Twice-baked buttermilk rusks
Beskuit grew out of the Voortrekker need for bread that kept on long ox-wagon journeys; today a tin of rusks sits next to the kettle in homes from the Karoo to Pretoria, and they are dunked in early-morning coffee or rooibos. A soft buttermilk dough is baked as a loaf, cut into fingers and then dried in a low oven for hours until rock hard and crunchy. Chef's tip: dry the rusks slowly at a very low heat with the oven door slightly open; they should dry out completely, not brown further.
A new country every day, from every cuisine on the site.
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.
On every table in Barbados, from rum shops in Oistins to Sunday lunch at home, there's a bottle of yellow pepper sauce. Bajan pepper sauce is unlike the red sauces of other islands: scotch bonnets are blended with onion, yellow mustard, turmeric and vinegar, which give it its colour and a tangy, mellow edge under the fierce, fruity heat. A few drops lift fish cakes, cou-cou, macaroni pie and rice. Chef's tip: let it rest for a few days before using; the mustard and vinegar soften the raw onion and the heat becomes rounder.
Rica means chilli in the Manado dialect, and North Sulawesi cooks are not shy with it. Ayam rica-rica turns up at Minahasa family parties and church gatherings, a heap of chicken pieces coated in a coarse, scarlet paste of fresh chillies, shallots and ginger, finished with tomato, spring onion and a fistful of lemon basil. It's hot, bright and fresh rather than deep and stewed, with a sticky sauce that clings to the meat. Serve it with lots of steamed rice and a cooling cucumber salad. Chef's tip: blend the paste coarse, with as little water as possible; a wet, smooth paste steams instead of frying and never gets that glossy, toasty edge.
Melaka's Peranakan (Nyonya) kitchens cook ayam pongteh for family dinners and for the Chinese New Year reunion table: a dark, gentle braise of chicken and potatoes that has no chilli at all. Its savour comes from taucheo, salted fermented soybeans, fried with a lot of shallots and garlic, sweetened with palm sugar and coloured with dark soy. The gravy is thin, glossy and moreish, and the potatoes drink it up until they are soft enough to crush with a spoon. Spoon it over plain rice with sambal belacan on the side for anyone who wants heat. Chef's tip: pound the shallots rather than blending them to a purée; slightly coarse shallots melt into the gravy and give it body.
Red-cooked chicken turns up at almost every Malay kenduri (wedding feast) and Hari Raya open house across Malaysia, ladled out of huge pots beside nasi minyak or plain rice. The chicken pieces are fried first so the skin firms up, then simmered in a brick-red sauce of blended dried chillies, tomato and onion that tastes sweet first, then hot, then tangy. Cinnamon, star anise and cloves give it a warm, almost festive smell, and a splash of coconut milk at the end rounds off the edges. Serve it with steamed rice, cucumber slices and a spoon of acar (pickled vegetables). Chef's tip: fry the chilli paste until it darkens and the oil seeps out (pecah minyak) before any tomato goes in; raw paste makes the sauce taste harsh and bitter.
Ribollita means 'reboiled': a Tuscan peasant soup of cannellini beans, cavolo nero and other vegetables, layered with stale bread and heated again the next day until thick enough to eat with a fork. Florentines eat it through the cold months, when cavolo nero is sweetest after the first frosts, finished with a green thread of new-season olive oil. Make it a day ahead, because the reboil is the point. Chef's tip: when reheating, let the bottom catch very slightly before stirring; that toasty edge is what Tuscans love about day-two ribollita.
Drive through west Bali to the ferry port of Gilimanuk and the roadside warungs all sell the same thing: ayam betutu, chicken cooked so long in spice paste that it slumps off the bone into a fiery, turmeric-orange gravy. The paste is base genep, Bali's master seasoning of shallots, garlic, galangal, aromatic ginger, turmeric, chillies, candlenuts and shrimp paste, and it is rubbed inside and out before the bird braises gently in a covered pot. Expect deep heat, a little bitterness from the greens tucked inside and a rich, almost buttery sauce. Pile it on steamed rice with water spinach or a raw sambal matah to cut through. Chef's tip: braise it the day before; the paste mellows overnight and the chicken reheats beautifully.
Berbere is the red, warmly spiced powder that gives Ethiopian wats their colour and heat. In markets like Addis Mercato, women sell it by the scoop, and in Gojjam and Gondar families still dry chillies on rooftops and grind their own mix once a year. Each household's version differs, but most combine hot dried red chillies with paprika, fenugreek, coriander, cardamom, ginger, cloves and allspice. This quick home version toasts whole spices and grinds them with ready-ground chilli. The hotter blend mitmita (bird's eye chilli, cardamom, cloves and salt) is its fiery cousin for sprinkling at the table. Chef's tip: toast the whole spices only until they smell fragrant; once fenugreek turns dark brown it becomes bitter.
Axone, called akhuni in the Sumi Naga language, is soybean fermented in banana leaves until it is pungent and deeply savoury, and pork cooked with it is a signature of the Sumi people of Zunheboto in Nagaland. The smell is strong while it cooks, but the finished curry tastes rich, earthy and meaty, sharpened by tomato and chilli. Serve with rice and a green vegetable. Chef's tip: open a window and warn the household; axone is famously smelly in the pan and wonderful on the plate.
