Brown sugar-topped buns
Black cakes, the name means, though only their tops are dark: tortitas negras are flat, round, flaky buns covered with a thick crust of dark brown sugar that melts in the oven and sets crunchy and toffee-like. They are among the cheapest and most popular facturas in Buenos Aires bakeries, eaten from a paper bag at breakfast or as a merienda with mate, and everyone fights over the sugary edges. The dough is a lightly laminated yeast dough, between bread and puff pastry. Bakeries often use lard or margarine; this version uses butter and stays vegetarian. Being stingy with the sugar is the classic misstep: a thin layer just melts into the dough and disappears, so pile it on thickly and press it down. Chef's tip: brush the rounds with water, not egg, before adding the sugar; the water melts the sugar into a crisp, crackling shell.
A new country every day, from every cuisine on the site.
Chips mayai ('chips and eggs') is Tanzania's best-loved street food, fried to order in Dar es Salaam and Zanzibar at evening stalls with big flat pans: fresh chips are bound into a thick omelette and served with kachumbari and chilli sauce or ketchup. Children and students live on it. Chef's tip: let the chips go crisp before pouring in the egg; soft chips make a soggy omelette.
An easy no-churn ice cream of coconut milk, sweetened condensed milk and evaporated milk, scented with nutmeg or cardamom and a little rose. Whisking it once while it freezes keeps it smooth and fluffy. Garnish with shredded coconut and a sprig of mint.
This is a pork sandwich. The Cubano was the lunch of cigar workers going between Havana and Tampa, and Miami's Little Havana cafés still press it to order on a hot plancha. Soft Cuban bread is layered with mojo roast pork, boiled ham, Swiss cheese, dill pickles and yellow mustard, then flattened and toasted until the cheese melts and the crust shatters. It is the best use of leftover lechón asado. Drink it with a café cubano. The usual mistake is pressing on too high a heat, which burns the bread before the middle is hot. Chef's tip: butter the outside of the bread, not the inside, and weigh it down with a heavy pan so it crisps evenly.
On a Georgian table in July and August the tomato and cucumber salad is not dressed with oil and lemon but with ground walnuts loosened with water and vinegar, so the dressing turns creamy and nutty. You find it in Tbilisi kitchens, in Kakhetian village gardens where the tomatoes come off the vine warm, and next to every khachapuri. It takes fifteen minutes and is best eaten as soon as it is made. A common mistake is salting the tomatoes too early, which floods the bowl with juice and thins the dressing; dress and salt just before it goes to the table. Chef's tip: use purple (opal) basil if you can find it; its clove-like scent is what makes this salad taste Georgian.
Chitranna, 'colourful rice', is the dish Karnataka mothers make when there is leftover rice and a school tiffin box to fill: cooked rice tossed in a yellow turmeric tempering with roasted peanuts, crunchy dals, green chilli, curry leaves and plenty of lemon. It appears at temple festivals as prasada, on train journeys wrapped in banana leaf, and on every Bengaluru darshini breakfast counter. It tastes even better an hour after it's made, when the lemon has soaked in. Tamil Nadu's elumichai sadam is a close cousin. Chef's tip: spread the rice out on a plate to cool before mixing; warm, steamy rice turns sticky and breaks when you toss it.
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.
The chivito was created in the 1940s at a restaurant in Punta del Este, Uruguay, and became the national sandwich: a soft roll filled with thin, tender steak, ham, melted mozzarella, a fried egg, bacon, lettuce, tomato, olives and mayonnaise. It is eaten in Montevideo's parrillas and corner bars with chips on the side. This sandwich contains pork. The mistake is a thick, chewy steak: use thinly sliced sirloin and sear it fast. Chef's tip: toast the cut sides of the rolls so they stand up to all the juices.
Big pieces of sweet red pepper and fennel tossed with lemon, black pepper and olive oil and roasted until soft and just starting to brown, then topped with black olives, toasted pine nuts and fresh herbs. It works as a side or a light starter, warm or cold. The vegetables can also be roasted on the barbecue jiko.
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.
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.
Rafute comes from the cooking of the old Ryukyu court in Okinawa, where pork has long been the most important meat. Thick blocks of skin-on belly are boiled to remove fat, then braised slowly in awamori, the local rice spirit, with soy, bonito stock and the islands' dark brown sugar. Today it is a dish for family celebrations and the Okinawan New Year, a staple of izakayas in Naha, and a topping for Okinawa soba. Expect deep amber pieces that hold their shape but cut with chopsticks. Chef's tip: cook it the day before; chilling lets you lift off the set fat, and the flavour soaks deeper into the meat overnight.
