Spinach and corn soup for toddlers
Sayur bening, 'clear vegetables', is the light soup that turns up at nearly every Javanese family lunch in Yogyakarta and Solo, and it is one of the first family dishes Indonesian children share. Spinach and sweet corn are simmered for just a few minutes in water scented with shallot and temu kunci (fingerroot), giving a sweet, fresh broth to spoon over rice. For toddlers from 12 months it is made with no salt or sugar, and the corn is chopped. It is vegan and free of the major allergens. Chef's tip: add the spinach at the very end; overcooked bayam turns grey and bitter.
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In Boston and along the Massachusetts and Maine coast, chowder is served in paper cups at the harbour, in bread bowls and at every clam shack with oyster crackers on the side. Fresh clams are steamed open, their briny juice becomes the stock, and potatoes, onion and a little smoky bacon (pork) simmer in it before cream goes in. It is creamy but not gluey. Chef's tip: thicken it only lightly; chowder should coat a spoon, not stand up in it.
Crème brûlée, 'burnt cream', is the dessert on almost every Paris bistro menu: a shallow dish of rich vanilla custard, cold and silky, under a thin sheet of caramelised sugar you crack with the back of a spoon. Unlike the stovetop Spanish crema catalana, it's made with cream and baked gently in a water bath. The custards are made a day ahead, which makes it ideal for dinner parties; only the sugar is burnt at the last minute. Chef's tip: take them out of the oven while the middle still wobbles like jelly; overbaking is the common mistake and the custard turns grainy and splits.
Encebollado is the morning soup of Guayaquil and the Ecuadorian coast, sold from street carts and small cevicherías from dawn and famous as a cure after a late night: tuna poached in a broth of tomato, cumin and chilli, with soft chunks of yuca, topped with a heap of lime-pickled red onion and coriander, and eaten with banana chips (chifles) and popcorn. The mistake is boiling the tuna until it goes dry; poach it gently and add it back at the end. Chef's tip: pickle the onion at least 20 minutes ahead so it turns pink and loses its sharpness.
Hyderabad's biryani grew up in the kitchens of the Nizams, and the kacchi style is its proudest form: the chicken goes into the pot raw, in a thick yogurt, mint and fried-onion marinade, and cooks only in the steam trapped under part-cooked basmati. In the old city it is wedding and Eid food, ordered in huge copper deghs, and at home it's the Sunday showpiece, served with mirchi ka salan and a cooling raita. Because the meat cooks without being stirred, small bone-in thigh and drumstick pieces work best. Chef's tip: marinate overnight in the fridge — the yogurt tenderises the chicken and the flavours go right to the bone.
Chilli crab was first sold from a pushcart on the Kallang river in the 1950s and is now the dish visitors queue for along Singapore's East Coast seafood strip. Big mud crabs are cut up, wok-fried and simmered in a thick, sweet, tangy and gently hot sauce of chilli, tomato and garlic, which is then silked with beaten egg. Everyone eats with their hands and mops up the sauce with fried or steamed mantou buns. It is a weekend or celebration meal, messy and loud. Buy crabs live or freshly cooked the same day from a fishmonger you trust. Discard any live crab that doesn't move, smells of ammonia or has a cracked, leaking shell. The common mistake is boiling the sauce after adding the egg, which scrambles it into lumps; pour it in a thin stream over a low heat. Chef's tip: ask the fishmonger to clean and quarter the crab for you, and crack each claw lightly with the back of a cleaver so the sauce soaks in.
Along the Dalmatian coast, from Korčula to Dubrovnik, konobas serve crni rižot as the first thing fishermen order when they come ashore, its jet-black colour startling against a white plate. Cuttlefish is cooked slowly with onion and garlic until tender, then rice goes in with fish stock and the ink sac, making a creamy, sea-sweet rice that tastes of the shore. It traditionally includes a splash of dry white wine; for an alcohol-free version, use more stock with a squeeze of lemon. The usual mistake is adding the cuttlefish late and cooking it fast, which leaves it rubbery; it needs to stew first. Chef's tip: serve with a drizzle of good olive oil and grated hard sheep's cheese if you like, and warn your guests about black teeth.
Arroz al horno (arròs al forn in Valencian) is the oven rice of Valencia and Xàtiva, traditionally made the day after a big pot of cocido, using its leftover chickpeas and broth. Families once carried the clay dish to the village baker's oven; today it is baked at home in a wide, shallow earthenware cazuela. Pork ribs, morcilla (Spanish onion blood sausage), slices of potato, chickpeas and a whole head of garlic sit on top of the rice, which bakes into a dry, tender layer full of flavour. Use any ovenproof dish about 30 cm across and 5 cm deep if you don't have a cazuela. Chef's tip: have the stock at a rolling boil when you pour it in, then get the dish into the hot oven within seconds; a lukewarm start leaves the rice chalky in the middle.
