Fried flour dumplings
A Jamaican Sunday breakfast plate nearly always has fried dumplings on it, golden rounds with a crisp shell and a soft, slightly chewy centre, served beside ackee and saltfish, callaloo, or simply split with butter and a cup of cocoa tea. Many families still call them johnny cakes. The dough is just flour, a little baking powder, salt and water, and the mistake people make is overworking it, which gives tough, heavy dumplings; knead only until smooth. Fry them over medium heat, not high, so the middle cooks before the outside browns. Chef's tip: press a thumb into the centre of each ball before frying, which helps it cook evenly and stops it puffing into a hollow ball.
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An Indo-Chinese favourite from the barbecue tawa: crisp fried potato chips tossed with garlic, ginger, soy sauce, ketchup and plenty of chillies and spring onion, then glazed with a little cornflour sauce. Sticky, salty and hot. Serve straight away as a starter.
Big prawns in a pale, silky coconut gravy are what a Bengali family cooks for guests, for a new son-in-law at Jamai Sasthi, or for a wedding lunch. The dish is gently spiced, a little sweet, and leans on the head fat of the prawns for richness, so it tastes of the sea rather than of chilli. Serve it with steamed gobindobhog or basmati rice. Chef's tip: if you can find shell-on prawns with heads, leave the heads on; squeeze them into the gravy as you eat for the full flavour.
In Paraguay you hear 'chipa, chipa!' called by vendors with big baskets on buses and street corners, and every family bakes it for Holy Week, when chipa is the food of Good Friday. Cassava starch, a little cornmeal, butter, eggs and a lot of hard cheese are kneaded into a dough scented with aniseed, shaped into rings or small rolls and baked in a hot oven, traditionally a domed clay tatakua. It's chewy, crisp outside and best warm with cocido (toasted yerba tea). Chef's tip: the dough should feel soft and slightly greasy; add milk a spoon at a time, as too much makes the chipa spread flat.
Chipa guasu (Guaraní for 'big chipa') is sopa paraguaya's softer cousin, made from fresh corn instead of cornmeal. The kernels are grated or blended into a milky purée and baked with onion, cheese and whipped eggs into a tender, gently sweet bake that rises and wobbles. It's a summer dish at Paraguayan asados and fiestas patronales (saints' days), eaten beside grilled meat or simply with a tomato salad. Chef's tip: fold in the whisked egg whites last; it's what makes chipa guasu light and puffed rather than dense.
The chivito was created in the 1940s at a restaurant in Punta del Este, Uruguay, and became the national sandwich: a soft roll filled with thin, tender steak, ham, melted mozzarella, a fried egg, bacon, lettuce, tomato, olives and mayonnaise. It is eaten in Montevideo's parrillas and corner bars with chips on the side. This sandwich contains pork. The mistake is a thick, chewy steak: use thinly sliced sirloin and sear it fast. Chef's tip: toast the cut sides of the rolls so they stand up to all the juices.
Chorba frik is the soup that breaks the fast in Algerian homes every evening of Ramadan, from Algiers to Constantine, and it is just as common in Libya as shorba. Frik is young green wheat, roasted and cracked, which gives the tomato broth a smoky, nutty depth. It usually cooks with lamb; here chickpeas, celery and courgette carry it. Serve with lemon wedges and bread. Chef's tip: add the frik only once the broth is boiling and stir for the first minute, or it sinks and sticks.
Choripán is what fans buy outside football stadiums in Buenos Aires, what the asador hands round while the beef is still cooking, and what stalls sell along Costanera Sur on a Sunday afternoon. This is a pork dish: a fat Argentine-style fresh chorizo (pork, sometimes mixed with beef) is grilled slowly, split open (a mariposa) and tucked into a crusty roll with chimichurri or salsa criolla. That's it, and it doesn't need more. The common mistake is grilling the chorizos too hot, so the skins burst and the centre stays raw; low and slow is the rule. Chef's tip: once cooked, split each chorizo lengthways and give the cut sides 1 minute on the grill so they char a little.
Romanians swear by ciorbă de burtă the morning after a wedding or a long night out, and in Bucharest there are restaurants that serve little else from breakfast onwards. Strips of beef tripe sit in a silky broth thickened with egg yolk and sour cream, sharpened with vinegar and served with mujdei, a raw garlic sauce, and a hot pepper on the side. It takes time, because tripe only turns tender after a long, slow simmer. The mistake most people make is boiling the soup after the yolks go in, which scrambles them into flecks. Chef's tip: buy cleaned, blanched (white, 'dressed') tripe from the butcher; it saves an hour of scrubbing and is much milder.
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.
Conchas are the most famous pan dulce (sweet bread) in Mexico, piled high in every panadería and eaten for breakfast or merienda with hot chocolate or coffee. The bun is soft, slightly sweet and enriched with egg and butter, and it wears a crunchy, crumbly topping of sugar, fat and flour scored into the seashell pattern that gives it its name. Make some vanilla and some chocolate topping for the classic mix. Chef's tip: shape the dough into very tight balls before adding the topping; the tension makes them rise up instead of spreading out, so the shell cracks into neat stripes.
Congee (zhou in Mandarin, juk in Cantonese) is what much of China eats for breakfast, and what everyone is given when they are under the weather. The base is just rice and water cooked until the grains burst into a smooth, gentle porridge; the fun is in the toppings, from fried shallots to peanuts and salty pickles, so everyone builds their own bowl. Chef's tip: rinse the rice, then rub it with a little oil and salt and freeze it for an hour if you can; the grains crack and break down twice as fast.
