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Pastel de papas
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Pastel de papas

Midweek family dinners in Buenos Aires often come out of the oven in a deep dish: pastel de papas, the Argentine answer to cottage pie. The beef picadillo is cooked the way it is for empanadas, with onion, red pepper, paprika and cumin, then studded with green olives, chopped boiled egg and sometimes raisins for a sweet-salty bite, all under a thick, creamy mash browned with cheese or sugar on top. It is a dish of school lunches and Sunday leftovers, served with a green salad. Mince must reach 71 °C, which it will long before the potato crust browns; just make sure no pink remains when you cook the filling. A runny filling is the usual letdown, as it seeps into the mash, so cook it until the pan is almost dry. Chef's tip: sprinkle a teaspoon of sugar over the mash before baking, as many Argentine cooks do; it caramelises into a thin, crackly golden crust.

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Hakka stuffed tofu with mushroom filling

In Meizhou, the heart of Hakka country in east Guangdong, tofu stuffed with a meat filling is one of the dishes everyone expects at a family meal or a New Year table. Buddhist Hakka cooks fill it with mushroom, water chestnut and tofu instead, and that vegetarian version is given here. The squares are fried stuffed side down until crisp, then braised briefly so they soak up the sauce. Serve with rice and a plate of greens. Chef's tip: dust each hollow with cornflour before filling; it works like glue and stops the filling falling out.

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Hakka lei cha

Lei cha means 'pounded tea', and in Hakka villages from Jieyang and Hepo to Taiwan and Malaysia it is still ground by hand in a ridged bowl with a guava-wood stick. Tea leaves, basil, mint and coriander are pounded with sesame and peanuts, then loosened with hot water into a grassy green soup. It's ladled over a bowl of rice topped with small heaps of stir-fried greens, beans, tofu and preserved radish. Some families eat it on the seventh day of the New Year. Chef's tip: toast the sesame and peanuts yourself; the toasting gives the soup its depth.

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Xiamen sweet peanut soup

In Xiamen on the Fujian coast, peanut soup is breakfast, mid-morning snack and late-night treat, sold from steaming pots in the old arcades along Zhongshan Road. The peanuts are cooked so slowly that they become soft and creamy while keeping their shape, and the broth turns milky and lightly sweet. Locals often dunk a fried dough stick into it. Chef's tip: soak the peanuts, then freeze them overnight; the ice crystals break down the cell walls and the peanuts cook to that melting texture much faster.

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Yunnan wild mushroom stir-fry

From June to September, the markets of Kunming fill up with wild mushrooms from the mountains: porcini, chanterelles, termite mushrooms and dozens more, and restaurants fry them with a lot of garlic and chilli. Wild mushrooms there are always cooked thoroughly, and some kinds are dangerous, so at home use only shop-bought mushrooms. A mix of oyster, king oyster, shiitake and any chanterelles or porcini you can find works well. Chef's tip: cook the mushrooms in a hot, uncrowded pan so they sear; crowded mushrooms sweat and go rubbery.

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Kunming grilled erkuai

Erkuai is Yunnan's everyday rice cake, made by steaming and pounding rice into a dense, chewy dough. In Kunming and Tengchong, morning vendors grill thin rounds of it over charcoal until they blister, brush on sweet bean sauce, chilli and sesame, and fold it round fried dough or spicy potato shreds. Real erkuai is hard to find abroad, so the rounds here are made from rice flour and steamed, which comes close. Chef's tip: keep the rounds covered while you work, because the surface dries out and cracks quickly.

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Dai pineapple sticky rice

In Xishuangbanna, the tropical south of Yunnan, the Dai people cook sticky rice inside hollowed-out pineapples, so the fruit's juice soaks in while it steams. It turns up at festivals and on every Dai restaurant table, a sweet and tangy side next to grilled and sour dishes, and children love it. Soak the rice for at least 4 hours before you start. Chef's tip: use a ripe pineapple that smells sweet at the base; an under-ripe one makes the rice sour.