Arroz carreteiro is named after the carreteiros, the ox-cart drivers who crossed the pampas of Rio Grande do Sul with charque (dried salted beef) that kept for weeks, cooking it with rice in one iron pot at camp. In southern homes today it is often the Monday dish, made with whatever is left from Sunday's churrasco, though some cooks still use carne seca. It's quick, filling and savoury, with tomato, onion, garlic and plenty of fresh herbs. Chef's tip: dice the leftover beef small, about 1 cm, and brown it hard before the rice goes in; those crispy edges flavour the whole pot.
Arroz chaufa is the fried rice of Lima's chifas, the Chinese-Peruvian restaurants found on almost every street corner in Peru. It is close to Cantonese fried rice but has its own accent: plenty of spring onion and ginger, a dark soy colour, a thin omelette cut into strips and a whisper of sesame oil, all tossed in a smoking wok. This egg and vegetable version is a quick dinner on its own, or the side for a saltado. Chef's tip: use rice cooked the day before and broken up with your fingers; fresh rice is too wet and goes mushy and sticky in the wok.
Guo qiao mi xian comes from Mengzi in southern Yunnan. The story goes that a scholar's wife carried soup across a bridge to his island study each day, and found that a layer of oil kept it piping hot. Today in Kunming it arrives as a big bowl of scalding broth plus small plates of raw thinly sliced vegetables, tofu skin, herbs and rice noodles, which you slide in yourself so they cook at the table. This vegetarian broth is built on mushroom, corn and soybean sprouts. Chef's tip: the broth must be at a rolling boil when it goes into a warmed bowl; that heat is what cooks the toppings.
Along Colombia's Caribbean coast, in Cartagena and Santa Marta, arroz con coco is the rice served with fried fish and patacones; it pairs just as well with beans, fried plantain and salad. The dark version, arroz con coco titoté, comes from cooking coconut milk down until the oil separates and the solids fry into brown, toasty flecks (titoté), then adding the rice with a little sugar and raisins. The result is nutty, sweet-savoury and light brown. Chef's tip: be patient with the titoté; it only tastes right once the bits are deep brown, but take it off the moment they turn the colour of coffee or it will be bitter.
On Nicaragua's Caribbean coast, around Bluefields and the Corn Islands, coconut is in almost everything, and arroz con coco is a sweet spoon dessert rather than a side dish. Rice is simmered in fresh coconut milk with cinnamon, a clove or two and raisins until creamy and thick, then served warm or chilled, often after lunch or at Christmas. It's lighter and more fragrant than a milk rice pudding and naturally dairy free. Chef's tip: stir the coconut milk in two stages; adding it all at once at the start makes the fat split and the rice greasy.
Enduri (or haladi patra pitha) is the sweet of Prathamastami in Odisha, the November festival when Odia mothers pray for their eldest child, who gets the first pitha of the day. Fermented rice-and-urad batter is spread on fresh turmeric leaves, filled with coconut, jaggery, black pepper and cardamom, folded and steamed until the leaves give the cake a green, gingery perfume. The cake is soft and slightly springy. Chef's tip: if you can't find turmeric leaves, use banana leaf with a pinch of grated fresh turmeric in the batter; the flavour is close.
Hanging in long glossy strips in the windows of Guangzhou's siu mei shops, char siu is the roast pork Cantonese families pick up on the way home to put on rice, noodles or into steamed buns. The outside is lacquered, sweet and a little charred at the edges; the inside stays juicy, savoury and faintly scented with five-spice. Shoulder (pork butt) is the cut to use, because its marbling keeps the strips moist through a hot oven. Marinate it overnight in the fridge, roast it the next day and eat it warm with steamed rice and blanched greens, or cold in fried rice and noodle soups. Chef's tip: save the honey for the last ten minutes; brushed on at the start it burns black long before the pork is cooked.
No Nochebuena table from San Juan to Mayagüez is complete without a big caldero of arroz con gandules, and in December every grandmother's pot is judged on it. Medium-grain rice is cooked with pigeon peas (gandules), fresh sofrito, achiote oil, tomato sauce and a scoop of alcaparrado (olives and capers), until each grain is tender and golden-orange. Island cooks usually add pork; this version gets its depth from a generous spoon of sofrito and good stock, and loses nothing. The best part is the pegao, the crisp golden crust left on the bottom of the pot. Chef's tip: once the lid goes on, leave the rice alone; stirring breaks the grains and releases starch, and you will lose both the fluffy texture and the pegao.
Arroz con leche is Mexico's comfort pudding, sold in little cups at markets and made in every grandmother's kitchen: rice cooked first in water with a cinnamon stick (canela) and lime peel, then slowly in milk until it turns thick and creamy. Mexicans often add sweetened condensed milk for a richer, caramel-tinged finish, and raisins for those who like them. It is eaten warm in winter and cold from the fridge in summer, dusted with ground cinnamon. Chef's tip: use soft Ceylon cinnamon (canela) if you can find it; its gentle, floral flavour is what makes it taste Mexican rather than like a spiced pudding.
Gâteau patate are little half-moon pastries made from mashed sweet potato dough and filled with sweetened grated coconut and cardamom, then fried until golden. They are a teatime treat in Mauritian homes and are sold at markets and fairs, especially around Divali and the end of the year. Chef's tip: use the sweet potatoes while still warm to make the dough; cold mash needs more flour and the gâteaux turn heavy.
