What to eat today?

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Shanxi knife-shaved noodles with tomato and egg

In Taiyuan, noodle cooks hold a block of stiff dough on one arm and shave strips off it straight into a boiling cauldron, so fast they look like falling leaves. Each noodle comes out thick in the middle and thin at the edges, chewy and slightly uneven, which is the whole charm. The most common topping in Shanxi homes is a soft tomato and egg sauce, with a splash of aged vinegar at the table. Chef's tip: a firm dough is essential; a soft one sticks to the blade and tears.

70 min

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Shanxi cat's ear noodles

Shanxi has more pasta shapes than almost anywhere in China, and these are among the easiest to make by hand: small pieces of dough pressed and rolled with the thumb so they curl up like a cat's ear. Families in Taiyuan and Pingyao boil them and then stir-fry them with vegetables, or serve them in broth. The cupped shape catches the sauce. Children enjoy shaping them. Chef's tip: dust the board lightly with flour; too much and the dough slides instead of curling.

50 min

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Rujak buah

Across Java, rujak buah is the afternoon snack that office workers share from a paper cone: crisp green mango, jicama, pineapple and cucumber dragged through a dark, sticky sauce of palm sugar, tamarind and crushed chilli. Hawkers usually add shrimp paste; many make a version without, which is what this is, with a few roasted peanuts for body. The mix of sour fruit and hot, sweet sauce wakes you up on a humid day. Chef's tip: chill the fruit but keep the sauce at room temperature, so it stays loose enough to cling.

15 min

Indonesian Salads

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Gansu jiangshui noodles

Tianshui and other towns in Gansu keep a crock of jiangshui going all summer: a pale, sour liquid made by fermenting greens in starchy noodle water. It is heated with chilli, Sichuan pepper and garlic chives and poured over hand-cut noodles, a cooling, refreshing bowl that people say beats the heat. The ferment takes 3–4 days in a warm kitchen, then keeps going for weeks if you top it up. Chef's tip: a spoonful of sauerkraut brine jump-starts the first batch, so it sours cleanly instead of growing off-flavours.

40 min

Chinese Breads & Parathas

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Xinjiang onion nang

Across Xinjiang, from Kashgar's bazaars to Urumqi's backstreets, bakers slap rounds of dough onto the walls of clay tandoors and pull them out a few minutes later, golden and stamped with patterns. The centre is pressed thin and crisp while the rim stays soft and chewy, and the onion version is scattered with cumin and sesame. Nang keeps for days and is eaten with tea, kebabs and salads. Chef's tip: get your oven and tray as hot as they'll go; nang bakes quickly in fierce heat.

50 min

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Tibetan tingmo

Tingmo are the everyday bread of Tibet: plain steamed buns made by stretching and twisting oiled strips of dough into a knot, so they open into soft, pull-apart layers. Families in Lhasa and Tibetan communities in Nepal and India eat them with spicy vegetable stews, dal and chilli sauce, tearing off pieces to mop up the sauce. The dough is simple; the twist takes a little practice. Chef's tip: once the steaming time is up, turn off the heat and wait 3 minutes before lifting the lid, so the buns don't collapse.

85 min

Chinese Breads & Parathas

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Sapporo soup curry

Sapporo's soup curry was born in the city's cafés in the 1970s and became a craze in the 2000s, when hundreds of small shops opened across Hokkaido's capital, each letting you pick a heat level from 1 to 30. It is nothing like the thick roux curry most of Japan knows: the broth is as thin as soup, aromatic with cumin, cardamom and garlic, and the vegetables arrive large and separately roasted, so each keeps its own colour and bite. Locals eat it in the long Hokkaido winter with a plate of rice on the side, taking a spoonful of rice and dunking it into the broth. Chef's tip: roast or fry the vegetables apart from the broth and only meet them in the bowl. The contrast of crisp-edged vegetables and hot, loose broth is the whole point.

65 min

Japanese Curries

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Hokkaido butter corn

Hokkaido grows most of Japan's sweetcorn, and in late summer roadside stands around Sapporo and Furano sell cobs so sweet people eat them raw. Butter corn is how the island turns that harvest into a side dish: kernels hissing in a hot pan with Hokkaido's other pride, butter, and finished with soy sauce until the edges catch. You'll find it as a ramen topping, a beer snack in izakaya and a bento filler. Serve it hot beside grilled vegetables or rice. Chef's tip: let the kernels sit in the pan without stirring for a minute at a time. A few browned, almost toasted kernels give the dish its nutty, popcorn-like smell.

