Broken rice and jaggery pudding
Godshe is the quiet sweet of Goan Saraswat and Gaud Saraswat kitchens, made on festival mornings, for a family puja, or simply when there is fresh coconut and good jaggery in the house. Broken rice is cooked until soft and creamy, then sweetened with dark coconut jaggery and loosened with first-press coconut milk, giving a pudding thicker than payasam and deeply caramel in flavour. Many families make the same dish with chana dal instead of rice. The usual mistake is adding jaggery while the rice is still firm, because the sugar stops the grains from softening any further. Chef's tip: a few slivers of fresh coconut and a pinch of nutmeg on top make it taste like a temple offering.
A new country every day, from every cuisine on the site.
A Kenyan twist on pasta: spaghetti tossed with sukumawiki (collard greens) cooked down with onions, garlic, fresh tomato, tomato paste, green chillies and lots of coriander. It's quick, green and full of flavour. Serve hot with garlic bread.
Spanakopita turns up everywhere in Greece: cut into squares at bakeries for a mid-morning snack, carried to the beach wrapped in paper, and set out on Easter and name-day tables beside the salads. A tray of it is a mass of soft, herby spinach and salty feta under layers of fillo that shatter as you cut. Spring onions and plenty of dill keep it fresh rather than heavy. Serve it warm or at room temperature with a tomato salad and olives; it tastes even better a few hours after baking. Feta is often made with animal rennet, so choose one labelled vegetarian. If you want to make your own pastry, our home-made fillo recipe works here. Chef's tip: squeeze the wilted spinach in a clean tea towel until it stops dripping; leaving the water in is the classic mistake that gives a soggy bottom.
Spanakorizo is a spring dish from Greek home kitchens, made when the markets fill with spinach and fresh dill. Rice is cooked right in the pot with wilted spinach, spring onions and olive oil until it is soft and a little loose, then squeezed with lemon. It isn't meant to be fluffy like a pilaf: Greek cooks like it moist, almost creamy. It is a full meal with a slab of feta and bread, or a side to fried eggs for those who eat them. Chef's tip: take it off the heat while it still looks a bit wet and let it rest covered for 5 minutes; cooking it until dry is the usual mistake and the rice turns stodgy as it cools.
Spas is the yogurt soup of the Armenian highlands, eaten hot through the cold winters of Shirak and Gyumri and cold from the fridge in summer, when it tastes like a thick, savoury ayran. The base is tangy matsun (Armenian yogurt) thickened with egg and a little flour so it can boil without curdling, with plump grains of hulled wheat (dzavar) and a swirl of onions fried in butter with dried mint. Families make it for an ill relative, for a quick supper, and as a gentle start to a long feast. Serve with lavash and fresh herbs. Chef's tip: stir in one direction only, without stopping, until the soup comes to the boil; Armenian grandmothers swear by it, and steady stirring really is what keeps the yogurt smooth.
In the weeks before 5 December, Sinterklaas evening (pakjesavond), Dutch kitchens and bakeries fill with the smell of speculaas: thin, crisp, dark-brown biscuits heavy with cinnamon, clove, nutmeg, ginger, cardamom and a little white pepper. Traditionally they are pressed into carved wooden moulds shaped like windmills or Saint Nicholas himself; at home most people roll and cut them, scatter almonds on top and bake them crisp. Make your own spice mix (speculaaskruiden) once and you'll never buy it again. Chef's tip: let the dough rest overnight in the fridge; the spices bloom into the butter and the flavour is twice as deep the next day.
Speculoospasta, a sweet spread made from crushed spiced caramel biscuits, is a Flemish invention of the 2000s: a home cook took the idea to a Belgian TV contest for inventors, and within a few years it sat next to chocolate spread on breakfast tables across Belgium and the Netherlands. Belgians spread it thickly on bread or toast, stir it into yoghurt, or warm it to pour over ice cream. Homemade, it tastes more of cinnamon and caramel and less of sugar than shop jars. Chef's tip: blitz the biscuits to a powder as fine as flour before adding liquid; any grit left now stays gritty in the jar.
Unniyappam are small, round sweet dumplings that Kerala families make for Vishu and Karthika, and they are a well-known temple offering at Guruvayur and Sabarimala. A batter of ground rice, ripe banana and jaggery, studded with ghee-fried coconut bits and sesame, is fried in the round hollows of an unniyappa chatti until crisp and dark brown outside and soft and spongy in the middle. They keep for a couple of days in a tin and are perfect with tea. Chef's tip: let the batter rest for an hour; it softens and puffs a little, giving lighter unniyappam.
