Tofu and mushroom wontons in chilli oil
In Chengdu these are called hong you chao shou, 'red oil folded hands', after the way the wrappers are crossed over like arms. Little noodle shops serve them morning to night, slick with chilli oil, black vinegar and garlic. Our filling is firm tofu, shiitake and Chinese chives, so it's juicy without meat. Make a double batch: they freeze well uncooked. Chef's tip: squeeze the tofu hard in a cloth before mixing; dry filling seals better and the wontons won't burst in the water.
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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 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.
In Pakistan a bowl of chana chaat is on almost every iftar table during Ramadan, next to the dates, pakoras and a jug of red sherbet, and in Lahore and Karachi street vendors toss it to order all year round in big steel bowls. The Pakistani style is simple and sharp: plump chickpeas and potato with raw onion, tomato, green chilli, lots of coriander and mint, tamarind chutney, lemon juice and a heavy hand of chaat masala, served cold or at room temperature. It is a quick, filling, high-fibre snack. People often mix it too early and the onion goes limp and the potato mushy; dress it no more than 15 minutes before eating. Chef's tip: toss the chickpeas with the chaat masala and salt first, before anything wet goes in, so the spice clings to them.
Dharan, in Nepal's eastern hills, is famous for its 'sekuwa corner', a lane of smoky grills where families and friends gather in the evening for spiced goat, chicken and pork skewers fresh off the fire. The meat is marinated in a dry-ish paste of garlic, ginger, cumin, chilli and timur (Nepali Sichuan pepper), with a little mustard oil, then grilled until charred at the edges. It is the classic picnic and party food, eaten with puffed rice, a tomato-sesame achar and sliced onion. This recipe uses lamb or mutton shoulder in place of goat. Chef's tip: soak wooden skewers for 30 minutes and leave a little space between the pieces so the heat reaches all sides.
When Tihar, the five-day festival of lights, arrives in late autumn, kitchens all over Nepal fill with the smell of sel roti: big, thin rings of sweetened rice batter fried in hot oil until crisp and russet outside and soft and slightly chewy inside. They are stacked high to offer to the gods, to sisters during Bhai Tika and to every guest, and they are also made at Dashain and for weddings, travelling well and keeping for days. Rice is soaked overnight and ground with sugar into a thick, pourable batter, then poured by hand in one confident circle into the oil. Many families add ghee to the batter, which makes the rings richer but means they are vegetarian rather than vegan; this version uses oil. The common mistake is oil that is not hot enough, so the batter drinks fat and turns greasy. Chef's tip: let the batter rest for an hour after grinding; it thickens and ferments slightly, and the rings puff and hold their shape better.
Pakhala is Odisha's answer to the summer heat: cooked rice left to soak in water, often overnight so it turns faintly sour, then loosened with curd, salt, lime leaf, cumin and green chilli and eaten cold at midday. The state even celebrates Pakhala Dibasa on 20 March. The rice itself is plain; the pleasure is in the sides, such as badi chura (crushed fried lentil dumplings with onion and mustard oil), fried potato, saga bhaja and roasted aubergine. Chef's tip: for the gently sour basi pakhala, leave the rice in its water at room temperature for 8–12 hours; for dahi pakhala, eat it the same day with more curd.
Sellou (also called sfouf or zmita) is made in big batches across Morocco for Ramadan, for new mothers and for Eid, and is served in a mound beside mint tea. Flour is toasted slowly in a dry pan until it turns the colour of sand and smells like biscuits, then mixed with ground toasted almonds and sesame, anise, cinnamon, butter and honey. The result is a crumbly, nutty, not-too-sweet sweet that you eat by the spoonful, or press into balls. It keeps for weeks. Chef's tip: toast the flour patiently over a low heat and keep it moving; scorched flour tastes bitter and the whole batch is lost.
In Norway, and among Norwegian-American families in Minnesota and the Dakotas, lefse appears at Christmas in towering stacks wrapped in tea towels. These are soft, almost cloth-thin rounds made from riced potato and a little flour, cooked dry on a hot griddle until freckled with brown spots. The classic way to eat them in Telemark and Hallingdal is spread with butter, sprinkled with sugar and sometimes cinnamon, then rolled up or folded into triangles; savoury rolls with cheese are just as common. Home cooks use a grooved rolling pin and a long wooden stick to turn them, but a floured ordinary pin and a wide spatula do the job. Chef's tip: rice the potatoes while hot and let the mash cool completely, even overnight; warm potato soaks up too much flour and the lefse go tough.
