Fried fish dumplings with peanut sauce
Batagor, short for bakso tahu goreng (fried fish-ball tofu), is the crunchy cousin of siomay and a favourite after-school snack sold from glass-sided carts outside Jakarta's schools and along Jalan Pecenongan's evening food strip. Tofu squares and wonton skins are stuffed with a mackerel and tapioca paste and deep-fried until golden and crackly, then snipped up and covered in a spicy peanut sauce, kecap manis and lime. The contrast of crisp skin and soft, bouncy fish is the whole point. Contains fish, peanuts, soy, egg and wheat. Chef's tip: fry the tofu side with the fish paste facing down first; it seals the filling so it doesn't puff away from the tofu.
A new country every day, from every cuisine on the site.
Madrid sits hundreds of kilometres from the sea, yet its most famous snack is a crusty roll stuffed with hot fried squid rings, eaten standing at the bars around the Plaza Mayor at any hour. Locals order one with a cold drink at the counter and squeeze over a little lemon; some add a smear of mayonnaise. Chef's tip: fry the squid in very hot oil and for barely a minute, so it stays tender inside a crisp coat.
On the coasts of East and North Frisia, from Norden to the island of Föhr, Friesentorte is what the tea room serves after a windy walk on the dykes, usually with a pot of strong black tea taken with rock sugar and cream. Three crisp rounds of puff pastry are layered with dark plum butter (Pflaumenmus) and a thick band of whipped cream; the top layer is cut into wedges before baking and glazed with sugar, so every slice gets its own shiny lid. Some versions add rum to the plums; this one is alcohol-free. A common mistake is assembling it hours ahead, which turns the pastry soft. Chef's tip: assemble no more than an hour before serving and keep it cold; the contrast of crackly pastry and cream is the whole point.
Down the Nariño coast, in Tumaco and the river villages towards Ecuador, pusandao is everyday food built from what keeps: salted fish (or salted pork), green plantain, potato and the milk of fresh coconuts. The fish is soaked to draw out the salt, then simmered with the vegetables in a thin coconut broth scented with chillangua, the coast's culantro. Plantain and potato soften and thicken the liquid into something soupy and comforting, salty-sweet and gently herbal; it is eaten for lunch with a squeeze of lime and nothing else needed. Plan on an overnight soak for the fish. The pitfall is boiling the coconut milk from the start, which makes it greasy and grainy; cook the plantain in water first and add the coconut milk for the last few minutes. Chef's tip: salt cod is the easiest substitute for the coast's salted fish; for the pork version, use salted pork ribs soaked overnight and boiled until tender before adding the plantain.
Friselle are rings of bread split in half and baked a second time until rock hard, so they kept for months on fishing boats and in farmhouses across the Salento. To eat them you dip them briefly in cold water, then pile on crushed ripe tomatoes, oregano and plenty of olive oil; the bread softens just enough while keeping a crunch in the middle. On August evenings in Lecce and along the coast they are the easiest supper there is. Every Puglian bakery sells them and Italian delis stock them, so this recipe uses bought friselle, made from wheat or the darker, nuttier barley. Chef's tip: dip, don't soak; a few seconds is enough, and the tomato juice finishes the job.
Frit is the hearty dish of Mallorcan country festivals and pig-killing days, and the version made at Easter uses young lamb: diced meat and liver fried with tiny cubes of potato, red pepper, spring onion and wild fennel, all in one big pan. Bars in Inca and Sóller serve it as a tapa on market mornings. This recipe uses lamb shoulder and lamb's liver; the pork version, frit de porc, follows the same method. Chef's tip: fry the potatoes, peppers and meat separately and combine them at the end, or the potatoes stew and lose their crisp edges.
Frite is the simpler, drier cousin of caldereta and is especially loved around the sheep country of the Sierra de Gata and the Cáceres plains. Small pieces of lamb are fried in olive oil with lots of garlic, then cooked with bay, pimentón and a splash of vinegar until tender and coated in a dark red, clinging sauce. It is the dish people cook outdoors at the spring romerías and eat with bread straight from the pan. Chef's tip: ask the butcher to chop the lamb small, bones and all, so every piece gets crisp edges.
In Martinique, blanc-manger coco is the cool, wobbly dessert that closes a Christmas or Sunday family lunch: coconut milk and sweetened condensed milk scented with lime zest, cinnamon, vanilla and nutmeg, set and turned out of a mould. Many island cooks set it with gelatine, which is not vegetarian; this recipe uses agar-agar, a seaweed setting agent, so it is meat-free and holds well even in the heat. Serve it chilled with passion fruit or a guava coulis. Chef's tip: once the agar is in, keep the mixture boiling for 2 full minutes; agar only sets after it has been properly boiled.
Fish restaurants on the harbours of Byblos, Batroun and Tyre bring bizri to the table within minutes of ordering: a heap of tiny whitebait, dusted in seasoned flour and fried so crisp you eat them whole, heads and all, with a squeeze of lemon. It is a mezze for sharing with fattoush, tahini sauce and fried pitta, usually while waiting for the bigger grilled fish. Buy the fish very fresh and keep it on ice until it goes into the pan. The common mistake is crowding the pan, which drops the oil temperature and leaves the fish greasy and soft. Chef's tip: toss the damp fish in flour in a sieve and shake off every bit of excess; a thin coating fries glassy-crisp.
When Antroxu, the Asturian Carnival, comes round in February, kitchens from Avilés to the Oriente villages fill with the smell of butter and batter, and plates of frixuelos stack up for anyone who calls in. They are thinner and lighter than a pancake, flavoured with lemon zest, and are rolled or folded while warm with a dusting of sugar, a drizzle of honey or a spoon of rice-pudding cream. Grandmothers also make them on cold Sunday afternoons, so they are hardly kept for Carnival alone. Chef's tip: rest the batter for at least 30 minutes so the flour softens and the frixuelos turn out lacy and tender instead of rubbery.
On Andros and Tinos, froutalia is the thick, golden omelette farm families ate after a morning in the fields: potatoes and local pork sausage fried in a deep pan, then bound with eggs and a little cheese and cooked until set right through. It is cut in wedges like a Spanish tortilla and eaten hot or cold, with bread and a tomato and cucumber salad, at any time of day. On the island it is made with louza or a smoked pork sausage seasoned with fennel; any good coarse pork sausage works. Common mistake: adding the eggs while the potatoes are still hard; they never soften once the eggs set. Chef's tip: flip it onto a plate halfway so both sides brown evenly.
Fortaleza's beach restaurants, the barracas on Praia do Futuro, build a whole Sunday around peixada: thick steaks of firm white fish poached in a coconut broth with potatoes, carrots, chayote, cabbage and peppers, crowned with halved boiled eggs. The fish is mild and juicy, the broth fragrant with coriander, and half of it is ladled off and thickened with cassava flour into pirão, a soft, savoury porridge eaten alongside with white rice and pepper sauce. A common mistake is putting the fish in with the vegetables from the start, so it breaks up before the potatoes are done; the vegetables get a head start. Use snapper, sea bass, hake or another firm white fish in steaks. Chef's tip: stir the farinha into the hot broth off the heat, a little at a time, and whisk hard; it is the only way to get a smooth, lump-free pirão.