Cou-cou is Friday lunch in Barbados, and paired with flying fish it makes the island's national dish, served in homes and the fish fry stalls of Oistins. Fine cornmeal is stirred into okra and its cooking water with a flat wooden cou-cou stick until it is smooth, thick and pulls away from the pot, then shaped in a buttered bowl. It's soft, mild and comforting, made for soaking up the rich tomato gravy around it. Here the gravy is a stew of peppers, tomatoes, aubergine and butter beans cooked with Bajan seasoning; flying fish steamed in the same sauce is the classic for fish eaters. Chef's tip: whisk the cornmeal into cold water before it goes into the pot; adding it dry to boiling liquid is the fastest way to lumps.
Couscous royal is the big-occasion couscous that Algerian and Moroccan families brought to France and that is now served for weddings and Sunday gatherings from Oran to Marseille: a pot of lamb and chicken simmered with vegetables and chickpeas in a mildly spiced broth, grilled merguez on the side, and a mountain of steamed couscous. The mistake is putting all the vegetables in at once; the courgettes go mushy while the turnips are still hard, so add them in stages. Chef's tip: brown the lamb and chicken well before the water goes in; that colour flavours the whole broth.
Tfaya is the sweet onion topping that turns a plain couscous into a celebration dish; in Fez and Rabat it is made for weddings, naming ceremonies and Eid, and families in Tétouan add it to Friday couscous too. Onions are cooked slowly with raisins, cinnamon, honey and a little saffron until they collapse into a sticky, mahogany jam, then piled over the couscous with chickpeas and fried almonds. Traditionally it crowns couscous with meat; here the chickpeas and almonds carry the dish, making it a sweet-savoury vegetarian main for a feast. Chef's tip: soak the raisins first, or they draw liquid from the onions and the tfaya catches before it caramelises.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Dabo kolo are small crunchy nuggets of spiced dough, sold in paper cones in markets from Addis Ababa to Gondar and offered to guests with coffee. Families make big batches before holidays such as Enkutatash (Ethiopian New Year in September) and for long journeys, since they keep for weeks. The dough is seasoned with berbere and a little sugar, rolled into thin ropes, cut into tiny pieces and toasted until crisp. Children love them, and they can be made mild by reducing the berbere. Chef's tip: cut the pieces as small and even as you can, about the size of a chickpea, so they crunch all the way through.
Every table in Manado, North Sulawesi, has a bowl of dabu-dabu: diced tomato, shallot and red chilli with calamansi juice and lemon basil, sometimes dressed with hot oil. It is spooned over grilled food, fried tofu and the pumpkin porridge tinutuan, and its cool juiciness makes very hot chilli easier to take. Unlike Bali's sambal matah, it is built on tomato and stays chunky and wet. Chef's tip: salt the tomatoes and leave them 5 minutes before mixing, so they release juice that becomes the dressing.
Dal pitha is the comfort food of Bihari winters, made on cold evenings and around Makar Sankranti: soft rice-flour dough wrapped around a coarse filling of chana dal, garlic, ginger and chilli, shaped into half-moons or little pouches and cooked in steam. People in Mithila call it a Bihari momo, and it is eaten hot with tomato chutney or a dribble of mustard oil. The dough tastes gently of rice, the filling is savoury and filling, and leftovers are excellent pan-fried the next day. Chef's tip: knead the rice dough while it is still hot; if it cools before shaping, the pitha crack and the filling leaks out.
Dalle khursani is Sikkim's round, cherry-sized chilli, grown in every hill garden and among the hottest chillies in India. No meal in Gangtok goes without a little bowl of dalle achar beside the rice or momos. This fresh version pounds the chillies with blistered tomato, garlic, a pinch of timur (Sichuan-type pepper) and lemon into a coarse red chutney that is searingly hot, sharp and fruity. Eat it by the dot. Chef's tip: wear gloves when cutting dalle, and never touch your eyes; the heat stays on your hands for hours. Use a mix of habanero and bird's-eye chillies if you can't get dalle.
Dalma is the comfort food of Odisha and the dal offered at the Jagannath temple in Puri. Toor dal is cooked together with chunky vegetables, usually raw banana, pumpkin, aubergine and potato, so they soften into it and make it hearty enough to be a meal. A tempering of panch phoron and dried chilli and a sprinkle of roasted cumin-chilli powder give it its smoky warmth; a little grated coconut is often added on top. Odia homes finish it with a spoonful of ghee; this version uses oil so it stays vegan. Serve with plain rice. Chef's tip: add the vegetables halfway through cooking the dal, not at the start, so they keep their shape and the dal stays thick rather than watery.
Daulat ki chaat appears in the lanes of Chandni Chowk only in the coldest months, from about November to February. Vendors whisk milk and cream through the night and leave it out under the winter dew, then skim off a foam so light it disappears on your tongue, topped with saffron, khoya, sugar and pistachios. It's sold before the sun gets high, because warmth destroys it. A home kitchen can't recreate a Delhi winter night, so this version uses very cold milk and cream whipped to a loose foam and layered with saffron. It comes close: airy, cool, faintly sweet. Chef's tip: chill everything, bowl and whisk included, for at least 4 hours; the colder the milk, the more stable the foam.
