Corn & cassava in coconut milk
A simple Swahili dish of tender cassava and sweetcorn simmered in thick coconut milk with green chillies, a little raw mango and lemon. It's creamy, mild and filling. Serve hot as a side or a light meal.

Flattened rice with curd
Nothing is cooked for doi chira, which is why it has been the breakfast of farmers and fishermen in Barisal for generations: flattened rice is rinsed, softened in thick, slightly sour curd and sweetened with jaggery or sugar, then mashed together with a ripe banana. The texture is soft and creamy with a little chew from the rice flakes, and the taste is cool, sweet and tangy. It is eaten on hot summer mornings, at village fairs and as part of the Pohela Boishakh spread, and it is a favourite of children and of anyone fasting who wants something gentle. The usual misstep is soaking the chira for too long, which turns it to paste; a quick rinse is all it needs before the curd does the rest. Chef's tip: use thick-cut chira, not the thin kind for frying, so the flakes hold their shape.
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A simple Swahili dish of tender cassava and sweetcorn simmered in thick coconut milk with green chillies, a little raw mango and lemon. It's creamy, mild and filling. Serve hot as a side or a light meal.
During Ramadan almost every household in Pakistan breaks the fast at sunset with a jug of this bright red sherbet on the table, from Karachi apartments to village courtyards in Punjab. It is made with the herbal rose syrup sold as Rooh Afza (any rose sherbet syrup works), stirred into ice-cold water with a squeeze of lemon and a spoonful of swollen basil seeds (tukh malanga) that are said to cool the body after a long, hot day without water. Some families make it with cold milk instead, which turns it pink and creamy. The mistake people make is adding the basil seeds dry; they clump into hard lumps, so soak them first. Chef's tip: chill the water and syrup well before mixing so you need less ice and the sherbet does not taste watered down.
Every Romanian park, beer garden and May Day picnic smells of mici, the little skinless rolls of minced beef and lamb that sizzle on charcoal grills from Bucharest's Obor market to the Black Sea coast. The mince is beaten with garlic, thyme, a strong beef stock and a little bicarbonate of soda, which makes them springy and juicy inside with a crusty outside. They come in tens, with plenty of mustard, fresh bread and sometimes chips. The usual error is cooking them straight after mixing: the mince needs a night in the fridge for the bicarbonate and garlic to work. Chef's tip: shape them with oiled hands on an oiled tray, and grill them no thicker than your thumb so the middle cooks before the outside burns.
Midin is a wild fern that grows in Sarawak's forests, with curly tips that stay crunchy when cooked, and Kuching restaurants serve it at almost every meal. The best-known version uses belacan (shrimp paste); just as common, and what this is, is midin fried hard and fast with plenty of garlic and a little chilli. Outside Borneo, fiddlehead ferns are the nearest match, and young pea shoots or asparagus tips make a good everyday stand-in. Chef's tip: fry in a very hot wok and serve in under 3 minutes; ferns lose their snap quickly.
Badambura means "almond twist", and in Baku it is the cousin of shekerbura that takes more patience: the dough is rolled thin, brushed with butter and rolled up in a long spiral, so it bakes into crisp, flaky layers around a moist almond filling. It is made for Novruz and weddings and sold year-round in the old-city bakeries of Icherisheher, wrapped in paper with a dusting of icing sugar. The flavour is pure almond and cardamom with a hint of vanilla. Serve with black tea in pear-shaped glasses. Chef's tip: keep the rolled spiral cold in the fridge for 20 minutes before cutting; firm dough keeps its layers.
In Azerbaijan tea comes before, during and after everything, served in small pear-shaped armudu glasses in teahouses (çayxana) from Baku's boulevard to the hill towns of Lankaran, where most of the country's tea is grown. It is strong, clear and red-brown, often brewed with a sprig of mountain thyme (kəklikotu) or a crushed cardamom pod, and served with lemon, sugar cubes and little dishes of jam: cherry, quince, white cherry or even walnut. People sip the tea through a sugar cube held in the mouth or with a spoonful of jam, never stirring jam into the glass. It is also the drink that settles a match: tea served sweet at a matchmaking visit means yes. Chef's tip: warm the pot and glasses with boiling water first; tea brewed in a cold pot never reaches full colour.
Mie goreng is what the gerobak noodle carts of Indonesian towns fry up after dark, each portion tossed in a blackened wok over a roaring flame, sweet and savoury from kecap manis and sharp with garlic. Unlike Malaysia's tomato-red mamak noodles, the Indonesian style is dark, glossy and dominated by sweet soy and white pepper, with plenty of greens and a scattering of fried shallots. This version swaps the usual chicken and prawns for tofu and mushrooms and is on the table in twenty minutes. Chef's tip: cook the noodles a minute short of the packet time and rinse them in cold water; they finish softening in the wok and stay springy instead of breaking.