Achira is a canna plant whose root gives a fine, silky starch, and in Huila and Tolima it becomes bizcochos: crunchy, cheesy little sticks and rings that dissolve on the tongue. They are sold in long plastic bags at roadside stands near Neiva, Altamira and the Magdalena valley, and they travel everywhere as a snack with coffee or a cold drink. Look for achira flour in Colombian shops; arrowroot powder is the nearest substitute, while tapioca starch gives a chewier result. The cheese is traditionally a dry, aged curd made with animal rennet, so pick a vegetarian hard cheese. The usual mistake is pulling them from the oven too early: they look done but go soft as they cool. Chef's tip: bake them right through until dry and only lightly coloured; they should snap cleanly once cold.
Cuiabá's grandmothers have a sweet for every fruit, and furrundu is the one that turns an unripe papaya into something special. The green fruit is grated, squeezed and cooked slowly with rapadura (dark unrefined cane sugar), fresh ginger, cloves and cinnamon until it is dark brown, sticky and chewy, with a warm spice that lingers. It is sold in small pots at Cuiabá's Mercado do Porto and at festas de santo in Mato Grosso, eaten by the spoonful with a slice of fresh cheese or on its own. The mistake to avoid is skipping the rinse: green papaya oozes a milky latex that tastes bitter and can irritate the skin, so wear gloves and wash the grated fruit well. Chef's tip: stop cooking when you can drag a spoon across the bottom of the pan and see the base for a second; it firms up a lot as it cools.
Order a round of petiscos in an old Lisbon tasca and a plate of these often lands first: flat green beans in a thin, crackly batter, eaten with the fingers alongside a cold drink. The name means 'little fish from the garden', because on meatless church days the beans stood in for fried sardines. Portuguese missionaries are often credited with carrying the idea of batter-fried food to Japan in the 1500s, where it may have grown into tempura. Serve them hot, with lemon wedges and a pinch of flaky salt. Chef's tip: dry the blanched beans completely on a towel; any water left on them stops the batter sticking and makes the oil spit.
Trout farms line the cold rivers of Tzoumerka and the springs of the Louros, and the tavernas beside them grill the fish whole over charcoal, served with ladolemono, horta and chips. At home a hot grill pan or overhead grill does the job: the skin blisters and crisps while the flesh stays moist and pink-white. Common mistake: turning the fish too early, so the skin tears — leave it until it lifts away by itself. Chef's tip: slash the skin twice on each side so the heat reaches the thick part near the head and the fish cooks evenly.
A paper bag of bizcochitos de grasa sits next to the mate gourd in kitchens, offices and roadside service stations across Argentina, from Buenos Aires to the Andes. These little rounds, a couple of bites each, are layered with beef fat, so they flake and crumble, salty and plain enough to eat by the dozen with bitter mate in the afternoon. The fat is rendered beef fat (grasa vacuna), so they are not vegetarian; ask your butcher for dripping or render suet yourself. A dough worked too warm is the mistake that robs them of their layers; the fat melts into it instead of staying in sheets. Chef's tip: chill the dough for 10 minutes between folds whenever it starts to feel greasy, and prick each round right through so it puffs in flakes rather than domes.
In Tabasco, pejelagarto, a prehistoric-looking freshwater gar from the rivers and lagoons, is skewered and grilled whole over wood in its armoured skin, then eaten with tortillas, lime and fierce chile amashito at roadside stands around Villahermosa. The fish is almost never sold outside the region, so this is a practical version using any firm white fish, such as snapper, sea bass or thick hake fillets, grilled until smoky and served with a bright green tomatillo salsa. Serrano or bird's eye chillies stand in for amashito. Serve with warm corn tortillas for tacos. Chef's tip: oil the fish, not the grill bars, and leave it alone for the first few minutes so the skin releases by itself.
Gaisburger Marsch is named after Gaisburg, a district of Stuttgart, and the story goes that officer cadets marched there from barracks for it. It is a hearty Swabian one-pot of beef broth, cubes of boiled beef, potatoes and spätzle, crowned with onions fried in butter until sweet and brown, and it is still a weekday lunch in Stuttgart pubs and canteens. Chef's tip: cook the potatoes in the strained broth rather than in water, so they soak up the beef flavour.
Bitoque is the dish Portuguese office workers order when they can't decide: on every café lunch menu in Lisbon there is a thin steak in a garlicky pan sauce, a fried egg sliding over it, and chips, rice and a little salad heaped alongside. It is cheap, filling and quick, and a good one depends on a properly hot pan and a runny yolk that mixes into the sauce. Some cooks splash in beer; this version keeps it alcohol-free with stock. A common mistake is crowding the pan, which stews the steaks instead of searing them. Chef's tip: fry the eggs in the steak pan's garlicky fat so they pick up its flavour.
Galatopita is the pie that Epirus shepherds' wives baked when the ewes were in full milk in spring, and you still find it in bakeries in Ioannina and Metsovo, cut into wobbly golden squares. Milk, eggs and semolina are cooked to a thick cream, poured into a buttered tin and baked until the top browns and puffs like a soufflé, then settles into a soft, set custard. Eat it warm or chilled with a dusting of cinnamon. Common mistake: baking at too high a heat, which cracks and weeps the custard — keep it moderate. Chef's tip: a single sheet of filo in the base makes it easier to lift out, but the old village version needs none.
Ask anyone in Amman what they cook when the fridge is nearly empty and the answer is often galayet bandora: ripe tomatoes collapsed in a shallow pan with olive oil, garlic and hot green chilli until they turn jammy and sweet. It turns up at breakfast, as a quick supper, and over a camp fire on desert trips to Wadi Rum, always eaten straight from the pan with torn khubz or shrak. Some families add cubes of lamb; this meatless version is the one most homes make every week. The usual mistake is stirring too much and adding water, which gives you a thin sauce instead of glossy, slightly caramelised tomatoes. Chef's tip: let the tomatoes sit untouched for the first few minutes so their undersides catch and colour; that touch of browning is where the flavour comes from.
Caxias do Sul's galeterias serve galeto as an all-you-can-eat feast: young chicken, so small it is called al primo canto, at its first crow, marinated overnight in white wine, garlic, sage and rosemary, then roasted over embers and brought to the table with crisp fried polenta, pasta and salad. The habit came with the Italian immigrants of the Serra Gaúcha, and the meat is tender, juicy and fragrant with herbs. The marinade uses dry white wine; part of the alcohol cooks off during roasting but not all, so for an alcohol-free galeto use the same amount of chicken stock with 2 tbsp white wine vinegar. Marinate for at least 4 hours or overnight in the fridge. Many cooks baste with the raw marinade right to the end; stop 10 minutes before the chicken is done so no raw juices reach the plate. Chef's tip: set the polenta the day before so it slices cleanly and fries crisp.