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Guiyang si wa wa

Guiyang's favourite street snack is a do-it-yourself meal: stalls set out twenty or more small bowls of shredded vegetables, and each person wraps a few strands in a pancake no bigger than a palm, folds it like a swaddled baby and pours in a spoonful of sour, chilli-flecked broth. It's light, crunchy and fun to eat with friends. Use as many fillings as you like; the more colours, the better. Chef's tip: shred everything as fine as you can, so the little parcels stay neat and each mouthful has several flavours.

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Guangxi five-colour sticky rice

The Zhuang people of Guangxi steam this rainbow rice for Sānyuèsān, the festival on the third day of the third lunar month, and for weddings and tomb-sweeping. In the villages the colours come from local leaves and flowers; at home, turmeric, beetroot, blue pea flowers and black rice give the same effect without any artificial dye. It's eaten plain, sprinkled with sugar or with savoury dishes. Soak the rice for 6 hours or overnight. Chef's tip: soak each colour in its own bowl and keep them apart in the steamer, so the colours stay clear.

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Hainan coconut rice

Across Hainan island, in Wenchang and Haikou especially, cooks fill whole mature coconuts with glutinous rice and steam them for hours until the rice is sticky, sweet and full of coconut flavour. The coconut is cut open at the table and served in wedges with the white flesh still attached. Look for brown, mature coconuts that slosh when shaken. Soak the rice for 4 hours first. Chef's tip: a cleaver tapped round the shell's 'equator' near the top opens it more safely than trying to saw it.

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Qingbuliang

On hot evenings in Haikou, night-market stalls ladle this into bowls: coconut milk poured over red beans, mung beans, sago pearls, cubes of jelly and fresh tropical fruit, with a scoop of shaved ice on top. The name roughly means 'clearing, nourishing, cooling', and Hainan people eat it to cool down in their long summer. Everything except the fruit can be cooked a day ahead and chilled. Chef's tip: cook each bean separately; they soften at different speeds.

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Wensi tofu soup

This Yangzhou soup is a test of knife skill: a block of soft tofu is sliced and shredded so finely that the threads drift apart like silk in the bowl. It is credited to a Buddhist monk named Wensi, who served it at a temple in Yangzhou during the Qing dynasty, so a meat-free broth is true to its roots. Huaiyang banquets still serve it as a quiet, delicate course. Chef's tip: wet the knife and slice in one smooth stroke without lifting; the tofu then stays together until you fan it into water.

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Shanghai stir-fried rice cakes

Every Shanghai noodle shop has this on the menu: oval slices of rice cake, made from pounded rice, tossed in a wok with Shanghai pak choi and mushrooms until chewy and glossy brown. At New Year it's eaten for luck, because niángāo sounds like 'higher every year'. The usual version adds shredded pork, but it's often made with vegetables alone. Look for packs of sliced rice cakes in the fridge or freezer of Chinese supermarkets. Chef's tip: soak the slices in cold water first, so they cook evenly and don't stick together.

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Shanghai ci fan tuan

Ci fan tuan is one of the 'four heavenly kings' of Shanghai breakfast, along with fried dough sticks, soy milk and sesame flatbread. Vendors spread warm sticky rice on a cloth, lay a crisp youtiao and pickles in the middle and squeeze it into a fat roll to eat on the way to work. The savoury version often adds pork floss; this one uses pickled mustard and sesame, and there's a sweet sugar version too. Soak the rice overnight. Chef's tip: wrap the rice tightly in cling film and a tea towel, so the roll holds without being squashed flat.

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Tibetan butter tea

On the cold Tibetan plateau, people drink many cups a day of this salty, buttery tea, and a host keeps topping up a guest's bowl as soon as a sip is taken. Traditionally, brick tea is boiled for a long time, then churned with yak butter and salt in a tall wooden cylinder called a chandong. At home, a blender gives the same creamy, frothy result. It tastes more like a light broth than a sweet tea. Chef's tip: boil the tea hard and long; it needs to be very strong to stand up to the butter.

