Clotted cream on bread
In Mongolian summer, when the herds are milked several times a day, families on the steppe gently heat fresh milk in a wide pan, ladling and pouring it back to froth it, then leave it overnight. By morning a thick, wrinkled, pale-gold skin of cream has formed: öröm. Lifted off and folded, it's spread on boortsog (fried dough) or bread with a sprinkle of sugar and eaten with milk tea. It's rich, slightly nutty and very simple. Chef's tip: use the widest, heaviest pan you own and the lowest possible heat; öröm needs a large surface and patience, not boiling.
A new country every day, from every cuisine on the site.
A Mombasa street favourite: potatoes cooked in a thin, garlicky tomato and raw mango sauce, ladled into bowls and piled with crushed potato crisps, crunchy sev and a fresh coconut and mango chutney. Everyone builds their own bowl to taste. Serve straight away so the crisps stay crunchy.
Khatkhatem is the vegetable stew Goan Hindu families cook for Ganesh Chaturthi and wedding feasts, when onion and garlic are kept out of the kitchen. It takes whatever the monsoon garden gives: pumpkin, sweet potato, raw banana, corn on the cob, drumsticks, yam and the long Goan cucumber, simmered with a little toor dal in a ground paste of coconut, red chillies and coriander seeds. The flavour comes from tirphal, a dried berry from the Western Ghats with a woody, citrusy, slightly numbing bite. Serve it with rice and a crisp papad as part of the festive spread. Chef's tip: add the vegetables in stages, hardest first; khatkhatem should have every vegetable tender but whole, not a mush.
Champurrado is a chocolate atole, the thick, hot corn drink Mexicans have drunk since before the Spanish arrived. Masa harina is whisked into water and milk with Mexican chocolate (stone-ground with sugar and cinnamon) and piloncillo, a dark unrefined cane sugar, and cooked until velvety and spoon-coating. It is drunk on cold mornings with tamales or conchas, and above all during Día de Muertos and Christmas posadas. Chef's tip: always dissolve the masa harina in cold liquid before it meets the hot pot, and whisk constantly once it's in; dumped into hot milk it seizes into lumps.
Gin thoke is lahpet thoke's livelier cousin, served on the same lacquered trays at teashops in Yangon and as a palate-wakener after a rich curry lunch. Young ginger is cut into fine threads and pickled in lime and salt so it turns pink and juicy, then tossed with cabbage, tomato, peanuts, fried beans and sesame. Burmese cooks often add fish sauce; salt, lime and a little toasted chickpea flour give the dressing body without it. Chef's tip: use young ginger with thin, pinkish skin if you can find it; mature ginger is fibrous and too fiery to eat in this quantity, so slice it extra thin.
Handvo is a savoury cake from Gujarat, made from a fermented batter of rice and lentils mixed with grated bottle gourd, yogurt and spices. It's baked or cooked slowly in a heavy pan until it has a deep-brown, crackly crust of mustard seeds and sesame and a soft, moist, slightly tangy inside. Gujarati families make it for Sunday tea or a light supper, with green chutney and a cup of masala chai. Slices are also good packed for a journey. Chef's tip: don't rush the crust; cook on a low heat with a lid and let the base go deep golden before you flip, because the crunchy, almost toasted sesame crust is the best part.
A true hāngī is cooked by Māori communities across Aotearoa New Zealand in a pit lined with stones heated in a wood fire, with baskets of meat and vegetables covered with damp cloths and earth and left for hours; it is made for tangihanga (funerals), weddings, marae gatherings and fundraisers, and the skill is passed down through whānau. An oven can't reproduce that earthy, smoky steam, and this recipe does not claim to. It borrows the idea: pork, chicken, kūmara, pumpkin and potato packed tightly, covered and steamed for hours until everything is meltingly soft. It contains pork. The mistake to avoid is loose foil; if steam escapes, the meat dries out instead of steaming. Chef's tip: sit the meat on top of the vegetables so its juices drip down and season them.
Ginataan means 'cooked in coconut milk', and in the coconut country of Bicol and Southern Tagalog it is how a lot of weeknight vegetables end up on the table. Ginataang kalabasa at sitaw is the homely version: chunks of orange squash and lengths of yard-long beans simmered in coconut milk with garlic, onion and ginger until the squash just starts to melt into the sauce, turning it pale gold and lightly sweet. Bicolano cooks drop in a long green chilli or two for warmth. It is a one-pot dish served with rice, and many families make it on days when there is no money for meat. Chef's tip: keep back a few chunks of squash to mash into the sauce at the end; it thickens it naturally.