Maultaschen are the big square pasta parcels of Swabia, around Stuttgart and Tübingen, and a dish with its own legend: Swabians jokingly call them 'little God-cheaters', because the dough was said to hide meat from God's eyes during Lent. Meat-free spinach Maultaschen are a long-standing Lenten and Good Friday dish there, filled with spinach, soaked bread, onion, parsley and a little cheese. Eat them in clear vegetable broth, or the next day sliced and fried in butter with onions and egg ('geröstet'). Chef's tip: press every pocket of air out as you seal the dough; trapped air expands in the hot water and splits the parcels open.
Pkhali are the walnut-bound vegetable pâtés that open almost every Georgian feast, the supra, from Tbilisi to the villages of Kakheti. Spinach is the best known, though beetroot, beans, leeks and nettles are made the same way, and in Lent they become the heart of the meal. The cooked greens are chopped fine with walnuts, garlic, coriander, vinegar and spices, shaped into small balls and pressed with a criss-cross, then dotted with pomegranate seeds. Eat them cold with mchadi or bread. The common mistake is not squeezing the spinach hard enough, which makes the pkhali loose and watery. Chef's tip: they taste much better the next day, once the garlic and vinegar have soaked into the walnuts, so make them a day ahead.
Rolling yaprak sarma is a social job in Aegean kitchens around Ayvalık and Manisa, where vineyards supply the leaves: a tray of grape leaves, a bowl of spiced rice and two or three people talking while they roll. This meat-free version is the olive-oil kind, filled with rice, onion, pine nuts, currants, mint and a pinch of cinnamon and allspice, and served cold as a meze or at tea-time gatherings. Good sarma are thin as a finger and hold together when bitten. A common mistake is overfilling: the rice swells as it cooks and splits the leaves. Chef's tip: use only a teaspoon of filling per leaf and roll firmly but not tight, leaving room for the rice to grow.
Badrijani nigvzit, aubergine with walnuts, is the summer starter of Tbilisi and Kakheti: thin slices of aubergine fried until silky, spread with a garlicky, spiced walnut paste and rolled up, then scattered with pomegranate seeds. They sit on every supra table between the cheeses and pkhali, and on restaurant menus from June until the frosts. Served cold, they are rich and soft, with sour pops of pomegranate. The common mistake is undercooking the aubergine: if it is still firm it cracks when you roll it and tastes raw, so fry each slice until it is limp and golden. Chef's tip: dry the fried slices on kitchen paper and press them gently; you lose surplus oil, and the paste spreads and sticks better.
No Sri Lankan rice-and-curry plate is complete without a bowl of parippu, from a Colombo office canteen to a farmhouse kitchen in the dry zone; many families also mop it up with bread or pol roti for breakfast. Unlike a North Indian dal, the red lentils are cooked with turmeric, green chilli and a strip of rampe (pandan leaf), then softened with thin coconut milk and finished with a sizzling tempering of mustard seeds, shallots, dried chilli and curry leaves, so it tastes mellow, fragrant and only gently spicy. Keep it pourable: it thickens a lot as it stands. The usual mistake is adding the coconut milk too early and boiling it hard, which makes it split and grainy. Chef's tip: stir the thick coconut milk in off the heat at the very end; it gives a silky, almost creamy finish without curdling.
In Flanders, from Antwerp's frituren to Sunday kitchens in Bruges, stoofvlees is the stew that comes with a cone of double-fried chips and a spoonful of mayonnaise. Chunks of beef chuck are browned hard, then cooked slowly with lots of onion and a dark Belgian brown or abbey-style beer, thickened at the end by a slice of bread spread with mustard that melts into the sauce. The finished gravy is glossy, sweet-sour and deep, with a little brown sugar and vinegar to balance the bitterness. This recipe contains alcohol, though long cooking drives most of it off; for an alcohol-free version use the same amount of alcohol-free dark beer, or beef stock with a tablespoon of extra vinegar and a teaspoon of extra sugar. Browning the meat in one crowded batch is the classic mistake; it stews grey instead of searing. Chef's tip: cook it a day ahead and reheat gently; the flavour rounds out overnight.
String hoppers are lacy nests of steamed rice-flour noodles, pressed through a hand mould onto small woven mats, and they're the classic Sri Lankan breakfast or dinner in Tamil homes in Jaffna and in Sinhala homes everywhere, bought by the dozen from neighbourhood shops when there's no time to make them. They're soft and light and made to soak up kiri hodi, a thin, turmeric-yellow coconut milk gravy with fenugreek and curry leaves, plus pol sambol and a potato or dhal curry. Kiri hodi is sometimes made with Maldive fish; we keep it vegetarian. Roasted red rice flour gives a nuttier, pinker nest. The common mistake is using cold or warm water for the dough: it must be boiling, or the strings crack and fall apart. Chef's tip: steam the nests for only 6–8 minutes; longer and they turn rubbery.