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Beijing mung bean cakes

Beijing pastry shops stack these pale yellow cakes high in early summer, when they're eaten for the Dragon Boat Festival and as a cooling sweet on hot afternoons. Peeled mung beans are steamed, mashed with sugar and oil, then pressed in wooden moulds, so each cake comes out with a pattern. Northern versions are dry and crumbly; Suzhou ones further south are oilier. You need a mooncake press or small mould. Chef's tip: cook the paste until it pulls away from the pan in one ball; if it's too wet the cakes slump.

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Beijing sesame shaobing

Old Beijing eats these at breakfast with a bowl of soy milk, or tears them up beside a lamb hot pot. The dough is spread with toasted sesame paste and ground Sichuan pepper, rolled up and coiled, so a cut loaf shows a spiral of dozens of thin brown layers. The top is crusted with sesame seeds and baked until it shatters. Chef's tip: spread the paste right to the edges and roll tightly; air pockets make the layers separate and burst.

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Ludagun (donkey rolls)

The name means 'donkey rolling in the dust', after the golden soybean flour that coats these soft rolls like a donkey that has rolled on a dusty road. It's one of the old Beijing sweets sold at temple fairs and in snack streets near Houhai, often next to pea-flour cakes. Inside is chewy glutinous rice dough spread with red bean paste and rolled into a spiral. Chef's tip: toast the soybean flour yourself until it smells of roasted nuts; the shop-bought kind is often pale and flat-tasting.

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Tianjin fried sticky rice cakes

These are one of Tianjin's three famous snacks, named after Erduoyan ('ear hole') Lane, where the original shop opened over a hundred years ago. The dough is soft, slightly fermented glutinous rice, filled with dark, sweet red bean paste and fried until the shell is crisp and blistered while the inside stays chewy. Locals buy them for festivals and as a winter treat. Chef's tip: seal the edges thoroughly and fry at a moderate heat; hot oil makes them burst and spit.

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Dongbei da la pi

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.

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Xi'an liangpi

In Xi'an's Muslim Quarter, cooks peel liangpi off steaming trays all day, cut it into wide ribbons and toss it with chilli oil, black vinegar, garlic water and cubes of springy gluten. It's eaten cold, often with a flatbread, as a summer lunch. Gansu's niangpi, from Lanzhou and Tianshui, is the same dish with thicker sheets and more garlic, so it's covered here too. You wash a flour dough to split the starch from the gluten, so allow 4 hours for the starch to settle. Chef's tip: stir the starch water every time before you ladle it, because the starch sinks fast.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Fu champuru

Champuru means 'mixed up' in Okinawan and is the islands' everyday stir-fry. Goya champuru with bitter melon is the famous one; fu champuru, made with chewy wheat gluten, is the gentle, child-friendly version many Okinawan families cook several times a week. The fu, large dried rings called kurumabu, is soaked, squeezed and dipped in beaten egg, so as it fries it turns soft, fluffy and golden, a little like French toast. Home cooks often add luncheon meat; ours is vegetarian, with shiitake for savouriness. Serve with rice and miso soup. Chef's tip: squeeze the soaked fu hard before adding the egg. Dry fu drinks up all the egg; wet fu turns soggy.

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Umibudo salad

Umibudo, 'sea grapes', is a seaweed farmed in the warm, clear waters around Okinawa and Miyako island. Its tiny green beads burst in the mouth with a salty, oceanic pop, which is why Okinawans also call it green caviar. It's served as a starter in island izakaya, often next to a cold Orion beer, either plain with a dish of citrus soy or piled on a simple salad. Look for it vacuum-packed in salt at Japanese grocers; it keeps for weeks unopened. Chef's tip: dress the salad, not the sea grapes. Pour the dressing on the greens and dip the sea grapes as you eat, because vinegar and soy make the beads shrivel within minutes.

