Golden, crunchy outside and soft inside, banatage are mashed-potato croquettes hiding a spoon of tuna, parsley and harissa, rolled in breadcrumbs and fried. They come out during Ramadan beside the brik and chorba, are tucked into lunchboxes and are a favourite with children all over Tunisia. Leftover mash works well, as long as it is firm. Serve them hot with lemon wedges, a salad or a dab of harissa. Chef's tip: dry the boiled potatoes in the hot pan for a minute before mashing; wet, watery mash is the usual mistake and makes croquettes that split open in the oil.
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Kachumbari is the raw salad that goes with nearly everything in Kenya and Tanzania: nyama choma grills in Nairobi, pilau on the Swahili coast, chips mayai at roadside stalls and ugali at home. It is simply ripe tomato and red onion cut small, with coriander, chilli and lime, and sometimes cucumber or avocado. Chef's tip: soak the sliced onion in salted water for ten minutes; it takes away the harsh bite without losing the crunch.
Sambusa are the crunchy triangles sold on the streets of Harar and Dire Dawa, and made at home across Ethiopia for Ramadan, Meskel and Timkat celebrations. The Ethiopian version is usually filled with brown lentils (misir), cooked dry with onion, green chilli and spices, then wrapped in thin pastry and fried until blistered and golden. Eat them hot, with a squeeze of lemon or a spicy dip. Chef's tip: cook the lentil filling until it is quite dry; a wet filling makes the pastry soggy and causes bursting in the hot oil.
Mishti doi, 'sweet yogurt', is the classic end to a Bengali meal, sold in Kolkata sweet shops in unglazed clay pots. Milk is simmered until it thickens, sweetened with sugar cooked to a deep caramel, then set overnight with a little live yogurt. The result is thick, creamy and smooth, with a toffee-like sweetness and a gentle tang. Clay pots absorb excess whey, which makes it extra thick, but small glass or ceramic bowls work too. Chef's tip: cool the milk to just warm (about 40°C, comfortable on your little finger) before adding the starter; too hot kills the culture and too cool leaves it runny.
Sopa de quinua is everyday food in the Andes, from Puno on Lake Titicaca to Cusco and Huancayo, where quinoa has been grown for thousands of years. Quinoa, potato, carrot and corn simmer in a light broth seasoned with garlic, cumin, oregano and a little ají amarillo, and the potato breaks down slightly to give body. It is light yet filling, the soup families eat at midday to warm up in cold mountain air. In Peru it is finished with huacatay, the black mint of the Andes; a mix of mint and coriander stands in well. Chef's tip: rinse the quinoa in a sieve under running water, rubbing it, until the water stops foaming; the natural saponin coating tastes bitter and soapy.
Sopa de tortilla, also called sopa azteca, is one of the best-loved soups of Mexico City's fondas: a brick-red broth of charred tomato, onion, garlic and dried pasilla chilli poured over crisp strips of fried corn tortilla. The strips soften at the edges and stay crunchy in the middle, and the toppings of avocado, fresh cheese, cream and fried chilli rings make each spoonful different. It is a starter in a comida corrida (set lunch) and a cure-all on a cold evening. We use a well-flavoured vegetable stock in place of chicken broth. Chef's tip: fry the blended tomato purée in hot oil until it darkens and smells sweet before adding the stock; this "seasoning" of the sauce is what makes Mexican soups taste deep rather than thin.
Kachri is a small wild melon that grows on its own in the sandy fields of southern Haryana and western Rajasthan. Sliced and sun-dried, it keeps for a year and has a sharp, sour taste that farmers' families grind with garlic and red chilli into this fiery chutney. A spoonful goes with bajra roti and white butter on a winter afternoon, or with dal and rice when there is nothing else in the house. Dried kachri and kachri powder are sold in Indian grocers. Chef's tip: taste a piece of dried kachri first; occasionally one batch is bitter, and that bitterness will ruin the whole jar.
