Bottle gourd balls in gravy
Lauki kofta is how North Indian mothers in Punjab and Uttar Pradesh smuggle the humble bottle gourd onto a party table: the gourd is grated and squeezed, bound with gram flour, fried into soft balls and slipped into an onion-tomato gravy. It is a Sunday-lunch and dinner-party curry with phulka, jeera rice or laccha paratha. The classic mistake is not squeezing the lauki hard enough; wet mixture splutters in the oil and the koftas fall apart. Chef's tip: save the squeezed lauki juice and use it in place of water in the gravy, so none of its flavour is wasted.
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Kachumbari is the raw salad that goes with nearly everything in Kenya and Tanzania: nyama choma grills in Nairobi, pilau on the Swahili coast, chips mayai at roadside stalls and ugali at home. It is simply ripe tomato and red onion cut small, with coriander, chilli and lime, and sometimes cucumber or avocado. Chef's tip: soak the sliced onion in salted water for ten minutes; it takes away the harsh bite without losing the crunch.
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.
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.
All over India, fruit sellers with handcarts chop a plate of fruit chaat to order, and in Kolkata the evening carts near New Market and Gariahat pile guava, apple, papaya, banana, pomegranate and cucumber into a leaf bowl with chaat masala, black salt and lime. During Ramzan it appears at iftar, and in summer it is sold with a sprinkle of chilli. It is sweet, salty, sour and a little hot all at once, so it tastes nothing like a dessert fruit salad. Chef's tip: use at least one crunchy fruit (guava, apple or pear) and one soft one (banana or papaya) for contrast.
Chunky skewers of pineapple, banana, strawberry, peach and nectarine drizzled with balsamic vinegar and dark muscovado sugar, then grilled over charcoal until the sugar caramelises. Warm, sticky and a little tangy. Serve hot as a barbecue dessert, with ice cream if you like.
Fry jacks are the smell of a Belizean morning: in Belize City and the Cayes, breakfast spots fry these squares and triangles of dough until they balloon up hollow and golden. They come beside refried beans, scrambled eggs and cheese, or torn open and drizzled with honey or jam. They're lighter and puffier than a doughnut, crisp outside and chewy within. Chef's tip: roll the dough thin, about 3 mm, and slit each piece once in the middle; that's what makes them puff like a pillow.
Champuru means 'mixed up' in Okinawan and is the islands' everyday stir-fry. Goya champuru with bitter melon is the famous one; fu champuru, made with chewy wheat gluten, is the gentle, child-friendly version many Okinawan families cook several times a week. The fu, large dried rings called kurumabu, is soaked, squeezed and dipped in beaten egg, so as it fries it turns soft, fluffy and golden, a little like French toast. Home cooks often add luncheon meat; ours is vegetarian, with shiitake for savouriness. Serve with rice and miso soup. Chef's tip: squeeze the soaked fu hard before adding the egg. Dry fu drinks up all the egg; wet fu turns soggy.
Fuchka is Bangladesh's answer to pani puri, but with its own character: in Dhaka the crisp shells are filled with a coarse mash of potato and yellow peas sharpened with raw onion, chilli and coriander, then dipped in or splashed with a sour tamarind water rather than a mint-heavy one. Stalls along Bailey Road and at every fair sell them by the plate of eight, often with a little extra chopped chilli for those who dare. Chef's tip: make the tamarind water ahead and chill it hard; ice-cold sour water against a crisp shell is what you're after.
Fugazzeta is a Buenos Aires original from the pizzerias of the Corrientes and La Boca neighbourhoods, where Genoese immigrants' focaccia (fugazza) met mozzarella. A thick, soft pan dough is filled with a layer of mozzarella, sealed with a second layer of dough, then covered with a mound of thinly sliced onions and more cheese and baked until the onions are sweet and golden. It's a big, rich pizza to share. Use mozzarella made with vegetarian rennet. Chef's tip: salt the onions and squeeze them out before using; this keeps the pizza from going soggy.
Gâteaux piments ('chilli cakes') are the snack of Mauritius, sold hot in paper bags at every bus station, school gate and market from Port Louis to Rose-Hill, and stuffed into buttered baguettes at breakfast. Yellow split peas are soaked, ground coarse with chilli, spring onion and coriander, and fried into small crunchy rounds. They are related to Indian vadas, brought by the island's Indian community. Chef's tip: grind the peas coarsely and without water; a smooth, wet paste makes dense, oily fritters.