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Gungjung tteokbokki

Long before red gochujang tteokbokki took over Seoul's street stalls, the Joseon palace kitchens served gungjung tteokbokki (궁중떡볶이): chewy cylinders of rice cake tossed in a glossy soy and sesame glaze with mushrooms, peppers and onion. It is mild, savoury-sweet and fragrant with toasted sesame, which makes it the version Korean parents cook for children and for anyone who can't take heat. The court recipe used beef; shiitake and oyster mushrooms carry the same savoury depth here. Eat it warm as a snack or alongside rice and kimchi. Chef's tip: soften the rice cakes in hot water before they meet the pan, or the outsides scorch while the centres stay hard.

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Vegetable mandu-guk

In Seoul and the surrounding Gyeonggi province, the first meal of Seollal (Lunar New Year) is often mandu-guk (만두국): plump dumplings and coin-shaped rice cakes floating in clear broth, finished with ribbons of yellow and white egg and strips of toasted laver. The northern half of the peninsula has always favoured dumplings over rice cake soup, and Seoul families tend to combine the two. These mandu are filled with tofu, glass noodles, cabbage, mushrooms and chives, and the broth is a kelp and shiitake stock instead of beef. Fold the dumplings a day ahead and the soup comes together in 15 minutes. Chef's tip: squeeze the tofu and cabbage hard in a cloth; a wet filling turns the wrappers soggy and the dumplings split in the pot.

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Gujeolpan

Gujeolpan (구절판) takes its name from the octagonal lacquered tray it is served on: eight outer compartments of finely cut, separately seasoned fillings around a stack of paper-thin wheat crêpes in the middle. It was a dish of the Seoul royal court and noble households, and it still appears at weddings, 60th birthdays and Seollal tables, where everyone builds their own little rolls. Classic trays include beef; this one keeps all the colour with shiitake, wood ear, cucumber, carrot, peppers, radish and yellow and white egg. It takes patience rather than skill. Chef's tip: cut every filling into matchsticks the same length as the crêpes are wide, about 5 cm, so each roll closes neatly.

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Gyeongdan

Gyeongdan (경단) are small balls of boiled glutinous rice dough, filled or plain, and rolled in coloured coatings: golden roasted soybean powder, black sesame, green or toasted coconut. In Seoul they are made for a baby's 100th day and first birthday, and sold in rice-cake shops all year in mixed boxes. They are only lightly sweet, soft and stretchy, best eaten the day they are made with a cup of barley tea. Children love rolling them. Chef's tip: mix the dough with very hot water a spoonful at a time; it should feel like soft play-dough, and if it cracks when you roll a ball it needs a little more.

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Gamja ongsimi

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.

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Gamja jeon

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.

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Makguksu

Chuncheon, the lake city in Gangwon, is famous for two things: spicy grilled chicken and makguksu (막국수), coarse buckwheat noodles served icy cold. The name roughly means 'roughly made noodles', and the dish started as simple farm food in a region where buckwheat grew better than rice. In summer, makguksu houses serve it in a sweet, sour and spicy dressing with crunchy cucumber, sweet pear and sesame, often with a jug of chilled broth on the side to pour in halfway. This one is dressed with gochujang, vinegar and pear, and a cold kelp broth. Chef's tip: rinse the cooked noodles under cold running water and rub them between your hands until the water runs clear, then chill them in iced water; that washes off the starch and gives them their springy bite.

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Chodang sundubu

In Chodang village on the edge of Gangneung, tofu houses have curdled soy milk with clean seawater from the East Sea for generations, and the result, chodang sundubu (초당순두부), is served warm in a bowl before it has been pressed: soft, quivering curds in their own pale whey, with a soy dressing to spoon over. It is breakfast and lunch there, eaten with rice, kimchi and a few banchan, and tastes sweet and clean in a way packaged tofu never does. At home, nigari (the mineral salt left from seawater) gives the same effect. Use plain, unsweetened soy milk with at least 7% soy or make your own. Chef's tip: add the nigari off the heat and stir only once or twice; stirring after the curds start to form breaks them into grains.

