Vegetable soup with poached egg
Acquacotta, literally 'cooked water', is what the butteri, the cattle herders of the Tuscan Maremma, and charcoal burners made from whatever they carried: onions, a few vegetables, stale bread and, on a good day, an egg. Around Grosseto and the hills of Monte Amiata it is still a family supper in autumn and spring, ladled over toasted bread with an egg poached right in the soup. Slow-cooked onion makes it sweet and deep, the egg yolk runs into the broth and the bread turns soft and spoonable. Chef's tip: give the onions a full 20 minutes; the soup is only as good as their sweetness.
A new country every day, from every cuisine on the site.
Uganda's national dish: green matoke bananas steamed in banana leaves, mashed and kept warm in the leaves, then topped with a thick, gently spiced tomato and ground peanut sauce. It's soft, savoury and very filling. The book's Handy Hints add that bananas and peanuts are both good for the heart.
When the clam beds of the Zuari and Mandovi rivers are full after the monsoon, Goan kitchens cook tisryo (clams) as sukhe, meaning dry: no gravy, just shells coated in a coarse, spiced coconut masala. It is a Saturday-lunch side dish with fish curry and rice, eaten with the fingers, picking each clam out of its half-shell. Chef's tip: grind the coconut masala without water and only briefly, so it stays coarse and clings to the shells.
The rolex is Uganda's most famous street food, its name a play on 'rolled eggs': at stalls all over Kampala, and now the whole country, a vendor beats eggs with shredded cabbage, tomato and onion, fries a thin omelette, lays a fresh chapati on top and rolls the two together. It is breakfast, lunch and late-night food. Unlike the Mombasa coast egg chapati, nothing is folded inside raw pastry: the omelette and a soft, ready-cooked chapati are rolled together. Chef's tip: cook the omelette thin and wide, the size of the chapati, so every bite has egg.
Tiropita is the cheese pie Greek children grow up on: bought hot from the neighbourhood fourno on the way to school, baked in big trays for birthday parties, and cut into squares for a quick lunch with a glass of ayran-style yogurt drink. The filling is softer and milder than spanakopita's, a creamy custard of feta, a fresh white cheese and eggs set between crisp, buttery fillo. It is good warm from the oven and still good cold in a lunch box. Use a feta labelled vegetarian, as many are made with animal rennet. Chef's tip: crumple the middle sheets of fillo loosely instead of laying them flat; the air pockets keep the pie light, and pressing them flat (the usual mistake) gives a dense, doughy middle.
Ask for fried chicken in Kushiro or Sapporo and you'll be handed zangi, which locals insist is not the same as karaage. A Kushiro restaurant says it coined the name around 1960, and today zangi shops, ski-lodge canteens and supermarket delis across Hokkaido sell it in big, bone-in pieces. The chicken soaks for hours in a punchy mix of soy, sake, garlic, ginger and oyster sauce with an egg beaten in, so the flavour runs right through the meat, and it often comes with a sharp dipping sauce of vinegar, soy and black pepper. The coating is a mix of flour and starch, so it fries darker and more savoury than karaage. Chef's tip: marinate it overnight in the fridge for the full Hokkaido flavour; 30 minutes works, but the difference is clear.
On the first day of Ganesh Chaturthi, kitchens all along the Konkan coast and in Pune and Mumbai fill with steam as families shape ukadiche modak, the pleated dumplings said to be Ganpati's favourite sweet. A soft, translucent shell of rice flour cooked in water (the ukad) wraps a filling of fresh coconut and jaggery scented with cardamom and nutmeg. Twenty-one modak are offered to the deity, and the rest are eaten warm with a spoon of ghee poured into a little hole poked in the top. The pleating takes practice, so make a few extra and don't worry if the first ones are lumpy. Chef's tip: knead the ukad while it is still hot, with your palm oiled and dipped in cold water; a dough left to cool turns crumbly and cracks when you pleat it.
Zanzibar's famous street bowl (urojo): a thin, tangy, golden soup of gram flour, raw mango, coconut and chilli, filled with little lentil fritters and potato balls and topped with crushed cassava crisps and coconut, green and red chutneys. It's sour, spicy and crunchy all at once. Make the fritters, potato balls and chutney ahead, then assemble the bowls at the table.