Avial is a mainstay of the Kerala sadya, the vegetarian feast served on a banana leaf at Onam and weddings. Batons of vegetables (raw banana, drumstick, yam, carrot, beans, ash gourd) are cooked just tender, then coated in a coarse paste of fresh coconut, cumin and green chilli, soured with curd and finished with raw coconut oil and curry leaves. It's thick rather than saucy, mild, tangy and fragrant. Serve with rice and sambar, or with adai. Chef's tip: cut every vegetable into the same 5 cm batons and add them in order of hardness, so they're all tender together and nothing turns to mush.
Every April and May, when the hard, sour green mangoes arrive, Andhra homes turn into pickle factories. The mangoes are cut, stone and all, with a heavy cleaver, then mixed with freshly ground mustard, fiery red chilli powder, salt and a flood of sesame oil, and packed into ceramic jars to mature. Avakaya is fierce, pungent, salty and sour, and a tiny piece mashed into hot rice with ghee and dal is many Telugu people's idea of perfect lunch. A jar lasts the whole year. Chef's tip: every piece of mango, every knife and the jar must be bone dry; a single drop of water can turn a whole batch mouldy.
Besara means 'with mustard', and in Odisha it is the name of any dish cooked in a freshly ground paste of mustard seeds, garlic and green chilli. Fish besara is the best known; this is the vegetarian version cooked in Odia homes with pumpkin, potato, aubergine, raw banana and a few drumsticks, made sour with a little tamarind or dried mango. The mustard gives it a clean, sinus-clearing heat that is very different from a turmeric-and-chilli curry. Chef's tip: grind the mustard with a pinch of salt and a green chilli; this stops the paste turning bitter.
Beshbarmak, "five fingers", is the dish a Kazakh family puts on the dastarkhan for guests, weddings and Nauryz, traditionally eaten with the hand. Lamb (or horse meat in many homes) is simmered for hours, sliced and laid over wide squares of fresh noodle dough cooked in the same broth, then topped with soft onions in a peppery sauce. The broth, called sorpa, is drunk from bowls alongside. Cutting the noodles too thick is a common slip; they should be thin enough to be silky, not chewy. Chef's tip: keep a cup of the hot fat skimmed from the broth to cook the onion sauce; it carries all the lamb flavour.
Beyaynetu means 'a bit of every kind', and on Wednesdays, Fridays and through the long Lenten fast it is what most of Addis Ababa orders for lunch: a round of injera covered with small heaps of different vegan stews and salads, each a different colour and spice level, with extra rolled injera on the side. At home it is a feast for sharing, built from dishes you can make ahead. This page shows you how to plan and assemble it, and gives the red lentil misir wat that sits at its centre; for the other dishes use our Shiro wat, Kik alicha, Gomen, Tikil gomen, Fosolia and Timatim salata recipes, and of course Injera. Chef's tip: balance the platter with two spicy red dishes, two mild yellow ones and two green or fresh ones, so every mouthful can be cooled or warmed.
Attiéké is the light, slightly sour cassava 'couscous' of the Ébrié and Adjoukrou peoples around Abidjan's lagoons, and it is eaten across Côte d'Ivoire every day of the week. In maquis (open-air restaurants) it comes heaped beside grilled fish with a raw salad of tomato, onion and chilli; at home many people eat it simply with that salad, fried plantain and a fried egg, which is how it is served here. Buy it frozen or dried in African shops. Chef's tip: steam attiéké rather than boiling it; water turns it to paste, while steam keeps the grains fluffy and separate.
Semmelknödel are the bread dumplings of Bavaria and Austria, made to use up yesterday's rolls (Semmeln) soaked in warm milk and bound with egg, onion and parsley. With a creamy mushroom sauce, Semmelknödel mit Schwammerlsoße, they become a full meal and a favourite in Munich beer gardens and Alpine inns from late summer, when foraged chanterelles and ceps reach the markets. Chef's tip: simmer the dumplings in barely trembling water, never a rolling boil; hard boiling breaks them apart, which is the most common Knödel disaster.
When the date palm sap starts flowing in early winter, small steaming pots appear on street corners all over Bangladesh, from Rajshahi to Dhaka's Karwan Bazar, selling bhapa pitha in the dark mornings. Damp, lightly salted rice flour is packed into a small bowl around a layer of grated coconut and khejur gur (date jaggery), wrapped in cloth and steamed over a narrow-necked pot until soft, fluffy and fragrant. Eat them warm, straight from the cloth. Chef's tip: the rice flour should feel like damp sand that just holds when squeezed; too wet and the cake turns gummy, too dry and it crumbles.
Black soybeans, called bhatt, grow on the slopes around Almora and Pithoragarh, and churkani is the everyday Kumaoni way of eating them: roasted in a dry iron pan until they crack, then simmered with garlic, ginger and a little rice flour into a thick, nearly black gravy. It's the kind of food that keeps people warm through a hill winter, eaten with steamed rice, a spoonful of ghee and a sharp radish raita. The roasting gives a nutty, almost smoky taste you won't get from boiling the beans. Chef's tip: cook it in an iron kadhai if you have one; the metal reacts with the beans and gives churkani its traditional dark colour.
