeds and green chilli, then simmered in milk until it turns thick, creamy and gently sweet. A squeeze of lemon, fresh coriander and grated coconut finish it. Eat it hot with a spoon as an evening snack. Chef's tip: grate the corn off the cob on the coarse side of a box grater rather than blending it; you get juicy, starchy pulp that thickens the milk naturally.
Biang biang mian are the wide, belt-like noodles of Xi'an in Shaanxi, named, some say, after the slapping sound the dough makes as it's pulled and banged on the counter. The written character for biang is one of the most complicated in Chinese. Each noodle is as wide as a belt and chewy; the classic topping is chilli flakes, garlic and spring onion, sizzled with smoking hot oil, then splashed with vinegar and soy. Chef's tip: let the oiled dough pieces rest for at least 30 minutes, longer if you can; relaxed gluten stretches long and thin without snapping.
Biber dolması turns up in every corner of Turkey, from Istanbul meyhanes to village kitchens in central Anatolia, and the olive-oil version without meat is the one eaten cold at summer lunches or packed for picnics. Thin-walled green dolma peppers are filled with rice cooked with onion, tomato, pine nuts, currants and warm spices, capped with a slice of tomato and simmered until the peppers slump and wrinkle. A frequent mistake is packing the filling to the top: leave a finger of space so the rice can swell. Chef's tip: let the peppers cool completely in their pot; the filling firms up and the flavours of mint and allspice come through much more clearly than when hot.
Bubur cha cha is a Nyonya (Peranakan) dessert from Penang and Melaka, cooked in big pots for Chap Goh Meh, the fifteenth night of Chinese New Year, and eaten all year as a sweet soup after dinner or a mid-afternoon snack. Cubes of orange and purple sweet potato and taro float in pandan-scented coconut milk with tiny, glassy sago pearls; the colours are part of the charm. It's soothing, gently sweet and comforting, warm on a rainy evening or cold from the fridge in the heat. Chef's tip: a small pinch of salt in the coconut milk lifts the sweetness and stops it tasting flat.
Duò jiāo, salted chopped red chillies left to ferment in jars, is the backbone of Hunan home cooking, and this ten-minute dish is how many families use it on a weeknight. The eggs are cooked in hot oil until they puff into big soft curds, then tossed back through the bright red chillies, which are salty, sour and very hot. Serve with rice and a green vegetable. Chef's tip: get the oil properly hot before the eggs go in, so they puff and set at once instead of soaking up oil.
In Meizhou, the heart of Hakka country in east Guangdong, tofu stuffed with a meat filling is one of the dishes everyone expects at a family meal or a New Year table. Buddhist Hakka cooks fill it with mushroom, water chestnut and tofu instead, and that vegetarian version is given here. The squares are fried stuffed side down until crisp, then braised briefly so they soak up the sauce. Serve with rice and a plate of greens. Chef's tip: dust each hollow with cornflour before filling; it works like glue and stops the filling falling out.
Frites are a fixture of French brasseries and street stalls, served in paper cones at markets and beside every omelette and salad in Paris cafés. The secret is frying twice: once gently to cook them through, then hot to make them crisp. In Provence, the dip would be aïoli, a thick, garlicky sauce that gave its name to the region's Friday feast. Our aïoli is made the old-fashioned egg-free way, with a little boiled potato to hold the garlic and olive oil together. Children usually prefer it with less garlic. Chef's tip: dry the cut potatoes thoroughly before frying; wet chips are the common mistake that make the oil spit and leave the chips soft.
During the nine dawn masses of Simbang Gabi, from 16 to 24 December, vendors set up outside churches across the Philippines baking bibingka in clay pots with hot coals both underneath and on top. Churchgoers buy them on the way out at 5 am, still steaming in their banana-leaf liners, with a hot drink. The cake is made from rice flour and coconut milk, springy and slightly chewy, with a browned, buttery top covered in salty white cheese, slices of salted duck egg, sugar and grated coconut. This version bakes it in an ordinary oven and finishes it under the grill for that charred top. Chef's tip: warm the banana leaves over a flame for a few seconds until they turn glossy and supple; cold leaves crack and the batter leaks under them.
In Xiamen on the Fujian coast, peanut soup is breakfast, mid-morning snack and late-night treat, sold from steaming pots in the old arcades along Zhongshan Road. The peanuts are cooked so slowly that they become soft and creamy while keeping their shape, and the broth turns milky and lightly sweet. Locals often dunk a fried dough stick into it. Chef's tip: soak the peanuts, then freeze them overnight; the ice crystals break down the cell walls and the peanuts cook to that melting texture much faster.
Bicol, the peninsula at the southern tip of Luzon, cooks almost everything in coconut milk with plenty of chilli, and Bicol express is the pork dish that carries the region's name all over the country (locals often call it sinilihan, 'with chillies'). Pork shoulder is cooked down in coconut milk until the liquid turns to oil and the meat is tender, then finished with coconut cream, long green chillies and a spoon of shrimp paste. It is rich, salty and properly hot. Serve it with lots of plain rice. Chef's tip: let the coconut milk reduce until it 'breaks' and you see the oil; that is when the sauce gets its toasty, deep flavour.