Puff puff is the snack of Nigerian parties, school gates and roadside stalls: a sweet yeast batter scooped by hand into hot oil, where it swells into soft, chewy, golden balls. Across the border in Ghana the same treat is called bofrot (or 'boflot'), often a little larger and spiced with more nutmeg, and sold in clear bags on Accra's streets; we treat them as one dish here. Eat them warm on their own, or with a dusting of sugar. Chef's tip: the batter is ready only when it has doubled and is full of bubbles; under-proved batter gives heavy, greasy balls.
When Magh Bihu brings bonfires and feasting to the villages of Assam in January, duck curry is one of the dishes families look forward to. Duck meat is simmered with ash gourd (kumura), which soaks up the rich juices, and the gravy is thickened with toasted black sesame for a deep, nutty taste. It is eaten with rice, often after the night-long community feast called uruka. Chef's tip: brown the duck skin-side down first and pour off some of the rendered fat; you need its flavour, not all of it.
Sunday lunch in a Bengali home in Kolkata often means kosha mangsho: goat on the bone, fried patiently in mustard oil until the masala turns almost mahogany and clings to every piece. The word 'kosha' describes that long stirring over the heat, and it is what separates this dish from an ordinary mutton curry. Families eat it with luchi or plain rice, and it also turns up at Durga Puja feasts and wedding dinners. Chef's tip: buy bone-in goat or mutton shoulder cut into curry pieces; the bones and a little fat give the gravy its body.
Khobz is the round, flat loaf that sits on every Moroccan table, used instead of cutlery to scoop up tagine and salads. In the older quarters of Fez and Marrakech families still shape their dough at home and carry it on wooden boards to the neighbourhood wood-fired oven, the ferran; at home it bakes perfectly on a hot tray. The semolina and wholemeal give it a slightly nutty taste and a soft, chewy crumb with a thin crust. It keeps for a day wrapped in a cloth and is wonderful toasted. Chef's tip: prick the top all over before baking so it rises evenly and stays flat instead of puffing like a pitta.
Koshari is the dish of Cairo's streets: whole shops, from Abou Tarek downtown to small corner counters, sell nothing else, and office workers queue for a metal bowl of it at lunchtime. Brown lentils and rice are cooked together, then piled with macaroni, vermicelli and chickpeas, drowned in a sharp cumin-tomato sauce and finished with dakka (garlic vinegar), shatta (chilli sauce) and a heap of dark fried onions. It is cheap, filling and naturally vegan, and every Egyptian eats it differently, so put the sauces on the table. Chef's tip: fry the onions first and cook everything else in their oil; that onion-scented oil is what makes koshari taste like the shops' and not like a plate of separate leftovers.
Harees is one of the oldest dishes of the Arabian Gulf, made in the UAE, Oman and Saudi Arabia for Ramadan iftar, Eid and weddings, when big pots are stirred for hours and shared with neighbours. Whole wheat and chicken cook slowly together until the grain bursts and the meat falls apart, then everything is beaten to a smooth, sticky porridge and finished with ghee and a little cinnamon. It is soft, mild and very comforting. Chef's tip: beat it hard with a wooden spoon (or briefly with a stick blender) at the end; that is what gives harees its elastic texture.
In the Champaran district of north-west Bihar, near the Nepal border, mutton is cooked in an ahuna or handi: a clay pot packed with raw meat, whole bulbs of garlic, onions, mustard oil and spices, sealed shut with dough and left for hours on a slow charcoal fire. Nobody adds water and nobody stirs; the meat cooks in its own juices and the garlic turns soft and sweet. Roadside dhabas on the highways out of Motihari made it famous, and it is now cooked at family picnics and parties right across Bihar, eaten with rice or rotis. This home version uses a heavy pot sealed with foil and a lid. Chef's tip: shake the pot instead of opening it; every time the lid comes off, steam escapes and the meat dries out.
In village homes across Haryana, bajra khichdi is the food of cold winter nights and the days around Makar Sankranti: cracked pearl millet and yellow moong cooked slowly until soft and porridge-like, then eaten with a big spoon of ghee and either jaggery or a glass of lassi. It is plain, nutty and very filling, and grandmothers swear it keeps you warm. The millet was traditionally pounded in a stone mortar to crack it; a quick pulse in a grinder does the same. Chef's tip: soak the bajra overnight; unsoaked millet stays hard and gritty however long you cook it.