Country cooking from the state of Rio and southern Minas Gerais, galinha ao molho pardo (also called galinha de cabidela) is cooked at weekend gatherings with a free-range hen, and served with angu, white rice and okra. The chicken is braised with onion, garlic, tomato and herbs, then the sauce is finished with the bird's blood mixed with vinegar, which turns it dark brown, velvety and savoury, with a gentle sourness. It tastes richer and deeper than an ordinary stew. Buy fresh chicken blood from a licensed poultry butcher or halal butcher, ask for it mixed with vinegar so it does not clot, keep it in the fridge and use it within 24 hours. The usual mistake is boiling the sauce hard after the blood goes in, which makes it grainy; stir it at a gentle simmer instead. The blood must be cooked right through. Chef's tip: temper the blood with a ladle of hot sauce before adding it to the pot.
Sunday lunches, church festas and roadside restaurants in Goiás all revolve around a big pot of galinhada: chicken browned with garlic and onion, then cooked with rice in its own stock until each grain is golden from açafrão-da-terra. In Brazil that word means turmeric, not true saffron, and it is turmeric that gives the dish its colour. Goianos add pequi, the cerrado fruit with a heady, cheesy-tropical scent; you can buy it in jars in Brazilian shops, but warn your guests: the stone is covered in fine spines under the flesh, so nibble gently and never bite into it. It comes out moist, fragrant and comforting, finished with plenty of cheiro-verde. The common mistake is adding too much water, which makes it mushy; the rice should be loose, like a paella that has just settled. Chef's tip: brown the chicken until it leaves a dark crust in the pot, then let the rice dissolve it.
Despite the name, there is no hen in gallina pinta: the 'speckled hen' of Sonora is a hearty soup of beef, pinto beans and hominy, the speckles being the beans among the white corn. It is cold-weather food across the state, ladled out at family gatherings and in Hermosillo diners, and every cook uses bony cuts such as oxtail or beef shank so the broth turns rich and silky. The beans need soaking overnight, so start the day before. Serve it in deep bowls with chopped onion, oregano, lime and a dried red chilli crumbled over, plus warm flour tortillas. Chef's tip: add the hominy only in the last half hour, so the kernels stay plump and chewy rather than splitting.
No Cretan wedding is complete without gamopilafo, stirred by the men of the village in huge cauldrons over wood fires from early morning. The meat is simmered for hours to make a deep, golden broth, the rice is cooked in it until creamy and almost soupy, and the whole pot is finished with butter and lemon; the boiled meat is served on the side. At home it makes a generous Sunday lunch for a crowd. Common mistake: cooking the rice to a dry, fluffy pilaf; it should be loose and spoonable, like a thick risotto. Chef's tip: skim the broth carefully in the first 20 minutes and never let it boil hard, so it stays clear and sweet instead of cloudy.
Ask anyone from the Spreewald, the river-and-forest country south-east of Berlin, for the taste of home and many will name this: small potatoes boiled in their skins, a bowl of cold herb quark and a thread of golden, nutty linseed oil poured over the top. It is a weekday supper in Brandenburg and Berlin, cheap, quick and surprisingly filling, often with a Spreewald gherkin on the side. Fresh linseed oil tastes of hay and walnuts; old oil turns bitter and fishy, so buy a small bottle and keep it in the fridge. A common mistake is peeling the potatoes before boiling; cooking them in their skins keeps them firm and flavourful. Chef's tip: beat a splash of milk or sparkling water into the quark, which makes it light and creamy instead of stodgy.
Shepherds in the Béarn valleys and farmers across Gascony have eaten garbure through the cold months for centuries, and it is still the centrepiece of village rugby-club suppers and winter fêtes. It is a soup so thick that, as people in Pau like to say, the ladle should almost stand up in it: white beans, cabbage, potatoes, leeks and turnips cooked down slowly, finished with pieces of duck confit warmed through in the pot. A ham hock is often added too; that version is a pork dish as well as a duck one, so leave it out if you need to. Serve it in deep bowls with thick slices of country bread. Chef's tip: hold back the salt until the very end, because confit duck and ham hock both season the soup as they warm.
Light enough to float off the plate, these rings are sold by the bagful at bus stations, beaches and football grounds all over Brazil, but they belong to Minas Gerais, where sour cassava starch (polvilho azedo) has been made for centuries. Scalding the starch with hot milk, water and oil and then beating in eggs gives a sticky paste that puffs in a hot oven into crisp, airy, slightly tangy shells. Mineiros eat them with coffee in the afternoon or nibble them all day. Bake them in a hot oven and do not open the door: the rings collapse into flat, hard discs if the heat drops in the first 20 minutes. Chef's tip: the paste should pipe like thick mayonnaise; add a spoon of water if it is too stiff, because a soft dough is what makes the biscuits hollow.
Birria comes from Jalisco, where it is the dish of weddings, baptisms and Sunday mornings after a long night, ladled out at market stalls in Guadalajara from dawn. Beef on the bone is rubbed with a paste of guajillo and ancho chillies, vinegar, garlic and warm spices, left overnight in the fridge, then braised for hours until it falls into soft, glossy strands. The cooking liquid becomes the consommé: sip it from a cup, spoon it over the meat in a bowl, or dip tortillas in its red fat and fry them with the beef and a little cheese for crisp-edged tacos. Serve with chopped onion, coriander, lime and a fiery chile de árbol salsa. Chef's tip: skim the red fat off the top of the finished consommé and keep it for frying the tortillas; it gives the tacos their colour and crunch.
Order garides saganaki at a seaside taverna on Mykonos or Syros and it arrives bubbling in the small two-handled pan it is named after: whole prawns in a quick sauce of tomato, garlic, chilli and oregano, scattered with feta that softens into the sauce. You eat it with bread for mopping, as a shared starter or a main with rice. Many tavernas add a splash of ouzo; this version leaves it out, so it is alcohol-free. Common mistake: cooking the prawns in the sauce for too long, which makes them tough; they need only a few minutes. Chef's tip: simmer the prawn heads and shells in a little water for 10 minutes and use that stock in the sauce for a deeper sea flavour.
Birnen, Bohnen und Speck is late-summer cooking from Hamburg and Schleswig-Holstein, made in August when green beans and small, firm cooking pears ripen at the same time in the Vierlande market gardens. A piece of smoked pork belly bacon is simmered until tender, and its smoky broth then cooks the beans, whole pears and potatoes, with summer savory to tie the sweet and salty together. It is one pot, served straight from the stove with the bacon sliced on top. Chef's tip: choose pears that are still hard; ripe dessert pears collapse into the beans.