In Tashkent, chuchvara is the little cousin of manti: dumplings no bigger than a thumbnail, folded around a peppery lamb-and-beef filling and dropped into clear meat broth. Families make them in big batches on a slow weekend, freeze trays of them, and eat bowls through the winter with a spoonful of suzma (strained yogurt) or sour cream and lots of dill. The dough is thin and firm, the filling juicy with grated onion, and the broth light enough to drink. Many home cooks roll the dough too thick, which turns the dumplings stodgy; aim for a sheet you can just see the board through. Chef's tip: freeze the shaped dumplings on a floured tray before bagging them, so they stay separate and cook straight from frozen.
Stroopwafels come from Gouda, the cheese town in South Holland, where bakers once made them from leftover crumbs and syrup. Today they are made fresh at Dutch markets, split while still hot and glued back together with warm caramel syrup. The Dutch way to eat one is to rest it on top of a cup of hot coffee or tea for a minute, so the steam softens the caramel. You need a thin waffle iron (a pizzelle or stroopwafel iron) to make them at home. Chef's tip: cut each waffle open the moment it comes off the iron; after 20 seconds it stiffens and shatters instead of splitting.
Of all Turkish böreks, su böreği is the one cooks are proudest of. Thin sheets of egg dough are boiled for a moment, then layered with butter and white cheese and baked until the top is crisp and the inside is soft and almost silky, a little like a cheesy lasagne made of pastry. Bakeries in Istanbul and Ankara sell it by weight from huge trays in the morning, and at home it appears at holidays and when guests are expected. It takes time and patience but nothing is difficult. Make it the day before and reheat it. Chef's tip: have a big bowl of iced water ready next to the pan; plunging each sheet straight into it stops it cooking and keeps the layers from sticking together.
Chongqing's hot and sour noodles are made from sweet potato starch, so they are chewy, bouncy and almost clear. They come in a broth that is sharp with black vinegar and red with chilli, topped with fried peanuts or soybeans and a spoonful of pickled greens. Students live on it, and it's a favourite late-night snack across the south-west. Plan for the 30-minute soak for the dried noodles. Chef's tip: add the vinegar to the bowl, not the pan; boiled vinegar loses the sharp edge that makes this dish.
Uzvar is the dark, smoky-sweet drink brewed from dried apples, pears and plums that closes the Holy Supper on Ukrainian Christmas Eve, Sviat Vechir, where it is one of the twelve meatless dishes alongside kutia. In villages across Podillia and the Carpathians the fruit is dried in the oven or over smoke in autumn, which gives uzvar its distinctive campfire note; market stalls sell ready-mixed bags in December. It is drunk warm in winter and chilled in summer, and is naturally vegan when sweetened with sugar instead of honey. Chef's tip: simmer gently, then let it steep for several hours; common mistake is boiling it hard, which turns the fruit to mush and the drink cloudy.
Bunny chow was born in Durban, among the city's Indian community, where curry in a hollowed loaf became the takeaway lunch of dockworkers and caddies. Many Durbanites say the first bunnies were vegetarian, filled with sugar beans, and cafés around Grey Street still sell a bean bunny beside the mutton one. A quarter loaf of unsliced white bread is scooped out and filled with a fiery, red Durban curry, with the scooped-out bread (the 'virgin') put back on top for dunking. It is eaten with your hands, with grated carrot and chilli salad on the side. Chef's tip: the curry needs to be thick and saucy, not watery; a runny curry soaks through the loaf before you've finished the first bite.
Sukumawiki (collard greens) finely chopped and cooked quickly with cumin, onion, tomato and a little turmeric, chilli and coriander-cumin powder until just tender. Its name means 'push the week', because it's cheap enough to stretch the budget to the end of the week. Serve hot with ugali.
All over Korea, small lunch restaurants bring sundubu jjigae to the table still boiling in a black stone pot, with a raw egg on the side to crack in while it bubbles. The stew is built on very soft, unpressed tofu, which breaks into creamy curds in a red, chilli-oil broth. Seafood and pork go in together here, though you can use just one. Have it with a bowl of rice and some kimchi; it's especially welcome on a cold day. Chef's tip: fry the chilli flakes gently in oil with the pork and garlic before adding liquid; this red chilli oil gives the stew its colour and a deep, rounded heat.