10 min

Japanese Sides

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Zunda mochi

Zunda is Sendai's signature sweet: young green soybeans mashed with sugar into a coarse, pale-green paste. Farmers in Miyagi made it at the end of summer, when edamame were at their best, and it is still sold everywhere from Sendai station's souvenir halls to small tea shops, now also as zunda shakes and rolls. The flavour is gentle, beany and fresh, closer to sweet peas than to red bean paste. Spoon it over warm, chewy rice dumplings and serve with green tea. Chef's tip: rub the skins off the cooked beans. It takes ten minutes but turns the paste from dull khaki to a vivid jade colour.

35 min

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Monjayaki

Monjayaki comes from Tsukishima, a small island district in Tokyo Bay, where one street holds more than seventy monja restaurants. It began as a cheap after-school snack at sweet shops, with children writing letters in thin batter on a griddle. Today friends gather round a teppan table, build a ring of chopped cabbage, pour the runny batter into the middle and eat it with tiny spatulas while it is still molten. It never sets into a pancake like okonomiyaki: the texture is gooey, with crisp, toasty bits where it sticks to the plate. Our version leaves out the usual dried shrimp and uses mochi and cheese, a favourite Tsukishima combination. Chef's tip: press a little monja against the hot griddle with your spatula and wait until it crackles. That crisp layer, called the okoge, is the best bite.

27 min

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Kakiage soba

In Tokyo, hot soba with a fritter on top is the city's fast food. Standing soba counters near train stations, called tachigui soba, have served it to commuters since the Edo period, when soba and tempura stalls stood side by side. The fritter here is kakiage: a loose nest of onion, carrot and greens held together with just enough batter to fry into a lacy disc. It softens a little in the broth and flavours it with toasty oil, which is why many Tokyoites eat half of it crisp and let the rest soak. Our broth uses kombu and shiitake instead of bonito. Chef's tip: slide the kakiage into the oil off a flat spatula or ladle, and don't touch it for the first minute. It needs that time to set, or it falls apart.

40 min

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Hoba miso

In the old mountain town of Takayama, in Gifu's Hida region, inns serve breakfast with a small charcoal brazier on the table and a dried magnolia leaf, hoba, resting on its grill. On it sits a mound of miso mixed with leek and mushrooms. As the leaf warms, the miso bubbles and gives off a smoky, woodsy smell, and you scoop it up with rice. It started as farmhouse winter food, when people toasted frozen pickles on leaves to thaw them. Dried hoba leaves are sold in Japanese shops and online; a sheet of baking paper works too, without the scent. Chef's tip: soak the leaf in water first. A damp leaf scorches slowly and perfumes the miso instead of catching fire.

23 min

Japanese Vegetarian

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Shinshu soba with spicy daikon dip

Nagano, the old province of Shinshu, grows buckwheat on cool mountain plateaux, and its soba is famous across Japan. In the castle town of Takato, and in the Aizu villages that took the custom with them, the noodles are not dipped in sweet soy sauce at all. Instead each diner gets a cup of juice squeezed from grated, eye-wateringly hot daikon, stirred with toasted miso. The result is sharp, clean and peppery, and it wakes up the earthy buckwheat. It's a summer lunch, eaten cold with a sprinkle of spring onion. Chef's tip: grate the daikon only just before serving. Its heat fades within 20 minutes, and the dish depends on that fresh bite.

25 min

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Oyaki

Oyaki are the everyday snack of Nagano's mountain villages, where rice was scarce and wheat and buckwheat grew better. The plump dumplings are filled with whatever the season gives: pickled nozawana greens in winter, aubergine and miso in summer, sweet squash in autumn. Old farmhouses baked them in the ashes of the irori hearth; today they are browned in a pan and steamed, so they come out crusty on both faces with a soft, chewy middle. They travel well, which made them the lunch of farmers and hikers on the trails around Zenkoji temple. Chef's tip: let the dough rest for at least 30 minutes. A relaxed dough stretches thin around the filling without tearing.