Davanagere, a cotton-market town in central Karnataka, is famous for one thing above all: benne dosa, small, thick dosas cooked on a huge iron griddle with a generous lump of white butter melting over each one. The batter includes puffed rice (mandakki), which makes the inside soft and spongy while the base turns crisp and deep golden. In the town's busy dosa halls they arrive two at a time with a thin coconut chutney and a spoonful of potato palya tucked inside. It is breakfast, but many people eat it as an evening snack too. Chef's tip: use proper unsalted white butter if you can find it, and add it in two goes, half when the batter goes on and half just before folding, so the edges fry in butter rather than burn.
Dehrori is the sweet Chhattisgarhi families make for Diwali, Holi and weddings, and it tastes like no other syrup sweet: soaked rice is ground coarse, left to sour gently with curd, then fried in ghee and dropped into cardamom syrup. The fermentation gives it a faint tang and a light, spongy crumb under a crisp shell, a little like a rustic cousin of rasbhari or gulab jamun. Grandmothers judge the batch by how well the dumplings hold their shape in the syrup. Chef's tip: grind the rice to the texture of fine semolina, not a smooth paste; that grain is what keeps dehrori light.
Walk through any Delhi office district at lunchtime and you'll find a cart with a huge brass pot of pale white peas and a stack of soft kulchas warming on a tawa. Delhiites call it chole kulche even though it's made with dried white peas (safed matar) rather than chickpeas. The vendor scoops the peas onto a leaf plate, piles on raw onion, tomato, green chilli and ginger, squeezes lime over and dusts it with a sour, smoky masala. It's tangy, fresh and filling, and very different from the rich, stuffed Amritsari kulcha. Chef's tip: mash a ladleful of the cooked peas back into the pot; it thickens the liquid so the toppings and masala cling instead of sliding off.
Delhi's fruit chaat wallahs set up their carts in the afternoons with towers of guava, papaya, apples and bananas, plus roasted sweet potato, and chop whatever you point at into a leaf bowl. Then comes the part that makes it chaat rather than fruit salad: a big shake of tangy chaat masala, black salt and roasted cumin, a squeeze of lime, sometimes a pinch of chilli. It's a refreshing mid-afternoon snack in summer, and a regular sight on Ramzan iftar spreads too. The salt and spice make sweet fruit taste even sweeter. Chef's tip: season it just before eating; once the salt goes on, the fruit starts weeping juice and goes soft within 15 minutes.
Dhuska is the breakfast of Ranchi and the whole of Jharkhand, fried fresh at roadside stalls from early morning. Rice and chana dal are soaked, ground to a thick, slightly coarse batter with green chilli and ginger, and ladled into hot oil, where each round puffs up crisp outside and soft and spongy inside. It is eaten with aloo-chana ghugni or a thin potato curry and a sharp coriander chutney, and it is a must at Jharkhandi weddings and Karma festival. Chef's tip: beat the batter hard for a couple of minutes before frying; the trapped air makes it puff without any soda.
Di san xian means 'three fresh things from the earth', and it is the best-known home dish of Dongbei, China's cold north-east, where potatoes, aubergines and peppers are the summer harvest. Each vegetable is fried until golden, then tossed in a sticky, garlicky soy glaze. It's rich and filling, and goes with rice or steamed buns. Chef's tip: fry the potato first and longest; it needs to be golden and fully tender before it meets the sauce, because it won't soften further in the wok.
In Dakar a dibiterie is a smoky little shop where lamb is grilled over charcoal and sold by weight, wrapped in paper with raw onion, mustard and a pinch of spice salt; people eat it late in the evening, often after prayers or a football match. At home you get close with lamb chops or shoulder steaks, a quick marinade and a very hot grill. The mistake is moving the meat too much: leave it until it chars and releases on its own. Chef's tip: toss the sliced onions with salt and vinegar while the lamb marinates; they soften and lose their harsh bite in 20 minutes.
Dimlama is what Uzbek families cook at the end of summer, when the markets of the Fergana Valley are piled with cabbage, aubergine, peppers and tomatoes. Everything goes into one heavy pot in layers, lamb at the bottom, and the lid stays on for nearly two hours while the vegetables slowly give up their juice and become the sauce. There is no added water, so the flavour is deep and sweet. People eat it straight from shallow bowls with non bread. The biggest error is lifting the lid to check; the steam escapes, the vegetables stew dry and the bottom can catch. Chef's tip: seal the lid with a damp tea towel or a strip of foil so no steam gets out.
Doh khlieh is the cool, sharp side dish that sits next to jadoh on almost every Khasi table in Meghalaya. Tender boiled pork is chopped small and tossed with raw onion, ginger, green chilli and lime, so it is fresh and fiery rather than rich. In Shillong it is eaten at lunch and at gatherings, and some families add boiled pork brain, which this version leaves out. Chef's tip: chop the pork while it is still slightly warm; it takes up the lime and ginger much better.
The name says it plainly in Khasi: 'doh' is meat and 'neiiong' is black sesame. In the Khasi Hills around Shillong this near-black pork curry is cooked for family feasts and Sunday meals, and its roasted, nutty flavour is unlike any other curry in India. The sesame is toasted and ground into a paste that thickens the gravy and coats the pork. Serve with plain rice or jadoh. Chef's tip: pork belly gives the silkiest result; mix it half and half with shoulder if you prefer it less rich.