Tirokafteri means 'hot cheese', and in Thessaloniki and across northern Greece it's the dip you order with ouzo or tsipouro: feta whipped with chilli, a roasted red pepper and olive oil into something creamy, salty and properly fiery. Every ouzeri makes it slightly differently; some keep it chunky, some silky, some add yogurt to soften the heat. Scoop it up with toasted bread, or spoon it beside grilled vegetables and fritters. Use feta labelled vegetarian. Chef's tip: add the fresh chilli a little at a time and taste; chillies vary a lot, and adding the whole lot at once is the usual mistake that makes it too hot to eat.
Tire d'érable (maple taffy, or 'tire sur la neige') is the highlight of a spring visit to a Québec or eastern Ontario sugar shack: hot boiled maple syrup is poured in ribbons over clean packed snow, where it firms into a chewy, amber toffee that you roll up onto a wooden stick. It's sold at winter carnivals in Québec City and made at home on a tray of snow or crushed ice. Chef's tip: use a sugar thermometer and stop at 112–114 °C; a few degrees under and it stays runny, a few over and it turns hard as candy.
Umibudo, 'sea grapes', is a seaweed farmed in the warm, clear waters around Okinawa and Miyako island. Its tiny green beads burst in the mouth with a salty, oceanic pop, which is why Okinawans also call it green caviar. It's served as a starter in island izakaya, often next to a cold Orion beer, either plain with a dish of citrus soy or piled on a simple salad. Look for it vacuum-packed in salt at Japanese grocers; it keeps for weeks unopened. Chef's tip: dress the salad, not the sea grapes. Pour the dressing on the greens and dip the sea grapes as you eat, because vinegar and soy make the beads shrivel within minutes.
Unniyappam are small, round sweet dumplings that Kerala families make for Vishu and Karthika, and they are a well-known temple offering at Guruvayur and Sabarimala. A batter of ground rice, ripe banana and jaggery, studded with ghee-fried coconut bits and sesame, is fried in the round hollows of an unniyappa chatti until crisp and dark brown outside and soft and spongy in the middle. They keep for a couple of days in a tin and are perfect with tea. Chef's tip: let the batter rest for an hour; it softens and puffs a little, giving lighter unniyappam.
Zapiekanka is Polish street food born in the 1970s and perfected at the hatch windows around Plac Nowy in Kraków's Kazimierz district, where students and night owls queue for one at midnight. Half a long baguette is topped with mushrooms fried with onion, covered in grated cheese and baked until crisp at the edges and bubbling, then finished with a zigzag of ketchup and chives. The classic version has no meat at all. Use a hard cheese made with vegetarian rennet (many supermarket mild Cheddars and Goudas are). Chef's tip: fry the mushrooms until completely dry before they go on the bread; wet mushrooms make the baguette soggy instead of crisp.
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.
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.
Tinutuan, also called bubur Manado, is what North Sulawesi eats for breakfast: rice simmered with pumpkin until the pumpkin melts and turns the porridge golden, then loaded with sweetcorn, cassava and a big handful of greens and lemon basil at the end. In Manado it comes with small fried fish and a fiery tomato dabu-dabu; this version skips the fish and pairs it with fried tofu. It is filling, gentle and naturally vegan. Chef's tip: add the leafy greens only in the last 3 minutes so they stay green and fresh.
Til pitha is the essential sweet of Magh Bihu, the January harvest festival, when Assamese homes stay up late around the fire, frying and toasting. Fresh flour of soaked bora (sticky) rice is spread thin on a hot pan into a round, filled with roasted black sesame and jaggery and rolled into a cigar while still soft; it crisps as it cools. Tins of til pitha are carried to every house visited during Bihu. Chef's tip: the flour must be freshly ground from soaked sticky rice and still slightly damp; dry shop rice flour won't fuse into a sheet.
Żurek is the soup of Polish Easter, served in homes from Kraków to Gdańsk on Easter Sunday morning, and in highland Zakopane restaurants it comes in a hollowed-out bread loaf all year. Its tang comes from zakwas, a fermented rye-flour starter, simmered with marjoram, garlic and stock. This version contains pork: white sausage (biała kiełbasa) and smoked bacon, plus halved hard-boiled eggs. Chef's tip: shake the jar of zakwas before you pour it in; the flour settles and the soup will be thin without it.
Panzanella is how Tuscans eat old bread in summer: hard, unsalted loaf soaked in water, squeezed and crumbled with juicy tomatoes, cucumber, red onion and basil, then dressed with vinegar and plenty of olive oil. In Florence and the Maremma it is a cool lunch for the hottest days, and every family argues about cucumber. Make it 30 minutes before eating so the bread drinks the tomato juice but keeps some bite. Chef's tip: salt the tomatoes first and let them weep in a bowl; that juice becomes the dressing.