Lisbon's Bairro Alto taverns claim this dish, said to be named after a tasca owner called Brás, and it is still a weeknight favourite in homes all over the city. Flaked salt cod is softened with slowly cooked onion, tossed with a heap of fine straw-cut fried potatoes, then bound at the last second with beaten egg so everything stays creamy and loose. Black olives and parsley go on top. A green salad is all it needs. Chef's tip: take the pan off the heat the moment you add the eggs; they should finish cooking from the warmth of the potatoes, like a soft scramble.
In Rome supplì are bought from pizza-by-the-slice shops and friggitorie and eaten standing up, wrapped in paper, before the pizza arrives. Unlike Sicilian arancini they are oval and the rice is cooked in tomato sauce, so the inside is orange-red; when you bite one in half, the mozzarella stretches into a long 'telephone cord', which is where the nickname al telefono comes from. Roman bars usually add meat ragù; this version keeps it vegetarian with a basil-scented tomato rice. Chef's tip: cook the rice a day ahead and chill it in a thin layer; cold, firm rice shapes neatly and does not split in the oil.
Bacalao al pil pil belongs to Bilbao and the rest of Bizkaia, where it fills restaurant menus in Lent and Holy Week and reappears on Christmas Eve tables. It is made from just four things: desalted salt cod, olive oil, garlic and a dried chilli. The trick is the sauce. The cod gives off gelatine as it cooks gently in warm oil, and swirling the clay dish round and round turns that oil into a thick, pale, mayonnaise-like emulsion; the name comes from the 'pil pil' sound of it bubbling. Plan ahead, because thick salt cod needs 24–48 hours of soaking in the fridge. Chef's tip: buy thick, skin-on loins (lomos); the gelatine that makes the sauce comes from the skin.
Suqaar is the quick beef dish found everywhere from Mogadishu tea shops to Somali cafés in Minneapolis and London: small cubes of beef or lamb browned with onion, peppers and garlic, seasoned with xawaash, the house spice mix of cumin, coriander, cardamom, cinnamon and turmeric. Somalis eat it for breakfast with canjeero (spongy flatbread) or for lunch with rice or pasta. The mistake is cutting the beef in big chunks, which go chewy; cut it into small 1–2 cm cubes so it cooks fast and stays tender. Chef's tip: add a squeeze of lime and a handful of coriander just before serving.
Ask anyone who grew up in Shimla about babru and they will mention a paper plate of them in the Lower Bazaar, still puffing from the oil, with a ladle of dark tamarind chutney poured over. Unlike Uttar Pradesh's flaky urad kachori, babru is made from a soft, yeasted wheat dough, so it fries up light and bready, and it is pressed flat and wide rather than shaped into a ball. The filling is whole black gram, soaked and ground with ginger and green chilli. In Himachal homes it is a tea-time and festival snack, and it travels well in a tiffin. Chef's tip: grind the dal coarse and thick, like hummus; a runny paste leaks and makes the babru greasy.
Ayran is what Turks drink with lunch: a chilled, foamy blend of yogurt, water and a pinch of salt, poured from copper jugs alongside cheese pide, börek, lentil soup and bean stews. In the Susurluk area of Balıkesir it is whisked so hard that it arrives under a thick head of foam, and roadside cafés all over Anatolia serve it in tin cups on hot summer days. It is tangy, refreshing and cooling with spicy food. Make it just before you sit down and drink it ice-cold. Chef's tip: whisk the yogurt alone with the salt until smooth before adding any water, and you'll get a silky drink with no lumps.
Ayib is the soft, crumbly fresh cheese that Ethiopians serve alongside spicy food to cool the mouth, especially with kitfo and gomen in the Gurage country south of Addis Ababa, where it is made from the buttermilk left after churning butter. It tastes very mild and slightly tangy, a little like ricotta or cottage cheese, and is often mixed with herbs or a pinch of mitmita. This home version uses milk and buttermilk, heated until they separate. Chef's tip: once the curds form, take it off the heat; boiling makes them tough and rubbery.
Locho is a breakfast street snack from Surat in Gujarat. The story goes that a batch of khaman went wrong and came out soft and mushy, and people liked it so much it became a dish of its own; 'locho' means a muddle. A fermented batter of chana dal is steamed until just set and scooped out in soft, spoonable heaps, then drizzled with oil and showered with a spicy locho masala, raw onion, coriander and sev. It's eaten hot with green chutney and a sweet-sour tamarind sauce. Chef's tip: steam it in a shallow layer and take it off as soon as a knife comes out sticky but not wet; locho should be just set and wobbly, and over-steamed it turns into a dull khaman.