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.
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.
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.
Csirkepaprikás is the Sunday chicken of Hungarian homes, cooked by grandmothers in villages and in Budapest flats alike and always served with nokedli, the little egg dumplings. Chicken thighs braise gently with onion, plenty of sweet paprika, tomato and pepper, then soured cream is stirred in to make a velvety, brick-orange sauce. Chef's tip: mix the soured cream with a spoonful of flour and some hot sauce before adding it; this stops it from splitting.
The Engadiner Nusstorte comes from the high Engadine valley in Graubünden, where pastry cooks who had emigrated to Italian and French cities brought home their skills in the 1800s, and walnuts arrived from Italy over the passes. It is a shallow, closed tart of rich butter pastry filled with chopped walnuts set in thick, golden cream caramel. Bakeries all over Switzerland sell it, and it keeps for weeks, so families give it as a gift and take it on hikes. Cut it into thin wedges: it is very rich, chewy, crunchy and buttery all at once. Chef's tip: let the caramel reach a deep amber before you pour in the cream; pale caramel tastes only of sugar, dark amber gives the toffee note the tart is known for.
Cuberdons are the purple, cone-shaped sweets sold from handcarts on the Groentenmarkt in Ghent, where locals call them neuzekes, 'little noses'. A thin, firm sugar crust encloses a syrupy raspberry centre, and they only stay that way for about three weeks before the inside crystallises, which is why they have never become an export. They are made with gum arabic, not gelatine, so they suit vegetarians and vegans. Making them at home is a fun weekend project: the syrup is poured into cone-shaped hollows pressed into a tray of dry cornflour, which slowly draws moisture out and forms the crust. Chef's tip: use a sugar thermometer and be exact; just a few degrees too low and the cones never form a crust, a few too high and they set solid all the way through.
Sit down at a kebab house in Adana or Gaziantep and a small dish of acılı ezme arrives before you have ordered: tomato, pepper, onion and parsley chopped almost to a paste, sharpened with pomegranate molasses and hot pepper flakes. It works just as well at a vegetarian table, spooned onto bulgur pilaf, falafel or grilled vegetables, or scooped up with warm flatbread. The mistake most people make is using a food processor: it turns the vegetables into watery soup instead of a thick, rough relish. Chef's tip: chop everything by hand with a big knife, then drain the tomatoes in a sieve for 5 minutes before mixing, so the ezme stays thick enough to sit on bread.
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.
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.
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.
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.
An easy no-churn ice cream of coconut milk, sweetened condensed milk and evaporated milk, scented with nutmeg or cardamom and a little rose. Whisking it once while it freezes keeps it smooth and fluffy. Garnish with shredded coconut and a sprig of mint.
This is a pork sandwich. The Cubano was the lunch of cigar workers going between Havana and Tampa, and Miami's Little Havana cafés still press it to order on a hot plancha. Soft Cuban bread is layered with mojo roast pork, boiled ham, Swiss cheese, dill pickles and yellow mustard, then flattened and toasted until the cheese melts and the crust shatters. It is the best use of leftover lechón asado. Drink it with a café cubano. The usual mistake is pressing on too high a heat, which burns the bread before the middle is hot. Chef's tip: butter the outside of the bread, not the inside, and weigh it down with a heavy pan so it crisps evenly.
On the island of Chiloé in southern Chile, curanto is cooked in a pit lined with hot stones and covered with huge nalca leaves; in town kitchens and in Puerto Montt's market it is made in a big pot instead, curanto en olla. Mussels and clams, smoked pork, chicken and sausage steam together over potatoes and milcao (potato dumplings) until the juices make a rich broth, served in cups on the side. This dish contains pork and shellfish. Some cooks add white wine; this version uses water. The mistake is adding the shellfish too early; they go in at the end and must open, and any that stay closed are thrown away. Chef's tip: make the milcao a little ahead and keep it in the fridge so it holds its shape.
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.
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.
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.
Amritsari kulcha is the pride of Amritsar's dhabas in Punjab: a layered, leavened flatbread stuffed with potato, onion and sour pomegranate seed, slapped onto the wall of a tandoor and smothered in butter the moment it comes out. The outside shatters into crisp, flaky layers while the inside stays soft and steamy. In Amritsar it comes with a bowl of chole, a tangy onion-tamarind chutney and a glass of lassi. At home a very hot oven and a heavy tray stand in for the tandoor. Chef's tip: keep the filling dry and cool, with the onion squeezed of its juice, or the kulcha will tear and steam instead of turning crisp.
Ambasha is the round, slightly sweet festival bread of Tigray and Amhara, baked for holidays such as Easter (Fasika) and Meskel and for welcoming guests. The dough is scented with fenugreek, cardamom and coriander seed, and before baking the top is cut with a knife into a wheel-like pattern, so it comes out of the oven looking like a decorated plate; it is brushed with niter kibbeh and berbere and served torn into pieces with coffee. Chef's tip: cut the pattern deep (about 1 cm), or it disappears as the bread rises in the oven.
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