On the shores of Lake Victoria at Kisumu's Dunga beach and in the fish kiosks of Kampala and Mwanza, tilapia comes straight from the boats, is scored, rubbed with salt, garlic and lemon and deep-fried whole until the skin is crackling. It is served with a block of ugali, sukuma wiki (braised kale) and kachumbari, and eaten with your hands, pulling the sweet flesh off the bone. The mistake is frying a wet fish in oil that isn't hot enough, which makes it greasy and stick; dry it well and wait for 180 °C. Chef's tip: dust the fish lightly with cornflour just before frying for an extra-crisp skin.
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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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Buuz are the dumplings every Mongolian family makes in their hundreds before Tsagaan Sar, the Lunar New Year, in Ulaanbaatar flats and countryside gers alike, freezing them outside in the cold to steam for the stream of visitors. A simple dough wraps a juicy filling of chopped mutton, onion, garlic and caraway, pinched into a pleated shape with a small hole at the top, and the dumplings are eaten hot, with salty milk tea. The mistake is lean meat: buuz need some fat, or the filling is dry. Chef's tip: add a few spoons of cold water to the filling so it stays juicy when steamed.
Thoran is the everyday dry vegetable of Kerala, on the lunch plate in nearly every home and in the steel tiffin boxes carried to offices from Thiruvananthapuram to Kannur. Cabbage is the classic choice: shredded fine, steamed in its own juices with mustard and curry leaves, then tossed with coconut that has been crushed (never ground smooth) with green chilli, garlic and cumin. It comes out sweet, fluffy and lightly crunchy. Serve it with rice, sambar or moru curry, or eat it with chapati. Chef's tip: shred the cabbage as finely as you can; thin shreds cook in their own steam in a few minutes and stay bright.
Fricassé are the small, soft fried rolls sold from glass-fronted counters in Tunis and the coastal towns, split while still warm and filled to order with tuna, boiled egg, olives, boiled potato, mechouia salad and a smear of harissa. They are an afternoon snack, a beach lunch and a Ramadan favourite. The mistake is frying the dough when the oil is too cool, which makes it greasy and heavy; keep the oil at 170 °C. Chef's tip: give the shaped rolls a full second rise so they puff and stay light inside.
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.
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.
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.
In Medellín and across Antioquia, red cargamanto beans simmered for hours are the heart of the bandeja paisa and of everyday lunch. The beans cook with grated green plantain and carrot, which melt in and thicken the pot, and are finished with hogao, the tomato and spring onion sauce. This version leaves out the pork hock and gets its depth from a long simmer and a smoky pinch of paprika. Serve with white rice, avocado and an arepa. Chef's tip: grate the plantain on the fine side of the grater; it dissolves into the beans and makes them creamy.
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.
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.
Around Monterrey in Nuevo León, no carne asada is complete without a pot of frijoles charros keeping warm at the side of the grill. Soupy pinto beans cook down with smoky bacon, chorizo, tomato and fresh chilli until the broth is rich and brick-coloured, and they are spooned into small cups next to grilled beef, guacamole and flour tortillas. Some cooks in the north add sliced frankfurters too; we keep that optional. Chef's tip: cook the beans plain until they are fully soft before the tomato goes in, because acid stops beans softening.
Frijoles de la olla, beans cooked slowly in a pot (traditionally clay) with just onion, garlic and a sprig of epazote, are the backbone of Mexican home cooking from north to south. Served brothy in a bowl with chopped onion, chilli and lime, they are a meal on their own; mashed and fried in oil they become frijoles refritos, the creamy refried beans that go into tacos, tortas, sopes and molletes. This recipe makes both: one pot, half served as it is, half refried. We fry in vegetable oil rather than lard, so it is vegan. Chef's tip: salt the beans only once they are tender; salting at the start won't stop them cooking, but adding it late seasons the broth better and saves you from oversalting as it reduces.
Ask for a galão in a Lisbon café and it arrives in a tall glass, not a cup: one short espresso (a bica, in the capital's slang) topped up with about three times as much hot, frothy milk, so it is pale, mild and creamy. It is the breakfast and mid-morning drink of the city, ordered at the counter with a pastel de nata or a tosta mista, and the glass is held by the rim because it gets hot. A galão escuro has less milk, a galão claro more. Chef's tip: heat the milk only until it steams and the jug is too hot to hold for more than a moment, about 65 °C; boiled milk tastes flat and loses its sweetness.
A pot of frijoles negros simmers on the back of the stove in Cuban homes from Havana to Miami's Little Havana, ladled over white rice for lunch most days of the week. The beans cook until creamy, then a sofrito of onion, green pepper and plenty of garlic goes in with cumin, oregano, a pinch of sugar and a dash of vinegar, which gives the stew its gentle sweet-sour finish. Venezuelans make a very close cousin, caraotas negras, for pabellón, so this page covers both. Chef's tip: mash a ladle of beans against the side of the pot near the end; it thickens the broth naturally without any flour.
Frikadeller are the everyday comfort food of Denmark, fried up for Monday suppers in Copenhagen, packed cold on rye bread for lunch and served at nearly every children's birthday. The mix is mostly pork, with some veal, so this is a pork dish, loosened with milk and bound with egg and a spoonful of flour to make soft, flattened ovals with a crisp brown crust. Danes eat them hot with boiled potatoes, brown gravy and sweet-sour pickled red cabbage, or cold the next day with pickled beetroot. Where people go wrong is frying them on too high a heat; the outside burns before the middle is cooked. Chef's tip: let the mixture rest in the fridge for 30 minutes before shaping; it firms up and the patties keep a neat shape in the pan.
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.
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.
Frites are a fixture of French brasseries and street stalls, served in paper cones at markets and beside every omelette and salad in Paris cafés. The secret is frying twice: once gently to cook them through, then hot to make them crisp. In Provence, the dip would be aïoli, a thick, garlicky sauce that gave its name to the region's Friday feast. Our aïoli is made the old-fashioned egg-free way, with a little boiled potato to hold the garlic and olive oil together. Children usually prefer it with less garlic. Chef's tip: dry the cut potatoes thoroughly before frying; wet chips are the common mistake that make the oil spit and leave the chips soft.
On Christmas Eve, in kitchens from Split to Dubrovnik and out on the islands, bowls of fritule are fried by the dozen: small, airy doughnut drops scented with orange and lemon zest and studded with raisins, rolled in sugar while still warm. Many families add a splash of rakija or rum to the batter, but fresh orange juice works just as well and keeps them child-friendly. They are eaten all through Advent and the carnival season, often from paper cones at Christmas markets. Chef's tip: keep the oil at about 170°C; too hot and the fritule brown outside while the middle stays raw and doughy, the most common mistake.
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.
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