Golden cornbread
Along the Black Sea coast from Samsun to Artvin, cornbread was the everyday loaf long before wheat bread was common, and it still sits beside bowls of collard soup and plates of fried anchovies. This version is the simple household one: fine cornmeal scalded with hot water and milk, a little wheat flour and egg for lift, baked in a well-oiled pan until the crust cracks and the inside stays moist and slightly sweet. Cut it into wedges and eat it warm with butter, cheese or crumbled into soup. Common mistake: using cold water, which leaves the cornmeal gritty; scalding it first softens the grains. Chef's tip: heat the oiled pan in the oven before the batter goes in, so the base sizzles and forms a crisp, shiny crust.
A new country every day, from every cuisine on the site.
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.
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.
Every morning, breakfast shops on almost every block in Taiwan (zǎocān diàn) pour thin, chewy crêpes onto a flat griddle, crack an egg over them and roll them up into a soft log in under a minute. Customers order them plain, with corn, with cheese, or with basil, alongside a cup of soy milk or milk tea. The batter uses some tapioca starch, which gives that bouncy, slightly stretchy bite. Chef's tip: spread the egg over the crêpe while the top of the batter is still a little tacky; they bond into one layer and don't split apart when you roll.
On summer evenings in Tainan and at old shops near Taipei's temples, douhua is ladled in wobbling scoops from a wooden bucket into bowls of cool syrup, then topped with soft-boiled peanuts, red beans or taro balls. In winter the same pudding is served warm with a sharper ginger syrup. It is just soy milk set into the most delicate curd, softer than any tofu you buy. Chef's tip: use a plain, unsweetened soy milk with at least 7% soy solids (or make your own); thin supermarket soy milk won't set properly.
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.
Kabuli pulao crossed the Khyber Pass from Afghanistan and is now part of everyday cooking in Peshawar and across Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, where it is the dish of honour for guests and the centre of Eid tables. Lamb on the bone is simmered into a rich stock, then rice is cooked in that stock and the meat is buried in the middle so it stays soft. On top go strips of carrot and raisins, glazed in a little sugar, and toasted almonds. It isn't spicy, just warm with cumin and cardamom. Chef's tip: caramelise a spoon of sugar in the oil before adding the stock; it gives the rice its traditional golden-brown colour.
Koobideh is the kebab of Tehran's bazaar lunch houses and roadside chelo-kababis, laid on a hill of buttered rice with a raw egg yolk or a slab of butter melting into the grains. The name means 'pounded': minced lamb is kneaded with grated onion until it turns sticky and pale, then pressed by hand along wide, flat skewers and grilled hard over coals. It comes out juicy and onion-sweet, with little ridges from your fingers. Eat it with charred tomatoes, raw onion, fresh herbs and lavash on the side. Chef's tip: squeeze every drop of juice out of the grated onion; wet mince slips straight off the skewer.
Despite the French-sounding name, a Dutch kaassoufflé has nothing to do with a baked soufflé. It is a snack-bar classic, fried in the frituur of every cafetaria from Groningen to Maastricht: a rectangle of thin pastry wrapped around a slab of young Gouda, coated in breadcrumbs and deep-fried until the cheese inside goes molten. It is the vegetarian's answer to the kroket, eaten at lunch or on the way home from football, with a squeeze of mayonnaise or sweet chilli sauce. Chef's tip: chill the filled, breaded pockets for at least 30 minutes before frying; cold pastry and cheese stay sealed in the hot oil, while warm ones burst and leak.
Bouye is the Wolof name for the powdery white pulp of the baobab fruit, and jus de bouye is the thick, creamy-tart drink sold in reused bottles from coolers all over Dakar and served at every family celebration. It tastes like sherbet with a hint of pear. Most cooks now use baobab powder, which is sold in health shops as well as African grocers. Sweetened condensed milk is optional but common. Chef's tip: whisk the powder into a little water first to make a smooth paste; poured straight into a jug it forms lumps that never dissolve.
Jukut urab turns up on almost every Balinese rice plate and at temple-day feasts: blanched long beans, greens and bean sprouts tossed with freshly grated coconut that has been fried with a little bumbu of shallot, chilli, kencur and lime leaf. It is bright, crunchy and only gently hot, the fresh side dish that balances heavier ones. Many cooks add shrimp paste to the bumbu; this one leaves it out. Chef's tip: toss the vegetables and coconut only just before serving, or the coconut draws out water and the dish turns soggy.