Ful mudammas is breakfast on both sides of the Levant: Cairo's street carts ladle it from huge copper pots at dawn, and in Beirut and Damascus small ful shops serve it on Sunday mornings to queues of families. Small brown fava beans are warmed in their liquid, partly crushed, then dressed at the table with garlic pounded with salt, plenty of lemon and cumin, a pool of olive oil and a heap of chopped tomato and parsley. Scoop it with flatbread and eat it with raw onion wedges, radishes, olives and mint. The mistake most people make is draining the beans and dressing them dry; the cooking liquid is what makes ful creamy, so keep some. Chef's tip: mash only about a third of the beans, so the dish is part silky purée and part whole bean.
Antiguans eat fungee and pepperpot on Saturdays and on holidays like Independence Day in November, and grandmothers still turn the fungee with a flat wooden 'fungee stick'. Pepperpot is a thick stew of beef, spinach, aubergine, okra and squash cooked down until the vegetables melt together; many cooks also add salted pig tail, which is left out here. The fungee is a smooth cornmeal and okra mash, shaped into balls with a buttered bowl and served beside the stew. The mistake people make is tipping the cornmeal in all at once, which makes lumpy fungee; add it in a slow stream while stirring hard. Chef's tip: pour off half the okra water before adding the cornmeal and keep it hot; you can work it back in if the fungee gets too stiff.
In Uttar Pradesh, people joke that kathal is the vegetarian's mutton, and the comparison makes sense once you taste it. Young, unripe jackfruit has a firm, fibrous texture that absorbs a slow-cooked onion masala and the smoky warmth of black cardamom. Lucknow and Kanpur homes cook it in summer when the green fruit is plentiful, and it is a common choice for Sunday lunches and family gatherings, served with paratha or rice. The mistake to avoid is undercooking the jackfruit before adding it to the masala; it will remain rubbery no matter how long it simmers afterward. Chef's tip: frying the boiled pieces until golden before they go into the gravy gives them a meaty crust that holds up in the sauce.
Across Vietnam, from Hanoi apartments to Mekong Delta farmhouses, a small pot of something braised in caramel and fish sauce sits on the family table at dinner with rice, a plate of boiled greens and a clear soup. This chicken version leans on ginger, cut into fine matchsticks so it turns soft and warming in the glossy, salty-sweet sauce. It's a favourite when the weather cools, traditionally cooked in a clay pot, though any heavy pan will do. It reheats well, so it's a good one for the next day's lunch. Chef's tip: take the caramel to the colour of strong tea, deep amber, before the chicken goes in; that slight bitterness is what keeps the dish from tasting sugary.
In Jakarta, gado-gado is lunch from a pushcart: the Betawi seller grinds the peanut sauce to order on a stone ulekan, then tips blanched greens, potato, tofu, tempeh and egg into it and mixes everything by hand. The name roughly means "mix-mix", and that is how it's eaten, with every vegetable coated in a sauce that's nutty, sweet from palm sugar, sour from tamarind and as hot as you ask for. It's a full meal on its own, crunchy with emping or rice crackers on top. Chef's tip: loosen the peanut sauce with warm water only at the end and stop when it coats a spoon like custard; too thin and it slides off the vegetables and pools on the plate.
Brought to Lampang and Chiang Mai by Burmese teak traders in the 1800s, this coconut-free curry is now the dish Northern families cook for temple fairs, weddings and Songkran, often a day ahead in a big pot. Chunks of pork belly and shoulder braise slowly until they almost fall apart in a dark, glossy sauce that tastes of ginger, garlic and warm spices, sharpened with tamarind and rounded with palm sugar. It should be thick enough to cling to the meat rather than soupy. Serve it with steamed jasmine or sticky rice and a crisp cucumber salad. Chef's tip: make it the day before; overnight in the fridge the flavours settle and the fat sets on top so you can lift some off before reheating.
Across upper Assam, among the Tai Ahom, Mising and many tea-garden families, pork with fermented bamboo shoot is the dish that turns any gathering into a feast. The bamboo shoot gives a sour, almost cheesy tang that cuts through the rich pork, and a little bhut jolokia (ghost pepper) brings slow heat. It is cooked with very little oil because the pork fat does the work, and is served with rice and a leafy side. Chef's tip: choose shoulder or belly with some fat on; lean loin turns dry and stringy here.
Every Cantonese table needs a plate of greens, and gai lan (Chinese broccoli) is the favourite in Guangdong homes and Hong Kong cha chaan teng. The stems are thick, sweet and slightly bitter, the leaves soft. Restaurants blanch it and pour oyster sauce on top; here a mushroom-based vegetarian oyster sauce gives the same dark gloss and savouriness. Chef's tip: add a spoon of oil and a pinch of sugar to the blanching water; the oil keeps the greens bright and shiny, and the sugar softens the bitterness.