On Florida street, in the plazas of San Telmo and outside every football ground in Buenos Aires, vendors stir copper pans of peanuts over little burners, and the smell of hot caramel reaches you half a block away. Garrapiñada comes in a paper cone, still warm, each peanut wrapped in a rough, sandy, crunchy sugar shell. It takes 20 minutes and three ingredients at home, and it is vegan. The process looks wrong halfway: the syrup turns cloudy and grainy, and that is exactly what you want, because the crystallised sugar is what gives the crunchy coating. The mistake is to stop stirring once it turns sandy; keep going until some of the sugar melts again and glazes the nuts. Chef's tip: use raw, skinned peanuts and a heavy pan, and add a pinch of salt at the end; it lifts the sweetness the way the street carts' slightly smoky pans do.
Walk past any bakery in Tudela on a weekend morning and the window will be full of garroticos, puff pastry rolls with a bar of dark chocolate baked inside and a crackly sugar top. The name means little sticks, after their shape, and they are eaten warm with coffee or bought by the half-dozen for an afternoon snack. Some bakers add a line of pastry cream next to the chocolate; this home version keeps it simple. Chef's tip: work with the pastry straight from the fridge, because cold butter layers are what make the pastry puff into flaky leaves.
Sugamuxi province, around Sogamoso and Tibasosa in Boyacá, is garulla country: bakeries and home ovens turn out these rings and rolls of rich, buttery dough kneaded with fresh curd cheese. They are slightly sweet, dense and crumbly, with a golden top, and they keep well for a few days, which is why they travel in bags back to Bogotá after weekend trips. Have them with a hot black coffee or hot chocolate at onces time. Cuajada is curd set with rennet, usually animal; a vegetarian ricotta or curd works. Overworking the dough is the usual error and gives tough, chewy garullas; knead only until it comes together. Chef's tip: squeeze the cuajada in a cloth to remove as much whey as you can before you start; wet curd makes the dough sticky and the rings spread flat.
In the Castagniccia, the chestnut forests of north-east Corsica, the chestnut was called the bread tree, and its sweet, smoky flour went into polenta, fritters and cakes. Every December the village of Bocognano holds a chestnut fair where this simple cake is sold by the slice. Made only with chestnut flour, it is dense and moist, with no wheat at all (check the flour packet if you avoid gluten), and has a flavour somewhere between cocoa and toasted nuts. Serve it with fresh cheese, a spoon of jam or a cup of coffee. Chef's tip: sift chestnut flour twice; it clumps in the bag, and lumps stay as dry pockets in the cake.
Walnut orchards line the Dordogne valley around Sarlat and Périgueux, and after the autumn harvest every farmhouse and market bakery turns the new nuts into this dense, moist cake. It is sold by the slice at Sarlat's Saturday market and eaten in the afternoon with coffee or a glass of walnut-leaf syrup and water, or after Sunday lunch with a spoon of crème fraîche. Ground walnuts replace most of the flour, so it is nutty, slightly bitter and very tender. Chef's tip: toast the walnuts first for 6 minutes; it softens the bitterness of the skins and deepens the flavour.
Cambo-les-Bains and the inland villages of the Labourd claim the gâteau basque, and bakeries across the Basque Country sell it in two versions, filled with black cherry jam from Itxassou or with thick pastry cream, marked with a criss-cross or a Basque cross on top. Families buy one for Sunday lunch and cut it at room temperature with coffee. Its crust is halfway between shortbread and cake, golden and crumbly, wrapped round a soft vanilla centre. Some bakers flavour the cream with rum; this one uses vanilla and almond extract and is alcohol-free. For the cherry version, swap the cream for 300 g thick black cherry jam. Chef's tip: chill the dough well before rolling; it is soft and buttery and tears when warm.
Every Mallorcan pastry shop sells gató, a light, moist sponge made with ground almonds instead of flour, and the classic way to eat it is a wedge beside a scoop of gelat d'ametlla, the island's almond ice. The almond groves that bloom white across the island in February give both. It is the cake for saint's days and Sunday visits, and it happens to be gluten free. The ice here is made the old way, with almonds, sugar, water and lemon peel, no cream. Chef's tip: fold the whipped egg whites in with a big metal spoon and stop as soon as no white streaks remain, because the air is all that lifts the cake.
Named after the mountains east of Gaziantep, this is the salad that lands on every kebab-house table in the city, chopped so fine it is almost a relish. Tomatoes, onion, green pepper and parsley meet toasted walnuts, sumac and a sour-sweet dressing of pomegranate molasses and olive oil. It cuts through rich grilled meat or bulgur, and is just as good scooped up with flatbread as a meze. Dress it just before serving; if it sits, the salt pulls water from the tomatoes and it swims. Chef's tip: deseed the tomatoes and dice everything to the size of a lentil so each spoonful has a bit of all of it.
Gaz is the sweet every visitor carries home from Isfahan, sold in round tins of floury, pistachio-studded pieces at the bazaar near Naqsh-e Jahan square and handed round with tea at Nowruz. Isfahan's confectioners make it with angebin, a sap gathered from tamarisk shrubs, which is hard to find abroad; this home version whips egg white into a hot sugar and glucose syrup to get the same soft, chewy, white nougat, scented with rosewater. A common mistake is pulling the syrup off the heat too soon: below 140 °C the gaz stays sticky and never sets. Chef's tip: cut it with a knife dipped in hot water and toss the pieces straight into flour so they don't stick to each other.
Gebrannte Mandeln are the warm paper cone you carry round a German Christmas market, from Munich's Marienplatz to the Striezelmarkt in Dresden, the stalls stirring copper kettles of almonds until the sugar crackles. At home they take one pan and twenty minutes, and a jar makes a good December gift. The sugar goes through three stages: syrup, then dry and sandy, then melted again into a shiny crust. The mistake most people make is giving up at the sandy stage, when it looks ruined; keep stirring and it melts back into a coating. Chef's tip: spread the almonds out on baking paper the second they are done and separate them with two forks, or they cool into one big brittle.
Despite its name, the genovese is pure Naples, a Sunday lunch dish as treasured there as ragù. Kilos of onions are cooked very slowly with a piece of beef until they melt into a sweet, amber, almost jammy sauce that is tossed with long ziti broken by hand; the beef is then sliced and eaten as the second course. White wine goes in once the onions have collapsed (an alcohol-free swap is in the ingredients). A grating of parmigiano or pecorino is all it needs. Some Neapolitan cooks start it with a little pancetta (cured pork), which is optional here. Chef's tip: slice the onions thinly and evenly, and keep the heat so low that they never fry; they should stew in their own juices and the fat of the meat for hours.
After a morning on the slopes, Austrians head into the mountain huts of Tyrol, Salzburg and Styria for one thing: a Germknödel the size of a fist, steamed until pillowy and split open to reveal dark plum butter. It comes drowned in melted butter, or in vanilla sauce, under a thick snow of ground poppy seeds and icing sugar, and it is eaten as a whole meal. The dough is soft and slightly sweet, and the powidl inside is tart and jammy. A common mistake is lifting the lid while they steam; the dumplings deflate and turn heavy. Chef's tip: seal each dumpling with the seam underneath and let them prove a second time on squares of baking paper, so you can move them without denting them.
