Proof that a meat-free taco night can be the best one. The beans are mashed with chipotle and cumin so they hold together in the tortilla, and a quick lime slaw adds crunch.
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Golden fritters of coarsely ground black-eyed bean and green gram lentils with fenugreek, spinach, coriander, spring onion and chilli. They're crunchy outside and fluffy inside, and they go into Zanzibar mix and Coastal Mombasa mix too. Serve hot with coconut chutney.
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.
Kaimati are bite-size Swahili doughnuts: a yeasted cardamom and coconut batter dropped by the spoonful into hot oil, then dipped in a fragrant saffron, cardamom and rose syrup while still hot. They're crisp outside and soft inside. Serve with tea.
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.
Mbaazi wa nazi: soft pigeon peas cooked in thick coconut milk with onion, raw mango, ginger-chilli paste and a pinch of turmeric until creamy. It's mild, rich and comforting. Serve with mamri (mandazi) for the classic Swahili pairing.
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.
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.
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.
Basanti pulao, the 'spring-coloured' pulao, is cooked in Bengali homes for Poila Baisakh (the Bengali new year), weddings, Jamai Shashthi and pujas. It is made with gobindobhog, a short-grain, buttery-smelling rice from Bengal, cooked in ghee with whole spices, turmeric, sugar, cashews and raisins until each grain is glossy and separate. It is distinctly sweet, and is served with aloo dum, chhanar dalna or, in non-vegetarian homes, kosha mangsho. Chef's tip: wash the rice and spread it on a cloth for 30 minutes; dry grains fry in the ghee without breaking.
Basbaas means chilli in Somali, and basbaas cagaar, the green sauce, is on every Somali table, spooned over rice, pasta, sambuusa and grilled food. It is sharp, hot and fresh, and every family has its own balance of chilli, coriander and lime; some add a tomato to soften it. Make a jar and keep it in the fridge all week. Chef's tip: add the lime juice to the blender before the chillies; the acid keeps the sauce bright green.
A big tawa of potato cubes tossed with a fragrant tempering of mustard, cumin, coriander seeds, aniseed, cloves, cinnamon and black pepper, then onions, ginger, garlic and two kinds of chilli. It's hot, aromatic and great as a barbecue starter. Swap the potatoes for steamed paneer cubes for a change.
Läckerli have been Basel's own biscuit for more than 600 years, once baked by the city's spice merchants and gifted at Christmas and New Year; Basel shops still pack them in tins all year round. They are small, chewy rectangles of honey, almonds, candied orange and lemon peel and warm spices, with a thin, crackly sugar glaze. Unlike soft German gingerbread they are firm and dense when they are fresh and soften with time in a tin. Eat them with coffee or tea, or keep a box for visitors. Chef's tip: cut the slab into rectangles while it is still hot and glaze it at once; once cool it sets too hard to cut cleanly.
Basel's Fasnacht starts at 4 a.m. on the Monday after Ash Wednesday with Morgestraich, when the city's lights go out and the cliques march with lanterns, piccolos and drums. Afterwards everyone crowds into the old-town restaurants for a bowl of Mehlsuppe: flour toasted in butter until it is the colour of hazelnuts, simmered into a smooth, savoury, deep-brown soup and finished with grated cheese. It warms you on a freezing February morning and is usually eaten with Zwiebelwähe (onion tart). The traditional soup is made with beef stock; this vegetarian version uses a strong vegetable stock with a little red wine and onion to give the same depth. Chef's tip: toast the flour slowly and stir all the time; the colour should be even chestnut brown, and the smell like toasted nuts.
In villages across the Deccan plateau of Maharashtra, pithla bhakri is what a farmer's family eats when the pantry is low and the day is long: a pan of gram flour simmered with garlic, green chilli and onion until it sets to a soft, spoonable curry, with thick jowar bhakri patted out by hand and a raw onion on the side. It became a symbol of rural Maharashtra, served at roadside stalls near Sinhagad fort to trekkers and at political rallies alike. Zunka, the dry version, uses the same flavours but is stirred until crumbly. Serve with thecha or a wedge of lemon. Chef's tip: whisk the gram flour into cold water before it meets the pan; that one step is the whole secret to a lump-free pithla.