Tikil gomen means 'cabbage stew', and it is the mild, golden side on almost every beyaynetu fasting platter in Addis Ababa and Bahir Dar. White cabbage, carrots and potatoes are cooked slowly with onion, garlic, ginger and turmeric until soft and sweet, with no chilli heat apart from a few strips of green pepper. Children love it, and it balances the spicy red wats beautifully. Chef's tip: let the cabbage cook down until it is sweet and slightly caramelised at the edges; that is where all the flavour comes from.
In late June, when the sour-cherry trees in every yard from Vinnytsia to Cherkasy turn red, Ukrainian families sit around the kitchen table pitting cherries for varenyky. These sweet dumplings are boiled, piled into a bowl and drenched in a syrup made from the cherry juice, a taste of summer holidays at grandmother's. The dough here is the simple water and oil kind, so the recipe is vegan; most Ukrainians also add a spoon of sour cream, which you are welcome to do if you are not cooking vegan. Chef's tip: sugar the cherries in a sieve and let the juice drain before filling, then put a pinch of sugar on each portion only as you seal it, so the dough stays dry at the edges.
Varenyky with potato are the everyday dumplings of central Ukraine, the ones Gogol's Poltava characters dream about and the ones that fill freezers in Kyiv flats before every holiday. Unlike Polish pierogi ruskie, these have no curd cheese: the filling is simply mashed potato beaten with plenty of onion fried in sunflower oil, so they are vegan and appear on the meatless Holy Supper table on Christmas Eve. They are boiled, then tossed in more golden onion and eaten with dill. Chef's tip: let the filling cool completely before you fill the dough; warm mash steams the dough from inside and the dumplings tear in the pot.
Zunda is Sendai's signature sweet: young green soybeans mashed with sugar into a coarse, pale-green paste. Farmers in Miyagi made it at the end of summer, when edamame were at their best, and it is still sold everywhere from Sendai station's souvenir halls to small tea shops, now also as zunda shakes and rolls. The flavour is gentle, beany and fresh, closer to sweet peas than to red bean paste. Spoon it over warm, chewy rice dumplings and serve with green tea. Chef's tip: rub the skins off the cooked beans. It takes ten minutes but turns the paste from dull khaki to a vivid jade colour.
Vatha kuzhambu is what a Tamil kitchen cooks when the vegetable basket is empty: tamarind, sambar powder and a handful of sun-dried sundakkai or manathakkali berries fried crisp in sesame oil. It simmers down to a glossy, almost black gravy that is sour, a little bitter, hot and faintly sweet, and it keeps for days, so it travels in tiffin carriers and turns up at Brahmin home lunches all over Thanjavur and Chennai. Mix a spoonful into hot rice with a little sesame oil, and eat it with a plain poriyal or appalam to calm the heat. Chef's tip: fry the dried berries in the oil first and lift them out the moment they puff and darken; added at the end they stay crisp and bitter-nutty instead of turning leathery.
In spring, when globe artichokes pile up on stalls in İzmir and Urla, market sellers trim them on the spot into pale hearts kept in lemon water, and families take them home to make zeytinyağlı enginar. The hearts are braised cup-side up with small onions, carrots, potato and peas in olive oil and lemon, then served cold with a shower of dill, often as the first course of a spring dinner. The classic mistake is leaving trimmed artichokes in the air: they turn grey within minutes. Chef's tip: rub every cut surface with lemon as you go and drop the hearts straight into water with lemon juice and a spoonful of flour, which keeps them pale and cream-coloured.
Mizo cooking in Aizawl and the hill villages of Mizoram is simple and clean, with few spices and lots of greens, and vawksa rep shows it at its best. Smoked pork (vawksa rep) is simmered until soft, then mustard greens (antam) go in and soak up its smoky, fatty broth. It is an everyday lunch with rice, and some families add a little bai (bamboo shoot) or chilli. Chef's tip: keep the stems and leaves of the greens separate; the stems need a few minutes longer.
Briouats are the small, crunchy pastry triangles served at Moroccan weddings and at the iftar table during Ramadan, especially in Rabat and Fez where women make hundreds ahead and freeze them. The wrapper is warqa, a paper-thin pastry, though filo works well at home. Savoury briouats are often filled with meat or seafood; this vegetarian filling of potato, carrot, peas, spices and cheese is popular in family kitchens and loved by children. Bake or fry them and serve hot with a dipping saucer of harissa. Chef's tip: let the filling cool completely before wrapping; hot filling makes the pastry soggy and it splits in the oven.