Pepas are the little round cookies with a jewel of quince jam in the middle that Argentine kiosks sell by the bag and grandmothers keep in a tin for the mate round. They are tender and crumbly, not crisp, with just enough sugar that the tart, dark membrillo stands out. Children love pressing the thumbprint and filling it, which makes them a good first baking job, and they keep for a week in an airtight jar. Kiosk versions are often made with margarine; butter tastes far better. Overbaking is the usual problem: take them out while the tops are still pale and only the bottoms are golden, because they firm up as they cool. Chef's tip: use quince paste softened with a spoonful of hot water and pipe it from a small bag; a spoon leaves smears on the dough that burn.
Ghalieh mahi is the signature stew of the Persian Gulf ports of Bushehr and Abadan, cooked for Friday lunches and big family gatherings. It starts with a mountain of coriander and a little fenugreek fried slowly in oil with garlic until almost black-green, then sharpened with tamarind and warmed with chilli and turmeric before chunks of firm fish are poached in it. The result is dark, sour, fragrant and properly hot, eaten over plain white rice. A common mistake is rushing the herbs: they need a full 20 minutes of frying or the stew tastes grassy instead of deep. Chef's tip: brown the fish pieces quickly before they go into the sauce; they hold together better and add a little roasted flavour.
In Bushehr, where the fishing boats bring in Gulf prawns every morning, ghalieh meygoo is the dish cooks make when they want something quicker and a little more festive than the fish version. The same base of slow-fried coriander, fenugreek and garlic is soured with tamarind and fired up with chilli, then the prawns go in for just a few minutes so they stay sweet and juicy. It is eaten with plain chelow rice and a raw onion on the side. A common mistake is simmering the prawns with the sauce from the start, which leaves them rubbery and small. Chef's tip: simmer the prawn shells in the water for 10 minutes first and use that stock; it gives the sauce a real taste of the sea.
In late summer the villages around Senise, in southern Basilicata, hang long garlands of thin red peppers from balconies to dry in the sun. Once dried, a few seconds in hot oil turns them into peperoni cruschi: glassy, brittle and sweet with a faint smoky note, eaten like crisps or crumbled over pasta, beans, fried eggs and mashed potatoes. Lucanians call them their red gold and keep a jar of them on the table all winter. Chef's tip: get the oil hot but not smoking and count to five; the colour should stay bright red.
Santander's famous plate of cabrito (roast kid goat), sold in Bucaramanga, Barichara and the canyon towns, always comes with pepitoria next to it: rice cooked with the kid's chopped heart, liver and kidneys, a refrito of onion and tomato, and blood, which turns it a deep reddish-brown and gives it a rich, mineral flavour, a little like a soft black pudding. It's a dish that uses the whole animal, and it is worth trying if you like morcilla. Ask a halal, Caribbean or specialist butcher for very fresh goat offal and fresh blood (pig blood works if goat isn't available); keep both cold and cook them the same day. Offal must be cooked right through, and the blood until it has set and darkened with no liquid red left. The usual misstep is adding the blood too early, so that it scorches on the bottom; it goes in when the rice is nearly done. Chef's tip: if blood is impossible to find, double the offal and add 1 tsp extra achiote; you'll get a lighter but still very good rice.
Every traveller to Tabriz is expected to bring back a box of ghorabieh from the bazaar confectioners: pale, domed almond cookies with a thin crackled shell and a soft, chewy middle, scented with vanilla and sometimes topped with a sliver of pistachio. They are a Nowruz favourite in Azerbaijan province and keep well, so families bake them a week ahead. A common mistake is baking them too hot, which browns the outside before the inside sets and leaves them hollow. Chef's tip: let the piped cookies sit for 20 minutes before baking so a skin forms; that skin gives the classic crackled top.
Ghotab are the little fried crescents that Yazd's confectioners have been making for generations, packed into boxes for Nowruz and carried as gifts by anyone travelling from the city. A tender yogurt dough is wrapped around ground almonds, sugar and plenty of cardamom, fried until blond and crisp, then buried in icing sugar. A common mistake is frying too hot, which browns the outside before the dough inside the fold cooks through, leaving it doughy. Chef's tip: roll the ghotab in icing sugar while still warm, then again once cold, for a thick snowy coat.
Across Syria, Lebanon and Palestine, trays of ghraybeh appear for Eid and weddings next to ma'amoul; in Aleppo they are often shaped into little bracelets with a pistachio at the join. Made from just ghee, icing sugar and flour, they are so tender they crumble as soon as you bite, and they should stay ivory-white, never brown. Serve with strong coffee or mint tea. Common mistake: baking until golden — they should come out pale and still soft, and firm up as they cool. Chef's tip: whip the ghee and sugar for a full 10 minutes until white and fluffy; that is what gives the melting texture.
The gilda was born in a San Sebastián bar in the late 1940s and named after the screen heroine of the film of the same name: green, salty and a little spicy, as the regulars put it. Every Basque bar counter still has a plate of them, eaten in one bite with a glass of something cold before lunch. Salted anchovies in oil are cured, not cooked, so they are not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system; for a safer version use good tinned tuna in oil instead. A common mistake is using fresh anchovies marinated in vinegar (boquerones), which are raw and too soft for the stick. Chef's tip: thread the anchovy in a wave between the olives so each bite gets a bit of everything.
Bigoli in salsa is the dish of Venice's lean days, once eaten on Fridays, Christmas Eve and Ash Wednesday, and still served in the city's bacari and osterie today. Thick, rough wholewheat strands are tossed in a sauce of onions cooked slowly in olive oil until sweet and almost creamy, with salted anchovies melted through. It is salty, sweet and deeply savoury, with no cheese. If you can't find bigoli, thick wholewheat spaghetti or bucatini work well. Serve with a bitter leaf salad such as radicchio. Chef's tip: add the anchovies off the heat and let them dissolve in the warm oil; fried hard, they turn bitter.
Giouvetsi takes its name from the glazed clay dish it is baked in, and in Greek homes it is the Sunday lunch that gets put in the oven before church: chunks of beef braised with tomato, cinnamon and allspice, then finished with kritharaki (orzo) that soaks up every drop of the sauce. It arrives at the table bubbling, with grated cheese melting on top. This version uses wine to deglaze, which is traditional; use extra stock for an alcohol-free dish. Common mistake: adding the orzo with too little liquid, so it bakes dry and sticks; it needs about four times its weight in hot stock. Chef's tip: stir the orzo halfway through baking so the top pieces don't harden.