Holubtsi, 'little doves', are the cabbage rolls of Ukrainian family feasts, made by the trayful for weddings, christenings and Christmas in homes from Lviv to Poltava. This version contains pork: tender cabbage leaves wrap a mix of pork and beef mince, rice, onion and carrot, and the rolls bake slowly in a tomato and soured cream sauce. Serve with more soured cream and dill. Chef's tip: core the cabbage and simmer the whole head, peeling off leaves as they soften; they come away without tearing.
When it rains in Santiago, Chileans make sopaipillas. These round, pricked discs of dough are made with mashed pumpkin, which gives them a soft orange crumb, and are fried until puffed. Street carts sell them with pebre, mustard or ketchup; at home on wet winter afternoons they're 'pasadas', simmered briefly in a spiced chancaca (raw cane sugar) syrup with orange peel and cinnamon. Chef's tip: prick each disc several times with a fork before frying, so they puff evenly and don't balloon into one big bubble.
Mish-mash is the quick summer supper of Bulgaria, cooked in every home from Sofia flats to Black Sea holiday villas once the peppers and tomatoes are cheap and ripe. Roasted peppers, onion and tomato are fried down, then sirene and beaten eggs are stirred through until soft and creamy, finished with parsley. The crumbled white brined cheese melting into the eggs is what makes it Bulgarian rather than Turkish menemen. It is eaten straight from the pan with fresh bread, often with a glass of cold beer. Chef's tip: cook the eggs gently and take them off while still a little wet; overcooking is the common mistake, and they turn rubbery and weep water.
Sopes are a classic antojito of central Mexico: small, thick discs of corn masa cooked on a comal, pinched up at the edge while hot to make a little rim, then crisped in a film of oil and piled with refried beans, salsa, lettuce, crema and crumbled cheese. The base is crisp underneath and soft and steamy inside, with the sweet, earthy taste of nixtamalised corn. Serve two or three per person as a starter or a light supper. Use masa harina for tortillas, made from nixtamalised corn; cornmeal or polenta will not hold together. Choose queso fresco made with vegetarian rennet, or use a mild feta. Chef's tip: pinch the rims as soon as the sopes come off the comal; once they cool the masa sets and cracks.
Vinegret is the ruby-coloured salad that sits on almost every Ukrainian New Year and Christmas table, alongside olivier, and fills lunch boxes through the winter. Cooked beetroot, potato and carrot are diced small and tossed with sauerkraut, pickled cucumbers and beans, then dressed with fragrant unrefined sunflower oil, the kind sold by the bottle at markets in Poltava and Kherson. Despite the name there is often no vinegar at all; the sourness comes from the pickles. It is vegan, cheap and keeps for days. Chef's tip: dress the diced beetroot with oil on its own first, then mix in everything else; the oil coats it so the potatoes stay pale and the salad looks like a mosaic rather than all pink.
Misal pav is Maharashtra's great street breakfast, eaten from Pune's old eateries to the hot, red misal of Kolhapur. Sprouted moth beans (matki) are cooked into a thick usal, then drowned at the table in a fiery, oily, thin curry called kat or tarri, and topped with crunchy farsan, raw onion, coriander and a squeeze of lemon. It comes with soft pav to mop it all up. Each person builds their own bowl, adding as much tarri as their tongue can take. Chef's tip: let the kat simmer until a red layer of oil floats on top; Pune vendors skim this 'tarri' off and spoon it over each bowl, and that oily, spicy film is the whole point of a good misal.
Mirza ghasemi comes from Gilan, the green, rainy Caspian province around Rasht, where it is eaten as a starter or a light lunch with bread or rice. Aubergines are charred whole until smoky and soft, then cooked down with a lot of garlic, turmeric and tomato, and finished by stirring in eggs so they set in soft streaks through the purée. It tastes smoky, sweet and garlicky, and is best scooped up with warm flatbread and pickles. Chef's tip: char the aubergines over a gas flame or under a hot grill until the skin is papery and black all over; a pale-skinned aubergine gives no smoke.