Bienenstich, the 'bee sting', is a sheet cake found in every German bakery: a soft, buttery yeast dough baked under a crackling layer of almonds caramelised with butter, honey and sugar, then split and filled with vanilla cream. The story goes that a bee, drawn to the honey topping, stung the baker. It's a Sunday afternoon cake, at its best on the day it's made. This version sets the filling with cornflour custard folded with whipped cream, no gelatine. Chef's tip: cut the topping layer into portions before you put it back on the cream; the hard almond crust otherwise squeezes all the filling out when you slice it.
From June to September, the markets of Kunming fill up with wild mushrooms from the mountains: porcini, chanterelles, termite mushrooms and dozens more, and restaurants fry them with a lot of garlic and chilli. Wild mushrooms there are always cooked thoroughly, and some kinds are dangerous, so at home use only shop-bought mushrooms. A mix of oyster, king oyster, shiitake and any chanterelles or porcini you can find works well. Chef's tip: cook the mushrooms in a hot, uncrowded pan so they sear; crowded mushrooms sweat and go rubbery.
Lisbon's standing-room snack bars, from the Baixa to the stalls outside football grounds, sell bifanas all day: thin pork steaks simmered in a garlicky, bay-scented sauce and pushed into a soft papo-seco roll with a smear of mustard. It's a pork sandwich, and the pork is traditionally marinated in white wine; for an alcohol-free version use chicken stock with a tablespoon of white wine vinegar. It makes a quick lunch or a late snack. Chef's tip: dip the cut side of the roll into the pan juices before filling it; that's how the bars make them so juicy.
In Xishuangbanna, the tropical south of Yunnan, the Dai people cook sticky rice inside hollowed-out pineapples, so the fruit's juice soaks in while it steams. It turns up at festivals and on every Dai restaurant table, a sweet and tangy side next to grilled and sour dishes, and children love it. Soak the rice for at least 4 hours before you start. Chef's tip: use a ripe pineapple that smells sweet at the base; an under-ripe one makes the rice sour.
The Zhuang people of Guangxi steam this rainbow rice for Sānyuèsān, the festival on the third day of the third lunar month, and for weddings and tomb-sweeping. In the villages the colours come from local leaves and flowers; at home, turmeric, beetroot, blue pea flowers and black rice give the same effect without any artificial dye. It's eaten plain, sprinkled with sugar or with savoury dishes. Soak the rice for 6 hours or overnight. Chef's tip: soak each colour in its own bowl and keep them apart in the steamer, so the colours stay clear.
Every Shanghai noodle shop has this on the menu: oval slices of rice cake, made from pounded rice, tossed in a wok with Shanghai pak choi and mushrooms until chewy and glossy brown. At New Year it's eaten for luck, because niángāo sounds like 'higher every year'. The usual version adds shredded pork, but it's often made with vegetables alone. Look for packs of sliced rice cakes in the fridge or freezer of Chinese supermarkets. Chef's tip: soak the slices in cold water first, so they cook evenly and don't stick together.
Bigos, the hunter's stew, is cooked in huge pots across Poland for Christmas, New Year and the long winter, and every family insists theirs is best on the third reheating. Sauerkraut and fresh cabbage stew for hours with pork shoulder, smoked kiełbasa and bacon, dried wild mushrooms, prunes, juniper and a splash of red wine; it is a pork dish through and through. The wine contains alcohol; for an alcohol-free version use 100 ml apple juice with 1 tbsp cider vinegar. Serve with rye bread or boiled potatoes. Chef's tip: taste the sauerkraut first; if it is very sharp, rinse it once in cold water and squeeze it dry.
On Christmas Eve, in kitchens from Split to Dubrovnik and out on the islands, bowls of fritule are fried by the dozen: small, airy doughnut drops scented with orange and lemon zest and studded with raisins, rolled in sugar while still warm. Many families add a splash of rakija or rum to the batter, but fresh orange juice works just as well and keeps them child-friendly. They are eaten all through Advent and the carnival season, often from paper cones at Christmas markets. Chef's tip: keep the oil at about 170°C; too hot and the fritule brown outside while the middle stays raw and doughy, the most common mistake.
Despite its name, bika ambon belongs to Medan in North Sumatra, where shops on Jalan Majapahit sell it boxed for travellers to take home. A yeasted batter of tapioca, eggs and coconut milk bakes into a cake with a sticky, golden base and long vertical tunnels running through its yellow crumb, perfumed with lemongrass, pandan and lime leaf. It is chewy rather than spongy. Chef's tip: bake it with heat from the bottom first; that is what drives the bubbles upward into the honeycomb.
Bikaner in the Thar desert has made bhujia for well over a century, and the city's version stands apart for its use of moth-bean flour mixed with gram flour. Moth beans, hardy little desert pulses, give the sev an earthy flavour and a brittle, short crunch, while black pepper, black cardamom and a touch of clove add a peppery warmth. Families keep a tin of bhujia for tea time, sprinkle it over poha and chaat, and take boxes home after Diwali visits. A common mistake is making the dough too stiff; it is hard to press and the strands snap. Chef's tip: the dough should feel softer than chapati dough—so soft that a fingertip leaves a smooth dent. Use a sev press with the finest plate.