Every December and January, farms around Surat roast bundles of young green jowar heads over embers and thresh out ponk, soft, sweet, pale-green grains that last only a few weeks. Surtis turn the trip into a picnic, eating ponk by the handful with lemon-pepper sev and garlic chutney, then frying the leftovers into these crunchy vada. The grains are crushed coarsely with chilli and ginger, bound with a little gram and rice flour, and fried until the outside is lacy and crisp while the inside stays tender and grassy-sweet. Look for frozen ponk in Gujarati grocers outside the season. Chef's tip: crush the ponk only roughly; whole grains popping through the crust is what makes these vada special.
Suspiro a la limeña, 'the sigh of a Lima woman', is the city's grand dessert from colonial times, said to have been named by the poet José Gálvez for its sweetness. A thick manjar blanco, milk slowly cooked down to a silky caramel cream and enriched with egg yolks, is topped with a cloud of glossy Italian meringue flavoured with port and dusted with cinnamon. It is very sweet and very rich, so serve it in small glasses. Make it in the morning for the evening. Chef's tip: the manjar is ready when a spoon dragged across the bottom of the pan leaves a clear path for a moment; undercooked, it stays runny and the meringue sinks into it.
Rica means chilli in the Manado dialect, and North Sulawesi cooks are not shy with it. Ayam rica-rica turns up at Minahasa family parties and church gatherings, a heap of chicken pieces coated in a coarse, scarlet paste of fresh chillies, shallots and ginger, finished with tomato, spring onion and a fistful of lemon basil. It's hot, bright and fresh rather than deep and stewed, with a sticky sauce that clings to the meat. Serve it with lots of steamed rice and a cooling cucumber salad. Chef's tip: blend the paste coarse, with as little water as possible; a wet, smooth paste steams instead of frying and never gets that glossy, toasty edge.
Suwon, south of Seoul in Gyeonggi province, once had one of the largest cattle markets in Korea, and its galbi houses grew up around that trade. The city's style is unusual: the long, butterflied short ribs are seasoned mainly with salt, garlic and sesame oil rather than the soy marinade most people know. Families and office groups grill them at the table over charcoal, snip them into pieces with scissors and wrap each bite in lettuce with ssamjang and raw garlic. At home a ridged griddle pan or a barbecue does the job well. Chef's tip: score the opened-out meat lightly in a criss-cross pattern on both sides, so the salt seasoning soaks in and the ribbon of meat stays flat on the grill.
Suya comes from the Hausa north, from Kano and Kaduna, but now every Nigerian city has a mai suya grilling beef over charcoal by the roadside once the sun goes down. Thin slices of beef are threaded onto skewers, rubbed with yaji, a fiery mix of roasted peanut powder, chilli, ginger and stock spices, and grilled until charred at the edges. It comes wrapped in newspaper with sliced raw onion, tomato and extra yaji for dipping. The common mistake is cutting the beef thick; it needs to be thin enough to see light through, so it cooks fast and stays tender. Chef's tip: put the beef in the freezer for 30 minutes first, and it will slice wafer thin with ease.
Melaka's Peranakan (Nyonya) kitchens cook ayam pongteh for family dinners and for the Chinese New Year reunion table: a dark, gentle braise of chicken and potatoes that has no chilli at all. Its savour comes from taucheo, salted fermented soybeans, fried with a lot of shallots and garlic, sweetened with palm sugar and coloured with dark soy. The gravy is thin, glossy and moreish, and the potatoes drink it up until they are soft enough to crush with a spoon. Spoon it over plain rice with sambal belacan on the side for anyone who wants heat. Chef's tip: pound the shallots rather than blending them to a purée; slightly coarse shallots melt into the gravy and give it body.
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.
Shchi is the oldest soup in Russian cooking, the one the proverb pairs with porridge: 'shchi da kasha, pishcha nasha' (shchi and kasha, that's our food). In villages from Vologda to Ryazan it was left to mellow in the warmth of the big masonry stove, and in summer and early autumn it is made with fresh young cabbage rather than the sour winter version. Unlike Ukrainian kapusniak there is no sauerkraut or millet here: just sweet cabbage, root vegetables, tomato, bay and dill, with a cold spoon of smetana stirred into each bowl. Chef's tip: shchi tastes better the next day, so make it a day ahead and reheat gently.
Svíčková is the dish Czech families make for weddings, name days and big Sunday lunches, and in Prague pubs it appears on the menu as the proud centre of the week. Beef is marinated for a day or two with root vegetables and spices, slow-roasted, and the vegetables are then blended into a smooth, sweet-sour cream sauce. It is always served the same way: sliced beef, a pool of sauce, bread dumplings, a spoonful of cranberry sauce, a twist of whipped cream and a slice of lemon. Many cooks under-season the sauce; it should taste clearly of vinegar, sugar and allspice, not just cream. The optional smoked bacon that flavours the vegetables is pork; leave it out and the sauce is still rich. Chef's tip: blend the sauce until completely velvety, then push it through a sieve; that silky finish is what makes svíčková special.