Pain perdu means 'lost bread', and French families have always made it from the end of a stale baguette or brioche that would otherwise be thrown away. Thick slices are soaked in milk, eggs, sugar and vanilla, then fried in butter until caramelised outside and soft, almost like custard, inside. In France it is more often a Sunday breakfast or goûter for the children than a brunch dish, eaten with a dusting of sugar, jam or fresh fruit. Chef's tip: use bread that is a day or two old; fresh bread is the common mistake and turns soggy and falls apart in the custard.
Despite the name, pain à la grecque is pure Brussels: the 'Greek' is thought to come from the Flemish gracht, the canal next to the old abbey on the Wolvengracht whose monks handed out bread to the poor. Today it is a long, flat stick of cinnamon-spiced bread pressed into pearl sugar and baked until the sugar melts into a crunchy, glassy crust. Brussels bakeries such as those around the Sablon sell it by the slab, and it is eaten with coffee in the afternoon or dunked at breakfast. Chef's tip: press the dough hard into the pearl sugar on both sides; loosely scattered sugar just falls off in the oven.
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.
Pad pak ruam, 'stir-fried mixed vegetables', is the dish every Bangkok made-to-order (aharn tam sang) cook can make in ninety seconds over a roaring flame, and the one Thai office workers add to a lunch order so there is something green on the table. The vegetables stay crisp and bright, coated in a thin, glossy sauce of garlic, soy and mushroom stir-fry sauce. Restaurants use oyster sauce; the vegetarian mushroom version tastes almost the same. Serve it with jasmine rice and a fried egg, or as a side to curry. Chef's tip: cut everything before you light the stove, and add the vegetables in order of hardness, so the carrots soften while the greens stay snappy.
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.
No dham in Mandi district of Himachal Pradesh is complete without sepu vadi. Light urad-dal dumplings are fried, softened in warm water and then simmered in a smooth spinach gravy tangy with yogurt, until they swell up and turn spongy. The botis who cook the feast make huge copper pots of it, served on leaf plates with rice and eaten with the fingers. At home it makes a rich weekend curry with rice or chapati. Chef's tip: beat the ground dal by hand for a few minutes before frying; the air you whip in is what makes the vadi light.
Lecsó is what Hungarian kitchens cook in late August, when markets in Szeged and Kecskemét are heaped with pale yellow wax peppers and over-ripe tomatoes. It is a soft, sweet-sour stew of peppers and tomato cooked down in paprika-scented oil; many families add smoked sausage or scramble eggs into it, but this version keeps it vegan and lets the peppers carry the flavour. Eat it hot with crusty bread or rice, or cold the next day, and jars of it are put up for winter. Chef's tip: add the tomatoes only once the peppers have softened; if they go in together, the tomato juice stews the peppers instead of letting them sweeten in the oil.
Serabi are small, thick pancakes cooked one at a time in clay pans over charcoal, sold at dawn in Solo and Bandung. The rice-flour batter, rich with coconut milk, sets with a spongy, bubbly top and a crisp, lacy base. In Bandung they come with a pour of kinca, a warm palm-sugar syrup scented with pandan; Solo's version is rolled in a banana leaf with a dot of thick coconut cream. Chef's tip: don't flip them; covering the pan lets steam cook the top while the bottom crisps.
In Tashkent, chuchvara is the little cousin of manti: dumplings no bigger than a thumbnail, folded around a peppery lamb-and-beef filling and dropped into clear meat broth. Families make them in big batches on a slow weekend, freeze trays of them, and eat bowls through the winter with a spoonful of suzma (strained yogurt) or sour cream and lots of dill. The dough is thin and firm, the filling juicy with grated onion, and the broth light enough to drink. Many home cooks roll the dough too thick, which turns the dumplings stodgy; aim for a sheet you can just see the board through. Chef's tip: freeze the shaped dumplings on a floured tray before bagging them, so they stay separate and cook straight from frozen.
Sernik is the baked cheesecake Polish grandmothers make for Easter and Christmas, and in Kraków it often comes as sernik krakowski, with raisins in the filling and a lattice of pastry on top. Unlike the American kind it is made with twaróg, a dry, tangy curd cheese, so the filling is light and fine-grained rather than dense, set with eggs and a little potato starch, never gelatine. This version keeps a buttery shortcrust base and a smooth vanilla-lemon top. Chef's tip: the twaróg must be put through a mincer or sieve twice, or bought as ready-ground twaróg sernikowy in a tub; lumpy cheese gives a grainy cake.