Jushi is Okinawa's seasoned rice, cooked with pork, vegetables and bonito stock. The firm kind, kufa-jushi, is what you find in rice balls at Okinawan supermarkets and alongside soba at lunch counters; a soupy, porridge-like version is cooked as well. On the winter solstice many families make a special jushi with taro root. Pork fat is part of its flavour, so the rice is cooked with a little lard and the belly pork itself. Chef's tip: measure the liquid carefully; the soy and stock replace part of the water, and firm, separate grains are what you want.
Paris's grand tearooms have served chocolat chaud since the 1800s, and it is nothing like a powdered cocoa drink: dark chocolate is melted into hot milk and cream until it is thick, glossy and rich enough to coat the cup. Parisians drink it in small cups on cold afternoons, often with a pot of whipped cream on the side and a pastry. It is also a winter treat at home after a walk. Use chocolate you'd enjoy eating. Chef's tip: keep the heat low and whisk; letting it boil is the common mistake and the chocolate can turn grainy and catch on the bottom.
Babka grew from the sweet yeasted breads of Polish and Ukrainian Jewish kitchens, and Tel Aviv and New York bakeries turned it into today's showpiece: a rich, buttery dough rolled around dark chocolate, cut open lengthways and twisted so the layers show, then soaked in syrup as it leaves the oven. Israelis buy it for Shabbat afternoon coffee, and a slice keeps its gooey layers for days. It takes time but little skill: an overnight chill makes the soft dough easy to roll. Chef's tip: chill the dough overnight; cold, firm dough rolls thin and twists cleanly instead of smearing the chocolate.
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.
Lucknow's cooks built their reputation on restraint: the Awadhi biryani is perfumed rather than fiery, with no tomato, very little chilli and whole spices that whisper instead of shout. Vegetables are cooked in spiced yogurt, layered with long-grain rice that is only three-quarters done, then sealed under a dough lid so everything finishes in its own steam, a technique the city calls dum pukht. It is the dish for Eid gatherings, wedding buffets and long Sunday lunches across Uttar Pradesh, served with a cooling raita and a sliced onion salad. The common mistake is boiling the rice fully before layering; it then turns soft and sticky under the lid instead of separating into long, distinct grains. Chef's tip: lift a grain and press it between your fingers before draining; it should break into two or three firm pieces with a white core.
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 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.
Upperi, the yellow raw-banana chips of Kerala, are fried in huge cauldrons in the snack shops of Kozhikode and Thrissur and handed round in bags at every Onam sadya, where they are one of the first things laid on the leaf. Green nendran bananas are sliced straight into hot coconut oil, and a splash of salted water goes in at the end, so the salt clings to every chip. The result is crisp, golden and faintly sweet, with that unmistakable coconut-oil smell. Chef's tip: rub a little oil on your hands before peeling the bananas; the sap stains skin and is very hard to wash off.
In Chodang village on the edge of Gangneung, tofu houses have curdled soy milk with clean seawater from the East Sea for generations, and the result, chodang sundubu (초당순두부), is served warm in a bowl before it has been pressed: soft, quivering curds in their own pale whey, with a soy dressing to spoon over. It is breakfast and lunch there, eaten with rice, kimchi and a few banchan, and tastes sweet and clean in a way packaged tofu never does. At home, nigari (the mineral salt left from seawater) gives the same effect. Use plain, unsweetened soy milk with at least 7% soy or make your own. Chef's tip: add the nigari off the heat and stir only once or twice; stirring after the curds start to form breaks them into grains.
Ndizi ya kuoka: small bananas halved and baked with lemon juice, brown sugar and cinnamon until soft and syrupy, then served with lightly sweetened cream and a grating of nutmeg. It's a quick, warm pudding. The book's Handy Hints say bananas are good for the heart.
Cholar dal is the festive dal of Bengal, cooked for Durga Puja and weddings and always paired with luchi. Split bengal gram is simmered until soft but whole, then finished with a fragrant tempering of ghee, bay leaf, cinnamon, cardamom and cloves, little fried coconut pieces and plump raisins. It is thick, mildly sweet and warmly spiced rather than hot. Serve with luchi, puri or steamed rice. Chef's tip: fry the coconut slivers until golden before anything else goes in the pan; they stay crisp-chewy and add a toasty sweetness to every spoonful.
Cholent, called hamin by Sephardic families, is the slow stew that Jewish homes in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv and Bnei Brak put on before Shabbat begins on Friday afternoon, so it can cook gently overnight without anyone touching the stove and be eaten hot at Saturday lunch. Beef, dried beans, pearl barley, potatoes and onions cook for 12 hours or more in a paprika-scented broth, often with whole eggs in their shells that turn brown and creamy. Chef's tip: add enough water to just cover everything; too little and it dries out overnight, too much and it is soup.