65 min

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Vegetable kushikatsu

Kushikatsu belongs to Shinsekai, the neon-lit old entertainment district at the foot of Osaka's Tsutenkaku tower. Since the 1920s, labourers have stood at its counters eating skewers fried to order, dunked in a shared steel pot of thin, fruity sauce. The famous house rule, 'no double dipping', is printed on signs everywhere. Vegetables are as popular as meat there: lotus root, shiitake, onion, asparagus and, a local favourite, chewy mochi and cheese. Have a plate of raw cabbage leaves on the side; they're free at every shop and used to scoop extra sauce. Chef's tip: use fine panko, or blitz ordinary panko briefly. Fine crumbs give the thin, crunchy jacket that Osaka shops are known for.

50 min

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Yudofu

Yudofu is the simplest dish in Kyoto and one of the most loved. The city's soft water makes fine tofu, and the restaurants around Nanzen-ji temple in the Higashiyama hills have served it to pilgrims for centuries as part of Buddhist vegetarian cooking. A block of tofu is warmed in an earthenware pot over a sheet of kombu and lifted out with a little slotted ladle, then dipped in citrusy soy with spring onion and ginger. It's a winter dish, best eaten slowly at the table on a cold evening. Chef's tip: never let the water boil. The tofu is ready when it trembles and starts to rise; boiling makes it spongy and full of holes.

50 min

Japanese Vegetarian

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Kyoto takiawase

Obanzai is what Kyoto calls its everyday home cooking: thrifty, seasonal side dishes that families keep in the fridge and that small restaurants line up in bowls along the counter. Takiawase, 'simmered together', is one of its finest. Each vegetable is cooked separately in a pale, delicate broth, so the kabocha stays orange, the daikon turns translucent and the carrot keeps its colour, then they are arranged side by side in one dish. Kyoto cooks season with light-coloured usukuchi soy, which is saltier than regular soy but doesn't darken the food. Serve it warm or at room temperature with rice and miso soup. Chef's tip: let everything cool in its broth. The vegetables soak up most of their flavour as they cool, not while they boil.

55 min

Japanese Sides

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Homemade fresh yuba

Yuba is the thin skin that forms on soy milk as it heats, and in Kyoto and the temple town of Nikko it is a delicacy in its own right. Workshops in Kyoto's old streets have made it for centuries for monks' shojin ryori, the Buddhist vegetarian cuisine that relied on it for protein. Fresh yuba is soft, creamy and faintly sweet, and the first sheets of the day, eaten warm with a drop of soy, are prized above all. It needs patience rather than skill: just a wide pan, gentle heat and good soy milk. Serve as a starter with wasabi soy, or roll the sheets and slice them. Chef's tip: use unsweetened soy milk with at least 7% protein (check the label). Thin supermarket drinks won't form a skin.

45 min

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Warabimochi

Warabimochi is Kyoto's summer sweet. Made from the starch of bracken fern roots, it is not really mochi at all but a clear, wobbly jelly that melts on the tongue, and on hot afternoons teahouses around Gion and Arashiyama serve it chilled on ice. It is dusted with kinako, a nutty roasted soybean flour, and finished with kuromitsu, a dark syrup of Okinawan brown sugar. Real warabi starch is costly and greyish-brown, so most home cooks buy warabimochi-ko, a blend with sweet potato or tapioca starch, which gives a clearer jelly. Chef's tip: keep stirring hard once it turns clear. Two more minutes of beating over the heat is what makes it springy rather than gluey.

25 min

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Momiji manju

Momiji manju are the souvenir of Miyajima, the sacred island off Hiroshima famous for its floating red torii gate and its maple trees, which turn scarlet each November. A confectioner there first baked them around 1906, and today shops along the island's main street still turn them out of iron moulds while visitors watch. The cake is a soft, honey-scented sponge, the filling smooth red bean paste. Tokyo's Asakusa sells a near twin, ningyo-yaki, baked in the shapes of dolls and temple lanterns; this recipe makes both, depending on your mould. Serve with green tea. Chef's tip: rest the batter for 30 minutes before baking. The flour hydrates, the bubbles settle and the cakes come out smooth and evenly brown.