Girit ezmesi takes its name from the Cretan Muslims who settled in Alaçatı and Çeşme a century ago, and it is still a fixture of every meze table in those whitewashed streets. Soft white cheese is mashed with olive oil, walnuts, garlic, plenty of herbs and a dusting of hot pepper into a rough, salty spread that begs for warm bread. Feta and beyaz peynir are often made with animal rennet, so choose a vegetarian one if you need to. Chef's tip: mash by hand with a fork rather than blending; it should stay textured, with visible pieces of walnut and herb.
Linares, a small town in Nuevo León, is famous across Mexico for glorias: soft, chewy balls of goat's milk caramel packed with pecans, each wrapped in a twist of red cellophane. They are bought by the box at roadside sweet shops on the way to Monterrey and handed out at weddings and Christmas. Goat's milk gives them a gentle tang; a mix of goat's and cow's milk is milder. Chef's tip: the last ten minutes need constant stirring, as the caramel thickens and catches fast.
In Greek grill houses (psistaries) and in summer back gardens, bifteki are big, flattened patties of minced beef with grated onion, mint and oregano, and the stuffed version hides a slab of feta that melts as they cook. Serve with chips fried in olive oil, a village salad and tzatziki. Common mistake: using lean mince, which makes dry patties; 15–20 % fat keeps them juicy. Chef's tip: grate the onion and squeeze out its juice before mixing; you keep the flavour without making the mixture too wet to seal around the cheese.
On the chalkboard of any neighbourhood bodegón in Buenos Aires you will find bife a caballo, steak "on horseback": a thick bife de chorizo (sirloin) or rump seared hard in a hot pan, crowned with two fried eggs whose yolks run into the meat juices, and served with a pile of chips. It is the plate for hungry taxi drivers at lunch and for anyone recovering from a long night. Cook the steak to your taste; Argentines usually ask for it jugoso (medium rare, about 55 °C in the centre) or a punto (medium, about 60 °C). Use eggs fried until the whites are fully set, and cook the yolks firm for anyone vulnerable. Crowding a pan that isn't hot enough is the classic mistake, which stews the steak grey, so let the pan smoke first. Chef's tip: rest the steak while you fry the eggs in the same pan; the beef juices in the fat give the whites crisp, savoury edges.
High in the mountains of Gran Canaria, the village of Tejeda is ringed by almond trees, and its pastry shops are famous for bienmesabe, 'it tastes good to me'. Finely ground almonds are cooked in a sugar syrup with lemon zest and cinnamon, then enriched with egg yolks into a thick, golden cream. Islanders eat it by the spoonful, over vanilla ice cream or layered on sponge; it is the dessert brought out in late January and February, when the Almond Blossom Festival fills the village. Chef's tip: temper the yolks with a little hot syrup before adding them, so they thicken the cream smoothly instead of scrambling.
Gofio, flour ground from toasted maize or wheat, has fed the Canary Islands since before the Spanish arrived, and a bowl of escaldado is its simplest, most comforting form. Hot broth is beaten into the gofio until it turns into a soft, savoury paste flecked with mint, eaten by scooping it up on chunks of raw red onion. In fishing towns the broth is usually fish stock left from a sancocho; this version uses vegetable broth so it is vegan. Pure maize gofio is gluten free, but most blends contain wheat, so check the bag. Chef's tip: add the broth gradually while you beat, as dumping it in at once makes stubborn lumps.
At weddings in Siirt, perde pilavı is carried out whole and cut open at the table: a dome of buttery pastry 'curtain' (perde) hiding rice cooked with shredded chicken, toasted almonds, currants and black pepper. Each part carries a wish for the couple: the rice for plenty, the almonds for children, the pastry for a home that holds together. It makes a spectacular centrepiece for any celebration. Common mistake: a wet filling; the base of the pastry turns soggy, so cook the rice until just dry. Chef's tip: scatter almonds over the buttered tin before the pastry goes in; they become a jewelled top when you turn it out.
This is the famous dish of the monastery of San Benito at Alcántara, near the Portuguese border. The story goes that French troops looted the library in 1807, and its recipe for partridges stuffed with liver and truffle, marinated for days in port, ended up in French cookbooks, which is why Escoffier listed it. Today it is a dish for autumn hunting-season dinners in Extremadura. Our home version uses chicken livers, mushrooms and an overnight marinade. The dish uses port; for an alcohol-free version, use red grape juice with 1 tbsp of red wine vinegar. Chef's tip: a few slices of black truffle in the stuffing make it truly special, but well-browned mushrooms are a fine everyday substitute.
Ponte Nova and other towns in the Zona da Mata of Minas Gerais are famous for this rough, dark guava paste, stirred for hours in big copper pans over wood fires until it is almost brick red and firm enough to cut with a knife. 'Cascão' means it keeps chunks of the skin, so each slice is chewy and fruity rather than smooth. It is the guava in Romeu e Julieta, the filling for countless cakes, and a sweet in its own right after lunch. A heavy stainless-steel pan works at home. The big mistake is cooking over high heat to save time; the sugar catches and turns bitter long before the paste is set, so keep the heat moderate and stir constantly near the end. The paste spits fiercely, so use a long spoon and cover your arm. Chef's tip: test it by dropping a spoonful into a glass of cold water; when it stays in one firm piece, it is ready to pour.
In late March and April, just after Nowruz, the fruit stalls of Tehran and every small town fill with hard, bright green plums, and children walk home from school with paper bags of them and a twist of salt. The unripe plums are crunchy and mouth-puckeringly sour; a dip in salt, sometimes mixed with dried mint or chilli, makes them addictive. There is nothing to cook, only good fruit to choose. A common mistake is buying plums that have already softened and turned yellow; they lose the crunch that makes this snack. Chef's tip: chill the plums for an hour and wash them in cold water just before serving so they snap when you bite.
Partridge shooting season fills the cork-oak plains of the Alentejo with hunters in autumn and winter, and escabeche was how their families kept the birds: browned in olive oil, then cooked slowly in vinegar with onion, garlic, bay and peppercorns, and left in the cool larder for days. Today it is made in the fridge and served cold or at room temperature as a starter, with bread and a green salad. A common mistake is serving it straight away; it needs at least a day for the sour, garlicky flavour to soak in. Chef's tip: use good olive oil, since it sets around the birds and is served as part of the dish.
Gol gav zaban is the calming tea Iranians make on stressful evenings or when a cold is coming on, sold in bags of dried purple flowers by herbalists in the old bazaars of Tehran and Tabriz. Steeped in hot water it turns a dusky blue-brown, then flashes pink the moment lime juice goes in, which children love to watch. It is sipped with a stick of saffron nabat (rock sugar), sometimes with a few dried limes or a pinch of valerian. Persian borage contains small amounts of natural compounds that can strain the liver, so drink it only now and then, and avoid it if you are pregnant, breastfeeding or have liver problems. Chef's tip: steep below boiling and keep the pot covered so the gentle aroma doesn't escape.