Chilli crab was first sold from a pushcart on the Kallang river in the 1950s and is now the dish visitors queue for along Singapore's East Coast seafood strip. Big mud crabs are cut up, wok-fried and simmered in a thick, sweet, tangy and gently hot sauce of chilli, tomato and garlic, which is then silked with beaten egg. Everyone eats with their hands and mops up the sauce with fried or steamed mantou buns. It is a weekend or celebration meal, messy and loud. Buy crabs live or freshly cooked the same day from a fishmonger you trust. Discard any live crab that doesn't move, smells of ammonia or has a cracked, leaking shell. The common mistake is boiling the sauce after adding the egg, which scrambles it into lumps; pour it in a thin stream over a low heat. Chef's tip: ask the fishmonger to clean and quarter the crab for you, and crack each claw lightly with the back of a cleaver so the sauce soaks in.
Haupia is the dessert of every Hawaiian lūʻau and family party: coconut milk thickened and set into smooth, wobbly-firm squares that you can pick up with your fingers. It was once set with arrowroot from the pia plant; today cornflour does the job. It tastes clean, cool and gently sweet, and is also layered on chocolate pies and spread on cakes in Honolulu bakeries. Chef's tip: keep whisking until it's as thick as mayonnaise and big bubbles plop slowly; underdone haupia won't set firm enough to slice.
When the winter coriander in the Nashik markets comes in huge, fragrant bunches for a few rupees, Maharashtrian kitchens make kothimbir vadi. A batter that is mostly fresh coriander, held together with gram flour and sesame, is steamed into a cake, cut into squares, then shallow-fried until each piece has a crunchy shell and a soft, herby middle. It's a tea-time snack in Pune homes, a side on the festive thali and a favourite in tiffin boxes because it's good at room temperature. Serve with green chutney or tomato ketchup. Chef's tip: dry the coriander well after washing; wet leaves make the batter loose and the vadi soggy.
Hanging in long glossy strips in the windows of Guangzhou's siu mei shops, char siu is the roast pork Cantonese families pick up on the way home to put on rice, noodles or into steamed buns. The outside is lacquered, sweet and a little charred at the edges; the inside stays juicy, savoury and faintly scented with five-spice. Shoulder (pork butt) is the cut to use, because its marbling keeps the strips moist through a hot oven. Marinate it overnight in the fridge, roast it the next day and eat it warm with steamed rice and blanched greens, or cold in fried rice and noodle soups. Chef's tip: save the honey for the last ten minutes; brushed on at the start it burns black long before the pork is cooked.
Walk through downtown Cairo in the evening and you will smell hawawshi before you see it: round baladi breads split open, packed with minced beef, onion, green chilli and warm spices, then baked until the bread turns crisp and the fat from the meat soaks into the crumb. Street stalls sell it wrapped in paper with pickles and tahini; at home it is a quick Friday supper. Pitta works well if you can't find baladi bread. The mistake most people make is packing in too thick a layer of meat, so the bread burns before the middle is cooked; keep it about 1 cm thick. Chef's tip: squeeze the grated onion in a sieve before mixing it in, or the filling turns wet and the bread goes soggy.
Order meze in an Istanbul meyhane and haydari is usually among the first small plates to land: very thick strained yogurt beaten with crumbled white cheese, garlic, dill and mint, then crowned with a drizzle of oil warmed with dried mint and chilli flakes. It is eaten with bread, beside roasted vegetables or with crisp börek, and it takes minutes once you have the yogurt. The mistake to avoid is using thin pouring yogurt, which gives you a runny sauce rather than a dip that holds its shape. Chef's tip: use Greek-style strained yogurt, or hang plain yogurt in a cloth for an hour, and check the beyaz peynir or feta is made with vegetarian rennet.
A big sizzling griddle of boiled fresh beans and vegetables (peas, pigeon peas, black-eyed beans, soya beans, kidney beans, corn, cassava, sweet potato, baby potatoes and roasted plantain) tossed with sesame seeds, onions and a green chilli, ginger and garlic paste. It's filling, colourful and feeds a crowd at a barbecue. Serve sizzling hot straight from the tawa.