Red-cooked chicken turns up at almost every Malay kenduri (wedding feast) and Hari Raya open house across Malaysia, ladled out of huge pots beside nasi minyak or plain rice. The chicken pieces are fried first so the skin firms up, then simmered in a brick-red sauce of blended dried chillies, tomato and onion that tastes sweet first, then hot, then tangy. Cinnamon, star anise and cloves give it a warm, almost festive smell, and a splash of coconut milk at the end rounds off the edges. Serve it with steamed rice, cucumber slices and a spoon of acar (pickled vegetables). Chef's tip: fry the chilli paste until it darkens and the oil seeps out (pecah minyak) before any tomato goes in; raw paste makes the sauce taste harsh and bitter.
Drive through west Bali to the ferry port of Gilimanuk and the roadside warungs all sell the same thing: ayam betutu, chicken cooked so long in spice paste that it slumps off the bone into a fiery, turmeric-orange gravy. The paste is base genep, Bali's master seasoning of shallots, garlic, galangal, aromatic ginger, turmeric, chillies, candlenuts and shrimp paste, and it is rubbed inside and out before the bird braises gently in a covered pot. Expect deep heat, a little bitterness from the greens tucked inside and a rich, almost buttery sauce. Pile it on steamed rice with water spinach or a raw sambal matah to cut through. Chef's tip: braise it the day before; the paste mellows overnight and the chicken reheats beautifully.
Syrnyky are the Sunday breakfast of Ukrainian childhoods: small, thick pancakes made almost entirely of tvorih, the dry farmer's cheese sold at every market in Odesa and Lviv, held together with an egg and a little flour and fried until golden. Inside they should be soft and creamy, like a baked cheesecake, outside lightly crisp. They are served with sour cream and cherry jam, or honey. Tvorih is made with lactic culture rather than rennet, so it suits vegetarians; dry cottage cheese pressed through a sieve or quark also works. Chef's tip: if your cheese is wet, wrap it in a cloth and press it under a weight for an hour; common mistake is adding extra flour to rescue a wet mixture, which makes syrnyky dense and rubbery.
Szarlotka is the apple cake every Polish café and grandmother has a version of, from Zakopane mountain inns to the cake counters of Poznań. In the classic home style, a sweet, crumbly shortcrust (kruche ciasto) is pressed into a tray, filled with a thick layer of tart apples cooked briefly with cinnamon, and topped with the rest of the pastry grated over like crumble. It is served in squares, dusted with icing sugar, often warm with a scoop of vanilla ice cream or whipped cream. Sharp autumn apples such as Szara Reneta or Bramley give the right sour-sweet balance. Chef's tip: grate the frozen top layer of dough straight onto the apples; it bakes into a light, sandy crust instead of a heavy lid.
Lu pulu is a Sunday dish in Tonga, cooked in the umu (earth oven) after church in Nuku'alofa and by Tongan families in Auckland and Sydney: taro leaves are layered into a cup, filled with corned beef, onion and thick coconut cream, wrapped in foil or banana leaf and baked until the leaves melt into a rich, silky parcel. It is served with boiled taro, yam or sweet potato. The mistake is undercooking the taro leaves: they must cook for at least an hour, as raw taro leaves irritate the mouth and throat. Chef's tip: if you can't find taro leaves, use large spinach or silverbeet leaves, cooked for 45 minutes.
A lovo is Fiji's earth oven, dug in the ground for weddings, church feasts and Christmas in villages on Viti Levu and Vanua Levu: hot stones are covered with parcels of meat, fish and root vegetables in banana leaves, then buried for hours. This home version wraps chicken marinated in coconut, garlic and ginger with taro, cassava and sweet potato in foil and banana leaves and roasts them slowly, giving the same steamed, smoky-sweet result. The mistake is wrapping loosely, so the steam escapes and everything dries; seal the parcels tightly. Chef's tip: a few drops of liquid smoke or a smoked paprika rub gives a hint of the earth oven.
In Lebanese homes loubieh bi zeit belongs to the 'bi zeit' family, vegetables cooked in olive oil and served cool, which turn up on the mezze table in summer and fill lunchboxes the next day. Flat runner beans or wide Romano beans are best: they soak up the garlicky tomato sauce and turn silky. It is eaten at room temperature with Arabic bread to mop the oil, and often with a few spring onions and radishes alongside. Chef's tip: cook the garlic only until it smells sweet before adding the beans; browned garlic turns the whole dish bitter.