In Jodhpur, the day often begins at a roadside kadhai: huge, mild green chillies stuffed with spiced potato, coated in gram-flour batter and fried until golden and blistered, then eaten hot with sweet milky chai. Stalls near the Clock Tower and Sardar Market make them all day, and during the monsoon the queues grow longer. The chilli adds a fresh, green bite more than heat, and the filling is tangy with amchur and fennel. A common mistake is frying in oil that is not hot enough, which makes the batter heavy and oily. Chef's tip: fry each vada once until pale gold, rest it for a few minutes, then fry it again for 1 minute just before serving—this is the stall trick for a crust that stays crisp.
Mirchi ka salan comes from Hyderabad, where it's the classic partner for biryani at weddings and Sunday lunches. Fat, mild green chillies are fried until blistered, then simmered in a nutty gravy of roasted peanuts, sesame and dried coconut, soured with tamarind. The result is rich, tangy and only gently hot, with the chillies giving a fresh, grassy bite. It also tastes very good with plain rice, jeera rice or parathas and is even better the next day. Chef's tip: roast the peanuts, sesame and coconut separately and slowly; each browns at its own pace, and one scorched spoonful of sesame turns the whole gravy bitter.
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.
Mine frite (fried noodles) arrived with the Hakka Chinese community of Port Louis and is now everyone's favourite, sold from food vans and stalls all over Mauritius and made at home for weekend lunches. Egg noodles are tossed in a very hot wok with garlic, cabbage, carrot, spring onion and soy sauce, then topped with an omelette in strips. It is usually eaten with a spoon of chilli paste and a pickled chilli. Chef's tip: dry the noodles well after boiling; wet noodles steam instead of frying and clump.
Busan's milmyeon was born in the refugee years of the Korean War, when people from the north who had fled to the port city wanted the cold buckwheat noodles of home but could only get wheat flour, much of it from food aid. The noodles that resulted are chewier and paler than naengmyeon, and the broth is flavoured with beef bones, vegetables and sometimes medicinal herbs, then served icy cold. A spoonful of spicy red sauce sits on top, and diners add vinegar and mustard to taste. In summer, long queues form outside milmyeon shops across Busan. Making the broth the day before is easiest, though an ice bath and the freezer get it cold in about an hour. Chef's tip: serve the broth so cold that a slushy layer of ice floats on top, as Busan shops do; a wide container in the freezer gets it there.
Kacchi biryani is the wedding dish of Old Dhaka: at every Bangladeshi biye the huge copper pots come out, and the lanes around Nazira Bazar are famous for it. 'Kacchi' means raw: the mutton goes into the pot uncooked, marinated in yogurt and spices, under a layer of half-cooked aromatic rice and fried potatoes, and everything steams together for over an hour so the meat juices cook the rice. Serve it with borhani, the spiced yogurt drink, and a salad of sliced cucumber and onion. The common mistake is under-marinating or using lean meat cut too large; small pieces of shoulder with some fat, marinated overnight in the fridge, cook through in time. Chef's tip: seal the lid with a rope of dough; if no steam escapes, the meat at the bottom becomes tender without you ever opening the pot.
From Lamongan to Semarang, Java's soto carts start ladling before the morning commute, and a bowl of soto ayam is how many people begin a working day. The broth is light but bright yellow with fresh turmeric, scented with lemongrass and lime leaf, and poured over slippery glass noodles, shredded chicken, crunchy bean sprouts and half a boiled egg. Squeeze in lime, stir in as much sambal as you dare and eat it with plain rice or rice cakes on the side. In East Java vendors finish it with koya, a sandy powder of prawn crackers and fried garlic that thickens the broth as you eat. Chef's tip: keep the pot at a lazy simmer the whole time; a hard boil turns the golden broth cloudy and greasy.
Along the rivers of Banjarmasin in South Kalimantan, breakfast often means soto Banjar eaten at a wooden riverside warung, sometimes after a dawn trip to the floating market. Unlike the turmeric sotos of Java, this broth is pale and clear, perfumed with the sweet spices that traders brought up the river centuries ago: cinnamon, cloves, star anise, cardamom and nutmeg. Shredded chicken, glass noodles, carrot and a boiled egg go into the bowl with rice cakes, and lime and a little chilli sharpen it at the table. Chef's tip: toast the whole spices in the pan for a minute before the paste goes in; it brings out their sweetness without the dusty edge of ground spice.