Adas bi hamod — 'lentils with sourness' — is a Lenten staple in Lebanese Christian homes and a thrifty weeknight pot everywhere else, especially in the south. Brown lentils simmer with chard, potato and a fried paste of garlic and coriander until the broth turns thick, then a generous amount of lemon makes it tangy and refreshing. It is somewhere between a soup and a stew and is just as good warm or at room temperature with bread. Common mistake: adding the lemon at the start; the acid stops the lentils softening, so add it at the end. Chef's tip: mash a ladleful of lentils against the side of the pot to give the broth body without any flour.
Pink balls of fudge in a paper cup, sitting in a row between the chocolate brigadeiros: that is bicho-de-pé, a fixture of children's parties in São Paulo and Rio. The odd name comes from a tiny burrowing flea, which the speckled pink sweet supposedly resembles, but it tastes nothing but fruity and creamy. Brazilian cooks usually flavour it with strawberry gelatin powder, which is not vegetarian; this version uses freeze-dried strawberry powder, which gives a brighter, real-fruit flavour and a natural pink. Find freeze-dried strawberries in supermarket baking aisles and crush them yourself. Over-thickening is the commonest mistake: cooked too long, the brigadeiro turns hard and sugary once cold. Chef's tip: take the pan off the heat as soon as the mixture slides away from the base as one piece; it firms more as it cools.
Gondi is the Friday-night dish of Tehran's Persian Jewish families, served at the Shabbat table before the main course or as a light lunch after. Big, soft dumplings of minced chicken, grated onion and roasted chickpea flour, scented with cardamom, are poached in a clear turmeric broth with chickpeas, and each bowl gets one or two with plenty of broth, fresh herbs and flatbread. The texture should be tender and slightly crumbly, a little like a dense matzo ball. A common mistake is using raw chickpea flour; buy roasted chickpea flour (nokhodchi flour) or dry-toast plain gram flour first, or the dumplings taste raw. Chef's tip: chill the mixture for 30 minutes before shaping so the dumplings hold their shape in the broth.
In the Sotavento region of southern Veracruz, around Tlacotalpan and Los Tuxtlas, cooks knead well-fried black beans straight into the corn masa, so the little cakes come out speckled grey-black, then fry them until they puff up like balloons. Gordas de frijol are a supper snack from street stalls and fiesta tables, split and topped with salsa, chopped onion and, for a non-vegan version, a crumble of fresh cheese. Avocado leaf in the beans gives a faint aniseed note. Chef's tip: the beans must be very thick and cooled; warm, wet beans make a sticky dough that will not puff.
In Querétaro, gorditas de migajas are a breakfast and market favourite, cooked on wide griddles in the old town and in the street stalls of the Sierra Gorda. They are thick corn cakes filled with migajas, the crunchy crumbs of pork crackling left at the bottom of the carnitas or chicharrón vat, bound with asiento, the brown, savoury pork lard full of toasted bits. This is very much a pork dish; plain pork lard and finely crushed pork crackling make a good substitute if you can't find asiento. Split open while hot, they are filled with red salsa, onion, coriander and crumbled cheese. Chef's tip: cook them over a medium, not high, heat so the inside cooks through before the outside burns.
Gosh-e fil, elephant's ear, is the big, bubbly, paper-thin fried pastry sold from bakery windows in Tehran and Shiraz in the days before Nowruz, and made at home for Ramadan evenings. A soft egg and yogurt dough is rolled almost see-through, pinched into a fan shape and fried until it blisters, then showered with icing sugar, cardamom and ground pistachio. They are best the day they are made, with glasses of black tea. Chef's tip: rest the dough properly; relaxed dough rolls thin without shrinking back.
In the wine villages of Burgundy, around Beaune and Chablis, a basket of gougères lands on the table the moment guests sit down: small golden choux puffs, crisp outside and hollow and cheesy within. They are handed round at cellar tastings, christenings and Sunday aperitifs, and they are best eaten warm, within ten minutes of leaving the oven. The dough is the same as for profiteroles, but salted, peppered and beaten with grated Comté or Gruyère. Both cheeses are traditionally made with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian hard mountain-style cheese if you need to. Chef's tip: dry the dough on the heat until it leaves a thin film on the bottom of the pan; drier dough takes more egg and puffs higher.
At the summer festivals of Messinia, whole young pigs are roasted overnight in bakers' wood ovens, then sold by the kilo at stalls with bread and pickled peppers. This home version uses a bone-in pork shoulder, rubbed with garlic, orange zest, oregano and chilli, left in the fridge overnight, and roasted low and slow until the meat pulls apart and the crackling shatters. Serve with lemon potatoes and a cabbage salad. Common mistake: wet skin — dry it well and salt it the night before, or it never crackles. Chef's tip: start covered at a low heat and finish uncovered at a high heat; that's how the meat stays juicy and the skin turns glassy.
Perrunillas are the cookies of Extremaduran grandmothers, baked in village ovens for Christmas, weddings and the days after the matanza, when fresh lard was plentiful. They are thick, pale and so short they crumble the moment you bite, with a crackly sugar top, and they are eaten with coffee or a glass of milk in the afternoon. This contains pork (pork lard), so they are not vegetarian. Chef's tip: beat the lard and sugar for a good few minutes until very pale and fluffy; that air is what makes them light.
The name means 'sweet' or 'delicious' in Basque, and goxua was created in Vitoria-Gasteiz in the 1970s, where cafés still serve it in small glasses or terracotta pots. From the bottom up you get whipped cream, a disc of sponge soaked in syrup, thick vanilla pastry cream and a crackling layer of burnt sugar. It is a make-ahead dessert for a Sunday lunch, since the layers need to chill. A common mistake is spooning in custard that is still warm, which melts the cream into a puddle. Chef's tip: caramelise the top just before serving, so the sugar crust is still glassy when the spoon goes in.
Across Provence, a grand aïoli is the lunch for Fridays, the meatless day, and for summer village fêtes, when long tables are laid under the plane trees and the platters go round. Poached salt cod, boiled potatoes, carrots, green beans, beetroot and hard-boiled eggs are piled up around a bowl of aïoli, the pungent, golden garlic mayonnaise that gives the meal its name. It is plain food made thrilling by that sauce, so use your best olive oil. The salt cod needs 24–36 hours soaking in the fridge, so start early. Because the aïoli is made with raw egg yolk, use pasteurised egg yolks if you are serving pregnant women, young children, older people or anyone with a weakened immune system. Chef's tip: start the aïoli with a pinch of salt and pounded garlic, and add the oil drop by drop until it thickens.
Cardoons, the tall silvery cousin of the artichoke, are a Christmas vegetable in Lyon and the Dauphiné; market stalls on the Quai Saint-Antoine sell them in December, and the gratin goes on the table at the réveillon dinner. The stalks taste gently of artichoke and celery and turn meltingly soft under a nutmeg béchamel. Lyon cooks often add bone marrow; this version leaves it out and uses vegetable stock in the sauce. Gruyère is usually made with animal rennet, so choose a vegetarian alternative if needed. If you cannot find cardoons, celery hearts work, though they cook faster. Chef's tip: drop each peeled stalk straight into lemon water; cardoons blacken within minutes in the air.