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Hodu gwaja

Hodu gwaja (호두과자) were first sold at Cheonan station in South Chungcheong in the 1930s, and the town's walnut orchards still supply the pieces of nut hidden in every one. Today you find them in paper bags at every motorway service station in Korea: bite-sized, walnut-shaped cakes with a soft, eggy shell around sweet red bean paste and a chunk of walnut. They are made in a hinged cast-iron mould; a madeleine or Japanese takoyaki pan works too, though the shape will differ. Eat them warm, on the day. Chef's tip: heat the mould properly before the first batch; the first cakes are always the palest, so judge doneness by the colour of the later ones.

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Heotjesatbap

In Andong, the old Confucian town of North Gyeongsang, the scholars of the yangban class were said to want the food from jesa, the rite offered to ancestors, without waiting for a rite to come round, so they cooked the same dishes and called them heotjesatbap (헛제삿밥), 'fake rite rice'. Restaurants by Andong's dam still serve it: a bowl of rice to be mixed with brown, white and green namul and seasoned with soy sauce, never chilli, because ritual food avoids red pepper and garlic. The full table includes grilled fish and beef skewers; this vegetarian version keeps the vegetables and tofu jeon that make up most of it. Chef's tip: cook each namul separately with only salt, soy or sesame, so each keeps its own taste and colour when you mix the bowl.

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Bingtteok

Bingtteok (빙떡) comes from Jeju island, where volcanic soil grew buckwheat and radish better than rice. Thin, almost translucent buckwheat crêpes are rolled around a filling of blanched radish seasoned only with salt, sesame and spring onion. The flavour is gentle and nutty, and it was traditionally brought to funerals, weddings and village gatherings, sometimes with a cup of makgeolli. Today you find it at Jeju's Dongmun and Seogwipo markets beside more fiery snacks. Chef's tip: pour a little batter and swirl the pan fast, or spread it with the back of a ladle; bingtteok crêpes should be so thin you can almost see through them.

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Omegi tteok

Omegi tteok (오메기떡) are Jeju's best-known rice cakes: small dark-green rounds of glutinous millet and rice dough flavoured with mugwort, filled with sweet red bean, and rolled in a coat of mashed red beans or toasted nuts. Jeju farmers grew millet on fields too stony for rice, and the dough was once fermented into omegi-sul, the island's rice wine. Now they are bought in boxes at Seogwipo's Olle market as the island's favourite gift, kept in the freezer and thawed for tea time. Chef's tip: knead the dough with boiling water while it is still hot; mugwort and millet need the heat to bind into a smooth, stretchy dough.

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Hallabong ade

Hallabong (한라봉) is Jeju's pride: a large, sweet, easy-peel tangerine with a knob on top that is said to look like Hallasan, the island's volcano. Every café on Jeju sells hallabong ade (한라봉에이드), a tall glass of hallabong syrup topped up with sparkling water and ice, often with the fruit sliced into it. Koreans make the syrup, hallabong-cheong, by layering the sliced fruit with sugar in jars; this quick version is ready in 10 minutes. Outside Korea, use dekopon, sumo or any very sweet mandarin. Chef's tip: add a squeeze of lemon to the syrup; hallabong is so sweet that the drink tastes flat without a little extra acid.

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Kaeng pa (jungle curry)

Kaeng pa means 'forest curry', and around Ayutthaya, Suphan Buri and the rice-farming plains north of Bangkok it is the curry cooked when there is no coconut to hand: a thin, fiery, herb-scented broth packed with whatever vegetables grew nearby. It turns up at roadside curry-and-rice shops in the Central region, ladled over jasmine rice at lunchtime. Without coconut milk the flavour is sharp and clean, carried by wild ginger (krachai), fresh green peppercorns and holy basil. This version uses a home-pounded red paste with no shrimp paste and seasons with soy sauce instead of fish sauce. Chef's tip: fry the paste in a little oil until it smells toasty before any water goes in; raw paste makes a curry that tastes flat and grassy.