On Christmas Eve, almost every Danish family ends dinner with risalamande, a cold vanilla rice pudding lightened with whipped cream and chopped almonds and served with a hot cherry sauce poured over the top. Hidden somewhere in the bowl is one whole almond, and whoever finds it wins the mandelgave, the almond prize, usually a marzipan pig. Some finders keep the almond in their cheek until everyone has eaten far too much. The rice base, risengrød, is often cooked on 23 December, eaten warm with butter and cinnamon, and the leftovers become risalamande the next night. Chef's tip: let the rice pudding cool completely before folding in the cream; warm rice melts the whipped cream and the pudding turns heavy instead of airy.
Paturi means 'wrapped in a leaf', and in Bengal the favourite fish for it is bhetki, the meaty barramundi of the Sundarbans estuaries. Fillets are coated in a sharp paste of mustard, coconut and green chilli, tied up in banana leaf and steamed or cooked on a griddle, so they come out moist and fragrant. It is a dish for celebration lunches in Kolkata and is unwrapped at the table over hot rice. Chef's tip: no banana leaves? Use baking paper inside foil; you lose a little aroma but none of the texture.
Risi e bisi was once served to the Doge of Venice every 25 April, the feast of Saint Mark, when the first tender peas arrived from the lagoon islands. It sits between a soup and a risotto: thicker than a minestra, looser than risotto, eaten with a spoon. Venetians make a quick broth from the empty pods, which gives a sweet, grassy flavour no stock cube can match; pancetta often goes in, but this version keeps it vegetarian with parsley and butter. Chef's tip: when podding fresh peas, keep the pods; simmered for 20 minutes they make the whole dish taste of spring.
In Dhaka, the first heavy monsoon downpour sends people home craving bhuna khichuri, and Eid mornings in old Dhaka often start with a pot of it too. Unlike the loose, porridge-like khichdi of north India, the Bangladeshi bhuna version is dry and fluffy: dry-roasted moong dal and short-grain rice are fried in ghee with onions and whole spices until fragrant, then cooked with just enough water so the grains stay separate. Serve it hot with begun bhaja, a bhorta or two and a spoon of pickle. Chef's tip: roast the moong dal in a dry pan until it smells like toasted nuts before you wash it; that roasted note is what makes this khichuri taste of Bangladesh.
In monsoon Indore, when the fields around the city are full of tender maize, sweet shops turn the same corn into halwa: kernels ground coarsely, roasted in ghee until they smell like buttered popcorn, then cooked with milk and sugar until glossy. It is lighter and less cloying than many halwas, with a gentle bite from the corn. Families make it for guests and for small festivals, and it is just as good warm from the pan or at room temperature the next day. Chef's tip: grind the corn in short pulses to a coarse, porridgy texture; a smooth purée turns gluey and sticks.
Bhutte ka kees is a monsoon favourite from Indore in Madhya Pradesh, sold at the city's famous night market, Sarafa. Fresh corn is grated and cooked in ghee with mustard seeds and green chilli, then simmered in milk until it turns thick, creamy and gently sweet. A squeeze of lemon, fresh coriander and grated coconut finish it. Eat it hot with a spoon as an evening snack. Chef's tip: grate the corn off the cob on the coarse side of a box grater rather than blending it; you get juicy, starchy pulp that thickens the milk naturally.
Biang biang mian are the wide, belt-like noodles of Xi'an in Shaanxi, named, some say, after the slapping sound the dough makes as it's pulled and banged on the counter. The written character for biang is one of the most complicated in Chinese. Each noodle is as wide as a belt and chewy; the classic topping is chilli flakes, garlic and spring onion, sizzled with smoking hot oil, then splashed with vinegar and soy. Chef's tip: let the oiled dough pieces rest for at least 30 minutes, longer if you can; relaxed gluten stretches long and thin without snapping.
Biber dolması turns up in every corner of Turkey, from Istanbul meyhanes to village kitchens in central Anatolia, and the olive-oil version without meat is the one eaten cold at summer lunches or packed for picnics. Thin-walled green dolma peppers are filled with rice cooked with onion, tomato, pine nuts, currants and warm spices, capped with a slice of tomato and simmered until the peppers slump and wrinkle. A frequent mistake is packing the filling to the top: leave a finger of space so the rice can swell. Chef's tip: let the peppers cool completely in their pot; the filling firms up and the flavours of mint and allspice come through much more clearly than when hot.
Bubur cha cha is a Nyonya (Peranakan) dessert from Penang and Melaka, cooked in big pots for Chap Goh Meh, the fifteenth night of Chinese New Year, and eaten all year as a sweet soup after dinner or a mid-afternoon snack. Cubes of orange and purple sweet potato and taro float in pandan-scented coconut milk with tiny, glassy sago pearls; the colours are part of the charm. It's soothing, gently sweet and comforting, warm on a rainy evening or cold from the fridge in the heat. Chef's tip: a small pinch of salt in the coconut milk lifts the sweetness and stops it tasting flat.
When the new maize comes in, Central Americans drink their corn: atol de elote is fresh sweetcorn blended, strained and cooked with milk and cinnamon into a thick, pale-yellow drink, sipped from a cup or a gourd. In El Salvador it's sold at roadside stands with tamales de elote; in Guatemala it warms chilly highland evenings. Taste is like sweet corn custard you can drink. Chef's tip: strain the blended corn through a fine sieve and press hard; the skins make the drink gritty.