Tender peas in their pods tossed with chilli, ginger, garlic and lemon, sealed in foil and steamed on the barbecue. Everyone shells their own at the table and gets the spice on their fingers. Use the youngest, sweetest pods you can find.
Aamat comes from the forested Bastar region of southern Chhattisgarh, where Gond and Halba families cook whatever the garden and forest give: pumpkin, brinjal, beans, drumsticks and, in the monsoon, sour fermented bamboo shoot. There is almost no oil and no heavy masala. Instead a paste of soaked rice turns the broth silky, and garlic, ginger and green chilli carry the flavour. It is served in bowls with plain rice, especially at village feasts and the Bastar Dussehra gatherings. Tinned bamboo shoot works well; leave it out and add lime at the end if you cannot find it. Chef's tip: keep stirring as you pour in the rice paste, because it sinks and sets into lumps on the bottom of the pot if left alone.
Basundi is the reduced-milk dessert of Maharashtra and Gujarat: whole milk simmered patiently in a wide pan, with the skin that forms on top scraped back in, until it is thick, cream-coloured and a little grainy, then sweetened and scented with cardamom and saffron. In Maharashtra it's served with hot puris for Gudi Padwa and Bhau Beej; in Gujarat it turns up at weddings and on Sharad Purnima, and it's also the base of the famous custard-apple (sitafal) basundi. Make it a day ahead; it thickens and tastes richer after a night in the fridge. Chef's tip: use a wide, heavy pan rather than a deep one; more surface means faster evaporation and less time standing at the stove.
Soft vegetarian seekh-style kebabs of sweetcorn, kidney beans and potato with fenugreek, spinach, ginger and green chilli, pressed onto skewers and browned over charcoal. They're crisp outside and soft inside. Serve hot with green chutney and mint and yogurt chutney.
Party skewers of paneer, onion petals, capsicum, tomato, mushroom and cassava, each marinated in a thick, garlicky tandoori yogurt marinade and grilled over charcoal until charred at the edges. Make the marinade the day before and string the skewers just before the barbecue. Serve hot with mint and yogurt chutney.
Batata harra, meaning hot potatoes, is a staple of the hot mezze in Beirut restaurants and at home: crisp cubes of potato tossed while still sizzling in garlic, chilli and a heap of fresh coriander, then squeezed with lemon. Expect it next to falafel and hummus at a Sunday spread or as a side for grilled vegetables on a summer evening. This home version roasts the potatoes instead of deep-frying them, which gives the same golden crunch with much less oil. People often add the garlic and coriander too early, so the garlic burns and turns bitter; they go in only for the last minute in the pan. Chef's tip: parboil the cubes and shake them in the colander until their edges look fluffy, because those rough edges are what turn crisp in the oven.
Sabudana khichdi is the dish that sees Maharashtra through every vrat (fast), from Navratri to Ekadashi, but it's so good that people eat it any day of the week. Soaked sago pearls are tossed in a pan with crushed roasted peanuts, cubes of potato, cumin and green chilli until each pearl turns glassy and separate, then finished with lemon and coriander. It's soft, chewy, nutty and gently hot. Fasting rules vary from family to family, so check yours; this version uses rock salt and no asafoetida, onion or garlic. Traditionally it's cooked in ghee; use ghee instead of oil if you aren't keeping it vegan. Chef's tip: soak the sago in just enough water to cover by the height of the pearls themselves, no more; too much water is the reason khichdi turns into one sticky lump.
A soft, dimpled focaccia topped with thinly sliced red onion, crumbled paneer and mozzarella, torn basil, chilli flakes and crunchy sea salt, all drizzled with olive oil. It's crisp underneath and airy inside. Cut it into pieces and serve hot alongside barbecue dishes and salads.