Cholera is a Valais pie from the upper Rhône valley, especially the Goms district, filled with layers of potato, leek, apple, pear and mountain cheese under a pastry lid. One story ties the name to the 1830s cholera outbreak, when people stayed home and baked whatever was in the cellar; another to the old Valais word for a coal stove, chola. It is eaten warm or cold, as a Sunday lunch, picnic food or a slice with a green salad, and the sweet fruit against salty cheese and soft leek is the whole point. Some Valais cooks add bacon; this vegetarian version doesn't need it. Use cheese made with vegetarian rennet. Chef's tip: slice the potatoes, apples and pear thinly and evenly (3 mm) so everything cooks through in the time the pastry takes to brown.
Chongqing wakes up to these: thin wheat noodles in a small bowl of red, numbing sauce, eaten standing up at street stalls before work. The noodles are plain; everything happens in the bowl, where chilli oil, Sichuan pepper, garlic water, preserved mustard greens and crushed peanuts are stacked up before the noodles go in. The vegetable version on this page is how most locals order it day to day. Chef's tip: some bought chilli oils are made with beef fat, so check the label or use your own vegetable-oil chilli oil.
Halawet el jibn, 'sweetness of cheese', is the pride of the pastry shops of Homs in Syria and Tripoli in Lebanon, where trays of the pale, stretchy rolls are sold for Eid, weddings and Sunday afternoons. A dough of melted cheese and semolina is stretched thin, wrapped around thick clotted cream (ashta), cut into rolls and soaked in rose syrup. The dough must be worked hot, which makes it the hardest dessert in this collection, but the result is soft, chewy and only lightly sweet. Use mozzarella or akkawi made with vegetarian (microbial) rennet; many supermarket mozzarellas are. Chef's tip: oil your hands and the worktop rather than flouring them; flour toughens the dough and dulls its shine.
In Georgetown bakeries, cheese rolls sit in the glass cabinet next to pine tarts and patties, and no Guyanese birthday party is complete without a tray. Short, buttery pastry is rolled around a sharp cheddar filling seasoned with mustard and hot pepper, then baked until the cheese bubbles out of the ends and crisps. They're eaten warm or at room temperature with a cold drink. Chef's tip: keep the butter and water ice-cold and handle the dough briefly; that's what gives flaky layers rather than a hard biscuit.
Halászlé is the fiery fisherman's soup of the rivers Tisza and Danube, and on Christmas Eve it is on almost every Hungarian table; the towns of Szeged and Baja each claim the best version. A rich stock is made from fish heads and bones with onions and lots of paprika, sieved until smooth and red, and then thick slices of carp (or catfish) are poached in it at the last moment. Serve with white bread and fresh hot peppers. Chef's tip: poach the fish fillets without stirring; just swirl the pot so the pieces stay whole.
Chorba frik is the soup that breaks the fast in Algerian homes every evening of Ramadan, from Algiers to Constantine, and it is just as common in Libya as shorba. Frik is young green wheat, roasted and cracked, which gives the tomato broth a smoky, nutty depth. It usually cooks with lamb; here chickpeas, celery and courgette carry it. Serve with lemon wedges and bread. Chef's tip: add the frik only once the broth is boiling and stir for the first minute, or it sinks and sticks.
Tangawizi is a warming Swahili drink of ginger boiled with cinnamon, clove and black pepper and sweetened to taste. It's hot, peppery and soothing on a cool evening or when you have a cold. Serve hot in small kahawa cups.
Choripán is what fans buy outside football stadiums in Buenos Aires, what the asador hands round while the beef is still cooking, and what stalls sell along Costanera Sur on a Sunday afternoon. This is a pork dish: a fat Argentine-style fresh chorizo (pork, sometimes mixed with beef) is grilled slowly, split open (a mariposa) and tucked into a crusty roll with chimichurri or salsa criolla. That's it, and it doesn't need more. The common mistake is grilling the chorizos too hot, so the skins burst and the centre stays raw; low and slow is the rule. Chef's tip: once cooked, split each chorizo lengthways and give the cut sides 1 minute on the grill so they char a little.
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.
Chotpoti is what Dhaka eats at dusk: vendors ladle it from great brass pots at Dhanmondi Lake and outside every university gate, and during Ramadan it is a fixture of the iftar spread. Dried yellow peas (motor) are simmered with potato until soft and slightly soupy, then served warm under a shower of raw onion, green chilli, grated boiled egg, crushed fuchka shells, roasted cumin and plenty of sour tamarind water. Chef's tip: soak the peas overnight and cook them until some burst and thicken the liquid; chotpoti should be spoonable, halfway between a stew and a salad.