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Yam woon sen (vegetarian glass noodle salad)

Yam woon sen is the glass-noodle salad sold from the trays of 'yam' vendors in Bangkok's evening markets and served alongside beer at Central Thai gatherings. The street version is tossed with minced pork and prawns; this vegetarian one swaps them for crumbled firm tofu and crunchy wood ear mushrooms, which give the same mix of soft and bite. The noodles are dressed while still warm so they drink up the sour, salty, sweet and hot dressing, then finished with celery leaves, coriander and peanuts. Eat it at room temperature as a light lunch or as one dish in a shared spread. Chef's tip: celery leaves are not a garnish here; Thai cooks use Chinese celery as a main herb, so be generous.

25 minThaiSaladsVeganGluten free
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Khao tom (vegetable rice soup)

Khao tom is what Thais eat at the start of the day and, just as often, at two in the morning, when the 'khao tom kui' shops of Bangkok's Yaowarat and night-market stalls stay open for hungry people heading home. Unlike rice porridge (jok), the grains stay whole and separate in a light, clear broth, so it feels more like a soup than a congee. This vegan bowl uses a ginger and white pepper stock with soft tofu, Chinese cabbage and a spoon of golden garlic oil on top. It is gentle food, also what Thai families cook when someone is unwell. Chef's tip: use leftover cooked jasmine rice, rinsed under the tap; fresh rice turns the broth cloudy and starchy.

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Pad pak ruam

Pad pak ruam, 'stir-fried mixed vegetables', is the dish every Bangkok made-to-order (aharn tam sang) cook can make in ninety seconds over a roaring flame, and the one Thai office workers add to a lunch order so there is something green on the table. The vegetables stay crisp and bright, coated in a thin, glossy sauce of garlic, soy and mushroom stir-fry sauce. Restaurants use oyster sauce; the vegetarian mushroom version tastes almost the same. Serve it with jasmine rice and a fried egg, or as a side to curry. Chef's tip: cut everything before you light the stove, and add the vegetables in order of hardness, so the carrots soften while the greens stay snappy.

16 minThaiSidesVegan
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Kluay tod (Thai fried bananas)

In the afternoons, Bangkok's street-corner woks switch from noodles to snacks, and kluay tod is the one you smell from down the soi: wedges of small, firm bananas in a coconut and sesame batter, fried until bronze and sold in paper bags. The batter is made with rice flour and a little lime water, so it shatters rather than turning bready, while the banana inside goes soft and jammy. Thais use kluay nam wa, a short, tart banana; firm, just-ripe ordinary bananas work too. Eat them warm, on their own or with a scoop of coconut ice cream. Chef's tip: overripe bananas fall apart and soak up oil; choose ones that are yellow with no brown spots.

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Khanom bueang (Thai crispy crêpes)

Khanom bueang are little taco-shaped crêpes made on hot round griddles at markets and outside temples all over Bangkok, especially around the old town near the Grand Palace. A vendor spreads a whisper-thin batter with the back of a spoon, swirls on a fluffy meringue cream, then tops it with shredded coconut or sweet egg yolk threads before folding it while still hot. The sweet version, made here, crackles like a wafer and melts on the tongue. A savoury one with coconut and spring onion also exists. They are eaten as an afternoon snack, a few at a time, as soon as they are made. Chef's tip: the batter must go on very thinly. Thick shells stay chewy and never crisp up.

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Nam prik noom

Nam prik noom is the relish Chiang Mai is proud of: long green chillies, shallots and garlic charred over coals until blistered and soft, then pounded into a rough, smoky, gently hot dip. At Warorot Market and the morning markets of the north it is sold by the bagful next to crunchy pork rinds and baskets of steamed vegetables, and it sits on almost every Lanna family table with sticky rice. Most versions are salted with fish sauce or pla ra; this one uses salt and a dash of soy, and the smokiness carries it just as well. Eat it with blanched cabbage, long beans, cucumber and sticky rice. Chef's tip: roast the vegetables until their skins are black in patches and they collapse when pressed; undercooked chillies taste raw and sharp.

