Thin gram flour ribbons
Patta gathia are flat, ribbon-like strips of gram flour dough, rolled paper-thin under the palm on a wooden board and fried until crisp. Black pepper and ajwain give them their flavour. They are a classic Gujarati tea-time snack and are great with fried chillies and papaya sambharo.
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Chunks of tender corn on the cob tossed in hot oil with cumin, green chillies, fresh coriander, turmeric, black pepper and lemon until every kernel is coated. It's hot, tangy and messy to eat with your fingers. Serve hot from the barbecue.
Cornulețe are the little crescent cookies that fill tins in Romanian kitchens before Christmas and New Year, and that grandmothers in Sibiu and Timișoara bake by the hundred for weddings and name days. This version uses a tender yeasted dough made with butter and yogurt, wrapped around a spoonful of thick plum jam (magiun) or rose rahat and rolled into horns. They bake pale and soft, not flaky, and are rolled in vanilla sugar while warm (the recipe makes 32, two per serving), which sets them apart from the cream-cheese rugelach of Jewish baking. Chef's tip: use thick jam and pinch the ends shut; runny jam is the usual mistake and bubbles out and burns on the tray.
Hideg meggyleves is a chilled sour cherry soup served as a starter in Hungary at the height of summer, from family lunches in the cherry-growing villages around Pest county to the terraces of Balaton restaurants. Sour cherries simmer briefly with sugar, cinnamon and cloves, then the soup is thickened with sour cream and served icy cold, pink and gently tangy. Some cooks add a splash of red wine for grown-ups. It is eaten before the main course, not as dessert, though no one complains if you have it after. Chef's tip: chill it for at least 3 hours; the flavour rounds out and the spices soften as it cools. A common mistake is boiling it after the cream goes in, which curdles it.
Before the sun is fully up over Makassar's harbour, coto warungs are already serving dockers and office workers alike from huge clay-coloured pots. This South Sulawesi soup is thick, brown and opaque, its body coming from roasted peanuts ground almost to flour and simmered into a broth made with the cloudy water from rinsing rice. Diced beef (and traditionally offal) sits in a nutty, cumin-and-pepper broth that's eaten with diamond-shaped ketupat rice cakes broken into the bowl, plus lime and a spoon of chilli. Chef's tip: grind the cooled peanuts in short bursts and stop while they're still sandy; a few seconds too long and you get peanut butter that turns the soup claggy.
Cou-cou is Friday lunch in Barbados, and paired with flying fish it makes the island's national dish, served in homes and the fish fry stalls of Oistins. Fine cornmeal is stirred into okra and its cooking water with a flat wooden cou-cou stick until it is smooth, thick and pulls away from the pot, then shaped in a buttered bowl. It's soft, mild and comforting, made for soaking up the rich tomato gravy around it. Here the gravy is a stew of peppers, tomatoes, aubergine and butter beans cooked with Bajan seasoning; flying fish steamed in the same sauce is the classic for fish eaters. Chef's tip: whisk the cornmeal into cold water before it goes into the pot; adding it dry to boiling liquid is the fastest way to lumps.
Barszcz czerwony wigilijny is the clear, ruby-coloured beetroot broth that opens the Christmas Eve supper in most Polish homes, from Warsaw to Wrocław. It is not the thick vegetable soup of Ukraine but a sipping broth, sweet, sour and earthy, sharpened with beetroot kvass or lemon and deepened with dried forest mushrooms; on 24 December it is served with tiny mushroom dumplings called uszka, and through winter people drink it from mugs alongside a croquette. It is fully plant-based, as the Wigilia table traditionally is. Chef's tip: once the beetroot is in, never let the soup boil hard; a bare simmer keeps the colour bright, and boiling turns it a dull brown.
Kladdkaka, literally 'sticky cake', is the chocolate cake Swedish teenagers learn to make first, because it needs one pan, no mixer and no raising agent. The outside bakes to a thin, crackly crust while the centre stays fudgy and almost molten, somewhere between a brownie and a chocolate pudding. In Sweden it turns up at birthday parties, after Friday tacos and at summer cottages, cut into wedges and served with lightly whipped cream and a few raspberries or lingonberries. Cocoa, not bar chocolate, gives it its classic flavour. Chef's tip: take it out when the middle still wobbles like set jelly; it firms up as it cools and a fully set kladdkaka is just a dry chocolate cake.
Couscous royal is the big-occasion couscous that Algerian and Moroccan families brought to France and that is now served for weddings and Sunday gatherings from Oran to Marseille: a pot of lamb and chicken simmered with vegetables and chickpeas in a mildly spiced broth, grilled merguez on the side, and a mountain of steamed couscous. The mistake is putting all the vegetables in at once; the courgettes go mushy while the turnips are still hard, so add them in stages. Chef's tip: brown the lamb and chicken well before the water goes in; that colour flavours the whole broth.
Tfaya is the sweet onion topping that turns a plain couscous into a celebration dish; in Fez and Rabat it is made for weddings, naming ceremonies and Eid, and families in Tétouan add it to Friday couscous too. Onions are cooked slowly with raisins, cinnamon, honey and a little saffron until they collapse into a sticky, mahogany jam, then piled over the couscous with chickpeas and fried almonds. Traditionally it crowns couscous with meat; here the chickpeas and almonds carry the dish, making it a sweet-savoury vegetarian main for a feast. Chef's tip: soak the raisins first, or they draw liquid from the onions and the tfaya catches before it caramelises.