Curry laksa, or curry mee, is the coconut-rich laksa of Kuala Lumpur and the west coast, a hawker breakfast as often as a lunch, ladled from huge pots into bowls of noodles. The broth is a fried spice paste of chillies, lemongrass, galangal and candlenuts loosened with coconut milk, so it's spicy, creamy and fragrant at once. Stalls top it with chicken, cockles or prawns; ours is all vegetable: tofu puffs that soak up the soup like sponges, soft aubergine, long beans, crunchy bean sprouts and mint. Chef's tip: once the coconut milk goes in, keep it at a gentle simmer; a rolling boil splits it and leaves the broth greasy and grainy.
Egusi soup is cooked right across Nigeria, from Igbo kitchens in Enugu to Yoruba homes in Abeokuta, and it is the soup most people mean when they say 'swallow and soup'. Ground egusi (the protein-rich seeds of a wild melon) is fried and simmered in a pepper and palm-oil base until it forms soft, savoury curds, then finished with greens. It is eaten by hand with pounded yam, eba or fufu. The usual meats, stockfish and crayfish are left out here; mushrooms, iru and vegetable stock do the work. Chef's tip: let the egusi paste sit in the hot sauce without stirring for 5 minutes so it sets into fluffy curds before you break it up.
In Kuala Lumpur, Hokkien mee means thick yellow noodles braised in a dark, caramel-sweet soy sauce until they turn almost black, a late-night hawker dish that Petaling Street and Jalan Alor stalls still cook over roaring flames long after midnight. The originals carry pork, prawns and crisp lard; ours uses meaty shiitake, tofu puffs that drink up the sauce, cabbage and choy sum, with fried shallots for the crunch the lard would give. It's smoky, salty-sweet and very slurpable. Chef's tip: let the noodles braise until the sauce has thickened and clings to every strand, with only a spoonful left in the wok.
In northern China, from Shandong to Dongbei, families sit round the table on Chinese New Year's Eve and fold jiaozi together to eat at midnight. Jiu cai ji dan, egg and garlic chive, is the classic meat-free filling: soft scrambled egg, bright green chives and a few glass noodles to soak up the juices. Boil them and serve with black vinegar and chilli oil, or pan-fry the leftovers the next day. Chef's tip: stir a spoonful of oil into the chopped chives before adding the salt; the oil seals in their juice so the filling doesn't go watery.
No Armenian summer weekend at the dacha passes without a khorovats, the charcoal grill fired up in the garden from Dilijan to Lake Sevan. Alongside the skewers, whole aubergines, peppers and tomatoes are grilled until black and collapsing, then peeled and chopped with raw onion, garlic and herbs into a smoky, juicy salad. Served on its own with lavash, salty cheese and pickles, it makes a full meal, and it is one of the dishes that Armenians say tastes of summer itself. It works on a barbecue or straight on a gas flame. Chef's tip: grill the vegetables whole, without oil and without cutting them; the skins burn and peel away, while the flesh steams inside and soaks up the smoke.
After dark in Colombo you hear kottu before you see it: the rhythmic clang of two steel blades chopping roti on a hot flat-top at every street stall from Pettah to Wellawatte. Shredded godamba roti is stir-fried with leeks, carrot, cabbage, onion, chilli and egg, then moistened with a spoonful of spicy curry gravy so it's soft, smoky and messy in the best way. Stalls usually ladle on chicken curry gravy; we make a quick vegetable curry sauce instead, and the egg keeps it vegetarian rather than vegan. Leftover parathas or frozen flaky flatbreads stand in well for godamba roti. The common mistake is overcrowding a small pan, which steams everything; cook in two batches if your pan is under 30 cm. Chef's tip: chop the roti into strips while it is still slightly warm, then let it dry for 10 minutes so it fries rather than turns mushy.
Kushikatsu belongs to Shinsekai, the neon-lit old entertainment district at the foot of Osaka's Tsutenkaku tower. Since the 1920s, labourers have stood at its counters eating skewers fried to order, dunked in a shared steel pot of thin, fruity sauce. The famous house rule, 'no double dipping', is printed on signs everywhere. Vegetables are as popular as meat there: lotus root, shiitake, onion, asparagus and, a local favourite, chewy mochi and cheese. Have a plate of raw cabbage leaves on the side; they're free at every shop and used to scoop extra sauce. Chef's tip: use fine panko, or blitz ordinary panko briefly. Fine crumbs give the thin, crunchy jacket that Osaka shops are known for.