Tambi ya nazi: soft vermicelli stirred into sweetened coconut milk with crushed cardamom, then baked briefly so it sets lightly. It's creamy, gently sweet and fragrant, and is often made for Eid. Serve hot, sprinkled with more cardamom.
Bingtteok (빙떡) comes from Jeju island, where volcanic soil grew buckwheat and radish better than rice. Thin, almost translucent buckwheat crêpes are rolled around a filling of blanched radish seasoned only with salt, sesame and spring onion. The flavour is gentle and nutty, and it was traditionally brought to funerals, weddings and village gatherings, sometimes with a cup of makgeolli. Today you find it at Jeju's Dongmun and Seogwipo markets beside more fiery snacks. Chef's tip: pour a little batter and swirl the pan fast, or spread it with the back of a ladle; bingtteok crêpes should be so thin you can almost see through them.
On the cold Tibetan plateau, people drink many cups a day of this salty, buttery tea, and a host keeps topping up a guest's bowl as soon as a sip is taken. Traditionally, brick tea is boiled for a long time, then churned with yak butter and salt in a tall wooden cylinder called a chandong. At home, a blender gives the same creamy, frothy result. It tastes more like a light broth than a sweet tea. Chef's tip: boil the tea hard and long; it needs to be very strong to stand up to the butter.
Beijing pastry shops stack these pale yellow cakes high in early summer, when they're eaten for the Dragon Boat Festival and as a cooling sweet on hot afternoons. Peeled mung beans are steamed, mashed with sugar and oil, then pressed in wooden moulds, so each cake comes out with a pattern. Northern versions are dry and crumbly; Suzhou ones further south are oilier. You need a mooncake press or small mould. Chef's tip: cook the paste until it pulls away from the pan in one ball; if it's too wet the cakes slump.
These are one of Tianjin's three famous snacks, named after Erduoyan ('ear hole') Lane, where the original shop opened over a hundred years ago. The dough is soft, slightly fermented glutinous rice, filled with dark, sweet red bean paste and fried until the shell is crisp and blistered while the inside stays chewy. Locals buy them for festivals and as a winter treat. Chef's tip: seal the edges thoroughly and fry at a moderate heat; hot oil makes them burst and spit.
Gallo pinto means 'spotted rooster', for the speckled look of rice tossed with beans, and both Costa Rica and Nicaragua claim it. In Costa Rica it's black beans with plenty of coriander and a tangy brown sauce, served at breakfast with eggs, sour cream and fried plantain; in Nicaragua red beans are fried harder with onion until the rice turns rusty. This version follows the Costa Rican breakfast table and gets its tang from cumin and a little soy sauce. Chef's tip: use rice cooked the day before and keep a cup of the bean cooking liquid; that dark liquid is what colours the rice.
Baleadas are what Hondurans grab for breakfast on the way to work, from street stands in San Pedro Sula to the beaches of La Ceiba on the north coast. A thick, soft flour tortilla, warm from the comal, is spread with refried red beans, sprinkled with dry salty cheese and a spoon of mantequilla (sour cream), then folded in half. A 'baleada sencilla' stops there; add avocado, scrambled egg or fried plantain for a fuller one. Chef's tip: rest the dough balls a full 30 minutes; relaxed dough stretches thin by hand and puffs on the pan instead of shrinking back.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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.
The frappé was invented by accident at the Thessaloniki International Fair in 1957, when a coffee rep shook instant coffee with cold water because there was no hot water to hand. Within a few years it was the drink of every Greek café and beach bar, sipped slowly through a straw for an hour or more. Instant coffee, sugar and a little water are shaken or frothed into a thick, light-brown foam, then topped up with cold water, ice and, if you like, milk. Order it sketos (no sugar), metrios (medium) or glykos (sweet). Chef's tip: use only a splash of water for the first shake; adding all the water at once is the common mistake and you get thin coffee with no foam.
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.
Bambalouni are the big, flat, chewy doughnuts sold hot and wrapped in paper at the top of the blue-and-white village of Sidi Bou Said, outside Tunis, and on beaches all along the coast in summer. The dough is very soft and yeasty; it is stretched by hand into a ring and fried until puffed and blistered, then rolled in sugar. They are best eaten warm with a mint tea. Chef's tip: oil your hands, not the bench, to shape them; floured dough browns too fast and loses its blistered look.
Bamia is on every Egyptian family table from Alexandria to Aswan, usually on a weekday with a plate of vermicelli rice. Chunks of lamb on the bone are simmered until tender, then baby okra is cooked in the rich tomato broth with garlic fried in ghee and fresh coriander, a finish called the ta'leya. The sauce is loose, sweet-sour and silky. The common mistake is cutting the okra pods open before cooking, which lets out the slime; trim only the very top of each cap. Chef's tip: fry the okra briefly in a hot pan before it goes into the stew so it holds its shape and stays bright green.