Dolma batata belongs to the Algiers home kitchen, where it is a Ramadan favourite and a Friday dish: hollowed potatoes filled with beef mince, onion, parsley and cinnamon, fried until golden, then simmered in a pale sauce (marqa beida) of onion, chickpeas, black pepper and cinnamon. The sauce stays white because no tomato goes in. The mistake is hollowing the potatoes too thinly, so they split in the pot; leave walls about 1 cm thick. Chef's tip: fry the scooped-out potato flesh and add it to the sauce to thicken it.
Domoda is the stew that most families in the Gambia, from Banjul to the riverside villages upcountry, cook several times a week. Beef is browned and simmered with tomato and onion, then smooth peanut butter is stirred in until the sauce turns thick, glossy and rich, with pumpkin and sweet potato melting into it. It is spooned over white rice with a squeeze of lime, and a scotch bonnet floats in the pot for whoever likes it hot. The mistake to avoid is adding the peanut butter too early and leaving it unstirred, as it catches and burns on the bottom; add it once the beef is nearly tender and stir often. Chef's tip: whisk the peanut butter with a ladle of hot broth before it goes in, so it melts smoothly instead of forming lumps.
In north-east China, a big platter of this arrives at almost every family dinner and restaurant table, often next to the stews and dumplings. Wide, glassy sheets of mung-bean starch sit on a bed of shredded cucumber, carrot and cabbage, with a sesame, garlic and vinegar sauce and a dab of mustard poured over at the table. It's cool, slippery and crunchy. Look for dried la pi sheets or wide mung-bean noodles in Chinese supermarkets. Chef's tip: the sheet noodles must be fully cold before mixing, or they go soft and sticky.
Doogh is the salty, fizzy yogurt drink served in tall glasses with lunch across Iran, and above all with kebab and rice at the chelow-kababi restaurants of Tehran. Bottled sparkling doogh from the mineral springs of Abali, in the mountains east of the capital, is the famous one; at home it is mixed from yogurt, cold water and soda water with crumbled dried mint, and sometimes wild pennyroyal (kakuti) or rose petals. Its bubbles and mint set it apart from plainer, still yogurt drinks. It is cooling and good with rich, herby food. Chef's tip: add the sparkling water last and stir gently, or the fizz disappears before it reaches the glass.
Dovğa is green, tangy and cooling, the soup Azerbaijanis drink cold from glasses on hot Baku afternoons and eat hot in bowls when the Absheron wind turns chilly. Yogurt is thinned, thickened with rice and egg, then packed with chopped spinach, dill, coriander, mint and sorrel, until the soup is more herbs than dairy. It is served at weddings and at Novruz to settle the stomach after rich food, and many cooks add chickpeas. Unlike Armenian spas, there is no fried onion or wheat; the flavour is all fresh herbs and sour yogurt. Chef's tip: add the herbs only once the yogurt is boiling steadily and stable; they wilt in seconds, and the colour stays bright green.
Dresden has baked Christstollen for more than 500 years, and every December the city holds a Stollen festival with a giant loaf paraded through the old town to the Striezelmarkt. The loaf's shape, folded over and dusted white, is said to show the Christ child wrapped in swaddling cloth. It's a rich, dense yeast bread, heavy with butter, raisins, candied peel and almonds, brushed with melted butter straight from the oven and buried in sugar. It's baked weeks before Christmas and sliced thinly through Advent. Chef's tip: wrap it tightly and let it rest for at least a week before cutting; the flavours ripen and the crumb turns moist.
Dulce de leche is Argentina's national sweet, spread on toast at breakfast, sandwiched in alfajores, rolled into panqueques and spooned onto flan. Argentine families traditionally make it by slowly cooking milk and sugar with a vanilla pod and a pinch of bicarbonate of soda, which helps it turn deep brown, until it becomes a thick, glossy caramel cream. It takes about three hours of gentle cooking and regular stirring. Chef's tip: use a wide, heavy pan and keep the heat low; the wider the surface, the faster the milk reduces, and the less it catches on the bottom.
Dushbara is the test of a patient cook in Azerbaijan: dumplings so small that a dozen fit on a spoon, filled with lamb and onion and served in clear bone broth. Families in Baku and the Absheron towns make them for New Year and Novruz, everyone sitting around the table folding together. At the table each bowl gets dried mint, a little crushed garlic in vinegar, and sumac. Over-filling is the usual problem; too much meat and the edges won't seal, so the dumplings open in the pot. Chef's tip: make the broth from lamb bones the day before and chill it, so you can lift off the fat and the soup stays crystal clear.
Ask anyone in Busan for a bowl of something filling at any hour and they will probably send you for dwaeji gukbap. Seomyeon has a whole alley of gukbap restaurants, open from early morning to late at night, serving the soup to market workers, students and people heading home after a night out. Pork bones are boiled hard for hours until the broth turns cloudy and white, then poured over sliced pork and rice. Each diner seasons their own bowl at the table with salted shrimp, chilli paste and a pile of garlic chives, with raw onion, green chilli and kimchi on the side. Chef's tip: season the soup in the bowl, not the pot; a little saeujeot at a time gives a clean, savoury depth that salt alone doesn't.
In early summer, Kolkata's bazaars sell baby green jackfruit (echor), and Bengali households cook it into a dalna rich enough to be called gachh-patha, 'mutton from the tree'. The jackfruit is boiled, fried with potato and simmered in a ginger, cumin and tomato gravy, finished with ghee and garam masala. Its chewy, meaty texture soaks up the spice. It is a Sunday lunch dish, eaten with rice or luchi. Chef's tip: buy jackfruit no longer than your forearm, with pale seeds; older fruit is fibrous and the seeds are hard.