Ask almost any family in Mexico about Sunday lunch or a cold, rainy afternoon and caldo de res comes up: bone-in beef shank simmered for hours, then filled with big pieces of corn on the cob, carrot, potato, courgette and cabbage, so each bowl is a meal. Fondas from Monterrey to Mexico City sell it at midday with Mexican red rice, warm tortillas and a dish of chopped serrano and onion. The marrow from the shank bones enriches the clear broth. Chef's tip: add the vegetables in stages, the hard ones first, so everything is tender at the same time and nothing turns to mush.
Hyderabad's biryani grew up in the kitchens of the Nizams, and the kacchi style is its proudest form: the chicken goes into the pot raw, in a thick yogurt, mint and fried-onion marinade, and cooks only in the steam trapped under part-cooked basmati. In the old city it is wedding and Eid food, ordered in huge copper deghs, and at home it's the Sunday showpiece, served with mirchi ka salan and a cooling raita. Because the meat cooks without being stirred, small bone-in thigh and drumstick pieces work best. Chef's tip: marinate overnight in the fridge — the yogurt tenderises the chicken and the flavours go right to the bone.
Chow mein arrived in Guyana with Chinese immigrants in the 1850s and became a party staple: at birthdays and weddings in Georgetown it sits in a huge tray beside fried rice and cook-up. Guyanese chow mein is a little sweeter and darker than Chinese versions, coloured with soy sauce and a touch of browning (burnt sugar), with long bora beans, cabbage and plenty of garlic, plus a hit of wiri wiri pepper. Chef's tip: cook the noodles until just tender, rinse them cold and toss with a little oil; dry, separate noodles fry without clumping.
Kashata ya nazi is a simple Swahili sweet of desiccated coconut cooked with milk, sugar, evaporated milk and cardamom until thick, then pressed into a dish and cut into diamonds. It's chewy and sweet, and it keeps well. Store in an airtight container.
Chtitha djej is the everyday chicken of Algerian homes from Algiers to Constantine: chicken pieces simmered in a red sauce of paprika, cayenne, garlic and caraway with chickpeas, reduced until thick and clinging. It is mopped up with khobz or matlouh flatbread. The mistake is burning the garlic and paprika when they go into the oil, which turns the sauce bitter; keep the heat moderate and add water as soon as they smell toasted. Chef's tip: add a squeeze of lemon right at the end to brighten the spices.
Nanchong, in the hills of north Sichuan, is famous for this snack: a soft, wobbly jelly set from bean starch, cut into thick ribbons and drowned in a red, glossy dressing. Street sellers keep it in big blocks and slice it to order, and people eat it as a mid-afternoon snack or a cold starter on hot days. The jelly itself tastes of almost nothing; the slippery texture and the punchy dressing are the point. Chef's tip: let the jelly set fully in the fridge, ideally overnight, so it is firm enough to cut cleanly but still trembles.
Chuchitos are Guatemala's everyday tamal: small, firm parcels of masa tied in corn husks, sold from steaming pots at markets in Antigua and Guatemala City and eaten on Saturdays with a spoon of tomato sauce and crumbled dry cheese. They're denser than Mexican tamales, with the masa itself tinted by the red recado. Here they're filled with potato, green beans and sweet pepper instead of chicken. Chef's tip: beat the masa until a pinch floats in a glass of water; that air makes them tender rather than stodgy.
In Tamil Nadu the day starts with filter coffee: a strong decoction dripped slowly through a two-tier steel filter, mixed with plenty of hot, boiled milk and sugar, and frothed by pouring it from a height between a steel tumbler and its little bowl, the davara. It's served at every Chennai and Kumbakonam 'hotel' and in nearly every home, and it's thick, sweet and slightly bitter from the chicory in the coffee powder. Chef's tip: press the coffee only lightly in the filter and pour the water in slowly; packed too tight, it drips for an hour, and too loose, the decoction is thin.
Akki rotti is the breakfast of Bengaluru and the old Mysore country: rice flour mixed with grated vegetables, dill, coconut and green chilli, patted out thin by hand straight onto a cold pan, then cooked until speckled and crisp at the edges. Every home has its own mix; dill (sabbasige soppu) is the classic flavour, but cucumber, carrot or fenugreek all turn up. It is eaten hot off the pan with coconut chutney or a dab of ghee and spicy chutney powder, and it is naturally gluten-free. Chef's tip: work with two pans in turn, patting the next rotti onto a cooled pan while the first one cooks; patting onto a hot pan burns your fingers and gives an uneven rotti.
The kathi roll was born on Park Street in Kolkata, where kebabs once came on bamboo sticks (kathi) and were later wrapped in a paratha so office workers could eat them walking. This is the egg-and-paneer roll the stalls on Park Street and Gariahat sell to vegetarians: a flaky, ghee-fried paratha with an egg cooked right onto one side, then rolled round charred paneer, raw onion, green chilli, lime and a squirt of chilli sauce. Chef's tip: wrap the bottom half in paper as soon as it is rolled; the steam softens the paratha just enough to hold together.