Hat Yai, the busy trading city in Songkhla province near the Malaysian border, gave its name to Thailand's best-loved fried chicken: pieces marinated with coriander root, garlic and white pepper, fried in a thin rice-flour coat until deep bronze, then buried under a drift of crisp fried shallots. Stalls there sell it from early morning with sticky rice and sweet chilli sauce, and Bangkok vendors copy it on every soi. The skin is light and crackly rather than bready, the meat aromatic and well seasoned, and the shallots add sweetness and crunch. Children love it with the sauce on the side. Chef's tip: marinate overnight in the fridge so the coriander root and pepper reach right to the bone.
Bus stations and football matches across Isan have the same soundtrack: the crackle of chicken pieces clamped in split bamboo over glowing coals, and the thump of a pestle making som tam beside them. Gai yang is marinated in garlic, coriander root, white pepper and lemongrass, then grilled slowly so the skin turns lacquered and smoky while the meat stays juicy. Tear it apart with your hands and eat it with sticky rice, green papaya salad and a sour-hot jaew dipping sauce. Chef's tip: leave it in the marinade overnight in the fridge; the lemongrass and garlic need hours to get past the skin.
Galaktoboureko is the grand dessert of Greek pastry shops: a thick layer of silky semolina custard baked between sheets of buttered fillo, then soaked with cold lemon and cinnamon syrup the moment it leaves the oven. It's bought by the tray for Sunday lunches, name days and Easter, and eaten slightly warm or at room temperature with coffee. The top shatters, the syrup pools at the edges and the custard stays creamy. It takes patience but no special skill. Chef's tip: pour cold syrup over the hot pie (or hot over cold), never hot on hot; that common mistake leaves the pastry soggy instead of crisp.
Eight small pizzas on a soft yogurt dough made with half wholewheat flour, spread with hot pizza gravy and loaded with capsicum, pineapple, onion, mushrooms, olives, sweetcorn, chilli flakes and both mozzarella and cheddar. The bases can be baked ahead and topped when the guests arrive. Cut into quarters and serve hot.
Kadu borani is the dish that wins over people who think they don't like pumpkin. In Afghan homes, especially in autumn around Kabul and Kandahar when the big orange squashes come in, wedges of pumpkin are browned, then braised with tomato, a little sugar and warm spices until sticky and caramelised, and served on garlic yoghurt with dried mint. The mix of sweet, savoury and sour is the point. Eat it with naan or as part of a spread with rice. Chef's tip: use a dense, deep-orange pumpkin or butternut squash; watery pumpkins fall apart and turn bland.
In every crêperie in Brittany, from Rennes to Quimper, the first thing most people order is the complète: a lacy buckwheat galette folded square around ham, melted cheese and an egg, eaten for lunch or a casual dinner with a bowl of dry cider. Contains pork (ham). The batter is just buckwheat flour, water, salt and an egg, so the galette has no wheat; some buckwheat flour is milled alongside wheat, so check the packet if you avoid gluten. A cup of apple juice is a good alcohol-free partner. Chef's tip: rest the batter for at least 2 hours, or overnight in the fridge; it thickens and the galettes cook up thinner and crisper.
Galho is Nagaland's comfort food, a soft, loose rice porridge cooked with seasonal vegetables, greens, ginger and chilli, sometimes thickened with a spoon of fermented soybean (axone). In Kohima homes it is the dish for cold evenings and for anyone unwell, and in restaurants it is often made with pork; this vegetarian version uses mushrooms and axone for savour. It sits somewhere between khichdi and congee, thick but spoonable. Chef's tip: stir only occasionally; galho should be soupy with distinct grains, not a smooth paste.
Käsespätzle is the cheese-and-noodle dish of Swabia and the Allgäu in the far south of Germany, served in mountain huts after a day's walking or skiing and in every village inn from Stuttgart to Oberstdorf. Freshly made spätzle, soft, irregular egg noodles, are layered hot with grated Bergkäse or Emmental until the cheese melts into long strings, then crowned with onions fried slowly until brown and sweet. A green salad with a sharp vinegar dressing is the classic partner. Use cheese made with vegetarian rennet; many mountain cheeses use animal rennet, so check the label. Chef's tip: layer the spätzle and cheese while both are piping hot, straight from the pot, so the cheese melts in the gaps instead of sitting on top in a rubbery sheet.
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.
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