Open a freezer anywhere in Puerto Rico, or in the Puerto Rican neighbourhoods of New York and Orlando, and you'll find a tub or ice-cube tray of green sofrito. It is the start of almost everything savoury on the island: beans, rice, stews, soups and sauces. Unlike the slow-cooked Spanish sofrito, this one is raw, blended from culantro (recao), cilantro, little sweet ajíes dulces, cubanelle peppers, onion and lots of garlic. It smells grassy and sharp in the jar and turns mellow and savoury as soon as it hits hot oil. Chef's tip: if you can't find ajíes dulces, use extra red pepper and a tiny piece of seeded scotch bonnet; you want their fruity perfume, not heat.
In the Alentejo nothing made of bread is wasted, and migas is the proof: stale loaves soaked, then worked in a pan of hot olive oil and garlic until they come together into a golden, crusty roll with a soft middle. Around Évora and Beja it usually sits next to fried pork, but in spring, when wild asparagus (espargos bravos) and grelos are picked along the field edges, cooks fold the greens straight into the bread and make it a dish in its own right. This version uses tender asparagus or turnip tops and is entirely plant-based. Serve it as a side with a fried egg or a bean stew, or on its own with olives. Chef's tip: soak the bread only until it is damp and heavy, then squeeze it hard; wet bread steams in the pan instead of forming the golden crust that makes migas worth eating.
Lángos is the deep-fried flatbread of Hungarian beaches and markets: it is eaten in swimsuits on the shore of Lake Balaton, at Budapest's Great Market Hall and at every summer fair. The dough is soft and yeasted, often enriched with mashed potato, and it fries into a puffy disc that is crisp at the edges and chewy in the middle. The classic topping is garlic water brushed on hot, then sour cream and a snowfall of grated cheese. Chef's tip: stretch the dough thinner in the centre than at the rim; the edge puffs into a crisp crust while the middle stays soft enough to hold the toppings. Choose a cheese made with vegetarian rennet (many supermarket Cheddars and Edams are).
Ehime, on the sunny north coast of Shikoku, is Japan's mandarin country. Terraced orchards climb its hillsides above the Seto Inland Sea, and the local mikan is so central to life there that some towns joke their taps run with juice. Mikan jelly is the prefecture's everyday treat, sold in cups at service stations and made at home when the fruit glut comes in winter. Ours is set with kanten (agar) instead of gelatine, which also means it holds firm at room temperature and doesn't melt on a hot day. Serve chilled after dinner. Chef's tip: boil the agar properly for 2 minutes. Agar only sets once fully dissolved, and undercooked agar leaves a grainy, weak jelly.
Despite the name, this has nothing to do with Naples: it was invented in Buenos Aires in the 1940s at a restaurant called Nápoli, near the Luna Park stadium. A crisp milanesa is topped with tomato sauce, a slice of ham and plenty of mozzarella, then grilled until the cheese bubbles. It is a pork-and-beef dish, because of the ham. Porteños order it at the corner bodegón with a mountain of chips, one plate often shared by two. The common mistake is spooning on too much sauce, which turns the crumb soggy; a thin layer is enough. Chef's tip: fry the milanesas a minute less than usual, since they finish cooking under the grill, and keep the sauce thick.
Moamba de galinha is the national dish of Angola, cooked in Luanda for Sunday lunch and family celebrations: chicken simmered in a deep orange sauce of palm oil (or palm-nut cream), tomato, garlic and chilli, with okra and butternut squash. It is served with funge, a smooth cassava porridge, which is dipped into the sauce. The mistake is frying red palm oil over high heat, which makes it bitter; heat it gently. Chef's tip: marinate the chicken in lemon and garlic first; the sourness balances the rich sauce.
Milanesas, thin breaded cutlets brought by Italian immigrants, are the everyday dinner of Argentina and Uruguay, made in every home from Rosario to Mendoza. Vegetarian families make them with aubergine slices, which turn creamy inside a crunchy golden crumb, and serve them with mashed potato, salad or between bread as a sandwich de milanesa. Children love them with a squeeze of lemon. Turn them into milanesa a la napolitana by topping with tomato sauce and mozzarella and grilling. Chef's tip: season the egg, not just the crumbs: garlic and parsley in the egg are what make an Argentine milanesa taste like home.
If there is one dinner every Argentine child grows up on, it is milanesa: beef pounded very thin, dipped in garlicky egg, coated in breadcrumbs and fried until golden. It came with Italian immigrants to Buenos Aires and Rosario, and today it is eaten on weekday nights with mashed potato or chips, cold in sandwiches the next day (milanesa al pan), and on long car trips. Lemon wedges are a must. The mistake most people make is leaving the beef too thick; it should be about 5 mm, so it cooks through by the time the crumb is golden. Chef's tip: bread the milanesas, lay them on a tray and chill them for 30 minutes before frying, so the coating sticks firmly and doesn't fall off in the pan.
Şərbət is poured at the start of every Azerbaijani wedding, and the rose kind, scented with rosewater from the Absheron rose gardens, is the most loved; in Baku it is set out in crystal jugs for Novruz guests and at Ramadan iftar. This version adds two kinds of basil (reyhan): purple basil leaves steeped in the syrup for a clove-like scent, and soaked basil seeds that swell into soft, jelly-coated pearls. Lemon keeps it from tasting like perfume. Serve very cold, with ice, alongside sweets or a rich plov. Chef's tip: soak the basil seeds in plenty of water, at least 20 times their volume; crowded seeds clump into a single lump.