Batidos are the thick fruit milkshakes blended to order at Cuban cafeterías and roadside stands in summer, made with whatever tropical fruit is ripe: mamey, papaya, guanábana and, most of all, mango. Unlike a lassi there is no yogurt, just ripe mango, cold milk, a little sugar and plenty of ice, whizzed until frothy. Kids love it as an afternoon treat. Chef's tip: freeze the mango chunks first and you will need less ice, so the batido tastes of fruit rather than water.
Vegetarian seekh kebabs of soya chunks, potato and paneer, spiced with garlic, ginger, green chilli, chaat masala and white pepper, pressed onto skewers and cooked over charcoal until browned. They're meaty in texture and very moreish. Serve with spring onion and yogurt dip or any chutney; they can also be deep fried.
Pizza fritta is the street-food pizza of Naples: a disc of pizza dough folded over a filling and fried in hot oil until puffed and blistered, sold from kiosks in the Spanish Quarter and around Via dei Tribunali. It became popular after the war, when wood ovens were scarce and a pan of oil was all many cooks had. The classic filling has ricotta, smoked provola, tomato and pepper; pork crackling (cicoli) is often added, but not here. Chef's tip: seal the edge by pressing with your fingertips, not a fork, and leave a 2 cm border; a well-sealed parcel puffs like a pillow instead of bursting.
No Kazakh dastarkhan, the cloth spread with food for guests, is complete without a heap of baursak: soft, hollow pillows of yeasted dough fried until they balloon. They are scattered over the table at weddings, at Nauryz in March and at funerals, where the smell of frying baursak is said to reach the departed. In Almaty families fry hundreds at a time and eat them through the evening with milk tea, butter, jam or honey. Kyrgyz and Turkmen households make almost identical versions. Chef's tip: roll the dough just 1 cm thick and keep the oil hot; thin dough in hot oil puffs into a hollow ball, thick dough stays bready.
Antalya does piyaz its own way. Elsewhere in Turkey the bean salad is dressed with oil and vinegar, but on the Mediterranean coast the beans are folded through a pale, nutty sauce of tahini, lemon and vinegar, then crowned with sumac onions, tomato and parsley. Lunch canteens in the old town serve it on the side of almost everything, and at home it is a filling lunch with bread or a cool side on a hot evening. Tinned beans make it a fifteen-minute dish. Chef's tip: when the lemon hits the tahini it will seize into a stiff, grainy paste; don't panic, just keep beating in cold water a spoonful at a time and it turns silky.
Where ajvar is the patient winter preserve, pindjur is its quick summer cousin, made in Macedonian and Bosnian kitchens in July and August when tomatoes are at their ripest. Roasted peppers and aubergine are chopped rather than ground, then simmered briefly with fresh tomatoes and plenty of garlic, so it stays chunky, juicy and bright. It is eaten warm or at room temperature, scooped up with bread and a slab of white cheese, as part of a mezze spread in Ohrid or Mostar. Chef's tip: chop everything with a knife instead of a blender; a puréed pindjur loses the texture that sets it apart from ajvar.
For centuries Swedes have eaten ärtsoppa on Thursday: school canteens, army messes and home kitchens all serve thick yellow pea soup, followed by thin pancakes with jam (ärtsoppa och pannkakor). The tradition is said to date from Catholic times, a filling meal before Friday's fast. The soup is usually cooked with salt pork, but the soul of it is the dried yellow peas, onion and a generous hand of thyme and marjoram, so this version is fully plant-based and seasons the broth with a little smoked paprika instead. Each bowl gets a spoonful of sharp Swedish mustard stirred in at the table. Chef's tip: soak whole yellow peas overnight and skim the foam as they come to the boil; the skins that float up can then be lifted off, giving a smoother soup.
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.
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.
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.