Late summer in the Damascus and Beirut markets means piles of tiny okra pods, and bamieh, okra stewed in tomato with coriander and garlic, follows on many family tables. This meat-free version is the one Lebanese Christians cook during Lent and serve with vermicelli rice or flatbread. Small, whole pods are the secret: kept intact and seared first, they stay tender without turning slimy, and a squeeze of lemon at the end sharpens the sauce. Chef's tip: trim only the very top of each cap without cutting into the pod; a pierced pod lets the sticky juice escape into the sauce.
Walk the ghats of Varanasi in Uttar Pradesh at dawn and you'll smell kachori sabzi frying in huge karahis. Banarasi kachori is small and puffed like a puri, with soaked urad dal ground with ginger and fennel worked straight into the wholewheat dough rather than stuffed inside. It comes with a thin, peppery potato and tomato rasa made without onion or garlic, scented with hing and fenugreek seeds, and is usually followed by a hot jalebi. Chef's tip: roll the puris evenly to 3 mm and slide them into really hot oil, pressing gently with a slotted spoon; even thickness and fierce heat are what make them balloon.
Walk through the lanes near Dashashwamedh Ghat in Varanasi in the evening and you will see vendors mashing tomatoes and potatoes in large iron pans, cooking them with ghee and spices until thick, then spooning the mixture into small clay cups. Tamatar chaat is unique to Banaras: served hot, spicy, tangy, and finished with a thin sugar syrup and a pinch of chaat masala, then topped with crisp sev for crunch. Locals eat it standing up after the aarti, often followed by a glass of lassi. Many people forget the sugar syrup, but that's what balances the sourness and makes it Banarasi. Chef's tip: use very ripe, soft tomatoes and mash them right in the pan with the back of the ladle, leaving some texture.
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.
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.
Bandeja paisa is the farmhouse feast of Antioquia and the coffee region around Medellín, served on an oval platter so big it barely fits on the table. This is a pork dish: crisp chicharrón (fried pork belly) and chorizo sit next to red beans, white rice, seasoned minced beef, a fried egg, ripe plantain, a small arepa and avocado. Paisas eat it for a long Sunday lunch, and restaurants in Medellín serve it every day. It looks like a lot of work, but most parts can be made ahead and finished together. The mistake most people make is frying the pork belly too hot from the start; it needs to simmer in its own fat first, or the outside burns before the inside turns tender. Chef's tip: cook the beans a day ahead; they thicken and taste better, and the day itself is then only frying.
Guriltai shul is the soup Mongolians eat almost daily in winter, from Ulaanbaatar canteens to herders' gers: strips of mutton simmered with onion, carrot and potato, and thick hand-cut noodles cooked in the broth. It is simple, warming and filling in temperatures that drop far below freezing. The mistake is cooking the noodles too long, so they swell and turn the soup stodgy; they need only 6–8 minutes. Chef's tip: rest the noodle dough well so it rolls thin without springing back.
No word says home cooking in Bangladesh like bhorta: anything boiled, roasted or fried, then mashed by hand with raw mustard oil, sliced onion, green or burnt chillies and coriander. A family lunch in Dhaka or Khulna might set out three or four bhortas in little heaps around a mound of rice, and this page makes the classic trio: aloo (potato), begun (fire-roasted aubergine) and dal (dry-fried red lentil). They share one method, so they live together here. Chef's tip: mash with your fingers, not a fork, rubbing the onion and chilli into the oil first; it bruises them and releases their sharpness into every bite.
Firni is the dessert that turns up in little clay bowls on Eid tables across Bangladesh, especially after the evening meal on Eid-ul-Fitr. It is smoother and thicker than payesh: instead of whole rice grains, coarsely ground rice is simmered in milk until it sets into a silky pudding, scented with cardamom and rose water and scattered with pistachios and almonds. It is served chilled, so it's made a day ahead. Chef's tip: grind the soaked rice to a coarse semolina-like grit, not a fine powder; that slight texture is what makes firni feel rich.
On a Georgian table in July and August the tomato and cucumber salad is not dressed with oil and lemon but with ground walnuts loosened with water and vinegar, so the dressing turns creamy and nutty. You find it in Tbilisi kitchens, in Kakhetian village gardens where the tomatoes come off the vine warm, and next to every khachapuri. It takes fifteen minutes and is best eaten as soon as it is made. A common mistake is salting the tomatoes too early, which floods the bowl with juice and thins the dressing; dress and salt just before it goes to the table. Chef's tip: use purple (opal) basil if you can find it; its clove-like scent is what makes this salad taste Georgian.
Bánh bèo are named after the water fern that floats on Huế's ponds, which the little round cakes resemble. In the city they arrive at the table by the dozen, each still in its own small saucer, topped with pink shrimp floss and spring onion oil. You spoon sweet fish sauce over and scoop each one out in a single mouthful. They're a mid-afternoon snack or a light lunch alongside other Huế rice cakes. Small ramekins, egg poaching cups or a silicone mini-muffin tray all work as moulds. Chef's tip: heat the empty saucers in the steamer for a minute before adding the batter; the cakes then set with the little dimple in the middle that holds the toppings.