Joojeh kabab is what fills Tehran's parks on Sizdah Bedar, the thirteenth day of Nowruz, when families picnic outdoors and grills smoke under the plane trees; it is just as common on restaurant platters beside koobideh. Chunks of chicken soak overnight in yogurt, grated onion, lemon and bloomed saffron, then cook fast over high heat so the edges char while the middle stays juicy and golden-orange. Serve with buttery chelow rice, grilled tomatoes and a pinch of sumac. Chef's tip: grind the saffron threads with a pinch of sugar before steeping them in hot water; you get twice the colour from the same few threads.
Jolpan is how Assam starts the morning of Magh Bihu and Bohag Bihu, and how guests are welcomed in villages all year: a bowl of chira (flattened rice), muri, or sticky bora saul, served with thick curd, yellow jaggery or gur, and sometimes cream. It is not cooked so much as assembled, and every family has its own order: soak the chira, top with doi, crumble in gur. Variants such as komal saul (a soft rice that needs only soaking) are also jolpan. Chef's tip: rinse the chira quickly and drain it at once; a long soak turns it to paste.
Across Hubballi, Dharwad, Vijayapura and the dry plains of north Karnataka, a meal means jolada rotti: thin, crisp sorghum flatbreads slapped out by hand, often by the hundred and stored in cloth to eat with everything. Their best-loved partner is ennegai, which means 'oil vegetable': small brinjals slit and stuffed with roasted peanuts, sesame, dry coconut and spices, then cooked slowly in plenty of oil until they collapse into a thick, nutty gravy. It is wedding food, field food and Sunday food, with raw onion, a wedge of lemon and spicy chutney powder on the side. Chef's tip: use boiling water for the jowar dough; it gelatinises the flour slightly, so the rotti holds together without any wheat.
In Tunisia a tajine is not a stew but a thick baked frittata, and tajine malsouka is the festive one: eggs, cheese and filling baked between layers of malsouka pastry so the top and bottom turn crisp and golden. It is served at Ramadan, weddings and Eid, cut into squares. Chicken is the usual filling; here spinach, potato and white beans give it body. Chef's tip: brush every pastry sheet with butter, edge to edge; dry corners burn in the oven.
Jodhpuri kabuli is a celebration rice from Marwar that has nothing to do with chickpeas; the name refers to its rich, layered style. Rice is stacked with vegetables simmered in spiced yogurt and milk, crisp fried bread cubes, cashews, raisins and saffron, then steamed under a lid so the bread absorbs the juices while the top stays crunchy. Jodhpur families cook it for weddings and festive lunches, and it is eaten on its own with raita or kadhi. A common mistake is layering the bread at the bottom, where it becomes soggy; it belongs in the middle and on top. Chef's tip: cook the rice only until it still has a firm bite, because it will finish cooking during the dum.
Jiufen, the old gold-mining town clinging to the hills above Taiwan's northeast coast, is famous for bowls of chewy purple taro and orange sweet potato balls, eaten in steep teahouses with a view of the sea. Shops serve them hot in a light sugar syrup in winter and over shaved ice in summer, often with mung beans or red beans. They are just steamed root vegetables kneaded with tapioca starch, so they're naturally gluten free and have a bouncy, QQ chew Taiwanese people love. Chef's tip: knead the starch into the vegetables while they are still hot; the heat partly cooks the starch and makes the dough smooth and pliable.
When the cherry trees bloom in Sapporo in early May, parks fill with groups grilling lamb on ridged, dome-shaped pans, and the city's beer halls serve it all year. Named after Genghis Khan, the dish grew up after Hokkaido began raising sheep for wool in the early 20th century. In the Sapporo style, plain lamb is seared on the hump of the pan while bean sprouts, onion and pumpkin cook on the rim in the dripping juices, and everything is dipped in a fruity soy sauce. No domed pan? A heavy frying pan or flat griddle works well. Chef's tip: grease the pan with a piece of lamb fat rather than oil, as it gives the vegetables a rich, meaty flavour.