Lucknow's galouti kebab is said to have been created in the kitchens of the Nawabs of Awadh for a ruler who had lost his teeth, and 'galouti' means something that melts. The minced lamb is ground again until it's almost a paste, tenderised with raw papaya, scented with a dozen spices plus rose water and saffron, and fried gently on a flat griddle. In the old city around Aminabad they are sold all day on small, flaky ulte tawe ka paratha with sliced onion and mint chutney, and they are a must at Ramadan iftars. Chef's tip: chill the mixture well before shaping; the patties are meant to be fragile, and a cold mixture is the only way to get them into the pan in one piece.
Sheermal is a soft flatbread made with milk and ghee instead of water, lightly sweet, and brushed with saffron milk so it bakes to a glossy amber colour. In Lucknow's old quarters like Chowk and Aminabad, bakers still make it in tandoors each morning, and families buy it for Eid, weddings and Ramadan iftar, eating it alongside rich kormas or simply with a cup of milky tea. It sits halfway between bread and pastry. The usual mistake is adding too much flour while kneading because the dough feels sticky; a dry dough gives a tough, crumbly sheermal. Chef's tip: oil your hands instead of flouring the surface, and let the rich dough rise until it is truly doubled.
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.
No Filipino party table is complete without a platter of lumpiang shanghai, the pencil-thin pork spring rolls that disappear first at birthdays, Christmas Eve (Noche Buena) and family reunions. They came from the Chinese-Filipino cooks of Manila, and the filling is seasoned minced pork with carrot, onion and water chestnut, rolled tight in thin wrappers and fried until they crackle. Dip them in sweet chilli sauce or banana ketchup. Chef's tip: roll them no thicker than your finger; thin rolls cook through in the time the wrapper takes to turn golden.
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.
Dutch appeltaart is a tall, generous pie baked in a springform tin, piled so high with apple chunks that a slice stands almost as tall as it is wide. A buttery, cake-like crust holds apples with cinnamon, lemon and raisins, and the top is woven into a lattice. It is what Dutch cafés serve with coffee, and what people bake for a birthday, always with a spoon of slagroom (lightly whipped cream). Amsterdam's Winkel 43 made it famous with tourists. Chef's tip: use firm, tart apples such as Goudreinet, Elstar or Bramley mixed with Jonagold; soft dessert apples collapse into purée and leave a gap under the lattice.
Lula kebab is the kebab Baku's grill houses are proudest of: minced lamb mixed with onion and a little tail fat, squeezed by hand around wide skewers and cooked fast over charcoal. It comes to the table on thin lavash with sliced raw onion tossed in sumac, grilled tomatoes and a pile of herbs, usually at long family lunches and weddings. The meat is only salted and peppered, so it tastes of lamb rather than spice. Many people skip chilling the mince, and soft warm meat slides straight off the skewer into the fire. Chef's tip: knead and slap the mince against the bowl for a few minutes; it becomes sticky and clings to the skewer.
Lulada is the drink of Cali and the Valle del Cauca, sold in tall glasses from street stalls and juice shops on hot afternoons. Lulo (naranjilla) is a small orange fruit with a green, sour, citrus-like pulp; for lulada it is chopped and crushed by hand rather than blended, then mixed with lime, sugar, cold water and ice, so you drink it with a spoon as much as a straw. Look for frozen lulo pulp or whole fruit in Latin American shops. Chef's tip: crush the lulo with a fork or muddler; blending smashes the seeds and makes the drink bitter.
In late June, when the sour-cherry trees in every yard from Vinnytsia to Cherkasy turn red, Ukrainian families sit around the kitchen table pitting cherries for varenyky. These sweet dumplings are boiled, piled into a bowl and drenched in a syrup made from the cherry juice, a taste of summer holidays at grandmother's. The dough here is the simple water and oil kind, so the recipe is vegan; most Ukrainians also add a spoon of sour cream, which you are welcome to do if you are not cooking vegan. Chef's tip: sugar the cherries in a sieve and let the juice drain before filling, then put a pinch of sugar on each portion only as you seal it, so the dough stays dry at the edges.
Liuzhou, an industrial city in Guangxi, turned its late-night snail noodle stalls into a national obsession, and the smell alone makes luosifen famous: sour fermented bamboo shoots give it a funky, love-it-or-hate-it aroma that fills the kitchen. The broth itself is rich and savoury from pork bones and river snails, red with chilli oil, and the bowl is piled with crunchy fried tofu skin, peanuts, pickled beans, greens and slippery rice noodles. Taste-wise it is hot, sour and deeply savoury all at once. It is a meal in a bowl, best eaten with the window open and a cold drink. Chef's tip: use only snails sold ready-cooked and cleaned, frozen or canned, never wild-gathered ones, and still boil them in the broth for at least 15 minutes; if you can't find them, dried shrimp make a good snail-free broth.