Bánh căn comes from Phan Rang on the south-central coast and is now a favourite of chilly evenings in Da Lat, where sellers crouch over charcoal and rows of small clay moulds, cracking a quail egg into each little cup of rice batter. The cakes come out crisp and browned underneath and soft and steamy on top, and are eaten in pairs, dunked in a sweet-sour dipping sauce with shredded green mango and herbs. Most stalls use a fish sauce dip and sometimes add squid or shrimp; this version keeps it vegetarian with a tamari sauce and spring onion oil. Chef's tip: let a little of the cooked rice in the batter go into the blender; it gives the cakes their soft, slightly chewy middle.
In Hanoi, banh cuon shops open early, and the cook sits beside a pot of boiling water stretched over with cloth, spreading batter across it in one sweep and lifting off sheets thin enough to see through. Each sheet is rolled around a little minced pork and crunchy wood-ear mushroom, cut into pieces, showered with crispy shallots and dipped into warm fish sauce. Slices of Vietnamese pork roll and a sprig of herbs often come on the side. At home a lidded non-stick frying pan does the job of the cloth, and once you find the rhythm the sheets come quickly. Chef's tip: make a practice sheet first; the first one is almost always a little too thick, and it tells you how much batter to use.
Weekend visitors from Saigon who drive down to the beach town of Vũng Tàu make a point of eating bánh khọt at open-air stalls, where cooks tend rows of dimpled clay or cast-iron pans over charcoal. The batter of rice flour, coconut milk and turmeric fries into bite-sized cups with a shatteringly crisp base and a soft, custardy top, each finished with a small shrimp and spring onion oil. You wrap them in mustard greens or lettuce with herbs and dip them in sweet-sour fish sauce. At home, an aebleskiver or takoyaki pan works well. Chef's tip: cover the pan for the first minute so steam sets the tops, then uncover so the bottoms crisp in the oil.
Lakeside cafés on the shore of West Lake (Hồ Tây) in Hanoi have sold these fritters for generations, and locals still ride out on cool autumn afternoons to eat them looking over the water. Each one is a nest of sweet-potato matchsticks held together by a thin, turmeric-tinted batter, with a whole small shrimp pressed on top so its shell fries crisp. They come piled on a plate with lettuce, herbs and a bowl of sweet-sour fish sauce dotted with slices of green papaya or kohlrabi. You wrap a piece of fritter in a lettuce leaf with a few herbs and dunk it. Chef's tip: soak the cut sweet potato in cold water for 10 minutes and then dry it really well; washing off the surface starch is what keeps the strands separate and crunchy.
Bánh tráng nướng is the snack of Da Lat's night market, where vendors grill sheets of rice paper over small charcoal braziers, crack on an egg, spread it with a bamboo brush and fold the crackling disc in half to hand over in a paper napkin. Visitors call it Vietnamese pizza. The usual toppings include dried shrimp and sausage; this vegetarian version keeps the egg, spring onion, sweetcorn and crispy shallots, finished with chilli sauce and squiggles of mayonnaise. A dry frying pan does the job at home. Chef's tip: keep the heat low to medium; rice paper scorches in seconds, and it needs time for the egg to set on top while it crisps underneath.
Banitsa is the Bulgarian breakfast pie, bought warm in paper from corner bakeries in Sofia and Plovdiv with a bottle of ayran or boza, and baked at home on New Year's Eve with lucky charms (kasmeti) tucked inside. Crumpled sheets of filo are layered with crumbled sirene and a custard of yogurt and eggs, then baked until the top is shatteringly crisp and the inside soft and tangy. It is not boiled like Turkish su böreği: the yogurt custard is what makes it Bulgarian. Chef's tip: crumple the filo loosely rather than laying it flat; flat, tightly packed sheets are the usual mistake and give a dense, doughy pie.
Bannock is a quick bread of flour, baking powder, fat and water, cooked in a cast-iron pan, baked, fried or wrapped around a stick over a campfire. It's eaten in First Nations, Métis and Inuit communities across Canada, at powwows, family meals and on the land, and every family has its own version. Its history is complicated: wheat flour and lard reached many communities through trade and government rations, and bannock became both a food of survival and a living symbol of community and resilience. Long before that, Indigenous breads were made from local plants and roots. This is a simple home pan version, not any one nation's recipe. Chef's tip: mix only until the dough just comes together; overworking makes bannock tough.
Rafute comes from the cooking of the old Ryukyu court in Okinawa, where pork has long been the most important meat. Thick blocks of skin-on belly are boiled to remove fat, then braised slowly in awamori, the local rice spirit, with soy, bonito stock and the islands' dark brown sugar. Today it is a dish for family celebrations and the Okinawan New Year, a staple of izakayas in Naha, and a topping for Okinawa soba. Expect deep amber pieces that hold their shape but cut with chopsticks. Chef's tip: cook it the day before; chilling lets you lift off the set fat, and the flavour soaks deeper into the meat overnight.
Banosh is the shepherds' dish of the Hutsul highlands in the Ukrainian Carpathians, around Verkhovyna, Kosiv and Yaremche. Coarse cornmeal is stirred into simmering sour cream over a fire until the butterfat beads on the surface, then heaped on plates and crumbled with salty bryndza sheep's cheese and forest mushrooms; tourists queue for it in the mountain kolyba restaurants. Traditionally it is also topped with crisp pork crackling, which this vegetarian version leaves out in favour of extra buttery mushrooms. Bryndza is usually made with animal rennet, so look for a sheep's or feta cheese labelled vegetarian. Chef's tip: stir in one direction only with a wooden spoon, as the Hutsuls insist; it keeps the porridge smooth and helps the fat separate out, which tells you it is ready.