Ask a Bangkok office worker what they had for lunch and the answer is very often 'kra pao gai, khai dao': chopped chicken flash-fried with garlic, chillies and holy basil, spooned over rice and crowned with a fried egg whose edges have blistered into brown lace. Street stalls and food courts across the city cook it to order in a roaring wok in about three minutes. The chicken should be slightly sticky and salty-sweet, the basil peppery with a hint of clove, and the runny yolk becomes a sauce for the rice. A saucer of prik nam pla (sliced chillies in fish sauce) on the side is all it needs. Chef's tip: chop the chicken by hand with a heavy knife instead of buying fine mince; the coarse, uneven bits catch the sauce and stay juicy.
Pączki are the rich, yeasted doughnuts Poland eats by the dozen on Tłusty Czwartek, Fat Thursday, the last Thursday before Lent, when Warsaw bakeries such as the old ones on Nowy Świat have queues round the block from dawn. A good pączek is round and heavy for its size, with a pale ring around its middle, a fine, yolk-rich crumb and a filling of rose-petal jam (konfitura z róży) or plum butter, finished with icing and candied orange peel. A spoon of vodka or spirytus in the dough is an old trick: it evaporates in the hot oil and stops the dough soaking up fat. Chef's tip: keep the oil between 165 and 175°C with a thermometer; hotter and they burn outside while raw in the middle, cooler and they turn greasy.
Seswaa is Botswana's national dish, made by the men at weddings, funerals and Independence Day in great three-legged pots over fires: beef on the bone is boiled with only onion, bay and salt for hours until it falls apart, then pounded with a wooden spoon into soft shreds in its own fat. It is served with pap (stiff maize porridge) or samp and a side of greens. The mistake is adding too much water at the end; the meat should be moist, not soupy, so let the liquid cook away before pounding. Chef's tip: use a mix of brisket and shin on the bone for flavour and richness.
Soft, lightly sweet fried cakes of grated boiled sweet potato, flour and milk, shaped by hand into small flat rounds. They're golden outside and tender inside; the book's Handy Hints say sweet potato is good for the eyes and lifts the mood. Serve as a tea-time snack, or with tomato and chilli sauce.
Pachi pulusu, 'raw stew', is Telangana's summer cooler: a no-cook tamarind water stirred with jaggery, finely sliced raw onion and green chilli, finished with a hot mustard-seed tempering. In the heat of April and May in villages around Warangal and Karimnagar, families pour it over hot rice with a spoonful of dal or a spicy fry, and it wakes up appetites dulled by the sun. Some add a smoky roasted brinjal mashed in, which gives it body. Sweet, sour and sharp at once, it takes ten minutes. Chef's tip: rub the onion with salt and a little chilli powder in your fingers before adding the tamarind water, so it softens slightly and flavours the whole bowl.
Ask anyone from Vadodara where to eat sev usal and you'll get a strong opinion and a street-corner name. Early in the morning the handcarts near Mandvi and Raopura have a huge pot of dried white peas simmering in a thin, fiery gravy, with a separate tin of brick-red chilli oil (the tari) on the side. A ladle of usal goes into a steel plate, a spoonful of tari is poured over, and then it disappears under fine sev, raw onion and coriander, with lemon and soft pav to mop it up. The gravy should be loose and soupy, not thick like a curry, so the sev stays crisp for the first few bites and then soaks in. Chef's tip: cook the tari separately and let each person add their own; the usal alone is only medium-hot, and the tari is where the fire comes from.
In Casablanca, Friday lunch after midday prayers means couscous bidaoui, the city's own version piled with seven vegetables, from pumpkin and turnip to cabbage and carrot. Families eat it from one great dish, each person working on their own corner of the mound, with extra broth ladled on as they go. The grains are steamed twice over the simmering broth so they swell into separate, fluffy beads that soak up the flavour without turning soggy. This vegetarian version builds the broth from onion, tomato, saffron and chickpeas, so it is rich enough without meat. Chef's tip: rub the couscous between your palms after each steaming to break up every clump; that is what makes it light.