Risotto alla milanese is the saffron risotto of Milan, served on its own as a first course or beside ossobuco on Sunday tables, and a legend says it was first made in 1574 by a glass-painter's apprentice working on the Duomo who coloured rice with saffron. Milanese cooks use beef marrow and meat broth; here a well-flavoured vegetable stock keeps it vegetarian, with butter and hard cheese for richness. It should be all'onda: loose enough to ripple like a wave when you shake the plate. Chef's tip: keep the stock at a bare simmer beside the rice; cold stock stops the cooking and makes the grains chalky.
During the nine dawn masses of Simbang Gabi, from 16 to 24 December, vendors set up outside churches across the Philippines baking bibingka in clay pots with hot coals both underneath and on top. Churchgoers buy them on the way out at 5 am, still steaming in their banana-leaf liners, with a hot drink. The cake is made from rice flour and coconut milk, springy and slightly chewy, with a browned, buttery top covered in salty white cheese, slices of salted duck egg, sugar and grated coconut. This version bakes it in an ordinary oven and finishes it under the grill for that charred top. Chef's tip: warm the banana leaves over a flame for a few seconds until they turn glossy and supple; cold leaves crack and the batter leaks under them.
Şəkərçörəyi, "sugar bread", is the simplest of the Novruz sweets: small domed shortbreads made from melted butter, icing sugar and flour, whose tops crack in fine lines like dry earth as they bake. They melt in the mouth and leave a powdery sweetness, and families in Ganja and Baku bake big batches in the week before the spring festival to fill trays for visiting neighbours. Some cooks press a hazelnut or a pinch of poppy seeds into the centre. Serve with tea, ideally with a spoonful of quince jam. Chef's tip: let the melted butter cool and turn pale and creamy before mixing; hot butter makes the biscuits spread flat and greasy.
Despite the name, ram ladoo aren't sweet. They're small, crisp moong and chana dal fritters, sold from carts across Delhi in winter, when white radish is at its best. The vendor splits a few hot ones, smears them with a sharp coriander chutney and buries them under a heap of grated mooli and its leaves, with lemon and chaat masala over the top. Hot, crunchy fritters against cold, peppery radish is the whole appeal; it's a light snack for a foggy evening. Chef's tip: grind the soaked dal with as little water as possible, then beat the batter by hand for 3–4 minutes; air whipped into it is what makes the ladoos puff up and stay light.
Bicol, the peninsula at the southern tip of Luzon, cooks almost everything in coconut milk with plenty of chilli, and Bicol express is the pork dish that carries the region's name all over the country (locals often call it sinilihan, 'with chillies'). Pork shoulder is cooked down in coconut milk until the liquid turns to oil and the meat is tender, then finished with coconut cream, long green chillies and a spoon of shrimp paste. It is rich, salty and properly hot. Serve it with lots of plain rice. Chef's tip: let the coconut milk reduce until it 'breaks' and you see the oil; that is when the sauce gets its toasty, deep flavour.
Bienenstich, the 'bee sting', is a sheet cake found in every German bakery: a soft, buttery yeast dough baked under a crackling layer of almonds caramelised with butter, honey and sugar, then split and filled with vanilla cream. The story goes that a bee, drawn to the honey topping, stung the baker. It's a Sunday afternoon cake, at its best on the day it's made. This version sets the filling with cornflour custard folded with whipped cream, no gelatine. Chef's tip: cut the topping layer into portions before you put it back on the cream; the hard almond crust otherwise squeezes all the filling out when you slice it.
Rakott krumpli means 'layered potatoes', and it is a family supper baked all over Hungary, especially in winter in the north-east around Miskolc and Eger, where every household layers it slightly differently. Slices of boiled potato are stacked with hard-boiled eggs and plenty of sour cream, then baked until bubbling and golden. Many versions add smoked sausage; this vegetarian one uses sautéed mushrooms and a dusting of smoked paprika for depth. It is rich, creamy and needs only a sharp cucumber salad or pickles alongside. Chef's tip: boil the potatoes in their skins and peel them while warm; they slice cleanly and don't soak up water.
Lisbon's standing-room snack bars, from the Baixa to the stalls outside football grounds, sell bifanas all day: thin pork steaks simmered in a garlicky, bay-scented sauce and pushed into a soft papo-seco roll with a smear of mustard. It's a pork sandwich, and the pork is traditionally marinated in white wine; for an alcohol-free version use chicken stock with a tablespoon of white wine vinegar. It makes a quick lunch or a late snack. Chef's tip: dip the cut side of the roll into the pan juices before filling it; that's how the bars make them so juicy.
Assida zgougou is made in Tunisian homes once a year, for the Mouled (the Prophet's birthday): a dark, nutty pudding of Aleppo pine seeds (zgougou) cooked with flour and sugar, topped with a pale vanilla custard and decorated with almonds, pistachios, pine nuts and sugared almonds. Families make dozens of glasses to share with neighbours. Zgougou is sold in Tunisian and North African grocers; ground hazelnuts are a stand-in, though the taste is different. Chef's tip: strain the zgougou liquid through muslin twice; any grit ruins the smooth texture.