Harcha are thick little semolina breads cooked on a griddle and eaten all over Morocco at breakfast and with mid-afternoon tea, especially during Ramadan for the evening meal. The dough is closer to a crumbly batter than a bread dough, so it needs no kneading or rising; it is pressed into rounds and cooked slowly until the outside turns golden and gritty and the inside stays tender, a bit like a savoury shortbread. Split them while warm and spread with butter and honey, apricot jam or a wedge of soft cheese. Chef's tip: let the mixed dough rest for 5 minutes; the semolina drinks up the milk and becomes much easier to shape.
Lei cha means 'pounded tea', and in Hakka villages from Jieyang and Hepo to Taiwan and Malaysia it is still ground by hand in a ridged bowl with a guava-wood stick. Tea leaves, basil, mint and coriander are pounded with sesame and peanuts, then loosened with hot water into a grassy green soup. It's ladled over a bowl of rice topped with small heaps of stir-fried greens, beans, tofu and preserved radish. Some families eat it on the seventh day of the New Year. Chef's tip: toast the sesame and peanuts yourself; the toasting gives the soup its depth.
In Tokyo, hot soba with a fritter on top is the city's fast food. Standing soba counters near train stations, called tachigui soba, have served it to commuters since the Edo period, when soba and tempura stalls stood side by side. The fritter here is kakiage: a loose nest of onion, carrot and greens held together with just enough batter to fry into a lacy disc. It softens a little in the broth and flavours it with toasty oil, which is why many Tokyoites eat half of it crisp and let the rest soak. Our broth uses kombu and shiitake instead of bonito. Chef's tip: slide the kakiage into the oil off a flat spatula or ladle, and don't touch it for the first minute. It needs that time to set, or it falls apart.
Calabacitas a la mexicana is the everyday summer side dish of kitchens all over Mexico: young squash (calabacitas) cooked quickly with sweetcorn, tomato, onion and strips of roasted poblano until tender and juicy, finished with crumbled fresh cheese. Mexican grey squash is milder and more tender than courgette, but young courgettes work beautifully. Eat it with rice and beans, roll it into tacos, or fill quesadillas with it. Use queso fresco made with vegetarian rennet. Chef's tip: cook over a high heat and don't cover the pan for long; you want the courgette to fry and keep a bite, not steam into a puddle.
On hot evenings in Haikou, night-market stalls ladle this into bowls: coconut milk poured over red beans, mung beans, sago pearls, cubes of jelly and fresh tropical fruit, with a scoop of shaved ice on top. The name roughly means 'clearing, nourishing, cooling', and Hainan people eat it to cool down in their long summer. Everything except the fruit can be cooked a day ahead and chilled. Chef's tip: cook each bean separately; they soften at different speeds.
Tambi ya nazi: soft vermicelli stirred into sweetened coconut milk with crushed cardamom, then baked briefly so it sets lightly. It's creamy, gently sweet and fragrant, and is often made for Eid. Serve hot, sprinkled with more cardamom.
Churchkhela are the candle-shaped sweets you see hanging in bunches at every Georgian market, but they are made at home during rtveli, the grape harvest in Kakheti in September and October. Walnuts are threaded on a string and dipped again and again in tatara, fresh grape must thickened with flour, then hung up to dry for a week, until firm and chewy outside and tender within. They are eaten at New Year and kept for months. A common mistake is a tatara that is too thin, which slides off the nuts; it should coat the back of a spoon thickly and fall in ribbons. Chef's tip: let each coat set for 10–15 minutes before the next dip; three or four thin coats look and keep better than one thick one.
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.
In the monsoon, ningro (fiddlehead fern) shoots appear in the hill markets of Gangtok, Namchi and Darjeeling, curled like violin scrolls. Sikkimese homes cook them quickly with onion, tomato and green chilli, then stir in crumbled soft churpi, a fresh, tangy cheese made from yak or cow's milk, which melts into a creamy, slightly sour sauce. It is a side dish for rice and dal, and tastes green and grassy, a little like asparagus. Chef's tip: always boil ferns for a few minutes and drain before cooking; it removes bitterness. Ricotta or crumbled feta is a fair stand-in for churpi.
Chushki byurek are one of the great autumn dishes of Bulgaria: in September, when the long red peppers ripen around Plovdiv and Pazardzhik, they are roasted, peeled, filled with sirene and egg, then dipped in flour, egg and breadcrumbs and fried. The outside crunches, the pepper is silky and sweet, and the salty cheese melts inside. They are served hot as a main course with a tomato salad, or cold the next day. Chef's tip: dry the peeled peppers well before filling; a wet pepper is the usual mistake, and the batter slides off and the oil spits.