Walk through Dotonbori in Osaka on any evening and you'll see cooks flicking dozens of batter balls around a cast-iron plate with metal picks. Stalls in the city have sold them since the 1930s, and they turn up at every summer festival, eaten from a paper boat with a cocktail stick. The outside is crisp, the inside almost molten, with a chewy piece of octopus at the centre. You need a takoyaki pan, either a stovetop cast-iron one or an electric plate. Chef's tip: fill the cups right to the top and let the batter flood across the whole plate, as the overflow is what you fold in to make each ball round.
Taktouka is the pepper partner to zaalouk, served side by side on the salad plates of Moroccan homes and cafés, especially around Casablanca and the north. Grilled green peppers are peeled and cooked down with tomato, garlic and cumin until soft and jammy, then eaten lukewarm with bread or as a side to tagines and grilled vegetables. It is cheap, quick and keeps for three days in the fridge. Chef's tip: use the thin-skinned, slightly bitter green peppers if you can find them; they give a more authentic flavour than sweet bell peppers.
Jingalov hats comes from Artsakh (Nagorno-Karabakh), where women in Stepanakert markets would roll the dough around armfuls of greens and cook the flat parcels on a hot saj in front of the queue. The filling is nothing but herbs and leaves, ten to twenty kinds when spring greens are at their best: sorrel, spinach, dill, coriander, spring onion, beet leaves, mint and nettle, wilted with oil and salt. The bread is eaten hot from the griddle at Easter and through Lent, folded in half and dripping with green juices. Displaced families now sell it in Yerevan, where it has become a street-food symbol of home. Chef's tip: mix at least six different greens and keep some sharp ones such as sorrel or lemon juice in the mix; with spinach alone the filling tastes flat.
Jianbing guozi began in Tianjin and is now Beijing's favourite breakfast on the go: a crêpe spread on a round griddle, cracked over with egg, brushed with sauces and folded round a crunchy fried cracker. Vendors make one in two minutes; at home a large non-stick pan works. The batter mixes mung bean and wheat flour for a tender, slightly nutty pancake. Chef's tip: spread the batter thin and fast while the pan is hot, then lower the heat before adding the egg so the crêpe stays pliable.
Tallarín saltado is the noodle cousin of lomo saltado, a chifa favourite from Lima where Chinese wok technique meets Peruvian ingredients. Spaghetti-style wheat noodles are tossed over a fierce heat with mushrooms, pak choi, red onion, tomato, ginger and ají amarillo, then glossed with soy sauce and a splash of vinegar. The noodles soak up the smoky, tangy sauce while the vegetables stay crisp. Peruvians use plain spaghetti from the shop on the corner, and so can you. Chef's tip: cook the noodles a minute short of the packet time and rinse them in cold water; they finish cooking in the wok and won't turn soft or clump.
In Rio de Janeiro, feijoada has its own days: Wednesdays and Saturdays, when botecos and restaurants put the big pots on and lunch stretches into the afternoon. Black beans simmer slowly with carne seca (salt-dried beef), salted pork ribs, smoky sausages and bacon until the broth is thick, dark and glossy. The full spread, feijoada completa, comes with white rice, garlicky shredded couve, crunchy farofa and slices of orange to freshen the palate. Our vegetarian feijoada covers the meat-free version; this is the classic. Start a day ahead, because the salted meats must soak. Chef's tip: mash a ladleful of cooked beans with the fried onion and garlic and stir it back in; it thickens the broth naturally.
In Vienna's old Beisl taverns the Schnitzel arrives so large it hangs over the plate: a veal escalope beaten thin, coated in flour, egg and fine breadcrumbs and fried in plenty of hot fat while the pan is swirled, so the crumb lifts away from the meat in golden waves. Austrian law keeps the name 'Wiener Schnitzel' for veal; the pork version, very common in German homes, is called Schnitzel Wiener Art and is cooked exactly the same way. Serve it with a lemon wedge, lingonberry jam and potato salad. The most common mistake is pressing the crumbs firmly onto the meat, which stops the coating from puffing. Chef's tip: shake off the crumbs and lay the cutlet in only when the fat is hot enough that a crumb sizzles at once.
Feteer meshaltet comes from the villages of the Nile Delta, in Sharqia, Menoufia and around, where it is baked for weddings, feast days and for guests, and sent home with visitors in a cloth. A soft dough is stretched paper-thin, brushed with lots of ghee or butter and folded over and over into a round that bakes into dozens of crisp, flaky layers. Eat it warm, torn with your hands, dipped in honey or 'asal eswed (sugar-cane molasses) or with white cheese and olives. Chef's tip: let the dough balls rest in butter until they feel loose and silky; dough that hasn't relaxed tears when you stretch it, and torn dough is the most common reason a feteer comes out tough.