Booyah is the great community stew of north-east Wisconsin, brought by Belgian and French-Canadian settlers around Green Bay; church picnics and fire stations cook it in huge kettles over wood fires all day and sell it by the quart at fall festivals and Packers tailgates. It is a thick, peppery stew of chicken, a little beef and lots of vegetables, cooked until the chicken falls apart. Chef's tip: cook it long and slow and stir it often; a good booyah is thick enough that the spoon nearly stands up.
Grießnockerlsuppe is the soup that opens a proper Austrian Sunday lunch, from Viennese grandmothers' tables to village inns in Upper Austria: a clear, deeply savoury beef broth with three or four soft, oval semolina dumplings that should be fluffy enough to cut with a spoon. The broth is made from beef shin and bones, simmered slowly with charred onion; broth left over from Tafelspitz works perfectly too. Chef's tip: let the semolina mix rest for 15 minutes before shaping; the grains swell and the dumplings hold together without going heavy.
Late every summer, rooftops in Gaziantep, Kilis and Hatay turn red with trays of puréed peppers drying in the sun, and families fill jars that will season soups, köfte, bulgur and lahmacun through the winter. This oven method makes a smaller batch with the same deep, sweet and slightly smoky flavour; use some hot peppers if you like it acı (spicy). Store it under a film of oil in the fridge. The common mistake is a too-hot oven: the edges scorch and turn bitter before the middle thickens. Chef's tip: stir every 20 minutes and scrape the dried rim back in; the paste is ready when a spoon drawn through it leaves a clean trench.
Grüne Soße, or Grie Soß in Frankfurt dialect, arrives in spring when market stalls in Hesse sell paper bundles of exactly seven herbs: borage, chervil, cress, parsley, burnet, sorrel and chives. Blended into sour cream and yoghurt, they make a cold, bright, grassy sauce that is eaten with halved boiled eggs and new potatoes, traditionally on Maundy Thursday. It is a whole meal, light but filling. If you can't find the herb bundle, any mix of soft herbs with some sorrel for sourness works. A common mistake is blending the herbs to a smooth purée in a hot blender, which turns them dull and bitter; chop or pulse briefly. Chef's tip: make the sauce an hour ahead and chill it so the herbs flavour the cream fully.
In the Palatinate, between the Rhine and the vineyards of the Weinstraße, September brings a pairing that puzzles outsiders: a bowl of creamy potato soup served with a slice of plum tray cake on the side, and you dip the cake as you go. It is a plain, cheap farmhouse supper for plum season, and the sweet-sour fruit against the soft, marjoram-scented soup is the whole joy. This version makes a small tray of yeasted plum cake while the soup simmers. A common mistake is sweetening the soup; it should stay savoury so the cake can do the sweet work. Chef's tip: use dark, oval Zwetschgen plums, which hold their shape; round dessert plums go watery.
Guacamayas are León's street snack, sold from carts outside schools and in the city centre of this Guanajuato town from the afternoon on. A crusty bolillo is split and stuffed with crisp pork chicharrón, piled with a juicy pico de gallo of tomato, onion and chilli, and soaked with a hot red salsa and lime, so the crackling softens at the edges but stays crunchy in the middle. Some stands add avocado or a smear of beans. It is a quick, no-cook pork dish, best eaten standing up with a cold drink. Chef's tip: dress the chicharrón with salsa and lime only seconds before eating; left to sit, it turns soft and chewy.
Commuters in Mexico City grab a guajolota at the tamal stand by the bus stop at seven in the morning: a crusty bolillo roll split open with a whole steaming tamal pushed inside, sometimes with a smear of green salsa, eaten with a cup of atole. It is starch in starch, cheap and filling enough to last until lunch. The name means 'turkey hen', a joke about how stuffed it is. This recipe makes eight vegetarian tamales of roasted poblano strips and melting cheese (rajas con queso); four go into rolls and the rest freeze well. Shop-bought vegetarian tamales work if you are short of time. Chef's tip: warm the bolillo on the comal while the tamal rests, so the crust crackles against the soft masa.
Long before fizzy guaraná, people in Mato Grosso started the day with this: a hard, dark stick of roasted guaraná seed paste grated into a glass of cold water with sugar and stirred well. Cuiabá's older generation still drink it at breakfast or in the heat of the afternoon, and market stalls sell the sticks along with the traditional grater, the dried tongue of the pirarucu fish (a fine microplane works just as well). It tastes bitter-earthy, a little like cocoa without the fat, and the caffeine is strong. Because guaraná contains more caffeine than coffee, keep to one glass a day, and avoid it for children, during pregnancy or if you are sensitive to caffeine. The usual error is grating far too much, which makes it bitter and overpowering; a level teaspoon per glass is plenty. Chef's tip: let it stand for a minute after stirring so the powder hydrates, then stir again before drinking.
Goiás is the one place in Brazil where people seek out bitterness in a palm heart: guariroba, from a cerrado palm, tastes like a cross between artichoke, chicory and jiló, and Goiânia's lunch counters serve it braised with tomato and onion beside rice, beans and pequi. The pale slices turn tender and silky, and the sharp, clean bitterness is softened by the sweet tomato base. Fresh guariroba is sold in Goiás markets, and jars or frozen packs in some Brazilian shops; elsewhere use ordinary palm heart with a handful of sliced chicory or radicchio for the bitterness. Cooks unfamiliar with it often boil it first to tame the bitterness, but that washes out the flavour that makes the dish; sauté it directly instead. Chef's tip: slice it thinly across the grain, because thick pieces stay fibrous however long you cook them.
Few Bogotá breakfasts beat a warm almojábana torn open next to a cup of hot chocolate. Bakeries across Cundinamarca and Boyacá, and especially roadside stops near Chía and Sopó, bake these pale, puffy rolls from fresh cuajada and fine corn meal, so they are springy, moist and salty-sweet inside with a thin, lightly browned crust. They are gluten free by nature. Cuajada is curd set with rennet, usually animal-derived; use vegetarian curd or ricotta drained very well. Too much corn meal is the mistake most people make: the almojábanas come out dry and heavy. The dough should feel soft and slightly tacky. Chef's tip: they are best within an hour of baking; reheat leftovers briefly in a hot oven, never the microwave, which makes them rubbery.
On the beaches of Pedregalejo and El Palo in Málaga, chiringuito cooks shake small fish in flour and fry them by the basketful: whole fresh anchovies (boquerones), rings of squid, strips of dogfish and little red mullet, served piled on paper with lemon. The secret is a coarse frying flour, partly durum semolina, and very clean, hot oil, so each piece comes out crisp and dry. Eat it at once, at the table, with a cold drink and a salad. Chef's tip: shake off every bit of loose flour in a sieve before frying; excess flour burns and makes the oil dark and bitter.
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