In May and June, white asparagus from Mechelen and the sandy fields around Limburg arrive in Belgian markets, and asperges à la flamande (asperges op Vlaamse wijze) is the way to eat them. The pale spears are peeled and cooked until tender, then covered with a warm sauce of melted butter, chopped hard-boiled egg, parsley and nutmeg that is half sauce and half garnish. It is served as a starter in Flemish restaurants all through the short asparagus season, sometimes with a slice of ham alongside; here it stays meat-free. Chef's tip: peel the spears from just below the tip all the way down with a swivel peeler; white asparagus has a thick, bitter skin, and missing even a strip leaves woody threads.
Seco de pollo is the weekday stew of Ecuadorian homes, from Quito to Cuenca, and the dish most lunch places serve on Mondays: chicken simmered in a green-gold sauce of onion, peppers, garlic, cumin and lots of coriander, soured with naranjilla (lulo) juice and often cooked with a little beer. It is served with yellow rice, fried ripe plantain and avocado. This recipe uses beer; for an alcohol-free version replace it with the same amount of chicken stock plus a teaspoon of sugar. The mistake is using too little coriander: the sauce should be fragrant and green. Chef's tip: if you can't find naranjilla, use half orange juice and half lime juice.
Bigos, the hunter's stew, is cooked in huge pots across Poland for Christmas, New Year and the long winter, and every family insists theirs is best on the third reheating. Sauerkraut and fresh cabbage stew for hours with pork shoulder, smoked kiełbasa and bacon, dried wild mushrooms, prunes, juniper and a splash of red wine; it is a pork dish through and through. The wine contains alcohol; for an alcohol-free version use 100 ml apple juice with 1 tbsp cider vinegar. Serve with rye bread or boiled potatoes. Chef's tip: taste the sauerkraut first; if it is very sharp, rinse it once in cold water and squeeze it dry.
Pasta is part of everyday life in Asmara, a legacy of the Italian years, and in Eritrean homes and cafés 'pasta al sugo' means spaghetti in a slow tomato sauce warmed with berbere, garlic and plenty of onion. It is eaten on weekdays and after church on Sundays, often with a banana or a green chilli on the side. The usual sauce has minced beef; this one uses finely chopped mushrooms and carrot for the same body. Chef's tip: cook the onions and berbere slowly before the tomato goes in; raw berbere tastes dusty.
Despite its name, bika ambon belongs to Medan in North Sumatra, where shops on Jalan Majapahit sell it boxed for travellers to take home. A yeasted batter of tapioca, eggs and coconut milk bakes into a cake with a sticky, golden base and long vertical tunnels running through its yellow crumb, perfumed with lemongrass, pandan and lime leaf. It is chewy rather than spongy. Chef's tip: bake it with heat from the bottom first; that is what drives the bubbles upward into the honeycomb.
Bikaner in the Thar desert has made bhujia for well over a century, and the city's version stands apart for its use of moth-bean flour mixed with gram flour. Moth beans, hardy little desert pulses, give the sev an earthy flavour and a brittle, short crunch, while black pepper, black cardamom and a touch of clove add a peppery warmth. Families keep a tin of bhujia for tea time, sprinkle it over poha and chaat, and take boxes home after Diwali visits. A common mistake is making the dough too stiff; it is hard to press and the strands snap. Chef's tip: the dough should feel softer than chapati dough—so soft that a fingertip leaves a smooth dent. Use a sev press with the finest plate.
Bingtteok (빙떡) comes from Jeju island, where volcanic soil grew buckwheat and radish better than rice. Thin, almost translucent buckwheat crêpes are rolled around a filling of blanched radish seasoned only with salt, sesame and spring onion. The flavour is gentle and nutty, and it was traditionally brought to funerals, weddings and village gatherings, sometimes with a cup of makgeolli. Today you find it at Jeju's Dongmun and Seogwipo markets beside more fiery snacks. Chef's tip: pour a little batter and swirl the pan fast, or spread it with the back of a ladle; bingtteok crêpes should be so thin you can almost see through them.
Ashlyan-fu is the street food of Karakol, the town on the eastern shore of Kyrgyzstan's Lake Issyk-Kul, brought by Dungan (Hui) families more than a century ago. Locals eat it for lunch on hot days at the 'ashlyan-fu row' near the bazaar: thick wheat noodles and cubes of wobbly starch jelly in a chilled, sour and fiery broth, with a strip of thin omelette, often alongside a fried potato pirozhok. It's eaten all over Kyrgyzstan and southern Kazakhstan now. This version uses a vegetable sauce rather than meat. Chef's tip: everything must be cold; chill the broth and the jelly properly, as lukewarm ashlyan-fu tastes flat.
Ashak are the dumplings Kabul families fold together for Eid, Nowruz and weddings: thin wheat wrappers stuffed with gandana (Afghan garlic chives, here replaced with leeks and spring onions), boiled, then laid on a bed of garlicky strained yoghurt and topped with a tomato sauce and dried mint. Ashak usually come with a minced-meat sauce; this vegetarian version uses yellow split peas in a spiced tomato base, as many Afghan cooks do on meatless days. Making them is a sociable afternoon job, so rope in helpers. Chef's tip: squeeze the salted leeks hard in a cloth before filling; any water left in them soaks the wrappers and they split in the pot.