Fattet hummus belongs to Damascus, where breakfast restaurants in the old city serve it in deep bowls on Friday mornings, and it has spread to Beirut's Sunday tables too. The name comes from fatt, to break up, for the toasted flatbread at the bottom, which is topped with warm chickpeas in their broth, then a thick, garlicky sauce of yogurt and tahini, and finally sizzling pine nuts in butter or oil with a dust of paprika and cumin. The contrast is the point: crunchy and soft, hot and cool. Assembling it too early is the common mistake, since the bread soaks up the sauce and goes soggy; build it just before eating. Chef's tip: let the yogurt come to room temperature first, so it doesn't cool the chickpeas down too much and the bowl stays warm.
Juju dhau means king of curds in the Newar language, and it belongs to Bhaktapur, the old brick-and-temple city east of Kathmandu, where it is sold in round clay bowls from shops around Durbar Square and taken home by the stack. Full-fat milk, traditionally buffalo milk, is boiled down by a third until it is rich and faintly caramel, sweetened, then set overnight in unglazed clay pots that soak up the whey, leaving a custard-thick, creamy yogurt with a pale golden skin. No wedding, festival or important meal in the Valley ends without it, and it is eaten on its own with a small spoon. People often rush the reduction, and the yogurt then sets thin and sour. Chef's tip: if you don't have clay pots, set it in ceramic ramekins and pour off any whey after setting; and keep it warm and undisturbed, wrapped in a blanket, so it sets in one smooth layer.
Jhangora is barnyard millet, a hardy grain that grows on the high fields of Garhwal and Kumaon, and this kheer is how most hill families turn it into something special. It cooks faster than rice kheer and ends up softer and silkier, with a light, nutty taste. Because millet isn't a cereal grain, it's eaten on Navratri and Ekadashi fasts, when you'll find bowls of it at temples and in homes from Rishikesh to Chamoli. It is just as good chilled the next day. Chef's tip: soak the millet for 20 minutes before cooking; it softens evenly and you won't be left with hard little grains in the pudding.
Jhalmuri is the snack Kolkata eats on the move: outside Howrah station, along the Maidan, on suburban local trains, where a vendor tosses puffed rice in a tin with raw mustard oil, chopped onion, cucumber, green chilli and a fistful of chanachur, then tips it into a cone of newspaper. The sharp, nose-tingling mustard oil is what separates it from Mumbai's bhel; there is no sweet chutney at all, only salt, lime and heat. Eat it the minute it is mixed, while it still crackles. Chef's tip: warm the puffed rice in a dry pan for a couple of minutes first; even fresh muri crisps up noticeably.
Kootu sits halfway between a dal and a vegetable dish, and in Tamil homes it is the mild, kind side on a lunch plate next to a sharp rasam or a fiery kuzhambu. Chopped vegetables such as chow-chow, snake gourd, cabbage or pumpkin are cooked with moong dal until soft, then thickened with a paste of fresh coconut, cumin and a little green chilli. It's the dish many Tamil grandmothers give children and anyone recovering from a fever. Spoon it over rice with ghee or serve it alongside sambar and poriyal. Chef's tip: grind the coconut paste with the cumin raw, not toasted; the fresh, sweet cumin flavour is what makes kootu taste like kootu.
Jeyuk bokkeum is the backbone of the Korean lunch: almost every baekban (set-meal) restaurant near offices and building sites serves it with rice, soup and little side dishes, and it is just as common at home on weeknights. Thin slices of pork are fried hard in a sauce of gochujang, chilli flakes, garlic and ginger until the edges catch and caramelise. Eat it over rice, or wrap a piece in a lettuce leaf with a slice of raw garlic. Chef's tip: fry the pork on its own first until the fat runs, then add the sauce; you get smoky, sticky edges instead of boiled meat.