In Bicol and across the Tagalog provinces, ginataang langka is what happens when a jackfruit tree drops its fruit too early: the unripe flesh is sliced and cooked in coconut milk with plenty of ginger until tender and creamy. Unlike Java's sweet, dark gudeg or Padang's turmeric gulai nangka, it is pale, savoury and peppery, lifted at the end with malunggay (moringa) leaves and a splash of vinegar. Home cooks often add shrimp or pork; this version is vegetable-only. Chef's tip: oil your knife and hands before cutting fresh jackfruit, as its sap is very sticky; tinned young jackfruit avoids the problem altogether.
In New Orleans, red beans and rice is what Monday tastes like: the pot used to go on the back of the stove on washday with the ham bone left from Sunday, and plenty of Creole kitchens still cook it on Mondays. This version contains pork: a smoked ham hock and sliced andouille sausage simmer with kidney beans and the 'holy trinity' of onion, celery and green pepper until some beans collapse into a creamy gravy. Serve over white rice with hot sauce and a piece of cornbread. Chef's tip: when the beans are tender, mash a ladleful against the side of the pot; that is what makes them creamy.
Armenian coffee, soorj, is boiled in a small long-handled pot called a jazzve and poured unfiltered into tiny cups. It is offered the moment a guest sits down in any Yerevan home and lingers after meals while the grounds settle; when the cup is empty, it is turned upside down on its saucer so someone can read the patterns left in the grounds. The coffee is powder-fine, often scented with a pinch of cardamom, with a velvety foam (kaymak) on top that is a point of pride for the host. Serve with a glass of water and a little gata or dried fruit. Chef's tip: start with cold water and a low flame; the slower the coffee heats, the thicker and longer-lasting the foam.
Khorkhog is the feast of the Mongolian countryside, cooked when a herding family welcomes guests: a sheep is cut into pieces and sealed into a milk churn with hot river stones, onion, carrot and potato, and the churn is set over the fire until the meat is tender and smoky. Guests pass the hot, greasy stones from hand to hand for good health. This home version cooks the lamb in a heavy sealed casserole in the oven, which gives the same tender meat and rich juices; please don't heat stones in a kitchen pot, which is dangerous. The mistake is adding water: the lamb steams in its own juice with only a little liquid. Chef's tip: use lamb on the bone, such as neck or shoulder, for the deepest flavour.
Henakisoa sy voanjobory is a highland dish from the countryside around Antsirabe and Fianarantsoa, cooked for family gatherings: pork simmered for a long time with Bambara groundnuts, a hard, round pulse that turns creamy and nutty, until the meat is tender and the beans have thickened the sauce. This dish contains pork. It is eaten with rice and a fresh tomato salad. The mistake is not soaking the dried pulses, which then never soften; soak them overnight. Chef's tip: if you can't find Bambara groundnuts, black-eyed beans or borlotti give a similar result in less time.
In Andong, the old Confucian town of North Gyeongsang, the scholars of the yangban class were said to want the food from jesa, the rite offered to ancestors, without waiting for a rite to come round, so they cooked the same dishes and called them heotjesatbap (헛제삿밥), 'fake rite rice'. Restaurants by Andong's dam still serve it: a bowl of rice to be mixed with brown, white and green namul and seasoned with soy sauce, never chilli, because ritual food avoids red pepper and garlic. The full table includes grilled fish and beef skewers; this vegetarian version keeps the vegetables and tofu jeon that make up most of it. Chef's tip: cook each namul separately with only salt, soy or sesame, so each keeps its own taste and colour when you mix the bowl.
Hideg meggyleves is a chilled sour cherry soup served as a starter in Hungary at the height of summer, from family lunches in the cherry-growing villages around Pest county to the terraces of Balaton restaurants. Sour cherries simmer briefly with sugar, cinnamon and cloves, then the soup is thickened with sour cream and served icy cold, pink and gently tangy. Some cooks add a splash of red wine for grown-ups. It is eaten before the main course, not as dessert, though no one complains if you have it after. Chef's tip: chill it for at least 3 hours; the flavour rounds out and the spices soften as it cools. A common mistake is boiling it after the cream goes in, which curdles it.
A soft, savoury pie of blended boiled maize folded into a peppery white sauce and baked until golden on top. It's mild and comforting, a little like a corn pudding, and children love it. The eggs are optional: they make it set firmer. Serve hot with a salad or tomato stew.
A thick, tangy Ethiopian sauce of soft masoor lentils blended with onion, garlic, green capsicum, chilli and mustard. It's eaten cool or warm as part of a spread of injera and stews. Serve hot azifa with injera.