When the sun goes down during Ramadan in Dubai, Sharjah or Muscat, plates of luqaimat appear on iftar tables and in mosque courtyards. The little balls of yeasted batter, scented with saffron and cardamom, are fried until crisp and golden outside and soft as a cloud inside, then drizzled with dibs (date syrup) and scattered with sesame. Unlike syrup-soaked fritters, they are glazed only lightly, so they stay crunchy. Chef's tip: a teaspoon of oil on your thumb and a wet spoon stop the sticky batter clinging, so the balls drop round into the oil.
Varenyky with potato are the everyday dumplings of central Ukraine, the ones Gogol's Poltava characters dream about and the ones that fill freezers in Kyiv flats before every holiday. Unlike Polish pierogi ruskie, these have no curd cheese: the filling is simply mashed potato beaten with plenty of onion fried in sunflower oil, so they are vegan and appear on the meatless Holy Supper table on Christmas Eve. They are boiled, then tossed in more golden onion and eaten with dill. Chef's tip: let the filling cool completely before you fill the dough; warm mash steams the dough from inside and the dumplings tear in the pot.
Around four in the afternoon in Belém, capital of Pará, the tacacazeiras open their street stalls and people queue for tacacá, served scalding hot in a cuia, a bowl made from a dried gourd. The broth is tucupi, the sour yellow juice of wild manioc, with a spoonful of tapioca gum, dried shrimp and jambu, an Amazon herb whose leaves make your lips and tongue tingle and go pleasantly numb. You drink the broth straight from the bowl and pick out the rest. Tucupi is sold cooked and bottled (or frozen) in Brazilian shops; it must be properly boiled before eating, which is explained in the steps. Chef's tip: soak and briefly boil the dried shrimp before they go in; straight from the bag they make the broth far too salty.
Tacacho is the breakfast of the Peruvian Amazon, from Tarapoto to Iquitos: green plantains roasted over coals, mashed with fat and salt and shaped into balls. There it comes with cecina (smoked pork) and is mashed with lard and crackling; this vegan tacacho uses good oil and a pinch of smoked paprika for the same savoury, smoky depth. The balls are dense, chewy and starchy, crisp at the edges where the plantain charred, and they are eaten hot with a fiery chilli sauce or alongside stews. Use plantains that are fully green and firm. Chef's tip: mash the plantains while they are still very hot; as green plantain cools its starch sets and it won't bind into a smooth ball.
In İzmir and along the Aegean coast, lokma is the sweet of shared moments: families hire a lokma master with a big cauldron to fry hundreds of these golden balls on the street after a funeral or to mark an anniversary, handing them out to anyone passing by, and stalls sell them by the paper cup all year. Each fritter is a little ball of yeasted batter, crisp outside, hollow and soft within, soaked briefly in lemon syrup so it crunches before it melts. This home version needs no eggs or butter, and kids love squeezing out the balls. Eat them warm, on their own or with a sprinkle of cinnamon or crushed pistachios. Chef's tip: dip your spoon or fingers in a cup of water before each ball; the batter then slides off cleanly into round shapes instead of stringy tails.
Lyutenitsa is Bulgaria's pantry relish, cooked in huge pans in courtyards around Plovdiv and the Thracian plain every September, when the red peppers are at their sweetest. Roasted peppers, tomatoes and a little aubergine and carrot are ground smooth and simmered for hours into a thick, brick-red spread, warm with garlic and a little hot pepper. It is smoother and more tomato-rich than ajvar or zacuscă. Children grow up on it spread on bread with grated sirene (filiyka), and it goes with everything from eggs to beans. Chef's tip: stir from the bottom often as it thickens; walking away is the common mistake, and a scorched base will taint the whole pot.
Lohikeitto is what Finns cook when they want something warming after a day outside, ladled up in Helsinki lunch cafés and in lakeside summer cottages alike. Chunks of salmon and potato simmer in a light fish stock with leek and allspice, then a little cream turns it pale and gentle and a big handful of dill makes it taste of summer. It takes about forty minutes and is served with dark rye bread and butter. The common mistake is boiling the salmon hard, which turns it dry and stringy; it only needs a few minutes at a bare simmer. Chef's tip: add the salmon last and switch off the heat with the lid on; the fish finishes in the hot soup and stays in juicy flakes.
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