Jakarta's original Betawi community gave the capital this rich, pale-gold soup, and on a Sunday the soto Betawi stalls along the city's side streets are packed with families. Beef brisket (and, for many, tripe) simmers until tender, then goes into a gently spiced broth made creamy with coconut milk and a splash of fresh milk, scented with lemongrass, cinnamon and cloves. Each bowl is loaded with fried potato, raw tomato and spring onion and comes with rice, lime, sambal and bitter-crisp emping crackers. It's comforting and mellow rather than fiery. Chef's tip: for a dairy-free bowl, swap the milk for more coconut milk; the soup will be a little heavier but just as good.
The cheese soufflé is a French bistro classic and a favourite family starter or light supper all over France, often served with a green salad and a glass of white wine. A thick cheese sauce is lightened with whisked egg whites and baked until it rises tall above the dish, golden and crusty outside and soft, almost creamy in the middle. It sounds hard but it's mostly about timing. We thicken the sauce with cornflour so it's gluten free (classic recipes use plain flour). Comté and Gruyère are made with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian alternative. Chef's tip: fold the whites in gently with a big spoon, in three goes; stirring hard is the common mistake that knocks out the air so it never rises.
On the hottest days of a Piedmontese summer, and above all for the Ferragosto holiday in mid-August, families set out a platter of cold, thinly sliced veal hidden under a pale, velvety sauce of tuna, anchovy and capers. The combination sounds odd and tastes wonderful: tender, mild meat and a savoury, lemony sauce that is rich without being heavy. This version follows the older Piedmontese style, thickening the sauce with hard-boiled egg yolks and the veal's own poaching broth instead of raw-egg mayonnaise; if you prefer a mayonnaise base, use one made with pasteurised eggs. Serve it as a starter or a summer main with a green salad and bread. A common mistake is slicing the meat while warm; it frays and tears, so chill it first and cut it as thin as you can. Chef's tip: assemble it the evening before; overnight in the fridge, the sauce seeps into the meat and the flavours settle together.
Soupe au pistou is Provence's summer minestrone, eaten from July to September when basil grows thick in the gardens around Marseille and Avignon. Beans, courgettes, green beans, carrots, potato and small pasta simmer in a light broth, then each bowl gets a spoonful of pistou, a pounded paste of basil, garlic, olive oil and hard cheese with no pine nuts. Stirred in at the table, it turns the broth fragrant and green. It is a whole meal with bread. The traditional cheese is Parmesan or aged Gouda, so use a vegetarian hard cheese. Chef's tip: never boil the pistou; adding it to the pot is the common mistake that turns the basil dark and kills its smell.
Melktert is South Africa's coffee-time tart, made by Afrikaner and Cape Malay families alike, sold at church bazaars and in farm stalls along the Garden Route, and even celebrated with its own National Milk Tart Day on 27 February. A crisp sweet pastry case holds a thick, wobbly custard made with milk and flavoured with a cinnamon stick, then finished with a heavy dusting of ground cinnamon. It is lighter and more milky than a baked egg custard tart. Chef's tip: stir the custard constantly as it thickens and keep cooking for 2 minutes after it bubbles so the flour loses its raw taste.
If there is one dinner every Argentine child grows up on, it is milanesa: beef pounded very thin, dipped in garlicky egg, coated in breadcrumbs and fried until golden. It came with Italian immigrants to Buenos Aires and Rosario, and today it is eaten on weekday nights with mashed potato or chips, cold in sandwiches the next day (milanesa al pan), and on long car trips. Lemon wedges are a must. The mistake most people make is leaving the beef too thick; it should be about 5 mm, so it cooks through by the time the crumb is golden. Chef's tip: bread the milanesas, lay them on a tray and chill them for 30 minutes before frying, so the coating sticks firmly and doesn't fall off in the pan.