Jushi is Okinawa's seasoned rice, cooked with pork, vegetables and bonito stock. The firm kind, kufa-jushi, is what you find in rice balls at Okinawan supermarkets and alongside soba at lunch counters; a soupy, porridge-like version is cooked as well. On the winter solstice many families make a special jushi with taro root. Pork fat is part of its flavour, so the rice is cooked with a little lard and the belly pork itself. Chef's tip: measure the liquid carefully; the soy and stock replace part of the water, and firm, separate grains are what you want.
Lucknow's cooks built their reputation on restraint: the Awadhi biryani is perfumed rather than fiery, with no tomato, very little chilli and whole spices that whisper instead of shout. Vegetables are cooked in spiced yogurt, layered with long-grain rice that is only three-quarters done, then sealed under a dough lid so everything finishes in its own steam, a technique the city calls dum pukht. It is the dish for Eid gatherings, wedding buffets and long Sunday lunches across Uttar Pradesh, served with a cooling raita and a sliced onion salad. The common mistake is boiling the rice fully before layering; it then turns soft and sticky under the lid instead of separating into long, distinct grains. Chef's tip: lift a grain and press it between your fingers before draining; it should break into two or three firm pieces with a white core.
Kashata ya nazi is a simple Swahili sweet of desiccated coconut cooked with milk, sugar, evaporated milk and cardamom until thick, then pressed into a dish and cut into diamonds. It's chewy and sweet, and it keeps well. Store in an airtight container.
Bariis iskukaris ('rice cooked together') is the centre of the table at Somali family lunches, Friday gatherings and Eid, from Mogadishu to Hargeisa and Somali neighbourhoods in Nairobi, Minneapolis and London. Long-grain rice is cooked in one pot with onion, tomato and the house spice mix xawaash, and topped with fried onions and raisins; it is usually crowned with goat, but this version cooks carrots, peas and potatoes into the rice. In true Somali style, serve it with a banana on the side and a spoon of green basbaas. Chef's tip: rinse and soak the basmati so the grains stay long and separate.
Upperi, the yellow raw-banana chips of Kerala, are fried in huge cauldrons in the snack shops of Kozhikode and Thrissur and handed round in bags at every Onam sadya, where they are one of the first things laid on the leaf. Green nendran bananas are sliced straight into hot coconut oil, and a splash of salted water goes in at the end, so the salt clings to every chip. The result is crisp, golden and faintly sweet, with that unmistakable coconut-oil smell. Chef's tip: rub a little oil on your hands before peeling the bananas; the sap stains skin and is very hard to wash off.
In Georgetown bakeries, cheese rolls sit in the glass cabinet next to pine tarts and patties, and no Guyanese birthday party is complete without a tray. Short, buttery pastry is rolled around a sharp cheddar filling seasoned with mustard and hot pepper, then baked until the cheese bubbles out of the ends and crisps. They're eaten warm or at room temperature with a cold drink. Chef's tip: keep the butter and water ice-cold and handle the dough briefly; that's what gives flaky layers rather than a hard biscuit.
Chechebsa (also called kita firfir) is a breakfast from the Oromia and Wollo regions now loved all over Addis Ababa: a thick wheat flatbread is cooked on a griddle, torn into pieces and tossed in niter kibbeh and berbere, then eaten with honey and a dollop of ayib or yoghurt. It is rich, warming and quick. For a fasting (vegan) version, toss the bread in spiced oil instead of niter kibbeh and skip the yoghurt and honey or use date syrup. Chef's tip: tear the bread while hot with two forks; cold flatbread goes tough and won't soak up the butter.
Chow mein arrived in Guyana with Chinese immigrants in the 1850s and became a party staple: at birthdays and weddings in Georgetown it sits in a huge tray beside fried rice and cook-up. Guyanese chow mein is a little sweeter and darker than Chinese versions, coloured with soy sauce and a touch of browning (burnt sugar), with long bora beans, cabbage and plenty of garlic, plus a hit of wiri wiri pepper. Chef's tip: cook the noodles until just tender, rinse them cold and toss with a little oil; dry, separate noodles fry without clumping.
Barszcz czerwony wigilijny is the clear, ruby-coloured beetroot broth that opens the Christmas Eve supper in most Polish homes, from Warsaw to Wrocław. It is not the thick vegetable soup of Ukraine but a sipping broth, sweet, sour and earthy, sharpened with beetroot kvass or lemon and deepened with dried forest mushrooms; on 24 December it is served with tiny mushroom dumplings called uszka, and through winter people drink it from mugs alongside a croquette. It is fully plant-based, as the Wigilia table traditionally is. Chef's tip: once the beetroot is in, never let the soup boil hard; a bare simmer keeps the colour bright, and boiling turns it a dull brown.