Hoppers (appa) are the crisp-edged, bowl-shaped pancakes that street cooks in Colombo, Kandy and Jaffna make in rows of small round pans every evening; an egg hopper has an egg cracked into the soft centre so it steams to a runny yolk. The batter of rice flour, coconut milk and yeast (traditionally toddy) is left to ferment until it's light and slightly sour, which gives the lacy, golden rim and the spongy middle. They're eaten hot with pol sambol and lunu miris, and plain hoppers come with sweet jaggery for dessert. Kerala's appam is a cousin, but Sri Lankan hoppers are thinner and crisper and the egg version is their own. The common mistake is a batter that's too thick, which gives heavy, pale hoppers; it should flow like single cream. Chef's tip: swirl the pan in one quick full turn the moment the batter goes in, then cover at once.
Eggah is the omelette Egyptian families make at home for breakfast or a light supper, often on a Friday morning alongside ful, falafel, cheese and baladi bread. It is thick and set rather than folded, packed with spring onion, parsley and dill and warmed with cumin, and it's cooked slowly so it puffs and browns on both sides. Slice it into wedges and eat it hot from the pan or cold in a sandwich. Chef's tip: grate the onion and squeeze it dry; wet onion makes the eggs weep and the eggah falls apart when you flip it.
Empanadas de humita are the vegetarian favourite at every Argentine empanada shop, from Tucumán, which claims the best empanadas in the country, to the delivery menus of Buenos Aires. The filling is sweetcorn and onion cooked with red pepper, nutmeg and a little white sauce until creamy, then folded into wheat pastry discs and closed with the twisted edge (repulgue) that tells you what's inside. Unlike the husk-wrapped humita en chala, these are baked and golden. Chef's tip: chill the filling until firm before filling; warm filling melts the pastry and the empanadas open in the oven.
Elote (corn on the cob) is sold all over Mexico from street carts in the evening: grilled or boiled cobs speared on a stick, slathered in mayonnaise and crema, rolled in crumbly cotija cheese and dusted with chilli powder, with a squeeze of lime. Charring the corn adds smokiness to the sweet kernels, and the creamy, salty, sour and hot toppings make it irresistible. Serve it at a barbecue or as a snack; kids can skip the chilli. Cotija is often made with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian-rennet feta or a vegetarian hard cheese if that matters to you. Chef's tip: let the cobs cool for a minute before spreading the mayonnaise, so it clings rather than sliding off.
Colombian empanadas are small, crunchy half-moons made with yellow corn dough rather than wheat, sold hot from street stands across Bogotá, Medellín and Cali and eaten with a squeeze of lime and a spoonful of ají. The classic filling mixes potato with hogao and often meat; this version keeps the potato and hogao, seasoned with cumin and coriander, which many families make on its own anyway. They are crisp outside and soft and savoury inside. Chef's tip: roll the dough thin, about 3 mm; thick corn dough stays heavy and absorbs oil.
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.
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.
Cuban home cooks dress avocado very simply, and in summer around Havana it often meets ripe pineapple and thin rings of red onion in a lime and olive oil dressing. The creamy avocado, juicy sweet-sour pineapple and sharp onion make it the cool, fresh plate beside rice and beans or yuca con mojo. It takes ten minutes. Chef's tip: soak the onion rings in cold water for 5 minutes first; they stay crisp but lose their harsh bite.
On cold evenings in Busan, the city that made Korean fish cake famous, steam rises from street stalls where folded fish-cake skewers bob in a long tray of broth. You help yourself to a skewer, dip it in soy sauce and sip a paper cup of the hot broth while you stand. Bupyeong market has rows of fish-cake shops, and many families buy a bag there to make this simple soup at home. Radish, dried anchovies and kelp give the broth its clean, sweet flavour. Chef's tip: pull the heads and black guts off the dried anchovies before using them, because the guts make the broth bitter.
Esquites are the cup version of elote, sold by street vendors across Mexico City from big pots: corn kernels sautéed with butter, onion, green chilli and epazote, simmered in a little salty water, then spooned into cups and topped with mayonnaise, lime, crumbled cheese and chilli powder. Each spoonful is sweet, buttery, tangy and warm, with a splash of the corn broth at the bottom. They make a great snack or side for tacos. Choose cotija or feta made with vegetarian rennet. Chef's tip: let the kernels brown slightly in the butter before adding the water; those toasty bits give esquites their depth.
In Lagos, ewa agoyin is the breakfast you buy from a woman with a big cooler of soft, mashed beans and a second pot of almost-black pepper sauce glistening with palm oil. The name points to the Agoyin, people from neighbouring Togo and Benin who made the dish famous in Lagos markets, and it is eaten with soft, chewy agege bread or fried plantain. The beans are the small, naturally sweet brown 'honey beans' (ewa oloyin), cooked until they collapse. The sauce is the star: dried chillies and onions fried slowly in palm oil until deep brown, smoky and slightly bitter-sweet. Chef's tip: don't rush the sauce; the onions need to go from soft to very dark brown slowly over a medium-low heat, which is where the smoky depth comes from.
Gaziantep gave Turkey this hearty soup, named after Ezo, a bride from a village near the city whose sad story is still told in folk songs. Unlike the smooth mercimek soup, ezogelin keeps some texture: red lentils, bulgur and a little rice simmer together with tomato and red pepper paste until thick and soft, and plenty of dried mint goes in at the end. In southeast Turkey it is a winter staple, eaten in the morning and as a light supper with bread and a squeeze of lemon. It thickens as it stands, so add a splash of water when you reheat it. Chef's tip: rub the dried mint between your palms over the pot to release its oils just before you serve.