Tang yuan are eaten all over China at the Lantern Festival, on the fifteenth day of the Lunar New Year, and in the south also at the winter solstice; their roundness stands for family togetherness. The dough is glutinous rice flour, the classic filling black sesame, sugar and fat, served in a light ginger syrup. Lard is traditional in the filling; coconut oil sets just as firmly and keeps them vegan. Chef's tip: chill the filling until firm and roll it into balls before you start the dough; cold filling is far easier to wrap.
No Lao meal is complete without a jeow, a pounded dip eaten by pinching a ball of sticky rice and dragging it through. Jeow mak len, made from tomatoes charred over the coals until their skins split, is the everyday one from Vientiane to the villages of the north, smoky, garlicky and as hot as you dare. It's served alongside grilled vegetables, raw cucumber and long beans, and keeps well for a few days. Chef's tip: grill everything until it is genuinely blackened in patches; the burnt bits are the flavour, so don't peel all the skin away.
Jeow bong is the famous chilli relish of Luang Prabang, the old royal capital, sold in little jars at its night market and eaten with sticky rice, crisp river-weed sheets and fresh vegetables at almost every Lao meal. Dried chillies, roasted garlic, shallot and galangal are pounded with palm sugar and fish sauce into a sticky, smoky, sweet-hot jam. This version contains pork: traditionally it includes thin strips of dried buffalo skin, and here it uses cooked pork skin for the same chewy texture. Chef's tip: roast the aromatics until truly blackened in spots; that char gives jeow bong its smoky depth.
Sichuan dan dan noodles are eaten almost dry, with just a spoonful of sauce, but Chinese chefs cooking in post-war Tokyo turned them into a full bowl of soup for Japanese diners. Today tantanmen sits on the menu of almost every Chinese-style restaurant and many ramen shops across Japan, and it sells best in the cold months. The broth is rich with sesame paste, softened with soy milk and lit up with chilli oil, then crowned with savoury fried pork. Pak choi adds a fresh, crunchy contrast. Chef's tip: fry the pork until it is properly brown and a little crisp before seasoning, so it keeps some bite in the soup instead of turning soft.
Jeonju, the North Jeolla city known for bibimbap, starts its day with kongnamul gukbap (콩나물국밥): a scalding clay bowl of clear soybean-sprout broth over rice, sharp with garlic and chilli, served before dawn to market traders and, famously, to anyone with a hangover. Many Jeonju shops bring a half-cooked egg in a separate cup, which you season with a little broth and crumbled seaweed and slurp first. The usual broth is anchovy based, with salted shrimp at the table; here it is kelp, shiitake and soup soy sauce. Chef's tip: keep the lid on while the sprouts cook and don't open it until they are done; lifting it early is said to give them a raw, grassy smell.
Jeju's haenyeo, the island's women free-divers, have gathered abalone from its rocky coast for generations, and porridge made with it is a favourite breakfast on the island. Restaurants near the harbours and many hotel breakfast tables offer it, often a soft green-grey from the abalone guts cooked into the rice. It's gentle, warming food, also cooked for anyone who is unwell or tired. Frozen cleaned abalone works well; the porridge is just paler without the guts. Chef's tip: toast the soaked rice in sesame oil with the abalone until the grains turn translucent at the edges before adding any water; it gives the porridge its nutty flavour.
No Swedish Christmas table, from Gothenburg to Luleå, is complete without a dish of Janssons frestelse, and it often comes back at Easter and midsummer too. Matchsticks of potato and soft onion are baked in cream with Swedish-style spiced sprats (labelled ansjovis in Sweden), which melt into the sauce and season it with a salty, sweet-spiced depth rather than a fishy taste. It is rich, so a spoonful sits beside ham, meatballs and pickled herring rather than being a main course on its own. Many people go wrong by buying Mediterranean salted anchovies; they are far saltier and the gratin turns harsh, so look for the sweet-cured sprats in Scandinavian shops. Chef's tip: cut the potatoes into thin sticks rather than slices; the starch on their many edges thickens the cream as it bakes.
Every Lebanese bakery, or furn, sells fatayer bi sabanekh warm from the oven in the morning: soft three-cornered pies filled with spinach that has been salted and squeezed, then mixed with onion, sumac, lemon and olive oil until it is tart enough to make you pucker. They go into school lunch boxes, onto picnic blankets and onto every buffet at Lebanese parties, and they freeze well. The usual problem is a filling that leaks and makes the pies burst open; wring out the spinach hard and seal the seams firmly so they stay closed in the oven. Chef's tip: let the sumac, lemon and onion sit together for ten minutes before adding the spinach so the onion softens and loses its raw bite.