Gata is the sweet bread Armenians bake for Candlemas (Trndez) in February and for New Year, often with a coin hidden inside for luck; whoever finds it is set for the year. Every region shapes it differently, but the best-known are the large golden rounds sold by women at the roadside near Garni temple and Geghard monastery, cut into wedges for the drive home. Inside a tender, slightly flaky dough made with matsun (yogurt) and butter is khoriz, a sweet crumble of flour, sugar and butter that bakes into a soft, sandy layer. Eat it with black coffee or tea. Chef's tip: roll the dough thin and fold the khoriz inside like an envelope before rolling again; the folding creates layers so the gata is light rather than doughy.
From the mountain towns of Huizhou in southern Anhui comes a fish with a famous smell: mandarin fish lightly fermented for days, then braised with pork belly and bamboo shoots until the flesh separates into firm, almost garlic-clove-like flakes with a savoury, cheesy depth. Traditionally the fish ferments in a barrel at room temperature, which is not safe to copy at home. This version gives the same firm texture and a gentle tang by salt-curing the fish in the fridge for 1–2 days, never at room temperature; it is milder than the real thing. Serve it in its sauce with plenty of rice. Chef's tip: dry the cured fish very well before it goes into the pan, or the skin sticks and tears.
In the villages below the Huangshan mountains of Anhui, pigeon slowly stewed with Chinese yam in a clay pot is a classic nourishing dish, given to people recovering from illness and served to guests in cold weather. The broth is clear, light and gingery; the dark, rich squab turns tender enough to pull off the bone, and the yam goes soft and slightly creamy. Bring the pot to the table and eat the meat with rice, sipping the broth between mouthfuls. Squab is sold by good butchers and Asian grocers, often frozen. Chef's tip: wear gloves when peeling the yam; its sticky juice makes many people's hands itch.
Jinan restaurants have served this Shandong classic for more than a century, and its name, 'nine turns', borrows from Taoist alchemy to praise how many times the flavour seems to change on the tongue. Sections of pork intestine are cleaned thoroughly, simmered until tender, fried golden and then braised in a dark glaze that is sweet, sour, salty, peppery and gently spiced all at once, finished with a dusting of cinnamon and white pepper. The texture is soft and rich with a slight chew. It is banquet food in Shandong, eaten with plain rice or steamed buns and a green vegetable. Chef's tip: buy intestines already cleaned by a butcher if you can; you will still give them a wash, but the hard part is done.
On Jinan's banquet tables a whole carp, its tail curled up as if leaping the Dragon Gate on the Yellow River, is a wish for success, so it turns up at weddings, exam celebrations and New Year. The fish is scored deeply, coated in a thin starch batter and fried until the skin crackles, then a hot glaze of sugar, vinegar and soy is poured over so it sizzles at the table. Inside, the flesh stays white and moist. Serve with steamed rice and a stir-fried green vegetable. Chef's tip: carp has fine bones, so if you are cooking for children use sea bass or tilapia; the method is the same.
Charquicán is old Chilean country food: a thick mash of pumpkin and potato with corn and peas, once made with charqui, the dried meat of the Andes. In the south and in Santiago homes it's a winter weeknight dinner, served in a deep plate with a fried egg on top and pickled onions or a simple salad. Without the meat it's still rich and smoky with merkén (smoked chilli) and paprika. Chef's tip: mash only roughly at the end; charquicán should have soft chunks, not be a smooth purée.
For generations, travellers passing through Dezhou station in Shandong bought this chicken in a paper wrap from the platform sellers, and boxes of it are still a favourite gift to take home. A whole bird is trussed with its legs tucked into the body, glazed and fried to a reddish gold, then barely simmered for hours in a stock of soy and a dozen spices. The result is fragrant, savoury and so soft that a gentle shake loosens the bones. Eat it warm or cold, torn into pieces, with steamed buns, a cucumber salad or plain congee. Chef's tip: keep the stock at the barest shiver, never a boil; that is how the skin stays whole while the meat turns meltingly tender.
Chashushuli is a fiery beef stew from the home kitchens and Tbilisi taverns of eastern Georgia, cooked in a clay ketsi pot or a heavy pan and eaten with shoti bread. Beef simmers slowly with lots of onion and tomato, then gets a hit of garlic, chilli, khmeli suneli and fresh coriander right at the end. It is meant to be spicy, but you can halve the chilli. Chef's tip: cook it until the sauce is thick enough to scoop with bread; Georgians do not eat it like soup.
Chatamari is a thin, round crêpe of rice flour that Newar cooks in Patan, Bhaktapur and old Kathmandu make on a covered griddle, so the topping steams on top while the base turns crisp underneath. It is sometimes called Newari pizza, which says something about how it's eaten: cut into wedges, hot, and shared. It is a festival and teahouse snack, served at Newar feasts and in the small eateries around Patan Durbar Square. The classic topping is a cracked egg spread over the batter with onion, tomato and coriander, and this vegetarian version keeps the egg; leave it out and add more vegetables if you prefer. The common mistake is to pour the batter too thick; it should be as thin as single cream so it cooks through before the edges burn. Chef's tip: swirl the batter with the back of a ladle in a spiral from the centre outwards, so it sets in an even, lacy layer.