Fabada is the great midday stew of Asturias, on Spain's green, rainy north coast, eaten in winter at long lunches in village casas de comida and cider houses, usually followed by a quiet afternoon. Big, buttery fabes (Asturian white beans) cook slowly with the compango: smoked Asturian chorizo, morcilla, pork belly and lacón (cured pork shoulder). The beans should end up creamy inside and whole outside, in a thick, orange broth coloured by the chorizo. Large dried white beans such as judión or butter beans are the closest substitute if you can't find fabes. Chef's tip: make it the day before; it thickens and tastes better after a night in the fridge.
Fara is what a Chhattisgarhi kitchen does with yesterday's rice: it is kneaded with rice flour and hot water into a soft dough, rolled into little fingers, steamed and then tossed in a crackling tadka. Served at teatime or packed for long bus journeys, it is soft and chewy inside with spots of crispness from the pan. Some families spoon it into a thin, tangy curry instead, but the dry tempered version is the one sold in Raipur's snack corners. Chef's tip: knead the dough while it is still hot from the water; cold rice dough cracks and the fara split as they steam.
Fataya are the half-moon pastries sold in paper cones outside schools and at bus stops all over Dakar, and fried by the dozen at home for baptisms and Tabaski. The dough is soft and short, the filling is minced beef cooked with onion, garlic and a little chilli, and they come with a sharp onion-and-mustard sauce for dipping. The common mistake is overfilling, which makes them burst in the oil; a heaped teaspoon per small round is enough. Chef's tip: let the filling cool completely before you fill the dough, or the steam softens the pastry and it tears.
Every Lebanese bakery, or furn, sells fatayer bi sabanekh warm from the oven in the morning: soft three-cornered pies filled with spinach that has been salted and squeezed, then mixed with onion, sumac, lemon and olive oil until it is tart enough to make you pucker. They go into school lunch boxes, onto picnic blankets and onto every buffet at Lebanese parties, and they freeze well. The usual problem is a filling that leaks and makes the pies burst open; wring out the spinach hard and seal the seams firmly so they stay closed in the oven. Chef's tip: let the sumac, lemon and onion sit together for ten minutes before adding the spinach so the onion softens and loses its raw bite.
Fattet hummus belongs to Damascus, where breakfast restaurants in the old city serve it in deep bowls on Friday mornings, and it has spread to Beirut's Sunday tables too. The name comes from fatt, to break up, for the toasted flatbread at the bottom, which is topped with warm chickpeas in their broth, then a thick, garlicky sauce of yogurt and tahini, and finally sizzling pine nuts in butter or oil with a dust of paprika and cumin. The contrast is the point: crunchy and soft, hot and cool. Assembling it too early is the common mistake, since the bread soaks up the sauce and goes soggy; build it just before eating. Chef's tip: let the yogurt come to room temperature first, so it doesn't cool the chickpeas down too much and the bowl stays warm.
Feteer meshaltet comes from the villages of the Nile Delta, in Sharqia, Menoufia and around, where it is baked for weddings, feast days and for guests, and sent home with visitors in a cloth. A soft dough is stretched paper-thin, brushed with lots of ghee or butter and folded over and over into a round that bakes into dozens of crisp, flaky layers. Eat it warm, torn with your hands, dipped in honey or 'asal eswed (sugar-cane molasses) or with white cheese and olives. Chef's tip: let the dough balls rest in butter until they feel loose and silky; dough that hasn't relaxed tears when you stretch it, and torn dough is the most common reason a feteer comes out tough.
Flammkuchen comes from the borderlands of Alsace, Baden and the Palatinate, where farmers baked it on bread day to test the heat of the wood oven. The dough has no yeast and is rolled almost as thin as paper, spread with crème fraîche or quark and baked hot and fast so the edges blister and char in spots. The classic topping is onion and bacon; around Strasbourg and Freiburg the leek and mushroom version is a popular meat-free choice, often eaten with a glass of new wine in autumn. Chef's tip: bake it as hot as your oven will go, on a preheated tray or stone; a Flammkuchen baked at a moderate heat turns out bready instead of crisp.
Foutou is the pounded staple of the Baoulé country around Bouaké and Yamoussoukro: boiled plantain, often mixed with cassava, pounded in a wooden mortar into a smooth, stretchy, slightly sweet ball. It is eaten with the fingers, pulled off in pieces and dipped into sauce graine (palm nut), sauce arachide or okra sauce. A food processor followed by a short knead does the job at home. Chef's tip: pound while everything is steaming hot; cold plantain will not come together and stays lumpy.
Focaccia di Recco has nothing to do with the thick, bubbly focaccia most people know: it is two sheets of unleavened dough stretched almost transparent, with blobs of soft, tangy cheese in between, baked in a blisteringly hot oven for a few minutes. It comes from the seaside town of Recco, east of Genoa, where bakeries sell it in the morning and families eat it as a first course. At home, use stracchino or crescenza, the creamy fresh cheeses closest to Ligurian prescinseua. Chef's tip: stretch the dough over the backs of your hands like a pizzaiolo; rolling alone never gets it thin enough.