Fataya are the half-moon pastries sold in paper cones outside schools and at bus stops all over Dakar, and fried by the dozen at home for baptisms and Tabaski. The dough is soft and short, the filling is minced beef cooked with onion, garlic and a little chilli, and they come with a sharp onion-and-mustard sauce for dipping. The common mistake is overfilling, which makes them burst in the oil; a heaped teaspoon per small round is enough. Chef's tip: let the filling cool completely before you fill the dough, or the steam softens the pastry and it tears.
During Ramadan in Beirut and Sidon, street sellers ladle jallab from big glass jars at sunset, and families keep a bottle of the dark syrup in the fridge all summer. Made from date and grape molasses with a hint of rose water, it tastes of caramel and dried fruit, and it is served over crushed ice with a spoon for the pine nuts and golden raisins floating on top. Bottled jallab gets its smoky edge from incense smoke; this home version skips that and is made straight from the two molasses. Chef's tip: soak the raisins in the drink for five minutes before serving so they plump up and sink less.
Jajangmyeon was first served by Chinese cooks in Incheon's Chinatown, by the port, and the old restaurant building there is now a museum about the dish. Today it is the most ordered takeaway in Korea, delivered in minutes by scooter on moving day, and eaten by singles on Black Day, 14 April. The sauce is built on chunjang, a thick, salty black-bean paste, fried with diced pork, onion, courgette and potato until it shines. Chef's tip: cut the pork and all the vegetables into the same 1.5 cm dice so they cook evenly and every forkful gets a bit of each.
Taralli are the crunchy rings found on every table in Puglia: with a glass of wine before dinner, in bags on the beach, or dunked in coffee. They are made with olive oil and dry white wine, no yeast or butter, and boiled briefly before baking, which gives them their shiny skin and fine, crumbly bite. Fennel seed is the classic flavour; black pepper or chilli are common too. They keep for weeks in a tin. Chef's tip: lift them out of the water the moment they float; longer boiling makes them hard and glassy instead of crumbly.
Dresden has baked Christstollen for more than 500 years, and every December the city holds a Stollen festival with a giant loaf paraded through the old town to the Striezelmarkt. The loaf's shape, folded over and dusted white, is said to show the Christ child wrapped in swaddling cloth. It's a rich, dense yeast bread, heavy with butter, raisins, candied peel and almonds, brushed with melted butter straight from the oven and buried in sugar. It's baked weeks before Christmas and sliced thinly through Advent. Chef's tip: wrap it tightly and let it rest for at least a week before cutting; the flavours ripen and the crumb turns moist.
Tarator is what Bulgarians eat on hot July days, from the Black Sea resorts of Varna and Burgas to Sofia lunch counters: a cold, thin soup of tangy yogurt and water with grated cucumber, garlic, dill and crushed walnuts, a drizzle of sunflower oil on top and sometimes an ice cube floating in the bowl. It is served as a starter or drunk from a glass beside a plate of grilled vegetables. Chef's tip: use full-fat, sour, set yogurt and thin it to the consistency of single cream; making it too thick is the usual mistake, and it should be sippable.
Fasole bătută, 'beaten beans', is the fasting-day spread of Romania: on Christmas Eve and through Lent, plates of it appear in homes from Bucharest to the monasteries of Bucovina. Soft white beans are mashed smooth with garlic and oil, then crowned with a tangle of slow-fried onions stained red with paprika. It is spread thickly on bread, or served beside pickles and mămăligă. Chef's tip: beat the beans while they are still warm; cold beans turn stiff and pasty, and a common mistake is adding too little liquid, so loosen with a splash of cooking water until the purée is light and fluffy.
Jaipur's old-city sweet shops fry malpua in wide pans of ghee from winter through Holi and Teej, and serve them stacked in a bowl with thick rabri. The batter is made with milk, a little khoya and crushed fennel, so each pancake turns soft and spongy in the middle with crisp, lacy brown edges, then soaks up a saffron-cardamom syrup. Some families also make them as an offering on Holi morning. The usual mistake is skipping the rest: unrested batter spreads unevenly and stays flat and chewy. Chef's tip: pour the batter into the centre of the pan from close above so it spreads by itself; this is how the lacy edges form.