Hinava is the dish Kadazandusun families set out at Kaamatan, Sabah's harvest festival in May, and on weekend tables in Kota Kinabalu and Penampang. Strips of raw mackerel are soaked in sour lime juice, then tossed with sliced shallots, ginger, red chilli and grated seed of bambangan, a wild mango, which adds a musky tang. The result is sharp, clean and crunchy, with firm, pearly fish. Eat it as a starter or alongside rice and grilled meat. Chef's tip: slice the fish very thinly and evenly so the lime firms each strip the same way, and season with salt only at the end.
Slices of sweet potato dipped in batter, coated in breadcrumbs and fried until crisp, arranged around lettuce, grated carrot, tomato and sliced hard-boiled egg. The book's Handy Hints say sweet potato is good for the eyes and lifts the mood. Serve with tomato sauce, chilli sauce and mayonnaise; leave out the eggs (and use egg-free mayonnaise) for an egg-free salad.
Kopi is the strong, thick coffee poured from long-spouted pots at kopitiams all over Singapore. The beans are dark-roasted with sugar and margarine, which gives a bittersweet, almost chocolatey brew, and the classic cup is sweetened with condensed milk. Order it like a local: kopi-o is black with sugar, kopi-c has evaporated milk, and kopi peng is iced. At home, a dark-roast robusta or espresso blend in a cloth sock or cafetière gets close. Chef's tip: pour the coffee back and forth between two jugs a few times; it cools slightly, aerates and gets the smooth, frothy kopitiam texture.
Ask for this at a rice-and-curry shop in Phuket or Hat Yai and it comes as a small, dark heap beside your rice, smelling of lime leaf and black pepper and hot enough to bring tears. There is no sauce at all: minced pork or beef is fried with a turmeric-heavy southern paste until every crumb is dry, separate and coated in spice. The heat is fierce, so it is always eaten with jasmine rice, sliced cucumber, raw long beans and herbs to cool the mouth. It also keeps well for a couple of days and is excellent cold in a lunchbox. Chef's tip: keep stirring and pressing the meat against the hot wok at the end; the name means 'roll and roast', and that last dry-frying is what makes it.
Injera is the soft, spongy, slightly sour flatbread eaten with Ethiopian stews: you tear it and scoop the food up with it. This home version uses rice and plain flour fermented with a home-made starter over a few days, then cooked on one side until covered in tiny holes. Serve rolled and sliced with missir wat, azifa and atter kik. Any fermented batter left over keeps in the fridge for the next batch.
Gomen is the everyday green on Ethiopian tables, cooked in homes across the highlands and always part of a fasting platter in Addis Ababa restaurants on Wednesdays and Fridays. Collard greens (or kale) are chopped fine and braised gently with onion, garlic, ginger and green chilli until they turn soft, dark and silky, without any berbere, so they cool the palate next to the red stews. On non-fasting days many cooks add a little niter kibbeh at the end; this oil version keeps it vegan. Chef's tip: cut out the thick central stalks before chopping; left in, they stay stringy long after the leaves are tender.
Kūmara, the sweet potato the Māori brought to Aotearoa centuries ago, is grown mostly around Dargaville in Northland, and a big bowl of roasted kūmara salad turns up at just about every New Zealand barbecue, 'bring a plate' gathering and Christmas lunch. Chunks of red-skinned kūmara roast until sticky and caramelised, then get tossed while warm with red onion, baby spinach, salty feta and toasted pumpkin seeds in a sweet-sharp honey and mustard dressing. Chef's tip: give the kūmara plenty of room on the tray and a hot oven; crowded pieces steam and go soft instead of browning at the edges.
Hodu gwaja (호두과자) were first sold at Cheonan station in South Chungcheong in the 1930s, and the town's walnut orchards still supply the pieces of nut hidden in every one. Today you find them in paper bags at every motorway service station in Korea: bite-sized, walnut-shaped cakes with a soft, eggy shell around sweet red bean paste and a chunk of walnut. They are made in a hinged cast-iron mould; a madeleine or Japanese takoyaki pan works too, though the shape will differ. Eat them warm, on the day. Chef's tip: heat the mould properly before the first batch; the first cakes are always the palest, so judge doneness by the colour of the later ones.