In the highlands around Huancayo and Ayacucho, families mark harvests and saints' days by burying marinated meats, potatoes, sweet potatoes, broad beans and humitas under hot stones and earth for a pachamanca, an 'earth pot'. City cooks get close to it with a heavy pot: the same green marinade of huacatay (black mint), chincho, ají and garlic, layered with meats and roots and steamed in their own juices under banana or corn leaves. Chef's tip: layer the hardest things lowest, potatoes on the bottom and chicken nearest the lid, just as the stones are packed in the field.
Pabellón criollo is Venezuela's national dish, the lunch plate served in family kitchens and at every Caracas lunch counter: white rice, black beans (caraotas), sweet fried plantain (tajadas) and shredded stewed beef side by side, like the stripes of a flag. This vegetarian version replaces the beef with king oyster mushrooms pulled into strands and stewed in a sofrito with tomato, cumin and a little panela, which gives the same tender, shredded texture. For slow-cooked beans from scratch, see the frijoles negros cubanos page. Chef's tip: shred the mushrooms along the grain with a fork, as you would pull beef; it's what makes them look and eat like carne mechada.
Shah plov, the "king's pilaf", is the showpiece of Azerbaijani weddings and Novruz feasts, especially in Baku, Shaki and Ganja. Saffron rice layered with butter-glazed apricots, raisins, prunes and chestnuts is packed into a pot lined with overlapping sheets of thin lavash, then baked until the bread forms a crisp golden dome. It is carried whole to the table, the top is cut like a crown, and everyone gets a crisp shard with their rice. The classic version also has lamb; this one keeps the fruit and nuts that already make it festive. Chef's tip: brush every lavash sheet generously with butter and overlap them by at least a third; thin spots tear when the plov is turned out.
Shahi tukda, the 'royal piece', comes from the Mughal kitchens of Old Delhi, and you'll still find trays of it around Jama Masjid during Ramzan, eaten after the evening meal, and at Eid feasts. Thick slices of bread are fried in ghee until crisp and golden, dipped briefly in cardamom and saffron syrup, then covered with rabri, milk slowly reduced until thick and full of creamy flakes. The bread stays crisp at the edges and soft in the middle. It's rich, so small pieces go a long way. Chef's tip: start the rabri first and let it simmer while you fry the bread; it takes the longest and needs only an occasional stir.
Uzvar is the dark, smoky-sweet drink brewed from dried apples, pears and plums that closes the Holy Supper on Ukrainian Christmas Eve, Sviat Vechir, where it is one of the twelve meatless dishes alongside kutia. In villages across Podillia and the Carpathians the fruit is dried in the oven or over smoke in autumn, which gives uzvar its distinctive campfire note; market stalls sell ready-mixed bags in December. It is drunk warm in winter and chilled in summer, and is naturally vegan when sweetened with sugar instead of honey. Chef's tip: simmer gently, then let it steep for several hours; common mistake is boiling it hard, which turns the fruit to mush and the drink cloudy.
Shaiyah means "seared" and is what Khartoum families cook when guests drop in or for Eid breakfast after the sacrifice: small pieces of lamb thrown into a very hot pan with onion, garlic and green chilli and cooked fast until browned and sizzling. It is eaten with kisra flatbread or bread, a salad of tomato and onion, and a squeeze of lime. The mistake is crowding the pan, which stews the lamb grey instead of searing it; cook in two batches if needed. Chef's tip: use lamb with a little fat on it, such as shoulder or leg steaks, so it stays juicy over the high heat.
The name means 'parent and child bowl', a gentle joke about cooking the chicken and the egg together. A Nihonbashi chicken restaurant in Tokyo says it first served the dish in the 1890s, and today it is a staple lunch in soba shops, office canteens and home kitchens all over the country. Thigh meat and sliced onion simmer briefly in sweet soy dashi, then beaten egg goes in and is taken off the heat while still soft and glossy. Everything slides onto a bowl of hot rice so the sauce seeps into the grains. Chef's tip: beat the eggs with just a few strokes of chopsticks, leaving streaks of white and yolk, as that marbled look and silky texture is what you're after.
Piti belongs to Shaki, the old silk-road town in the green foothills of northern Azerbaijan, where it is still cooked in individual clay pots and served in restaurants near the caravanserai. Each pot holds lamb on the bone, chickpeas, a chestnut or two, a little tail fat and saffron water. It is eaten in two stages: first you pour the broth over torn bread with sumac, then you mash the meat and chickpeas and eat that as a second course. Rushing it at a high heat is the error to avoid; the broth turns cloudy and the lamb tightens. Chef's tip: if you have no clay pots, a heavy casserole works, and you can ladle it into bowls to serve.
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