Rocoto relleno is the pride of Arequipa's picanterías: fiery rocoto peppers stuffed with a sweet-savoury filling, topped with cheese and baked over sliced potato in an egg and milk custard. The traditional filling is minced beef; this vegetarian version uses mushrooms and lentils fried with ají panca, cumin, peanuts, raisins, olives and boiled egg, which gives the same rich, spiced, slightly sweet bite. The peppers are first blanched several times in fresh water with sugar and vinegar to tame their heat, which is the real skill of the dish. If you can't find rocotos, use small red bell peppers and add a little habanero to the filling. Chef's tip: taste a sliver of rocoto after the second blanching; stop when it is hot but pleasant, and blanch once more if it still burns.
Ash reshteh is the thick soup Iranians cook in big pots in the days before Nowruz and for Sizdah Bedar, the spring picnic day, when the noodles (reshteh) are said to help you grasp the threads of good luck for the coming year. Chickpeas, beans and lentils are simmered with a mountain of green herbs and spinach, thickened with flat noodles and finished at the table with tangy kashk, crisp onions and a sizzling swirl of mint oil. It is a meal in a bowl, hearty and herby. Kashk is usually made without rennet, but check the label; strained yogurt is a good substitute. Chef's tip: add the noodles only once the beans are soft, and stir often after that, because they thicken the pot and it can catch on the bottom.
Bisi bele bath means 'hot lentil rice' in Kannada, and it's Karnataka's great comfort dish, served in temples, weddings and Bengaluru tiffin rooms. Rice and toor dal are cooked soft with vegetables, then simmered with tamarind, jaggery and a freshly roasted spice powder of lentils, coriander seed, chilli, cinnamon and coconut until it's thick, glossy and spoonable. A generous ghee tempering with cashews and curry leaves goes over the top. Eat it piping hot with crisp potato chips or boondi raita. Chef's tip: make it looser than you think; it thickens fast as it stands, and the right texture is soft and flowing, like a thick porridge.
Bissara is the cold-morning soup of northern Morocco: in Tangier, Tétouan and Chefchaouen you see it ladled out from big pots at street stalls before work, and it is a favourite to break the fast in winter Ramadans. Dried split broad beans are simmered with garlic until they fall apart and blended into a thick, pale purée, then finished at the table with olive oil, cumin and paprika. Eat it piping hot with crusty bread; leftover bissara thickens into a dip you can spread on toast. Chef's tip: be generous with the final olive oil, it is not a garnish but part of the dish.
Mafé is the Sunday-lunch stew of Senegal and Mali: a rust-coloured sauce of roasted peanut paste and tomato, simmered until oil glistens on top and ladled over broken rice. In Dakar it usually carries lamb or beef; this version uses sweet potato, carrot, cabbage and okra, which soak up the sauce just as well. In Côte d'Ivoire the same idea is called sauce d'arachide and is eaten with rice or foutou; make it slightly thinner and add aubergine for the Abidjan style. Chef's tip: use plain, unsweetened peanut paste and cook it long enough that a thin layer of red oil rises to the surface; that is the sign the peanut has lost its raw taste.
A proper fiorentina is a T-bone cut three fingers thick, traditionally from Tuscany's white Chianina cattle, and Florentine steakhouses sell it by weight and serve it one way only: charred outside, deep red within. It is a sharing steak for three or four, sliced off the bone at the table and finished with nothing more than good olive oil and coarse salt. On one side of the bone sits the tender fillet, on the other the beefier sirloin, and the bone itself gives the meat flavour as it cooks. Cannellini beans with olive oil and sage and a simple green salad are the usual companions. Chef's tip: after searing both flat sides, stand the steak upright on its bone for several minutes; the heat travels up through the bone and cooks the middle evenly without overdoing the outside.
Order a round of drinks in an Amsterdam brown café and a plate of bitterballen will follow: small crumbed balls with a crackling shell and a molten centre of beef ragout, eaten with a dab of sharp mustard. They are the classic borrel snack across the Netherlands, served at parties and receptions as well as in bars. The filling is a thick roux sauce with slow-cooked shredded beef that has to set firm in the fridge before it can be rolled. The usual failure is a filling that is too soft, so the balls split open in the oil; cook the ragout until it is very thick and chill it for at least four hours. Chef's tip: crumb them twice (egg, crumbs, egg, crumbs) and freeze them for 20 minutes before frying for a shell that never bursts.
Aseeda (asida) is the stiff, slightly sour sorghum porridge eaten across Sudan, especially in Darfur, Kordofan and the countryside, where it is the daily staple. The batter is left to ferment before being cooked into a smooth, firm dough, shaped in a bowl into a dome, and turned out with mullah poured around it. During Ramadan it is a common iftar dish. Chef's tip: beat hard with a wooden spoon once the dough thickens; that beating is what makes aseeda smooth instead of lumpy.
Sunday in Uruguay means asado: in Montevideo backyards and the cattle towns of the interior, beef ribs (asado de tira), chorizo and morcilla cook slowly over the embers of a wood fire, with only coarse salt, while the family waits. The parrillero rakes coals under the grill and keeps the heat low and even. This recipe includes pork chorizo. The mistake is cooking over flames; the fire should burn down to embers you can hold your hand above for 6–8 seconds. Chef's tip: salt the meat only when it goes on the grill, with coarse salt, never fine.