Small, round Swahili rice pancakes made from a yeasted batter of rice flour, coconut milk, grated coconut, sugar and cardamom. They're crisp and golden outside, soft and spongy inside. Serve hot with tea.
Milanesas, thin breaded cutlets brought by Italian immigrants, are the everyday dinner of Argentina and Uruguay, made in every home from Rosario to Mendoza. Vegetarian families make them with aubergine slices, which turn creamy inside a crunchy golden crumb, and serve them with mashed potato, salad or between bread as a sandwich de milanesa. Children love them with a squeeze of lemon. Turn them into milanesa a la napolitana by topping with tomato sauce and mozzarella and grilling. Chef's tip: season the egg, not just the crumbs: garlic and parsley in the egg are what make an Argentine milanesa taste like home.
Moamba de galinha is the national dish of Angola, cooked in Luanda for Sunday lunch and family celebrations: chicken simmered in a deep orange sauce of palm oil (or palm-nut cream), tomato, garlic and chilli, with okra and butternut squash. It is served with funge, a smooth cassava porridge, which is dipped into the sauce. The mistake is frying red palm oil over high heat, which makes it bitter; heat it gently. Chef's tip: marinate the chicken in lemon and garlic first; the sourness balances the rich sauce.
In Belgium a vol-au-vent is not a party nibble but a full plate: a big puff-pastry case filled with creamy chicken ragout, button mushrooms and tiny meatballs, served with chips in Brussels brasseries and for family celebrations and Sunday lunches all over the country. The little meatballs are made with pork mince, so this dish contains pork. The sauce is built on the poaching stock from the chicken, which gives it far more flavour than milk. A mistake many cooks make is filling the pastry too early, so the base turns soggy; fill the cases just before they go to the table. Chef's tip: poach the meatballs in the same stock as the chicken; they take just 5 minutes and season the broth further.
Despite the name, this has nothing to do with Naples: it was invented in Buenos Aires in the 1940s at a restaurant called Nápoli, near the Luna Park stadium. A crisp milanesa is topped with tomato sauce, a slice of ham and plenty of mozzarella, then grilled until the cheese bubbles. It is a pork-and-beef dish, because of the ham. Porteños order it at the corner bodegón with a mountain of chips, one plate often shared by two. The common mistake is spooning on too much sauce, which turns the crumb soggy; a thin layer is enough. Chef's tip: fry the milanesas a minute less than usual, since they finish cooking under the grill, and keep the sauce thick.
Zhent is one of the oldest Kazakh sweets: toasted millet (tary) pounded with dried kurt, dates or raisins, and bound with butter and honey into a crumbly, rich square. Herders made it to carry on long rides, and today it appears on the dastarkhan at Nauryz and weddings in southern Kazakhstan, beside baursak and dried fruit. It tastes nutty, salty-sour from the kurt and sweet, a bit like shortbread with a sharp edge. Chef's tip: toast the millet in a dry pan until it pops and smells like popcorn; under-toasted millet tastes raw and grassy.
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.
In the Alentejo nothing made of bread is wasted, and migas is the proof: stale loaves soaked, then worked in a pan of hot olive oil and garlic until they come together into a golden, crusty roll with a soft middle. Around Évora and Beja it usually sits next to fried pork, but in spring, when wild asparagus (espargos bravos) and grelos are picked along the field edges, cooks fold the greens straight into the bread and make it a dish in its own right. This version uses tender asparagus or turnip tops and is entirely plant-based. Serve it as a side with a fried egg or a bean stew, or on its own with olives. Chef's tip: soak the bread only until it is damp and heavy, then squeeze it hard; wet bread steams in the pan instead of forming the golden crust that makes migas worth eating.
Vori vori is the soup Paraguayan grandmothers make on cold June and July evenings: a golden broth full of bori, small balls of cornmeal and cheese that swell soft as they simmer. The name is a Guaraní take on the Spanish 'bolita' (little ball). It's usually made with hen; this version gets its colour and body from pumpkin, carrot and a sofrito with saffron or turmeric. Chef's tip: shape the balls no bigger than a hazelnut; they double in size and larger ones stay raw inside.
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