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.
Every spring, from February to April, Roman market stalls pile up round, thornless romanesco artichokes (cimaroli), and trattorie serve them alla romana: stuffed with wild mint, parsley and garlic and braised stem-up in oil and water until meltingly soft. They are eaten warm or at room temperature as a contorno, often next to their crisp cousins, carciofi alla giudia. Any large globe artichoke works at home. Chef's tip: braise them upside down, stems in the air and tightly packed, so the hearts sit in the liquid and the stems steam to the same tenderness.
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.
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.
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.
Across Hainan island, in Wenchang and Haikou especially, cooks fill whole mature coconuts with glutinous rice and steam them for hours until the rice is sticky, sweet and full of coconut flavour. The coconut is cut open at the table and served in wedges with the white flesh still attached. Look for brown, mature coconuts that slosh when shaken. Soak the rice for 4 hours first. Chef's tip: a cleaver tapped round the shell's 'equator' near the top opens it more safely than trying to saw it.
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.
Ask anyone who grew up in the Netherlands what they ate before school and the answer is usually a boterham met hagelslag: a slice of soft bread, well buttered, and covered edge to edge in chocolate sprinkles. It is not a treat for special days but an ordinary Dutch breakfast and lunchbox filler, and the country gets through millions of kilos of hagelslag every year. There are milk and dark chocolate versions, plus vruchtenhagel (fruity pastel sprinkles) and anijshagel (aniseed sprinkles). Chef's tip: the butter is the glue, so spread it right to the crusts and press the sprinkles down gently with the flat of a knife before you lift the slice.
Hue, the old imperial capital on the Perfume River, is famous for its chè: sweet soups and puddings sold from tiny shops where the menu runs to dozens of kinds. The most elegant is chè hạt sen long nhãn, once a palace dessert. Lotus seeds from the city's lakes are simmered until soft and creamy, then tucked inside juicy longan fruit and served in a light, clear syrup. It is eaten warm on cool rainy afternoons or over crushed ice in the hot months. Chef's tip: split each dried lotus seed and pick out any green germ inside before cooking; one missed germ makes the whole bowl bitter.
Romanians swear by ciorbă de burtă the morning after a wedding or a long night out, and in Bucharest there are restaurants that serve little else from breakfast onwards. Strips of beef tripe sit in a silky broth thickened with egg yolk and sour cream, sharpened with vinegar and served with mujdei, a raw garlic sauce, and a hot pepper on the side. It takes time, because tripe only turns tender after a long, slow simmer. The mistake most people make is boiling the soup after the yolks go in, which scrambles them into flecks. Chef's tip: buy cleaned, blanched (white, 'dressed') tripe from the butcher; it saves an hour of scrubbing and is much milder.
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.
In the Mekong Delta, families gather in the days before Tết (Lunar New Year) to wrap bánh tét: long, round logs of coconut-scented sticky rice around a core of mung bean, tied in banana leaves and boiled overnight over a wood fire. The everyday version hides a strip of pork belly in the middle; the chay version here, with peppery shallot-seasoned mung bean, is the one made in Buddhist pagodas and vegetarian households, and some cooks make a sweet bánh tét chuối with ripe banana instead. Slices are cut with a loop of string, eaten with pickled vegetables, or fried until crisp in the days after Tết. Chef's tip: roll and tie the log tightly; a firm parcel is what keeps the water out and gives clean, dense slices.
Ciorbă is the sour soup that opens a Romanian lunch, from canteens in Cluj to Sunday tables in Moldavia, and the vegetable version is cooked all through the fasting weeks before Easter and Christmas. Root vegetables, beans and peppers simmer in a light broth that is soured at the end with borș, the fermented wheat-bran liquid sold in bottles at Romanian shops, or with lemon juice. Fresh lovage (leuștean) gives its unmistakable celery-like perfume. It is eaten piping hot with bread and a fresh green chilli on the side. Chef's tip: add the borș only at the end and let it come back just to a simmer; boiling it hard dulls the sour tang.
Across Romania, from Bucharest canteens to Moldavian grandmothers' kitchens, a pot of ciorbă de perișoare turns up on the Sunday table and again on Monday, when it tastes even better. This version contains pork: soft meatballs of minced pork and rice simmer in a clear vegetable broth that is soured at the end with borș (fermented wheat-bran liquid) or lemon juice, then finished with a handful of lovage. It is eaten very hot with a spoon of sour cream and a fresh green chilli to bite between spoonfuls. A frequent slip is boiling the soup hard once the meatballs are in, which breaks them apart and clouds the broth. Chef's tip: wet your hands in cold water before rolling each meatball; the mixture will not stick and the balls stay smooth and round.