Lagman came to the Ferghana Valley with Uyghur and Dungan cooks, and in Andijan and Namangan it is still made the old way: a soft dough oiled, rested and pulled by hand into long, springy noodles, then topped with a stew of peppers, radish, green beans and tomato called vadja. Ferghana lagman is usually 'dry' (quwurma), the sauce thick enough to cling, rather than a soup. Locals eat it at lunchtime from noodle houses near the bazaar, with a dash of vinegar and chilli oil at the table. This version uses only vegetables. Chef's tip: oil the dough ropes generously and let them rest a full 30 minutes; well-rested dough stretches to arm's length without snapping.
Lawar is the dish of Balinese ceremonies: before a temple festival or a family rite, the men of the banjar gather at dawn to chop and mix it by hand in huge quantities. Many versions include meat, but lawar kacang, made with long beans, is common at home and at Balinese warungs, and it shows off base genep, the island's master spice paste of shallot, garlic, galangal, kencur, turmeric and chilli. Mixed with toasted grated coconut, it's crunchy, fragrant, sour and hot, and is eaten with rice the day it's made. Chef's tip: mix the lawar just before serving and with your hands, squeezing gently, so the spice paste works into the beans; made too early, it goes watery and dull.
In Bahrain and Kuwait machboos is the rice dish of the home kitchen: deeper yellow than Saudi kabsa, with more turmeric, more dried lime and a last splash of rose water that perfumes the whole pot. Families cook it for the big midday meal, especially on Fridays and through Ramadan, and pile it high on a round metal tray. Here potatoes, cauliflower and peppers take the place of chicken, and the rice is crowned with hashu, soft caramelised onions with raisins and a pinch of black lime powder. Chef's tip: brown the potatoes and cauliflower before the rice goes in; their golden edges give the meaty depth the chicken usually brings.
In Seoul and the surrounding Gyeonggi province, the first meal of Seollal (Lunar New Year) is often mandu-guk (만두국): plump dumplings and coin-shaped rice cakes floating in clear broth, finished with ribbons of yellow and white egg and strips of toasted laver. The northern half of the peninsula has always favoured dumplings over rice cake soup, and Seoul families tend to combine the two. These mandu are filled with tofu, glass noodles, cabbage, mushrooms and chives, and the broth is a kelp and shiitake stock instead of beef. Fold the dumplings a day ahead and the soup comes together in 15 minutes. Chef's tip: squeeze the tofu and cabbage hard in a cloth; a wet filling turns the wrappers soggy and the dumplings split in the pot.
Maqluba means 'upside down', and in Palestinian homes from Jerusalem to Nablus the moment the big pot is flipped onto a tray at a Friday family lunch is greeted with clapping. Under the pot comes a golden cake of fried aubergine, cauliflower and potato with spiced rice packed between them. It is also cooked across Lebanon, Jordan and Syria. This meat-free version uses vegetable stock and is served with a cucumber and tomato salad or a bowl of yogurt for those who eat dairy. Chef's tip: once the pot is turned over, wait five minutes before lifting it so the layers settle and the tower holds.
Winter in Istanbul brings fat leeks to every neighbourhood market, and zeytinyağlı pırasa is how many households use them: chunks of leek and carrot stewed gently in olive oil with a handful of rice to thicken the juices, finished with lemon. It is served at room temperature on the side of a winter table, or as a light lunch with bread and white cheese, and grandmothers often say it is better the second day. The usual mistake is skipping a proper wash: grit hides between the layers and ruins the whole pot. Chef's tip: cut the leeks on a slant into thick pieces and keep them whole rather than separating the rings, so they hold their shape through the slow braise.
Mastava is the soup Uzbek mothers make on a cold weeknight: rice simmered in a tomato-red broth with carrot, potato, pepper and chickpeas, finished at the table with a spoon of thick suzma or sour cream and a handful of herbs. It is eaten all over the country but is especially loved in Tashkent households in late autumn. The base is fried first, like plov, so the soup tastes rich even without meat; this version uses vegetables and chickpeas only. Chef's tip: fry the tomato paste in the oil until it turns brick-red before adding water — that is where the depth comes from.