Hogao (or guiso) is the base and topping of Colombian home cooking, from Antioquia to Cali: ripe tomatoes and long spring onions (cebolla larga) cooked slowly in oil with garlic and cumin until soft and jammy. It is spooned over patacones, arepas, boiled potatoes and yuca, stirred into beans and rice, and served in a little bowl at the table. Chef's tip: cook it low and slow; a fast, hot hogao tastes raw and sharp, while a patient one turns sweet.
Kotlet schabowy is the Polish Sunday dinner, served in homes and milk bars from Warsaw to Wrocław, usually with buttery dill potatoes and mizeria (cucumber in soured cream) or braised cabbage. It is a pork dish: slices of boneless pork loin are pounded thin, dipped in flour, egg and breadcrumbs and fried in lard or oil until crisp and golden. Chef's tip: pound the meat between sheets of cling film to an even 5 mm; even thickness means the coating browns just as the meat is done.
Hokey pokey is what New Zealanders call honeycomb toffee, and vanilla ice cream full of crunchy little nuggets of it has been the country's best-loved flavour since the mid-twentieth century; it's scooped into cones at dairies and beaches from Auckland to Invercargill. The honeycomb is a bubbling golden syrup toffee that foams up when bicarbonate of soda goes in and sets glassy and light. Folded through a rich no-churn vanilla base, it stays crunchy at first and slowly turns chewy and toffee-like. Chef's tip: don't stir the sugar once it starts to melt; swirl the pan instead, or it will crystallise and turn grainy.
Hokkaido grows most of Japan's sweetcorn, and in late summer roadside stands around Sapporo and Furano sell cobs so sweet people eat them raw. Butter corn is how the island turns that harvest into a side dish: kernels hissing in a hot pan with Hokkaido's other pride, butter, and finished with soy sauce until the edges catch. You'll find it as a ramen topping, a beer snack in izakaya and a bento filler. Serve it hot beside grilled vegetables or rice. Chef's tip: let the kernels sit in the pan without stirring for a minute at a time. A few browned, almost toasted kernels give the dish its nutty, popcorn-like smell.
Khura are the buckwheat pancakes of the Monpa people of Tawang and West Kameng, high in Arunachal Pradesh, where buckwheat grows better than wheat. A thick, egg-enriched batter of buckwheat flour is cooked into soft, spongy pancakes for breakfast, eaten with butter tea, chilli-cheese chutney (chamin) or vegetable curry. They are earthy, slightly sour and filling on a cold morning. Chef's tip: let the batter stand for 20 minutes; buckwheat absorbs water slowly and the pancakes hold together much better.
Holubtsi, 'little doves', are the cabbage rolls of Ukrainian family feasts, made by the trayful for weddings, christenings and Christmas in homes from Lviv to Poltava. This version contains pork: tender cabbage leaves wrap a mix of pork and beef mince, rice, onion and carrot, and the rolls bake slowly in a tomato and soured cream sauce. Serve with more soured cream and dill. Chef's tip: core the cabbage and simmer the whole head, peeling off leaves as they soften; they come away without tearing.
Holvaitar is one of the oldest sweets of Bukhara: flour slowly roasted in butter until it smells like toasted nuts, then cooked with a sugar syrup into a soft, spoonable halva and topped with walnuts. Bukharan families make it for Navruz in March, for the 'Thursday' remembrance meals, and for women after childbirth, served warm in small bowls with green tea. It is closer to a pudding than to the brittle sesame halva sold in the bazaar. Chef's tip: patience at the roasting stage is everything; stop when the flour is the colour of milky coffee — paler tastes raw, darker turns bitter.
Yuba is the thin skin that forms on soy milk as it heats, and in Kyoto and the temple town of Nikko it is a delicacy in its own right. Workshops in Kyoto's old streets have made it for centuries for monks' shojin ryori, the Buddhist vegetarian cuisine that relied on it for protein. Fresh yuba is soft, creamy and faintly sweet, and the first sheets of the day, eaten warm with a drop of soy, are prized above all. It needs patience rather than skill: just a wide pan, gentle heat and good soy milk. Serve as a starter with wasabi soy, or roll the sheets and slice them. Chef's tip: use unsweetened soy milk with at least 7% protein (check the label). Thin supermarket drinks won't form a skin.