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Tam taeng (Isan pounded cucumber salad)

In Khon Kaen, Udon Thani and the rest of Isan, the somtam stall always offers a cucumber version alongside the papaya one, and many locals prefer it on hot afternoons: tam taeng is juicier, cooler and crunchier. Thick batons of cucumber are bruised, not smashed, with garlic, chillies, lime and palm sugar, so they soak up the dressing but keep their snap. Sellers add fermented fish or dried shrimp; this vegan bowl leans on soy and toasted peanuts for depth instead. It is eaten with sticky rice and grilled food, picked up with your fingers. Chef's tip: use firm cucumbers with small seeds and scoop out a watery core, or the salad floods within minutes.

15 minThaiSaladsVeganGluten freeSpicy
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Tom saep het (Isan hot and sour mushroom soup)

'Saep' is the Isan word for delicious, and in the northeast it means hot, sour and herby all at once. Tom saep is the soup sold from big pots at Isan restaurants and roadside grill shops from Nakhon Ratchasima to Ubon, usually with pork bones or offal; mushroom versions are just as common during the rainy season, when wild mushrooms fill the markets. It has no coconut milk: the broth is clear and sharp with lemongrass, galangal, makrut lime leaves and handfuls of dried chilli, thickened slightly with roasted rice powder. Eat it with sticky rice and grilled vegetables. Chef's tip: add the lime juice off the heat; boiled lime turns bitter and loses its fresh sourness.

35 minThaiSoupsVeganGluten freeSpicy
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Khao yam (southern Thai rice salad)

Khao yam is breakfast in the south: in Nakhon Si Thammarat, Pattani and Songkhla, morning stalls set out trays of tightly shredded lemongrass, pomelo, long beans, bean sprouts, makrut lime leaves and toasted coconut, and you build your plate around a mound of rice, often tinted blue with butterfly pea flowers. The dressing is normally budu, a sweet fermented fish sauce from the Malay borderlands. This version makes a vegetarian 'budu' by simmering soy sauce, tamarind, palm sugar, lemongrass and shallot into a dark syrup. The result is crunchy, fragrant, sweet, salty and sour in every mouthful. Chef's tip: shred everything as finely as you can; thin slivers of lemongrass and lime leaf are pleasant, thick ones are woody.

45 minThaiSaladsVeganGluten free
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Kaeng tai pla jay (southern vegetable curry)

Kaeng tai pla is the boldest curry of southern Thailand, eaten from Surat Thani down to Hat Yai: a dark, pungent, fiercely hot broth of turmeric-heavy southern curry paste, pumpkin, bamboo shoots, aubergine and long beans, normally flavoured with fermented fish innards. During the Vegetarian Festival (thetsakan kin jay), held every autumn in Phuket and Trang, cooks make a 'jay' version with fermented soybean paste and roasted peanut, and that is the curry here. It is thinner than a coconut curry and served with rice and plenty of raw vegetables to cool the heat. Chef's tip: this curry is meant to be very hot. If you want less heat, add fewer bird's eye chillies to the paste but keep the black pepper and turmeric, which give it its character.

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Roti mataba (potato-stuffed roti)

Roti mataba came to southern Thailand with Indian-Muslim traders, and today the roti stalls of Hat Yai, Satun and Pattani, and the old Muslim quarter around Bangkok's Phra Athit Road, serve it from morning till late. A thin stretched roti is wrapped around a spiced filling, folded into a square and fried until crisp and blistered. Chicken or beef is the usual filling; the potato and onion version made here is also common and is the one sold to vegetarian customers. It comes cut into squares with a sweet-sour cucumber relish (ajad) on the side. Chef's tip: oil the dough balls and leave them to rest for at least two hours; rested dough stretches paper-thin without tearing.

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Banh trang nuong

Bánh tráng nướng is the snack of Da Lat's night market, where vendors grill sheets of rice paper over small charcoal braziers, crack on an egg, spread it with a bamboo brush and fold the crackling disc in half to hand over in a paper napkin. Visitors call it Vietnamese pizza. The usual toppings include dried shrimp and sausage; this vegetarian version keeps the egg, spring onion, sweetcorn and crispy shallots, finished with chilli sauce and squiggles of mayonnaise. A dry frying pan does the job at home. Chef's tip: keep the heat low to medium; rice paper scorches in seconds, and it needs time for the egg to set on top while it crisps underneath.

