Tomato, pepper and onion salad
Order grilled sardines or fish at any beach shack between Sagres and Monte Gordo and this salad arrives alongside without anyone asking. It is little more than summer tomatoes, crisp green pepper and sweet onion, dressed with olive oil, a splash of vinegar and plenty of dried oregano, but the juices left in the bowl are the best part, mopped up with bread. Chef's tip: salt the tomatoes 10 minutes before dressing them so they release their juice into the dressing.
A new country every day, from every cuisine on the site.
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.
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.
Gudeg is the signature of Yogyakarta: whole streets around Wijilan are lined with stalls selling it from dawn, and visitors carry it home in clay pots or woven baskets. Unripe jackfruit is cooked for hours with palm sugar, coconut milk, galangal and salam leaves until it turns reddish-brown, soft as pulled meat, and deeply sweet and savoury. The classic plate adds chicken, egg and spicy cattle-skin stew; this vegan plate pairs it with sticky-sweet tempeh and tofu and a sharp sambal to cut the sweetness. Chef's tip: let the pot cook down slowly until almost all the liquid is gone — drier gudeg keeps for days and tastes better on the second.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Erkuai is Yunnan's everyday rice cake, made by steaming and pounding rice into a dense, chewy dough. In Kunming and Tengchong, morning vendors grill thin rounds of it over charcoal until they blister, brush on sweet bean sauce, chilli and sesame, and fold it round fried dough or spicy potato shreds. Real erkuai is hard to find abroad, so the rounds here are made from rice flour and steamed, which comes close. Chef's tip: keep the rounds covered while you work, because the surface dries out and cracks quickly.
Guiyang's favourite street snack is a do-it-yourself meal: stalls set out twenty or more small bowls of shredded vegetables, and each person wraps a few strands in a pancake no bigger than a palm, folds it like a swaddled baby and pours in a spoonful of sour, chilli-flecked broth. It's light, crunchy and fun to eat with friends. Use as many fillings as you like; the more colours, the better. Chef's tip: shred everything as fine as you can, so the little parcels stay neat and each mouthful has several flavours.
Dobos torta was created in Budapest in 1885 by the confectioner József C. Dobos, and it is still the cake Hungarians order in old coffee houses on Andrássy Avenue and bake for name days and big birthdays. Six thin sponge layers are stacked with a rich chocolate buttercream, and the top layer is glazed with hard amber caramel, cut into wedges and set at an angle like a fan. It is a project cake, but each stage is simple and the finished torte keeps for days. Chef's tip: mark the caramel into wedges with an oiled knife within the first minute; once it sets, it shatters instead of cutting.
Gujeolpan (구절판) takes its name from the octagonal lacquered tray it is served on: eight outer compartments of finely cut, separately seasoned fillings around a stack of paper-thin wheat crêpes in the middle. It was a dish of the Seoul royal court and noble households, and it still appears at weddings, 60th birthdays and Seollal tables, where everyone builds their own little rolls. Classic trays include beef; this one keeps all the colour with shiitake, wood ear, cucumber, carrot, peppers, radish and yellow and white egg. It takes patience rather than skill. Chef's tip: cut every filling into matchsticks the same length as the crêpes are wide, about 5 cm, so each roll closes neatly.
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.
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.
No Padang restaurant in West Sumatra is complete without a dish of gulai daun singkong: dark cassava leaves simmered until silky in a yellow coconut gravy fragrant with lemongrass, turmeric leaf and galangal. It is the cooling green on a table of rich, fiery plates, ladled over rice with sambal hijau. Restaurants sometimes add dried anchovies; this version doesn't. Frozen cassava leaves from Asian shops work well; kale is the best stand-in. Chef's tip: squeeze the boiled leaves hard before adding them, or the gravy goes thin and grassy.
In a nasi Padang restaurant, where dozens of dishes are stacked in the window and brought to the table on small plates, gulai nangka is the bright yellow one that gets spooned over rice to moisten everything else. Young jackfruit and long beans simmer in a thin, golden coconut sauce with turmeric, chilli and lemongrass until the jackfruit is tender and full of sauce. It's lighter and saucier than rendang and cooks in under an hour, so Padang households make it on ordinary weekdays. Chef's tip: stir the pot almost constantly for the first few minutes after the coconut milk goes in — Padang cooks say it keeps the gulai smooth and stops it splitting.
Real Hungarian goulash is a soup, gulyásleves, born in the cattle herders' kettles of the Great Plain and still cooked over open fires at summer festivals and in every csárda (country inn) between Budapest and Debrecen. Beef shin or chuck simmers with lots of onion, sweet paprika, caraway and green pepper until tender, then potatoes and carrots go in. It is brothy, rich red and gently spicy, eaten with fresh bread. Chef's tip: take the pot off the heat before adding the paprika; it burns in seconds in hot fat and turns bitter.
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.
Gundel palacsinta is the festive pancake of Budapest, named after the Gundel restaurant by City Park, where it became the showpiece dessert of the mid-twentieth century. Thin Hungarian pancakes are filled with a rum-scented walnut and raisin paste, folded into triangles and drowned in a dark chocolate sauce, sometimes flamed at the table. Everyday palacsinta at home are simpler, rolled with apricot jam, cocoa sugar or sweet túró; this is the version for name days, Christmas and guests. Chef's tip: rest the batter for 30 minutes; the pancakes become thinner and more elastic and stop tearing when you fold them. Common mistake: overfilling, which makes the triangles burst open.
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.