Momos came to Sikkim and the Darjeeling hills with Tibetan settlers and are now the snack of the whole Himalayan Northeast, steamed in tall stacked steamers at every street corner. Thin, soft wrappers hold a juicy filling of cabbage, carrot, onion and tofu with plenty of ginger, garlic and spring onion. They are dipped in a hot, garlicky tomato and red chilli achar. Serve straight from the steamer, with a bowl of clear soup if you like. Chef's tip: salt the chopped cabbage and squeeze out its water before mixing the filling; it keeps the wrappers from turning soggy and tearing.
Romazava is often called the national dish of Madagascar: a light, gingery broth of several kinds of leafy greens (brèdes) and tomato, ladled over a big plate of rice. In Antananarivo it usually includes zebu beef; this vegetable version keeps the essential leaves, especially brèdes mafana (paracress), whose flowers and leaves make the mouth tingle. Spinach, watercress and mustard greens work well outside Madagascar. Chef's tip: add the greens in order of toughness and stop as soon as they are tender; romazava should taste fresh and green, not stewed.
Saloona is the stew Emirati families make on an ordinary weekday, ladled over white rice for lunch in Abu Dhabi, Al Ain and every town between. Each household has its own mix, but the base is always the same: tomatoes, onions and the local bezar spice blend, sharpened with dried lime and simmered with whatever vegetables are in the fridge. This meat-free pot uses potato, courgette, aubergine, carrot and okra with chickpeas for body, and it tastes even better the next day. Chef's tip: add the okra in the last 10 minutes and leave it whole; cut okra goes slimy in a long simmer.
Saltado comes from Lima's chifa tradition, the cooking of Chinese-Peruvian families who brought the wok to Peru in the nineteenth century. The famous version is lomo saltado with beef; this saltado de verduras uses meaty mushrooms in its place. Thick wedges of red onion and tomato are tossed over a fierce flame with garlic, ají amarillo, soy sauce and a splash of vinegar until just wilted, so the vegetables keep their shape and the pan juices turn smoky and savoury. It is always served with both chips and white rice, which soak up those juices. Chef's tip: cook in two batches if your pan is small; a crowded wok steams the vegetables instead of searing them, and the tomatoes collapse into soup.
Shan khao swe comes from the hills of Shan State in eastern Myanmar, where it's eaten for breakfast at markets around Inle Lake and Taunggyi before the day's work begins. Sticky rice noodles are tossed with a garlicky tomato sauce, sesame oil and crushed peanuts, then served with pickled mustard greens and a small bowl of clear broth on the side. Markets usually make the sauce with chicken or pork; here mushrooms and tofu give it the same savoury depth. Chef's tip: cook the tomatoes down until the oil separates and the sauce turns jammy; a watery sauce slides off the noodles and tastes flat.
Sindhi biryani is the biryani of Karachi, Hyderabad and the rest of Sindh, and it is the one people order by the deg (a huge pot) for weddings, Eid lunches and every big family gathering. What makes it Sindhi is the tang and the heat: plenty of tomatoes, yogurt, whole green chillies and sour dried plums (aloo bukhara) in the masala, with chunks of potato that soak up all of it. This vegetable version keeps all of that and swaps the meat for potato, carrot, cauliflower and peas, layered with half-cooked basmati, fried onions, mint and saffron milk, then steamed shut. A common mistake is boiling the rice until soft before layering; take it out when a grain still has a firm white core, because it finishes in the steam. Chef's tip: fry the onions until deep brown but not black, and keep the oil they fried in; it carries their flavour into every layer.
Sinigang is the sour soup that Tagalog families crave when the monsoon arrives between June and October, when rain hammers the tin roofs and a steaming bowl next to rice feels like the only sensible lunch. The sourness traditionally comes from young tamarind (sampalok) boiled and mashed into the broth, and the vegetables are whatever the market has: white radish, taro to thicken the soup slightly, okra, yard-long beans, aubergine and a final handful of water spinach. This vegetarian sinigang na gulay skips the pork or fish and relies on the tamarind, tomato and onion for flavour. The broth should make you pucker a little on the first sip. Chef's tip: add the tamarind in stages and taste between each, since blocks of tamarind vary a lot in sourness.
Siu mai are among the first baskets wheeled past at Cantonese dim sum in Guangzhou's tea houses, where people meet over yum cha on weekend mornings. The classic is pork and prawn; this one is packed with shiitake, tofu, crunchy water chestnut and carrot, with a dot of diced carrot on top in place of fish roe. Steam them in a bamboo basket and serve with chilli oil and soy. Chef's tip: squeeze the wrapper into a 'waist' with your thumb and finger and flatten the base on the board, so they stand up straight in the steamer.