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Fresh hot soy milk

On cold Da Lat nights, the steam rising from soy milk stalls is part of the scenery around the central market: big pots of freshly made sữa đậu nành, ladled hot into glasses and sipped with grilled rice paper or a warm bánh bao. Made at home, it tastes nutty and clean, nothing like the cartons, and a knot of pandan leaf gives it the gentle vanilla-like scent that Vietnamese sellers favour. Chef's tip: rub the soaked beans between your palms and float off the skins; peeled beans give a smoother, sweeter milk.

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Lontong sayur

In Jakarta, lontong sayur is what the morning carts sell before offices open: firm slices of pressed rice sitting in a thin, golden coconut broth with chayote, long beans and squares of tofu and tempeh. Betawi families also cook a big pot of it for Lebaran morning. Street versions often add dried shrimp to the spice paste; this one keeps the flavour with candlenuts, galangal and salam leaf instead. Serve with sambal, fried shallots and crackers. Chef's tip: cook the lontong the day before and chill it overnight; cold rice cakes slice cleanly and soak up the broth without falling apart.

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Sukiyaki (Kanto style)

Beef was rarely eaten in Japan until the Meiji era, when Tokyo's new beef-pot restaurants made it fashionable, and sukiyaki grew out of those pots. Today it is a dish for New Year, birthdays and family gatherings, cooked in a shallow iron pan on a burner in the middle of the table. In the Kanto style of Tokyo, the cook pours in a ready-mixed sauce called warishita, whereas Kansai cooks sear the beef with sugar and add soy sauce afterwards. Each piece is dipped in beaten raw egg, which cools it and softens the sweet, salty sauce. Use very fresh eggs, ideally pasteurised; not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. If you prefer, skip the egg or poach it in the pan. Chef's tip: keep the shirataki noodles away from the beef in the pan; they can make the meat firm up and toughen where they touch.

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Kishimen (Nagoya flat noodle soup)

Travellers changing trains at Nagoya Station often grab a bowl of kishimen standing up at one of the platform noodle counters, and the dish is eaten all year in noodle shops across the city. The noodles are wide, thin and slippery, so they pick up a lot of broth with every mouthful. A typical bowl has a light, golden dashi, sweet fried tofu, a little green vegetable, a slice of fish cake and a big pile of bonito flakes that wave in the steam. It takes about 20 minutes from start to finish. Chef's tip: add the bonito topping right at the table, not in the kitchen; it softens and sinks within a minute, and the fresh smoky smell is half the pleasure.

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Hitsumabushi (Nagoya grilled eel rice)

Order hitsumabushi in a Nagoya eel restaurant and it arrives in a round wooden tub, often with a small card explaining how to eat it. You divide the rice into quarters: eat the first plain, the second with spring onion, wasabi and nori, the third drowned in hot dashi or green tea, and the last whichever way you liked best. Nagoya cooks grill the eel until the skin is crisp, then chop it into strips. At home, ready-grilled eel fillets (unagi kabayaki, sold frozen in Japanese shops) work very well once reheated properly. Chef's tip: spoon a little of the sweet sauce through the rice before the eel goes on, so every mouthful is seasoned, not just the top layer.

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Vegetarian bun rieu

In Hanoi, bún riêu is a mid-morning bowl bought from street sellers who set up on low plastic stools: a tangy red tomato broth with rice vermicelli and soft, floating curds that are normally made from pounded paddy crab. Vegetarian cooks and Buddhist temple kitchens make bún riêu chay instead, folding crumbled tofu, egg and chopped shiitake into the same loose, spongy curds, and seasoning the broth with fermented tofu rather than shrimp paste. It arrives with fried tofu, lime, chilli, shredded water spinach and perilla, so each spoonful is sour, savoury and fresh at once. Chef's tip: let the tomatoes fry in the annatto oil until they collapse into a jammy paste before any stock goes in; that is where the broth gets its colour and depth.

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