Moitié-moitié means half and half, and in Fribourg it names the canton's own fondue: equal weights of nutty Gruyère and soft, buttery Vacherin fribourgeois melted with dry white wine in a glazed earthenware caquelon. Families light the burner in the middle of the table on cold evenings from October to March, and ski huts above Gruyères serve it after a day on the slopes. The Vacherin makes it silkier and milder than a Gruyère-only fondue, so it clings to the bread in a thick, glossy coat. Serve with day-old bread, a plate of cornichons and small boiled potatoes, and drink white wine or warm black tea with it; locals say cold water sits badly with all that cheese. Traditional Gruyère and Vacherin are made with animal rennet, so for a vegetarian table look for wheels labelled with microbial or vegetarian rennet, or ask a cheesemonger for a similar Alpine cheese that uses it. Chef's tip: grate the cheese rather than cubing it and let it come to room temperature for 30 minutes; it melts evenly and the fondue stays smooth.
Fosolia takes its name from the Italian fagioli, a reminder of the Italian occupation of the 1930s, but it is now completely Ethiopian and a regular on fasting platters in Addis Ababa and Dire Dawa. Green beans and carrot batons are cooked with lots of onion, garlic and ginger until tender but still bright, then served warm with injera or rice. It is quick, mild and colourful. Chef's tip: cut the beans and carrots to the same length and thickness so they cook evenly.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Ful mudammas is breakfast on both sides of the Levant: Cairo's street carts ladle it from huge copper pots at dawn, and in Beirut and Damascus small ful shops serve it on Sunday mornings to queues of families. Small brown fava beans are warmed in their liquid, partly crushed, then dressed at the table with garlic pounded with salt, plenty of lemon and cumin, a pool of olive oil and a heap of chopped tomato and parsley. Scoop it with flatbread and eat it with raw onion wedges, radishes, olives and mint. The mistake most people make is draining the beans and dressing them dry; the cooking liquid is what makes ful creamy, so keep some. Chef's tip: mash only about a third of the beans, so the dish is part silky purée and part whole bean.
Antiguans eat fungee and pepperpot on Saturdays and on holidays like Independence Day in November, and grandmothers still turn the fungee with a flat wooden 'fungee stick'. Pepperpot is a thick stew of beef, spinach, aubergine, okra and squash cooked down until the vegetables melt together; many cooks also add salted pig tail, which is left out here. The fungee is a smooth cornmeal and okra mash, shaped into balls with a buttered bowl and served beside the stew. The mistake people make is tipping the cornmeal in all at once, which makes lumpy fungee; add it in a slow stream while stirring hard. Chef's tip: pour off half the okra water before adding the cornmeal and keep it hot; you can work it back in if the fungee gets too stiff.
Across Vietnam, from Hanoi apartments to Mekong Delta farmhouses, a small pot of something braised in caramel and fish sauce sits on the family table at dinner with rice, a plate of boiled greens and a clear soup. This chicken version leans on ginger, cut into fine matchsticks so it turns soft and warming in the glossy, salty-sweet sauce. It's a favourite when the weather cools, traditionally cooked in a clay pot, though any heavy pan will do. It reheats well, so it's a good one for the next day's lunch. Chef's tip: take the caramel to the colour of strong tea, deep amber, before the chicken goes in; that slight bitterness is what keeps the dish from tasting sugary.
In every crêperie in Brittany, from Rennes to Quimper, the first thing most people order is the complète: a lacy buckwheat galette folded square around ham, melted cheese and an egg, eaten for lunch or a casual dinner with a bowl of dry cider. Contains pork (ham). The batter is just buckwheat flour, water, salt and an egg, so the galette has no wheat; some buckwheat flour is milled alongside wheat, so check the packet if you avoid gluten. A cup of apple juice is a good alcohol-free partner. Chef's tip: rest the batter for at least 2 hours, or overnight in the fridge; it thickens and the galettes cook up thinner and crisper.
Galho is Nagaland's comfort food, a soft, loose rice porridge cooked with seasonal vegetables, greens, ginger and chilli, sometimes thickened with a spoon of fermented soybean (axone). In Kohima homes it is the dish for cold evenings and for anyone unwell, and in restaurants it is often made with pork; this vegetarian version uses mushrooms and axone for savour. It sits somewhere between khichdi and congee, thick but spoonable. Chef's tip: stir only occasionally; galho should be soupy with distinct grains, not a smooth paste.
Gallo pinto means 'spotted rooster', for the speckled look of rice tossed with beans, and both Costa Rica and Nicaragua claim it. In Costa Rica it's black beans with plenty of coriander and a tangy brown sauce, served at breakfast with eggs, sour cream and fried plantain; in Nicaragua red beans are fried harder with onion until the rice turns rusty. This version follows the Costa Rican breakfast table and gets its tang from cumin and a little soy sauce. Chef's tip: use rice cooked the day before and keep a cup of the bean cooking liquid; that dark liquid is what colours the rice.
Walk into a bar near Madrid's Plaza Mayor or Puerta del Sol and you will hear gambas al ajillo before you see them: peeled prawns still spitting in a small terracotta cazuela of olive oil, sliced garlic and dried chilli. They arrive at the table bubbling, with a basket of bread for mopping up the golden oil, which many people think is the best part. At home it takes ten minutes and works as a tapa for four or a quick supper for two. Chef's tip: pat the prawns completely dry with kitchen paper before they go in, so they sizzle in the oil instead of stewing in their own water.