Plov (osh) is the dish Uzbeks cook for weddings, for Friday lunch and for guests, traditionally by men over a fire in a wide cast-iron kazan. Tashkent, Samarkand and Bukhara each have their own style, but all are built the same way: a zirvak (base) of onions and long strips of carrot fried in oil, rice laid on top and steamed until every grain is separate and glossy. This vegetarian version keeps the zirvak and swaps the meat for chickpeas (nohat), whole heads of garlic and barberries, as in Samarkand's chickpea plov. For the classic meat version, lamb or beef is browned in the oil before the onions and simmered in the zirvak for 40 minutes. Serve with achichuk. Chef's tip: hunt out yellow carrots from Central Asian or Turkish grocers; they are sweeter and less watery than orange ones and give plov its honeyed colour.
Vindaye is a Mauritian dish descended from the vindaloo and vinha d'alhos traditions but entirely its own: fried ingredients coated in a bright yellow paste of mustard seed, turmeric, garlic, ginger and vinegar, with lots of raw-crisp onion. Fish and octopus vindaye are the classics, served at room temperature with rice, faratas or bread; aubergine and potato vindaye is a well-loved vegetarian version for Hindu fasting days and buffets. Chef's tip: grind the mustard seeds fresh; ready-ground mustard gives a flat, dusty taste.
Char kway teow is the dish Singaporeans queue for at hawker centres like Old Airport Road and Zion Riverside: flat rice noodles and yellow noodles tossed over a roaring wok with dark sweet soy, egg, beansprouts and chives until smoky and sticky. The classic uses lard, cockles and Chinese sausage; this vegetarian version gets its richness from fried tofu puffs and plenty of garlic, and its char from a very hot pan. Chef's tip: cook one or two portions at a time; a crowded pan can't get hot enough for the smoky wok hei that defines the dish.
Erwtensoep, or snert, is the soup that Dutch skaters drink from paper cups at the koek-en-zopie stalls on frozen lakes, and that families leave to simmer on a Saturday in January. A proper snert is so thick that a spoon should stand upright in the pan, and it tastes better on the second day. The traditional pot is full of pork and smoked sausage; this version gets its depth from celeriac, leek, a little smoked paprika and a long, slow simmer. Serve it with dark rye bread (roggebrood), butter and mustard. Chef's tip: stir the bottom of the pan every 10 minutes in the last half hour; split peas settle as they thicken and catch easily, and a scorched taste spreads through the whole pot.
When the call to prayer ends the fast during Ramadan, tables from Tangier to Ouarzazate are set with a bowl of harira, dates and chebakia. This tomato soup is thick with lentils, chickpeas and a great deal of coriander, parsley and celery, and gets its silky body from a flour-and-water slurry stirred in at the end. Many families cook it with a little lamb; this meat-free version uses a well-browned onion and tomato base and olive oil instead of smen, so it is fully vegan and still deeply savoury. Chef's tip: the soup should coat a spoon like thin custard; add the flour slurry slowly while stirring and stop when it reaches that point. Variation: for the meat version, brown 250 g diced lamb with the onion at the start.
Mohinga is Myanmar's national breakfast, ladled from steaming pots at dawn on street corners from Yangon to Mandalay: thin rice noodles in a thick, golden broth fragrant with lemongrass, ginger and toasted chickpea flour, topped with crisp fritters, lime and chilli. The real thing is built on catfish and fish sauce. This vegetarian version is honestly different: dried shiitake and kombu give savouriness instead of fish, and the body comes from toasted chickpea flour, toasted rice powder and banana stem (or palm heart), so it's lighter and earthier rather than fishy. Chef's tip: toast the chickpea flour and rice until golden and nutty before they go in; they carry most of the flavour.
Popiah are the soft, fresh spring rolls that Hokkien and Peranakan families in Singapore make together at home, especially for Qing Ming and family reunions, with everyone wrapping their own at the table. Thin wheat skins are brushed with sweet sauce and chilli, then filled with a slow-braised mix of jicama (bangkuang) and carrot, plus lettuce, beansprouts, egg, peanuts and crispy shallots. This version leaves out the prawns and Chinese sausage and braises the filling in vegetable stock. Chef's tip: drain the braised filling very well before rolling; extra liquid tears the delicate skins.