A spicy Ethiopian stew of masoor lentils cooked down with browned onions, garlic, ginger, fresh tomato and tomato paste, and finished with red chilli and black pepper. It's thick, rich and hot. Serve with injera, alongside atter kik and azifa.
A mild, golden Ethiopian lentil sauce (kik alicha) of split bengal gram lentils simmered with onion, ginger, garlic, a pinch of turmeric and green chilli until thick and creamy. It's gentle and soothing next to the fiery missir wat. Serve hot with injera.
Clafoutis comes from the Limousin in central France, where black cherries ripen in early summer and families make this simple pudding for Sunday lunch. Whole cherries are scattered in a buttered dish and covered with a sweet, eggy batter, like a cross between a pancake and a custard, then baked until puffed and golden. In the Limousin the cherries are left unstoned, which cooks say gives a faint almond flavour; stone them if you are serving children. It's best warm, dusted with icing sugar. Chef's tip: don't overmix the batter once the flour is in; beating it hard is the common mistake and makes the clafoutis tough and rubbery.
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.
Poutine was born in rural Québec in the 1950s, at snack bars (casse-croûtes) in towns like Warwick and Drummondville, and is now eaten across Canada at 2 a.m. after a night out and at hockey arenas. The rules are simple: crisp fries, fresh cheese curds that squeak against your teeth, and a hot, savoury gravy poured over so the curds soften but don't fully melt. This gravy is made with browned mushrooms and vegetable stock instead of the usual chicken-beef stock. Chef's tip: keep the curds at room temperature and the gravy very hot; cold curds stay rubbery and lukewarm gravy makes the fries soggy without softening the cheese.
A Mombasa street-food bowl: chickpeas and potato simmered in coconut milk with raw mango and chilli, ladled into small bowls and topped with crisp lentil fritters, crunchy chevdo and red, green and tamarind chutneys. Make the fritters and chevdo ahead and assemble at the table. It's sweet, sour, hot and crunchy all at once.
Çoban salatası, the shepherd's salad, is on the table at almost every Turkish meal from Edirne to Van, whether that is a home dinner, a lokanta lunch or a summer barbecue. It is simple by design: small dice of tomato, cucumber, green pepper and onion with parsley, dressed with lemon juice, olive oil and a little sumac. It is eaten alongside pilaf, beans, börek or anything grilled. The common mistake is salting it too early, which draws the water out of the tomatoes and leaves it swimming. Chef's tip: rub the onion slices with salt and sumac and rinse them before adding; the onion stays crunchy but loses its harsh bite.
For a few weeks in May, the riverbanks of New Brunswick, along the Saint John River, and parts of Maine and Québec sprout fiddleheads: the tightly coiled young shoots of the ostrich fern. Locals forage them or buy them by the bag at roadside stands and farmers' markets, and eat them simply, with butter, garlic and lemon, tasting somewhere between asparagus and green beans with a grassy snap. They're a true taste of Atlantic Canadian spring. Chef's tip: fiddleheads must be boiled for a full 15 minutes before sautéing; undercooked fiddleheads can cause stomach upset, so this step is not optional.
Named after the city of Nanaimo on Vancouver Island, these three-layer bars have been Canada's favourite tray bake since the 1950s, when the recipe appeared in local community cookbooks. A crumbly base of biscuit crumbs, cocoa, coconut and nuts is topped with a thick yellow custard-flavoured buttercream and a snap of dark chocolate. They're made for church sales, Christmas cookie tins and coffee breaks, and need no oven. Chef's tip: dip the knife in hot water and wipe it between cuts; it slices through the chocolate cleanly without cracking it.
Butter tarts are fiercely loved in Ontario, where towns along the 'Butter Tart Trail' near Midland and Wellington County hold contests, and where Canadians argue about whether raisins belong in them. Small, flaky pastry cups hold a filling of brown sugar, butter, egg and syrup that bakes into a gooey, caramel-like centre with a crackled top. This version adds a little maple syrup and leaves raisins optional. Chef's tip: bake only until the filling bubbles and the edges are set but the centre still jiggles; runny is the goal, but overbaked tarts turn sugary and hard.
Café cubano, or cafecito, is the tiny, intensely sweet coffee poured into thimble-sized cups at every ventanita (walk-up window) in Miami and in homes across Cuba, often shared around the office at 3 o'clock. The secret is the espumita: the first few drops of coffee beaten hard with sugar into a pale caramel-coloured cream that floats on top. You need a stovetop moka pot. Chef's tip: catch only the very first, strongest drops for the foam; if you add too much coffee the sugar won't whip up.