On rainy afternoons in Gangwon province, roadside stalls and mountain trail restaurants fry gamja jeon (감자전): pancakes of nothing but grated potato, salt and a few slices of chilli, fried in plenty of oil until the edges turn lacy and glassy-crisp while the middle stays soft and chewy. It is a different thing from a Western rösti, made from a wet purée rather than shreds. Eat them hot with a sharp soy dipping sauce and a bowl of makgeolli or barley tea. Chef's tip: press each pancake thin with the back of a spoon as soon as it hits the pan; thick ones stay gluey inside.
Ongsimi (옹심이) means 'little bird egg' in the Gangwon dialect, and it describes the small, chewy dumplings that Gangneung cooks make from grated potato and its own starch. Gangwon's mountains grow more potatoes than rice, and ongsimi restaurants around Gangneung still serve the dumplings in plain anchovy or kelp broth with courgette, sometimes with knife-cut noodles added. This version uses kelp and shiitake, so it is vegan and gluten free if you season with tamari. The dumplings are translucent, slippery and springy, nothing like gnocchi. Chef's tip: let the potato water stand until the white starch settles at the bottom, then add every bit of that starch back to the grated potato; it is what makes the dumplings chewy.
Dolsan island, off the port city of Yeosu in South Jeolla, grows a purple-tinged mustard green called gat that is milder and more tender than mainland mustard leaves, and gat kimchi (갓김치) made from it is the region's pride. The leaves keep a hot, wasabi-like bite that softens and turns tangy after a week or two of fermenting. Jeolla kimchi is usually heavy with fish sauce and salted anchovy; this version gets its depth from a kelp-and-rice porridge, pear, onion and soy, so it is vegan. Eat it with plain rice, noodles or on the side of jeon. Chef's tip: salt the leaves stems-first and turn them halfway; the thick stems need longer than the leaves.
Gata is the sweet bread Armenians bake for Candlemas (Trndez) in February and for New Year, often with a coin hidden inside for luck; whoever finds it is set for the year. Every region shapes it differently, but the best-known are the large golden rounds sold by women at the roadside near Garni temple and Geghard monastery, cut into wedges for the drive home. Inside a tender, slightly flaky dough made with matsun (yogurt) and butter is khoriz, a sweet crumble of flour, sugar and butter that bakes into a soft, sandy layer. Eat it with black coffee or tea. Chef's tip: roll the dough thin and fold the khoriz inside like an envelope before rolling again; the folding creates layers so the gata is light rather than doughy.
Geelrys, or yellow rice, is the bright, faintly sweet rice that comes to the table in the Western Cape with bobotie, curries and Sunday roasts, and at Cape Malay weddings and funerals alike. It is cooked with turmeric, a stick of cinnamon, a little sugar and plump raisins, then finished with a knob of butter so the grains gleam. The sweetness is gentle, just enough to soften a spicy curry. Chef's tip: add the raisins at the start so they plump in the cooking water; added at the end they stay tough and chewy.
Gemista is the dish of a Greek August, when tomatoes are cheap, sweet and bursting. Home cooks hollow out the tomatoes and peppers, stir the scooped-out pulp into rice with onions, mint and parsley, and bake everything in one big tray with wedges of potato tucked in between. The vegetables slump and blister, the rice soaks up the tomato juice and olive oil, and the potatoes go sticky at the edges. This vegetarian version is the one most families make in summer and during fasting periods. Serve warm or at room temperature with feta for those who eat dairy and plenty of bread to wipe the tray. Chef's tip: fill the vegetables only three-quarters full; the rice swells as it bakes, and overfilling is the common mistake that splits the tomatoes and leaves the rice hard.
Genfo is a very thick barley porridge from the Tigray and Amhara highlands, cooked for breakfast on cold mornings and above all for new mothers, who are given it for weeks after birth to regain strength. The porridge is shaped into a mound, a hollow is made in the middle and filled with niter kibbeh and berbere, and everyone dips spoonfuls of porridge into the spicy butter, often with yoghurt around the edge. For a fasting version, fill the well with spiced oil. Chef's tip: stir with a wooden spoon the whole time you add the flour, and be firm; genfo is meant to be as thick as stiff mashed potato.
Ghapama is the dish Armenians carry to the table at New Year and on Christmas Day (6 January), with a folk song, "Hey jan ghapama", sung while the pumpkin is cut. A whole pumpkin is hollowed out, packed with half-cooked rice, dried apricots, prunes, raisins, walnuts and honey, and baked until the flesh is soft enough to scoop. At the table it is sliced from top to bottom like a flower opening, so each wedge comes with its own share of filling. Serve it as a festive main with a herb and cucumber salad, or as a sweet course after a lighter meal. Chef's tip: choose a squat, thick-walled pumpkin with a hard shell; thin-walled ones collapse in the oven before the rice is cooked.
During the monsoon festival of Teej and through Raksha Bandhan, Jaipur's sweet shops stack golden, honeycomb discs of ghevar in their windows. The batter is little more than flour, chilled ghee and ice-cold water, poured into hot ghee in thin streams so it foams into a lacy round. It is then soaked in syrup and finished with rabri, sliced pistachios and a pinch of saffron. Married daughters traditionally receive it from their mothers' homes during Teej. The most common mistake is batter that is too warm or too thick; it fries into a heavy pancake instead of a web. Chef's tip: whisk the ghee with ice cubes until it is white and fluffy before adding flour, and keep the batter bowl in a tray of ice water while frying. A narrow, deep pan, or a metal ring set in a saucepan, gives the sides that help the batter build up.
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