Asado negro is the Sunday lunch of Caracas families: a whole piece of beef eye of round (muchacho redondo) is seared in sugar caramelised almost to black, then slowly braised until the sauce is dark, glossy and sweet-savoury. Despite how it looks, it doesn't taste burnt, just deep and rich. It is sliced and served with white rice, fried ripe plantain and sometimes a mash of potatoes. Many cooks add a glass of red wine to the braise; to keep it alcohol-free, use the same amount of beef stock and a tablespoon of balsamic vinegar instead. The mistake to avoid is stirring the panela while it caramelises: it crystallises and goes grainy. Chef's tip: get the caramel really dark, just before it smokes, because the colour and depth of the whole dish come from that minute.
For Argentines the Sunday asado is less a recipe than a ritual: someone (the asador) lights the fire mid-morning in a backyard in Buenos Aires or a ranch in the Pampas, and lunch happens hours later. Beef is cooked low and slow over glowing embers, seasoned with nothing but coarse salt, and carved at the grill to be eaten with bread, salad and a bowl of chimichurri. This home version uses two favourite cuts: tira de asado (thin cross-cut short ribs) and vacío (flank). The classic mistake is grilling over flames; wait until the coals are covered in white ash, and spread them so the heat is gentle. Chef's tip: hold your hand 15 cm above the grill; if you can keep it there for 8–10 seconds, the heat is right for asado.
Bolos de arroz are the tall, sugar-crusted cakes standing in their paper wrappers in every Portuguese café cabinet, from Porto's breakfast counters to the pastelarias of Lisbon's neighbourhoods. Despite the name they are mostly wheat flour, with a share of rice flour that gives a fine, slightly sandy, springy crumb, perfumed with lemon zest. People have one with a galão mid-morning or for lanche, the afternoon snack, peeling the paper down as they go. Chef's tip: wrap a strip of baking paper around the inside of each muffin hole so it stands 3 cm above the rim; the batter climbs up it and you get the tall, straight-sided shape.
Kremšnita has been served in the cafés on the shore of Lake Bled since the 1950s, and a tall, wobbling square of it with a coffee and a view of the island church is still the reason many people stop in the town. It is a thick layer of vanilla custard, lightened with whipped egg whites, topped with whipped cream and sandwiched between thin sheets of crisp puff pastry. The custard holds its shape with egg yolks, cornflour and meringue alone; there is no gelatine. Chef's tip: fold the meringue into the custard while it is still boiling hot and keep stirring on a low heat for a minute, so the whites cook and set the cream.
For centuries Swedes have eaten ärtsoppa on Thursday: school canteens, army messes and home kitchens all serve thick yellow pea soup, followed by thin pancakes with jam (ärtsoppa och pannkakor). The tradition is said to date from Catholic times, a filling meal before Friday's fast. The soup is usually cooked with salt pork, but the soul of it is the dried yellow peas, onion and a generous hand of thyme and marjoram, so this version is fully plant-based and seasons the broth with a little smoked paprika instead. Each bowl gets a spoonful of sharp Swedish mustard stirred in at the table. Chef's tip: soak whole yellow peas overnight and skim the foam as they come to the boil; the skins that float up can then be lifted off, giving a smoother soup.
Arroz verde is red rice's fresher sister, popular across central Mexico as a side for mole, enchiladas and beans. The rice is toasted in oil and then simmered in a vivid green purée of poblano pepper, coriander, parsley and a handful of spinach, so it comes out fluffy, herby and gently peppery, the colour of spring grass. It is vegan with vegetable stock and pairs especially well with mole rojo or roasted vegetables. Chef's tip: blend the greens with cold stock and add it straight to the rice; heated slowly or left standing the purée loses its colour, so make it right before you need it.
Arroz rojo (also called arroz a la mexicana) is the rice served beside almost everything in Mexico, from enchiladas to beans to a fried egg. Long-grain rice is fried in oil until golden, then simmered in a blended tomato, onion and garlic broth until every grain is separate, tender and tinted orange-red. Diced carrot and peas add colour and sweetness, and a whole chilli in the pot gives a gentle warmth without heat. Made with vegetable stock it is vegan and a favourite with children. Chef's tip: rinse the rice until the water runs clear and let it dry well before frying; wet rice won't toast and turns out sticky.
When the first frost hits the Dutch polders, farmers say the kale (boerenkool) finally turns sweet, and that is the signal for boerenkoolstamppot: floury potatoes mashed with finely shredded raw kale until the green is just wilted by the heat of the mash. Across the Netherlands it is the dinner of dark December evenings and the meal people want after skating on a frozen canal. Every plate gets a kuiltje, a little well pressed into the mash and filled with gravy. The classic partner is a smoked rookworst sausage; this vegetarian version keeps the smoky note with pan-fried smoked tofu and a slow-cooked onion gravy, and a spoon of mustard on the side. Chef's tip: shred the kale as fine as you can and stir it in raw at the very end, so it stays bright green with a little bite instead of turning grey and soggy.