Smørrebrød, 'buttered bread', is Denmark's lunch: a single slice of dense rye bread, buttered right to the edges and piled with toppings so carefully arranged they are eaten with a knife and fork. Copenhagen lunch restaurants such as the old cellar places around Nyhavn serve them in a set order, and at home they make up a Sunday or Christmas lunch table (det kolde bord). Many classics use fish or meat, but three of the best-loved toppings are vegetarian: sliced egg with tomato and cress, waxy new potatoes with crisp onion and chives (kartoffelmad), and peppery radishes on salted butter. Chef's tip: butter the bread thickly and all the way to the crust; in Denmark the butter is the glue that holds the toppings and keeps the rye from going soggy.
Ven pongal, 'white pongal', is the gentle, savoury breakfast of Tamil Nadu, served in homes, temples and Chennai's tiffin halls. Rice and roasted yellow moong dal are cooked together until soft and creamy, then finished with a ghee tempering of whole black pepper, cumin, ginger, cashews and curry leaves. It's mild and comforting, with little bursts of heat from the peppercorns. Serve it with coconut chutney and sambar, or with medu vada on a Sunday. Chef's tip: dry-roast the moong dal for a few minutes before cooking until it smells nutty; it takes the pongal from plain to deeply savoury.
Ask anyone in Prague, Brno or a village pub in Moravia for the most Czech meal of all and they will name vepřo knedlo zelo: roast pork, dumplings and cabbage, eaten at Sunday lunch and washed down in pubs with a cold lager. This is a pork dish: shoulder rubbed with garlic, caraway and salt and roasted slowly in a little water until it falls into tender slices, the pan juices becoming the gravy. Alongside go slices of soft bread dumpling and red or white cabbage braised sweet and sour. The trap is roasting the pork too hot and too dry; a splash of water in the tin and a low oven keep it juicy. Chef's tip: lay the pork fat side down for the first hour, then turn it fat side up so the fat renders and crisps at the end.
Vetkoek ('fat cake' in Afrikaans) is fried at church fêtes, rugby matches and roadside stalls all over South Africa, and in townships it's known as amagwinya. The yeast dough fries into a crisp golden ball with a soft, steamy middle, split open while still warm. The best-known filling is curried mince, but just as many people eat them with grated cheese and apricot jam, golden syrup, or a spoon of chakalaka, as here. Chef's tip: keep the oil at a steady medium heat and turn the vetkoek often so they colour evenly and cook right through.
Along the Aegean coast, from İzmir down to Bodrum, summer lunch often begins with a plate of flat green beans that have been stewed in olive oil and tomato until they are silky, then left to cool to room temperature. It belongs to the zeytinyağlı family: vegetables cooked in olive oil, with no meat, and eaten cold or barely warm with bread to mop up the orange-red juices. Home cooks make a big pan in the morning and serve it over two or three days, because it tastes better after a night in the fridge. The most common mistake is rushing it on a high flame: the beans stay squeaky and the oil never turns glossy. Chef's tip: lay the beans on top of the onions and tomatoes without stirring, cover tightly and let the steam do the work; stirring breaks the beans and turns the sauce muddy.
Tsampa, roasted highland barley flour, has been the staple food of the Tibetan plateau for centuries. Every morning, families in Lhasa and in nomad tents put a handful in a bowl, pour in butter tea, add a knob of butter and knead it with their fingers into small, nutty balls called pak. It's filling, quick and easy to carry. Barley flour is easy to find; toast it in a dry pan if it isn't already roasted. Chef's tip: add the tea a little at a time; you want a dough like firm marzipan, not a paste.
Tingmo are the everyday bread of Tibet: plain steamed buns made by stretching and twisting oiled strips of dough into a knot, so they open into soft, pull-apart layers. Families in Lhasa and Tibetan communities in Nepal and India eat them with spicy vegetable stews, dal and chilli sauce, tearing off pieces to mop up the sauce. The dough is simple; the twist takes a little practice. Chef's tip: once the steaming time is up, turn off the heat and wait 3 minutes before lifting the lid, so the buns don't collapse.
Vinegret is the ruby-coloured salad that sits on almost every Ukrainian New Year and Christmas table, alongside olivier, and fills lunch boxes through the winter. Cooked beetroot, potato and carrot are diced small and tossed with sauerkraut, pickled cucumbers and beans, then dressed with fragrant unrefined sunflower oil, the kind sold by the bottle at markets in Poltava and Kherson. Despite the name there is often no vinegar at all; the sourness comes from the pickles. It is vegan, cheap and keeps for days. Chef's tip: dress the diced beetroot with oil on its own first, then mix in everything else; the oil coats it so the potatoes stay pale and the salad looks like a mosaic rather than all pink.
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