Mexican horchata is a sweet, milky-looking agua fresca made from rice soaked overnight with cinnamon, then blended and strained. It is quite different from the Valencian horchata de chufa made from tiger nuts. Sold everywhere from Mexico City street stalls to taquerías in Oaxaca, it cools the mouth after a spicy taco and tastes of cinnamon, vanilla and toasted grain. We blend in almonds for extra creaminess and keep it dairy free, so it is vegan. Chef's tip: strain twice, the second time through a fine cloth; a gritty horchata is the most common mistake, and that silky texture is what you're after.
In December, Colombian families gather for the novena de aguinaldos, nine evenings of prayers and carols before Christmas, and the reward afterwards is a plate of hot buñuelos with a bowl of natilla. These little golden balls are made from crumbly cheese, cassava starch and cornflour, fried until they puff and roll themselves over in the oil. They are crisp outside, airy and cheesy inside. Chef's tip: start the oil only warm, around 150 °C; buñuelos fried too hot crack open and stay raw in the centre.
Named after the Hortobágy puszta, Hungary's great grassland in the east, these savoury pancakes are a favourite starter in Hungarian restaurants and a clever family meal. Thin palacsinta are filled with finely chopped paprika chicken, folded into parcels, and baked in the paprika-soured cream sauce until bubbling. Chef's tip: chop the cooked chicken very finely or pulse it briefly; a fine filling makes neat, tight parcels.
In the villages of Crete and the mountains of Epirus, hortopita is what cooks make from whatever greens are growing on the hillsides: wild fennel, sorrel, poppy leaves, nettles and chard. Many families bake it during Lent, when cheese and eggs are put aside, so the filling relies on olive oil, leeks and a big handful of herbs for flavour. It is earthy, a little bitter and very fresh. This version uses easy-to-buy chard, spinach, fennel fronds and leeks, with a spoonful of rice to soak up the juices. Serve warm or cold with olives and a glass of something cold. Most shop fillo is made without butter or egg, but check the label to keep it vegan. Chef's tip: salt the chopped greens and leave them for 20 minutes before squeezing; skipping this is the most common mistake, and it makes hortopita watery.
No South African braai is finished without braaibroodjies, the sandwiches that go onto the grid once the coals have died down, from Cape Town to the Highveld. White bread is buttered on the outside and filled with cheddar, tomato, onion and a thin smear of apricot jam, a sweet-and-savoury combination every South African swears by. They come off the fire smoky, crisp and oozing. A frying pan or griddle works when there's no braai. Chef's tip: toast them over gentle, ashen coals and turn often; fierce heat burns the bread before the cheese inside has melted.
Houskové knedlíky are the sliced bread dumplings that sit beside almost every sauce in a Prague pub, from mushroom svíčková-style cream sauces to sweet-sour dill gravy. Unlike the round German Semmelknödel, these are a soft yeast dough rolled into a log with crisp cubes of stale roll inside, simmered whole, then cut into thick, spongy slices that drink up gravy. Czech grandmothers still slice them with a length of thread rather than a knife, which keeps the crumb open instead of squashing it. Chef's tip: cut the cooked loaf with a piece of cotton thread wrapped around it and pulled tight; a knife presses the slices into dense, gluey discs.
Khuushuur are the flat, crescent-shaped pasties sold hot from stalls at Naadam, the July festival of wrestling, archery and horse racing, and fried in Mongolian homes all summer: thin dough round a filling of minced mutton, onion and garlic, fried until blistered and crisp. People hold them in a napkin and bite through to the juicy filling. The mistake is rolling the dough thick; it should be thin so it crisps quickly while the meat cooks. Chef's tip: press out all the air before sealing, or the pasties balloon and burst in the oil.
Potato gnocchi are made all over Italy, from Friuli to Rome, where trattorie still serve them on Thursdays ('giovedì gnocchi'). They are just floury potatoes and flour (an egg yolk is optional and makes them easier to handle) rolled into little pillows that cook in two minutes. Good gnocchi are light and tender, never chewy. Serve them with sage butter, as here, or a simple tomato sauce for children. Chef's tip: bake the potatoes in their skins instead of boiling; drier potatoes need less flour, and less flour means lighter gnocchi.
Qutab are the thin half-moon flatbreads that Baku eats at any hour, folded around a filling and cooked in seconds on a domed iron saj, then stacked and brushed with butter. Göyərti qutabı, the green version, is the spring favourite: a handful of chopped spinach, sorrel, dill, coriander and spring onion sealed inside dough rolled so thin the greens show through. They are eaten hot, three or four at a time, sprinkled with sumac and dipped in garlicky yogurt, and appear on every table at Novruz in March. In autumn the same dough wraps pumpkin; that variation is in the steps. Chef's tip: season the greens only just before filling; salt draws out water, and wet greens tear the paper-thin dough.