Bombay duck is not a duck at all but bombil, a soft, almost jelly-like fish landed in huge numbers at Sassoon Dock and the Koli fishing villages around Mumbai. Pressed flat, rubbed with chilli and rolled in semolina, it fries up with a shattering crust and a melting middle, and it turns up at Malvani restaurants and Koli homes as a starter or beside dal and rice. Chef's tip: press the opened fish under a weighted plate for 10 minutes before marinating; it squeezes out water so the crust stays crisp.
This sausage contains pork. Boerewors, 'farmer's sausage', is the centre of every South African braai, from a Pretoria back garden to a Durban beach on Heritage Day. A thick coil of coarsely minced beef and pork, perfumed with toasted coriander, nutmeg and cloves and sharpened with vinegar, is grilled over coals and eaten with pap and chakalaka or in a roll as a boerie. Making it takes a sausage stuffer and natural casings, but the spicing is what matters. The classic mistake is pricking the sausage, which lets the juices run out and dries it; never pierce boerewors. Chef's tip: toast the whole coriander seeds until they crackle and grind them coarsely; the bits of seed are the signature of good boerewors.
Along the coast from Valencia up to the Costa Brava, arroz negro (arròs negre in Catalan and Valencian) is a seafront restaurant favourite, ordered for the table at lunchtime and brought out in its pan. Squid and its ink turn the rice glossy black and give it a deep taste of the sea, and every forkful gets a dab of garlicky all-i-oli. This version uses the traditional egg-free all-i-oli, just garlic, oil and salt pounded together; if you'd rather make the easier egg version, use a pasteurised egg, and note that raw egg is not suitable for pregnant women, young children, older people or anyone with a weakened immune system. Chef's tip: buy squid ink in sachets or small jars from a fishmonger or Spanish deli; the ink sac inside a whole squid is far too small to colour a whole pan.
Bolani are thin, crisp half-moon flatbreads sold hot from griddles in Kabul's bazaars and made at home for Ramadan iftar, picnics and guests who drop in unannounced. The dough is rolled paper-thin, filled with mashed potato and spring onion (or with leeks or pumpkin), folded and fried in a little oil until blistered and golden. Cut them into wedges and serve with plain yoghurt or a green chutney. Chef's tip: spread the filling in a thin, even layer right to the edges; bolani should be flat and crackly, not puffy and doughy.
On Portuguese beaches in summer, from Praia da Rocha in the Algarve to Nazaré and Figueira da Foz, vendors walk the sand with a glass box on their shoulder calling 'Olha a bola!': soft fried doughnuts rolled in sugar, split along one side and stuffed with thick yellow creme pasteleiro. Though named after the Berliner, the Portuguese version is cut open rather than injected, so the custard shows like a smile. They are eaten in swimsuits, sticky-fingered, mid-afternoon, and in cafés the rest of the year. Chef's tip: let the shaped balls rise until they look puffy and a gentle finger press springs back slowly; under-proved dough fries dense and over-proved dough collapses and soaks up oil.
Kalmi vada gets its name from kalam, the Hindi word for pen: the fried chana-dal log is sliced into thin, slanted pieces that resemble pen nibs, then fried again until the slices are crunchy right through. In Jaipur and Ajmer, kalmi vadas are sold by weight from big trays, especially during the monsoon, and served with mint chutney and hot tea. The dal is ground coarse and spiced with whole coriander, fennel and chilli, so every bite crackles. The mistake to avoid is adding water when grinding; a wet mix won't hold its shape and absorbs oil. Chef's tip: let the first-fried logs cool completely before slicing, or they'll crumble under the knife.
Arroz doce is set out on every Portuguese table at Christmas, at weddings and at the summer romarias (village saints' festivals) of the Minho, poured into wide, shallow platters and dusted with cinnamon in lattices, initials or little hearts. Short-grain carolino rice is first boiled in water with lemon peel and cinnamon, then simmered slowly in milk and sugar, and finally thickened off the heat with egg yolks, which turns it pale gold and custardy; that last step is what sets it apart from Spanish or Mexican rice puddings. It is eaten cold or at room temperature, by the spoonful straight from the platter. Chef's tip: cook the rice in water first until it has swollen, and only then add the milk; starting in milk scorches easily and leaves the grains firm in the middle.
Across Spanish-speaking America arroz con pollo means yellow rice, but in Lima it comes out deep green, thanks to a big bunch of coriander blended into the cooking liquid. Mothers make it for Sunday lunch and for birthday parties, and street stalls ladle it out with salsa criolla, the sharp onion-and-lime relish that cuts through the rice. Chicken pieces are browned first, then the rice cooks in the same pot so it takes on all their flavour. Chef's tip: blend the coriander with cold stock right before it goes in, so it stays bright green rather than turning khaki.
Cuban arroz con pollo is the one-pot Sunday lunch of the island, and every abuela in Santiago or Havana has her own way with it. Chicken pieces are browned, then the rice cooks right in the pot with sofrito, a pinch of saffron (or bijol, the annatto colouring most Cuban kitchens use) and stock until each grain is golden and moist, almost creamy. Peas and roasted red peppers go on top at the end. It is eaten with fried ripe plantain and a green salad. Many versions add a splash of beer to the pot; this one uses chicken stock only, so it is alcohol-free. The usual mistake is stirring the rice once it is covered, which breaks the grains and makes it gluey. Chef's tip: let the pot rest off the heat with the lid on for 10 minutes before serving, so the rice finishes softening in its own steam.
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