For Argentines the Sunday asado is less a recipe than a ritual: someone (the asador) lights the fire mid-morning in a backyard in Buenos Aires or a ranch in the Pampas, and lunch happens hours later. Beef is cooked low and slow over glowing embers, seasoned with nothing but coarse salt, and carved at the grill to be eaten with bread, salad and a bowl of chimichurri. This home version uses two favourite cuts: tira de asado (thin cross-cut short ribs) and vacío (flank). The classic mistake is grilling over flames; wait until the coals are covered in white ash, and spread them so the heat is gentle. Chef's tip: hold your hand 15 cm above the grill; if you can keep it there for 8–10 seconds, the heat is right for asado.
Asado negro is the Sunday lunch of Caracas families: a whole piece of beef eye of round (muchacho redondo) is seared in sugar caramelised almost to black, then slowly braised until the sauce is dark, glossy and sweet-savoury. Despite how it looks, it doesn't taste burnt, just deep and rich. It is sliced and served with white rice, fried ripe plantain and sometimes a mash of potatoes. Many cooks add a glass of red wine to the braise; to keep it alcohol-free, use the same amount of beef stock and a tablespoon of balsamic vinegar instead. The mistake to avoid is stirring the panela while it caramelises: it crystallises and goes grainy. Chef's tip: get the caramel really dark, just before it smokes, because the colour and depth of the whole dish come from that minute.
Sunday in Uruguay means asado: in Montevideo backyards and the cattle towns of the interior, beef ribs (asado de tira), chorizo and morcilla cook slowly over the embers of a wood fire, with only coarse salt, while the family waits. The parrillero rakes coals under the grill and keeps the heat low and even. This recipe includes pork chorizo. The mistake is cooking over flames; the fire should burn down to embers you can hold your hand above for 6–8 seconds. Chef's tip: salt the meat only when it goes on the grill, with coarse salt, never fine.
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.
Aseeda (asida) is the stiff, slightly sour sorghum porridge eaten across Sudan, especially in Darfur, Kordofan and the countryside, where it is the daily staple. The batter is left to ferment before being cooked into a smooth, firm dough, shaped in a bowl into a dome, and turned out with mullah poured around it. During Ramadan it is a common iftar dish. Chef's tip: beat hard with a wooden spoon once the dough thickens; that beating is what makes aseeda smooth instead of lumpy.
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.
When the fog settles over Punjab in December, kitchens fill with the smell of wheat flour roasting slowly in ghee: pinni season has started. These dense, crumbly balls of roasted atta, jaggery, almonds and fried edible gum are made in big batches for Lohri, packed into tins for relatives and given to new mothers for strength. One pinni with a glass of hot milk is a classic winter breakfast. Chef's tip: let the roasted flour cool until just warm before adding the jaggery; if it is hot, the jaggery melts and the pinni set hard as stone.
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.
Ash reshteh is the thick soup Iranians cook in big pots in the days before Nowruz and for Sizdah Bedar, the spring picnic day, when the noodles (reshteh) are said to help you grasp the threads of good luck for the coming year. Chickpeas, beans and lentils are simmered with a mountain of green herbs and spinach, thickened with flat noodles and finished at the table with tangy kashk, crisp onions and a sizzling swirl of mint oil. It is a meal in a bowl, hearty and herby. Kashk is usually made without rennet, but check the label; strained yogurt is a good substitute. Chef's tip: add the noodles only once the beans are soft, and stir often after that, because they thicken the pot and it can catch on the bottom.
Ashak are the dumplings Kabul families fold together for Eid, Nowruz and weddings: thin wheat wrappers stuffed with gandana (Afghan garlic chives, here replaced with leeks and spring onions), boiled, then laid on a bed of garlicky strained yoghurt and topped with a tomato sauce and dried mint. Ashak usually come with a minced-meat sauce; this vegetarian version uses yellow split peas in a spiced tomato base, as many Afghan cooks do on meatless days. Making them is a sociable afternoon job, so rope in helpers. Chef's tip: squeeze the salted leeks hard in a cloth before filling; any water left in them soaks the wrappers and they split in the pot.
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