40 min

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Izumo warigo soba

Izumo, in Shimane, is home to one of Japan's oldest shrines, and its soba is among the country's three most famous. The buckwheat is ground whole, husk and all, so the noodles are grey-brown, rough and strongly nutty. They come in a stack of three shallow round lacquer boxes called warigo, a custom from the picnic boxes Izumo townspeople carried to view flowers in the Edo period. You don't dip the noodles: you pour sauce and toppings straight onto the top bowl, eat it, then tip what's left onto the next. Classic toppings are grated daikon, spring onion and nori; ours leave out the usual bonito flakes. Chef's tip: look for 'inaka' (country-style) or 100% buckwheat soba. Paler noodles taste too mild for this dish.

25 min

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Kamatama udon

Kagawa, the smallest prefecture in Japan, eats more udon than anywhere else, and its Sanuki udon is known for a firm, springy bite. Locals queue at self-service udon shops at breakfast, and one of the most popular orders is kamatama: noodles lifted straight from the boiling pot, dropped onto a raw egg and tossed until the heat turns the egg into a glossy coating, a little like carbonara. A splash of soy sauce and some spring onion are all it needs. Use frozen Sanuki-style udon, which is closest to fresh. Chef's tip: warm the bowls and crack the egg in first. The noodles must go in seconds after leaving the water, or the egg won't cook into a sauce.

10 min

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Ehime mikan jelly

Ehime, on the sunny north coast of Shikoku, is Japan's mandarin country. Terraced orchards climb its hillsides above the Seto Inland Sea, and the local mikan is so central to life there that some towns joke their taps run with juice. Mikan jelly is the prefecture's everyday treat, sold in cups at service stations and made at home when the fruit glut comes in winter. Ours is set with kanten (agar) instead of gelatine, which also means it holds firm at room temperature and doesn't melt on a hot day. Serve chilled after dinner. Chef's tip: boil the agar properly for 2 minutes. Agar only sets once fully dissolved, and undercooked agar leaves a grainy, weak jelly.

20 min

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Nagasaki castella

Castella arrived in Nagasaki with Portuguese traders in the 16th century, when the port was Japan's only window to Europe, and the name probably comes from 'pão de Castela', bread from Castile. Over 400 years Nagasaki's bakers turned it into something their own: a tall, fine-crumbed sponge made only of eggs, sugar, flour and honey, with a dark, sticky top and a layer of crunchy zarame sugar crystals at the bottom. It's still sold in long wooden boxes at old shops near the harbour and given as a formal gift. Cut it into neat slices and serve with green tea. Chef's tip: wrap the cake in cling film while still warm and rest it overnight. Its moist, springy texture develops as it rests.

75 min

Japanese Baking

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Imo kenpi

Kagoshima, at Kyushu's southern tip, is Japan's sweet potato heartland. The crop is so closely tied to the region that the Japanese word for sweet potato, satsuma-imo, means 'Satsuma potato', after the old name of Kagoshima. Imo kenpi are its simplest snack: thin batons of sweet potato fried until crisp, then tossed in a syrup that sets into a glassy shell. Kids grab them from bags at the corner shop, and grandparents make them at home with the autumn harvest. They are crunchy, sweet and a little salty. Chef's tip: fry the potato twice, slowly first, then hot. That drives out the water and gives a snap that lasts for days.

40 min

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Okinawan taco rice (vegetarian)

Taco rice was invented in 1984 in the town of Kin, Okinawa, next to a large US Marine base, by a café owner who put taco fillings on rice to make a cheap, filling plate for young soldiers. It became one of Okinawa's best-loved comfort foods and now turns up in school lunches, convenience stores and beach cafés across the islands. The usual filling is spiced minced beef; Okinawan cafés also offer bean versions, and ours uses kidney beans and walnuts for the same crumbly bite. Serve it with hot sauce and eat it from one bowl, mixing as you go. Chef's tip: cook the filling until it's almost dry. A juicy filling soaks the rice and the cheese won't melt into it properly.

30 min

Japanese Rice & Grains

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Sata andagi

In the Okinawan language, sata andagi simply means 'sugar deep-fried'. These round doughnuts came from Chinese sweets brought to the old Ryukyu kingdom and have been a family treat on the islands for centuries, made for celebrations and sold warm in paper bags at Naha's Makishi market. They are dense and cakey inside with a thick, crunchy crust, and as they fry they split open into a shape Okinawans call a smile, a sign of good luck. Okinawa's dark kokuto sugar gives them a caramel flavour; brown sugar works too. Chef's tip: fry in oil that is only warm, about 150°C. Slow frying lets the balls cook through and crack open, while hot oil seals them shut and leaves the middle raw.

40 min