Chatini pomme d'amour (tomato chutney) is on the side of every Mauritian plate of rice, dholl puri and farata. In Creole and Indo-Mauritian homes it is crushed by hand on the roche carri, the island's flat grinding stone, so the tomato turns juicy while the onion and coriander stay fresh. Unlike kachumbari it is crushed rather than chopped, with raw garlic and a spoon of oil. Chef's tip: crush the garlic and chilli to a paste first, then the tomato; otherwise you bite into raw garlic pieces.
Chebakia are the dark, sticky, flower-shaped cookies that every Moroccan family associates with Ramadan; women in Fez, Meknes and Casablanca spend a whole day in the weeks before the holy month folding hundreds of them, and they are served at iftar with harira and dates. The dough is scented with anise, cinnamon, saffron and toasted sesame, cut into rectangles, folded into a rose, fried and dropped straight into hot, perfumed honey. They are crisp, chewy and very sweet. Chef's tip: work in small batches and keep the honey hot but not boiling; hot honey soaks in properly, while cool honey just coats the outside.
Every spring, when Spanish mackerel run off the Shandong coast, Qingdao families fill the kitchen table with flour and fish for these large boiled dumplings; restaurants by the harbour serve them by the plate all year. The filling is whipped with peppercorn-infused water until it turns light and almost mousse-like, with chives for freshness and a little fatty pork for richness. Bitten open, they are juicy, briny and sweet rather than fishy. Eat them straight from the pot with black vinegar and crushed garlic, with a pot of jasmine tea. Chef's tip: if you can't find Spanish mackerel, ordinary mackerel or a mix of mackerel and cod works well.
Gatte ki sabzi comes from the deserts of Rajasthan, where fresh vegetables were scarce and cooks turned gram flour into 'vegetables' instead. Firm, spiced besan rolls are boiled, sliced into little wheels and then simmered in a tangy yogurt gravy until they soak up its flavour. The dumplings are soft but hold their shape and the gravy is gently sour with a warming heat. Serve with phulka, bajra roti or steamed rice. Chef's tip: keep the cooking water from the gatte and use it for the gravy; it carries their flavour and a little starch that helps keep the yogurt from splitting.
When the first cold winds blow through Beijing, old restaurants around Dongcheng light their chimney-shaped copper pots and diners start swishing paper-thin lamb through plain, gently bubbling water. Unlike fiery Sichuan hot pot, this one is all about the meat: the broth stays clear and mild, and the flavour comes from a creamy dip of sesame paste, fermented tofu and chive flower sauce. Everyone cooks their own slices for a few seconds, then adds cabbage, tofu and glass noodles to the pot as the evening goes on. It is a slow, sociable meal for winter weekends, with sesame flatbreads on the side. Chef's tip: half-freeze the lamb for 1–2 hours and it slices thin as paper with a sharp knife; or buy ready-rolled hot-pot lamb from an Asian grocer.
Chelow is the plain, fluffy steamed rice at the centre of almost every Iranian lunch table, and tahdig ('bottom of the pot') is the crisp golden crust that forms underneath it. In homes from Tehran to Isfahan the pot is turned out at the table and the shards of tahdig are fought over before anyone touches the stew. The method is the master one for all Persian polo dishes: long-grain rice is soaked, boiled briefly, then steamed slowly under a cloth-wrapped lid so every grain stays separate and long. This page gives a yogurt-and-saffron tahdig, with potato and flatbread versions in the steps. Serve it with ghormeh sabzi, a yogurt dip and fresh herbs. Chef's tip: turn the heat up for the first 10 minutes until you hear a steady sizzle, then right down; that early burst is what sets the crust.
Tianjin people queue on winter mornings for these small steamed buns, famous since the 1850s for their many fine pleats and for the burst of savoury juice inside. The filling is minced pork beaten with ginger and spring onion water until it holds a surprising amount of liquid, so the first bite is soupy and the soft, slightly springy wrapper soaks up the rest. Bakers aim for 18 pleats arranged like a chrysanthemum. Eat them hot for breakfast with a dish of vinegar, crushed garlic and a bowl of millet porridge or soy milk. Chef's tip: use pork with about 30 per cent fat; lean mince gives dry, crumbly filling however much water you add.
Cheung fun are the slippery rice-noodle rolls of Guangdong. In Guangzhou you see them steamed to order on cloth-lined trays at breakfast stalls, and at dim sum they arrive in a pool of sweet soy. This home version uses a flat tray in a wok, and fills the rolls with shiitake, Chinese chives and beansprouts. Chef's tip: stir the batter every time before you pour; the starch sinks in seconds, and an unstirred batter gives a thin, torn sheet.
Chhanar dalna is how Bengal uses its fresh chhena, the same curd cheese that goes into rasgulla and sandesh, for a savoury lunch. Freshly split milk is kneaded with a little flour, pressed, cut into squares and fried, then simmered with potato in a thin, gingery tomato gravy scented with bay leaf and cardamom. It is lighter than a North Indian paneer curry and is a favourite on Thursdays and niramish days in Kolkata homes. Chef's tip: knead the chhena with your palm until it feels smooth and slightly greasy; that is what holds the cubes together in the gravy.
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