In the terraced hill villages between Pokhara and Ilam, families pack mustard, radish and cauliflower leaves into clay pots after the autumn harvest, let them ferment for a week or two and then sun-dry them into gundruk. That dark, tangy leaf is the store cupboard of the winter months, and its most common use is this thin, sour soup (jhol), served on the side of dal bhat or with dhido, the stiff buckwheat or millet porridge of the hills. It tastes a little like a smoky, vinegary green tea and is light, warming and very cheap. A handful of roasted soybeans (bhatmas) is often thrown in for crunch. The mistake is to cook gundruk without soaking it first, which leaves it gritty and too sour. Chef's tip: squeeze the soaked leaves hard and fry them in the oil until they crackle before you add water; that frying gives the soup its toasty depth.
Long before red gochujang tteokbokki took over Seoul's street stalls, the Joseon palace kitchens served gungjung tteokbokki (궁중떡볶이): chewy cylinders of rice cake tossed in a glossy soy and sesame glaze with mushrooms, peppers and onion. It is mild, savoury-sweet and fragrant with toasted sesame, which makes it the version Korean parents cook for children and for anyone who can't take heat. The court recipe used beef; shiitake and oyster mushrooms carry the same savoury depth here. Eat it warm as a snack or alongside rice and kimchi. Chef's tip: soften the rice cakes in hot water before they meet the pan, or the outsides scorch while the centres stay hard.
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.
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.
Gurasa is a thick, soft, round wheat bread from Sudan, especially the north and west (Darfur and Kordofan), cooked in a covered pan rather than an oven. It is torn and eaten with mullah, ful or salata aswad, and for breakfast with sugar and a little oil or butter. The dough is a loose, yeasted batter, closer to a giant crumpet than a flatbread. Chef's tip: cook it covered over a low heat; a hot open pan burns the base before the thick centre cooks.
Guriltai shul is the soup Mongolians eat almost daily in winter, from Ulaanbaatar canteens to herders' gers: strips of mutton simmered with onion, carrot and potato, and thick hand-cut noodles cooked in the broth. It is simple, warming and filling in temperatures that drop far below freezing. The mistake is cooking the noodles too long, so they swell and turn the soup stodgy; they need only 6–8 minutes. Chef's tip: rest the noodle dough well so it rolls thin without springing back.
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.
Every Guyanese Christmas has a black cake, and many families start soaking the fruit months ahead, often the year before. Prunes, raisins, currants and cherries are minced and steeped in rum and cherry brandy, then folded into a buttery batter darkened with homemade burnt-sugar syrup, giving a moist, almost black, intensely fruity cake. This version makes the alcohol optional: grape juice soaks the fruit just as well, though the cake keeps for less time. Chef's tip: take the burnt sugar until it's very dark and smoking lightly; stop too early and the cake turns brown and sweet instead of black and bittersweet.
Cook-up rice is the dish Guyanese families make to see in the New Year, and on any Saturday when the week's odds and ends go into one pot. Rice, black-eyed peas and vegetables simmer in fresh coconut milk with fresh thyme, spring onion and a whole wiri wiri pepper (small, round and fiery) until every grain is soft and glossy. It's richer and wetter than Jamaican rice and peas, with the vegetables cooked right in. Chef's tip: let the pot sit covered off the heat for 10 minutes at the end; the rice finishes in the steam and a little crust forms on the bottom that people fight over.
Garlic pork came to Guyana with Madeiran Portuguese settlers in the 1800s and is still made for Christmas breakfast in Georgetown, alongside pepperpot and bread. This dish contains pork. Pieces of pork are packed into a jar with a pickle of vinegar, lots of garlic, thyme and wiri wiri pepper and left in the fridge for at least three days, then fried until browned and slightly crisp. The mistake is leaving the jar on the counter, as was once done: always keep it in the fridge. Chef's tip: pat the pork very dry before frying, or the vinegar makes the oil spit.
Pepperpot is Guyana's national dish and the centre of Christmas morning, when families in Georgetown and the countryside eat it with thick slices of plait bread. It comes from the Amerindian peoples, who used cassareep, a black syrup boiled from cassava juice, to flavour and preserve meat. Beef (often with cow foot or oxtail) simmers for hours with cassareep, cinnamon, cloves, orange peel, sugar and hot wiri wiri pepper into a glossy, dark, sweet-savoury stew. The mistake is serving it the day it is made; it is much better after a day or two. Chef's tip: bring it back to a full boil every day you keep it, as Guyanese families do, and always keep it in the fridge.
Pine tarts (short for pineapple tarts) are Guyana's favourite bakery treat: a flaky triangle of pastry folded over a thick, sticky pineapple jam spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg, with the filling peeking out of the middle. They're sold in every Georgetown bakery and carried abroad in suitcases by visiting family. Their triangle shape sets them apart from the open pineapple cookies of Southeast Asia. Chef's tip: cook the jam until it's thick enough that a spoon dragged across the pan leaves a clean path; runny jam leaks and burns in the oven.
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.
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.
Gyeongdan (경단) are small balls of boiled glutinous rice dough, filled or plain, and rolled in coloured coatings: golden roasted soybean powder, black sesame, green or toasted coconut. In Seoul they are made for a baby's 100th day and first birthday, and sold in rice-cake shops all year in mixed boxes. They are only lightly sweet, soft and stretchy, best eaten the day they are made with a cup of barley tea. Children love rolling them. Chef's tip: mix the dough with very hot water a spoonful at a time; it should feel like soft play-dough, and if it cracks when you roll a ball it needs a little more.
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