Hủ tiếu came to southern Vietnam with Teochew Chinese and Cambodian influences, and in Saigon it's as everyday as pho, sold from street carts at dawn and again late into the night. The broth is light and clear, sweet from pork bones, daikon and dried shrimp, and the bowl is loaded with sliced pork, minced pork, prawns and often quail eggs. Clear, chewy noodles and a spoon of crispy garlic oil set it apart. Many people order it khô, dry, with the noodles tossed in sauce and the soup on the side. Chef's tip: toast the dried squid over a flame before it goes in the pot; it gives the broth a sweet, savoury depth that's hard to place.
Breakfast in Guiyang means a steaming bowl of rice noodles at a counter, and the version from the Huaxi district on the city's southern edge is the one people queue for. Silky noodles sit in a clear, deeply beefy broth under slices of slow-cooked shin, and each diner finishes the bowl at the table from pots of tangy pickled mustard greens, toasted chilli and fresh herbs, so it is sour, spicy and savoury exactly to taste. The broth is light enough for the morning but rich in flavour. Serve it as a whole meal; a few extra pickles on the side are all it needs. Chef's tip: blanch the beef and rinse it before the long simmer; skipping this is the common mistake that leaves the broth cloudy and scummy.
Hudut is the heart of Garifuna cooking on the Caribbean coast of Honduras, in towns such as Trujillo and La Ceiba, and in Belize and Guatemala's Livingston: whole fish or fish steaks simmered in a coconut broth (sere) with garlic, onion and herbs, served with a pounded mash of green and ripe plantains (fufu) that is dipped into the soup. The mistake is mashing only green plantain, which is heavy; a mix of green and a few ripe ones gives a slightly sweet, smooth mash. Chef's tip: fry the fish briefly before it goes into the broth so it holds its shape.
Gombapaprikás is the meatless cousin of chicken paprikás, cooked in Hungarian homes on Fridays and through Lent, and a regular on the vegetarian line of Budapest's self-service étkezde lunch rooms. Mushrooms simmer in onion, paprika and a little pepper and tomato, then the sauce is finished with sour cream until it turns a soft brick-pink. It is quick, rich and comforting, and nokedli are its natural partner, though rice or boiled potatoes work too. Chef's tip: brown the mushrooms in a hot pan in two batches before they meet the onions, so they fry instead of stewing in their own water and the sauce tastes deep rather than watery.
Huevos a la mexicana is the everyday scrambled egg breakfast cooked in homes and fondas all over Mexico, named because its red tomato, white onion and green chilli match the colours of the Mexican flag. The vegetables are cooked just long enough to soften and release their juices, then the eggs are stirred through gently into soft, juicy curds with a fresh chilli kick. Serve with warm corn tortillas and refried beans, and make tacos at the table. Chef's tip: take the pan off the heat while the eggs still look a little wet; they keep cooking on the plate.
Tiramisù ('pick me up') was created in Treviso, in the Veneto, around the 1960s and 70s; the restaurant Le Beccherie is the best-known claimant. The original is simple: savoiardi biscuits dipped in espresso, layered with a cream of egg yolks, sugar and mascarpone, and dusted with cocoa. No alcohol and no cream in the Treviso version, which is different from this site's Baileys tiramisu. It is best made the morning of, or the day before. Because the eggs are raw, use the freshest you can find, or pasteurised eggs. Chef's tip: beat the yolks and sugar for a full 5 minutes until pale and thick as custard; that is what makes the cream light without whipped cream.
Every 1 January, Haitian families from Port-au-Prince to Brooklyn wake up to soup joumou. It marks independence from France on 1 January 1804: under French rule, enslaved Haitians cooked this pumpkin soup but were forbidden to eat it, so the free people of the new nation made it their own as a dish of freedom. In 2021 it was added to UNESCO's list of the intangible cultural heritage of humanity. The base is a velvety purée of joumou (Caribbean pumpkin) with epis, and in it simmer chunks of carrot, potato, cabbage, celery and turnip, with pasta and a squeeze of lime. It's usually made with beef; this vegetable version is full and golden, rich enough for the day. Chef's tip: roast half the pumpkin before puréeing it; the caramelised edges give the soup the depth that slow-cooked meat usually provides.
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