In Nagpur, winter mornings start at a poha stall: soft, turmeric-yellow flattened rice heaped onto a plate and then flooded with tarri, a spicy black-chickpea gravy with a slick of red oil on top, finished with raw onion, sev, coriander and a squeeze of lemon. It's Vidarbha's answer to the plain poha eaten elsewhere in India, louder and hotter, made for a cold morning and a cutting chai. Making it at home takes a little planning because the chana needs an overnight soak, but the tarri keeps for days. Chef's tip: don't skimp on the oil in the tarri; the red layer that floats on top is what soaks into the poha and gives the dish its name.
Tarta de acelga is the green, savoury pie found in every Argentine bakery window and on weeknight tables, a legacy of Italian torta pasqualina. Swiss chard is wilted with onion, bound with eggs and soft cheese, seasoned with nutmeg and baked between layers of pastry, sometimes with whole eggs hidden inside. It's eaten warm or cold, for dinner with a salad or packed for a picnic. Chef's tip: squeeze the cooked chard hard in your hands; any water left in it makes the pastry soggy.
Xalwo is the sweet of Somali celebrations: weddings, Eid and the arrival of guests are all marked with a tray of this dark, glossy, chewy confection, cut into diamonds and served with coffee or spiced tea. Sugar is caramelised, then cooked slowly with cornflour and oil or ghee while the cook stirs without stopping until it pulls away from the pan. It is a cousin of Omani and Yemeni halwa. Chef's tip: stir constantly and keep going until the oil starts to separate and shine on the surface; stopped early, xalwo stays soft and does not set.
Dovğa is green, tangy and cooling, the soup Azerbaijanis drink cold from glasses on hot Baku afternoons and eat hot in bowls when the Absheron wind turns chilly. Yogurt is thinned, thickened with rice and egg, then packed with chopped spinach, dill, coriander, mint and sorrel, until the soup is more herbs than dairy. It is served at weddings and at Novruz to settle the stomach after rich food, and many cooks add chickpeas. Unlike Armenian spas, there is no fried onion or wheat; the flavour is all fresh herbs and sour yogurt. Chef's tip: add the herbs only once the yogurt is boiling steadily and stable; they wilt in seconds, and the colour stays bright green.
In the province of Liège, and above all in the town of Verviers, no village fair (ducasse) or family celebration happens without tarte au riz, called rijsttaart in Flanders. A thin, soft yeast-dough crust holds a thick layer of rice cooked slowly in milk with vanilla and sugar, enriched with egg yolks and baked until the top is speckled brown. People buy whole tarts from the bakery for a birthday and eat them cold with coffee. Chef's tip: cook the rice until a spoon drawn through it leaves a clear path that closes slowly; a runny filling never sets in the oven, and the crust turns soggy.
Tarte au sucre is the sweet that closes Québec's holiday réveillon (Christmas Eve feast) and the Sunday meal at grandmother's house. Brown sugar, cream and a little maple syrup are thickened with flour and baked in a buttery shell until set like soft fudge, glossy on top. It's very sweet, so slices are thin, often with a dollop of unsweetened whipped cream. Rural Acadian and Franco-Ontarian families make very similar pies. Chef's tip: let it cool completely, for at least 3 hours; warm sugar pie is runny and only sets as it cools.
Xawaash (pronounced 'ha-wash') is the spice mix every Somali kitchen keeps in a jar, used in rice, soups, stews, sambuusa fillings and even tea. Families toast and grind their own, often in quantity before Ramadan, and the balance of warm cumin, earthy coriander and sweet cardamom and cinnamon varies from house to house. It is different from Yemeni hawaij and Ethiopian berbere: there is no chilli in it. Chef's tip: toast each spice only until it darkens a shade and smells warm; burnt cumin turns the whole jar bitter.
Showing 54 of 7,762 recipes
Show more recipesPage 746 of 863
Indian
Spanish
Italian
American
Chinese
Mexican
Brazilian
Japanese
Paraguayan
Taiwanese
Bangladeshi
Pakistani
Persian
Dutch
Senegalese
Indonesian
Tunisian
Moroccan
Armenian
Peruvian
German
Egyptian
Lebanese
Nepali
Korean
Lao
Bulgarian
Romanian
Argentinian
Somali
Azerbaijani
Belgian
Canadian