Melktert is South Africa's coffee-time tart, made by Afrikaner and Cape Malay families alike, sold at church bazaars and in farm stalls along the Garden Route, and even celebrated with its own National Milk Tart Day on 27 February. A crisp sweet pastry case holds a thick, wobbly custard made with milk and flavoured with a cinnamon stick, then finished with a heavy dusting of ground cinnamon. It is lighter and more milky than a baked egg custard tart. Chef's tip: stir the custard constantly as it thickens and keep cooking for 2 minutes after it bubbles so the flour loses its raw taste.
Busan's milmyeon was born in the refugee years of the Korean War, when people from the north who had fled to the port city wanted the cold buckwheat noodles of home but could only get wheat flour, much of it from food aid. The noodles that resulted are chewier and paler than naengmyeon, and the broth is flavoured with beef bones, vegetables and sometimes medicinal herbs, then served icy cold. A spoonful of spicy red sauce sits on top, and diners add vinegar and mustard to taste. In summer, long queues form outside milmyeon shops across Busan. Making the broth the day before is easiest, though an ice bath and the freezer get it cold in about an hour. Chef's tip: serve the broth so cold that a slushy layer of ice floats on top, as Busan shops do; a wide container in the freezer gets it there.
Kahawa is the strong, spiced black coffee poured from brass pots on the streets of Stone Town: freshly ground coffee boiled with cardamom pods and finished with ginger and ground cardamom. It's bitter-sweet and aromatic. Serve hot in small kahawa cups.
Niébé is the Wolof and French name for black-eyed beans, and this bright salad turns up at Senegalese family lunches, baptism feasts and Ramadan break-fast tables next to grilled dishes and rice. The beans are dressed while warm with lime, mustard and onion, then mixed with crunchy raw vegetables and a little hot pepper. It travels well and tastes better after an hour. Chef's tip: dress the beans while they are still warm so they drink in the lime; cold beans stay bland however much dressing you pour over.
Zanzibar's spiced pilau: rice cooked with onions, garlic, whole cinnamon, cloves, cardamom, peppercorns, cumin and nutmeg and plenty of vegetables, then finished with coconut milk and baked until fluffy. It's fragrant rather than hot. Garnish with grated coconut and serve hot with kachumbari or a curry.
Mine frite (fried noodles) arrived with the Hakka Chinese community of Port Louis and is now everyone's favourite, sold from food vans and stalls all over Mauritius and made at home for weekend lunches. Egg noodles are tossed in a very hot wok with garlic, cabbage, carrot, spring onion and soy sauce, then topped with an omelette in strips. It is usually eaten with a spoon of chilli paste and a pickled chilli. Chef's tip: dry the noodles well after boiling; wet noodles steam instead of frying and clump.
Pukhlein are the sweet treats of Khasi tea stalls and celebrations in Meghalaya: a batter of rice flour and jaggery fried into round, puffed cakes that are crisp and caramelised on the outside and chewy within. They are made for Christmas and family gatherings and are sold at Shillong's Iewduh (Bara Bazaar) with red tea. They taste a little like a cross between a doughnut and an Indian anarsa. Chef's tip: rest the batter for at least an hour; the rice flour hydrates and the cakes puff instead of spreading.
Zanzibar is the spice island, and chai ya viungo is its everyday tea: black tea boiled with a home-roasted masala of cardamom, dry ginger, black pepper, cloves, cinnamon and nutmeg. The masala keeps for months in an airtight jar. Milk is optional; serve the tea hot.
Mirchi ka salan comes from Hyderabad, where it's the classic partner for biryani at weddings and Sunday lunches. Fat, mild green chillies are fried until blistered, then simmered in a nutty gravy of roasted peanuts, sesame and dried coconut, soured with tamarind. The result is rich, tangy and only gently hot, with the chillies giving a fresh, grassy bite. It also tastes very good with plain rice, jeera rice or parathas and is even better the next day. Chef's tip: roast the peanuts, sesame and coconut separately and slowly; each browns at its own pace, and one scorched spoonful of sesame turns the whole gravy bitter.
Mukari are soft, lightly sweet Zanzibari pancakes made from a yeasted rice flour and coconut milk batter scented with cardamom. They're cooked covered over a low heat so they puff up and stay spongy. Serve warm with tea.
In Jodhpur, the day often begins at a roadside kadhai: huge, mild green chillies stuffed with spiced potato, coated in gram-flour batter and fried until golden and blistered, then eaten hot with sweet milky chai. Stalls near the Clock Tower and Sardar Market make them all day, and during the monsoon the queues grow longer. The chilli adds a fresh, green bite more than heat, and the filling is tangy with amchur and fennel. A common mistake is frying in oil that is not hot enough, which makes the batter heavy and oily. Chef's tip: fry each vada once until pale gold, rest it for a few minutes, then fry it again for 1 minute just before serving—this is the stall trick for a crust that stays crisp.
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