Saskatoon berries grow wild across the Canadian prairies, and in July families in Saskatchewan, Alberta and Manitoba pick them by the pail for pie. They look like blueberries but taste sweeter and nuttier, almost like a cross with cherry and almond, with soft seeds. The city of Saskatoon takes its name from the Cree word for the berry, misâskwatômina. A double-crust saskatoon pie with ice cream is classic prairie summer dessert. Chef's tip: saskatoons are low in acid, so lemon juice is essential to wake up the flavour; outside Canada, use blueberries with a few drops of almond extract.
Tokyo's earliest ramen counters, starting with one in Asakusa in 1910, served a clear brown soup seasoned with soy sauce, and that style still defines a Tokyo bowl. You'll find it in old-fashioned shops with a ticket machine by the door and a short lunchtime queue outside. This home version simmers chicken wings for under an hour, so the broth tastes clean and light, a world away from the milky pork soup of Kyushu. Wavy noodles catch the soup, and poached chicken, a jammy egg, nori and spring onion go on top. Chef's tip: float a spoonful of the yellow chicken fat you skim off the broth on each bowl, as it carries the aroma of the soy to your nose with every slurp.
Late at night along the river in Nakasu, Fukuoka, the yatai street stalls ladle out bowls of creamy, opaque pork-bone soup to people heading home. Hakata noodles are thin and straight and cooked very firm, and regulars order a second ball of noodles, called kaedama, into the same soup. Making it at home is a weekend project: the bones need about 10 hours at a fierce boil to break down into that milky broth, while rolled pork belly braises on the side. Red pickled ginger, sesame and spring onion cut through the richness. Chef's tip: ask your butcher to split the trotters and saw the bones in half, as the exposed marrow and collagen are what make the soup turn white and silky.
Cachapas are the roadside breakfast of Venezuela; along the highways of Aragua and Carabobo, stands called cachaperas grill them on big iron plates from early morning. They are thick, slightly lumpy pancakes made from fresh blended sweetcorn, sweet and savoury at once, folded over a slab of soft, stretchy white cheese (queso de mano) that melts with the heat. Mozzarella works well outside Venezuela. Chef's tip: keep a few whole kernels in the batter; the little bursts of corn are part of a real cachapa.
The Maya of the Yucatán peninsula cooked pork in a pib, a pit lined with hot stones, and in Mérida cochinita pibil is still sold at dawn from market stalls, piled into tacos and tortas for breakfast. Pork shoulder sits overnight in a brick-red paste of achiote and sour orange juice, then roasts slowly wrapped in banana leaves until it pulls apart, soaking in its own tangy juices. It goes into warm tortillas with bright pink pickled onions and, for the brave, a habanero salsa. Chef's tip: if you can't find bitter Seville oranges, mix sweet orange juice with lime juice; the sourness is what tenderises and balances the pork.
Cocido madrileño is the slow pot of the capital's winter, served at lunch in old Madrid taverns and at home on cold weekends. Everything simmers together for hours (chickpeas, beef shin, chicken, pork belly, ham bone, chorizo, carrots and potatoes) and then it comes to the table in three vuelcos, or 'tippings out': first the broth as a soup with thin noodles, then the chickpeas and vegetables, then the platter of meats. Cabbage and chorizo are cooked in a separate pan so they don't cloud or redden the broth. It is a big project, but most of the time the pot looks after itself. Chef's tip: put the soaked chickpeas into a mesh bag or a loose muslin bundle; they're easy to lift out whole at the end and don't break up in the long simmer.
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.
Habichuelas guisadas are on the stove most weekdays in Puerto Rico, from Ponce to Fajardo, ladled over plain white rice for the everyday plate called arroz con habichuelas. Pink or red beans simmer with sofrito, tomato sauce and olives, and cubes of calabaza (West Indian pumpkin) melt into the pot to make a thick, orange-red, gently sweet sauce. It's homely, cheap and deeply savoury. Island cooks often add a piece of ham; this version doesn't need it. Chef's tip: when the pumpkin is soft, crush a few pieces against the side of the pot; they dissolve into the liquid and thicken it without any flour.
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.
In the Dominican Republic, Holy Week means pots of habichuelas con dulce, shared over garden walls between neighbours from Santiago to San Pedro de Macorís. Red beans are cooked soft and blended into a smooth cream, then simmered with coconut and evaporated milk, cinnamon and cloves, with soft cubes of sweet potato and plump raisins. Served cold, it tastes like a spiced coconut custard with a gentle earthy depth; nobody guesses beans the first time. It's traditionally topped with little crunchy milk biscuits. Chef's tip: push the blended beans through a sieve; it takes two minutes and gives the silky texture that marks a good batch.
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