Around Pratunam market in Bangkok, the khao man gai stalls are easy to spot: a queue, pale poached chickens hanging in a glass cabinet, and a cook slicing with a cleaver at speed. Like its Hainanese ancestor, the dish pairs silky chicken with rice cooked in the bird's fat and broth, but the Thai plate stands apart for its sauce, a punchy mix of fermented soybeans (tao jiao), ginger, garlic, chilli and vinegar, and for the little bowl of clear broth with winter melon served on the side. Bangkok eats it for breakfast, lunch or a late supper, always with cucumber slices and coriander. Chef's tip: plunge the cooked chicken into iced water for 10 minutes; the skin firms to a jelly-like snap and the meat stays juicy.
Basanti pulao, the 'spring-coloured' pulao, is cooked in Bengali homes for Poila Baisakh (the Bengali new year), weddings, Jamai Shashthi and pujas. It is made with gobindobhog, a short-grain, buttery-smelling rice from Bengal, cooked in ghee with whole spices, turmeric, sugar, cashews and raisins until each grain is glossy and separate. It is distinctly sweet, and is served with aloo dum, chhanar dalna or, in non-vegetarian homes, kosha mangsho. Chef's tip: wash the rice and spread it on a cloth for 30 minutes; dry grains fry in the ghee without breaking.
Basbaas means chilli in Somali, and basbaas cagaar, the green sauce, is on every Somali table, spooned over rice, pasta, sambuusa and grilled food. It is sharp, hot and fresh, and every family has its own balance of chilli, coriander and lime; some add a tomato to soften it. Make a jar and keep it in the fridge all week. Chef's tip: add the lime juice to the blender before the chillies; the acid keeps the sauce bright green.
Hinava is the dish Kadazandusun families set out at Kaamatan, Sabah's harvest festival in May, and on weekend tables in Kota Kinabalu and Penampang. Strips of raw mackerel are soaked in sour lime juice, then tossed with sliced shallots, ginger, red chilli and grated seed of bambangan, a wild mango, which adds a musky tang. The result is sharp, clean and crunchy, with firm, pearly fish. Eat it as a starter or alongside rice and grilled meat. Chef's tip: slice the fish very thinly and evenly so the lime firms each strip the same way, and season with salt only at the end.
Cozonac is the festive loaf every Romanian family bakes for Easter and Christmas, filling kitchens from Craiova to Suceava with the smell of butter, rum, lemon and orange zest. The rich yeast dough is rolled around a walnut and cocoa filling studded with pieces of rahat (Turkish delight), then braided and baked in a tall loaf tin so each slice shows a dark swirl. Unlike Slovenian potica, which is rolled into a thin spiral ring, cozonac is a braided loaf. It is eaten in thick slices with coffee on the feast mornings. Chef's tip: knead until the dough is silky and comes away from the bowl, then be patient with the rises; under-proving is the classic mistake and gives a dense, heavy loaf.
Läckerli have been Basel's own biscuit for more than 600 years, once baked by the city's spice merchants and gifted at Christmas and New Year; Basel shops still pack them in tins all year round. They are small, chewy rectangles of honey, almonds, candied orange and lemon peel and warm spices, with a thin, crackly sugar glaze. Unlike soft German gingerbread they are firm and dense when they are fresh and soften with time in a tin. Eat them with coffee or tea, or keep a box for visitors. Chef's tip: cut the slab into rectangles while it is still hot and glaze it at once; once cool it sets too hard to cut cleanly.
Crème brûlée, 'burnt cream', is the dessert on almost every Paris bistro menu: a shallow dish of rich vanilla custard, cold and silky, under a thin sheet of caramelised sugar you crack with the back of a spoon. Unlike the stovetop Spanish crema catalana, it's made with cream and baked gently in a water bath. The custards are made a day ahead, which makes it ideal for dinner parties; only the sugar is burnt at the last minute. Chef's tip: take them out of the oven while the middle still wobbles like jelly; overbaking is the common mistake and the custard turns grainy and splits.
Khao piak sen is the soup Laotians crave on a cool morning or when they feel unwell, and roadside shops in Vientiane and Luang Prabang sell it from dawn. The noodles are cut by hand from a soft rice and tapioca dough and cooked straight in the broth, so their starch turns the soup thick, slippery and comforting. Instead of the usual chicken stock, this version builds a deep broth from dried shiitake, charred onion and ginger, and finishes it with crisp fried garlic, spring onion and coriander. Chef's tip: dust the cut noodles well with tapioca starch and keep them apart; they stick together into a clump in seconds if left in a pile.
Along the Dalmatian coast, from Korčula to Dubrovnik, konobas serve crni rižot as the first thing fishermen order when they come ashore, its jet-black colour startling against a white plate. Cuttlefish is cooked slowly with onion and garlic until tender, then rice goes in with fish stock and the ink sac, making a creamy, sea-sweet rice that tastes of the shore. It traditionally includes a splash of dry white wine; for an alcohol-free version, use more stock with a squeeze of lemon. The usual mistake is adding the cuttlefish late and cooking it fast, which leaves it rubbery; it needs to stew first. Chef's tip: serve with a drizzle of good olive oil and grated hard sheep's cheese if you like, and warn your guests about black teeth.
Guo qiao mi xian comes from Mengzi in southern Yunnan. The story goes that a scholar's wife carried soup across a bridge to his island study each day, and found that a layer of oil kept it piping hot. Today in Kunming it arrives as a big bowl of scalding broth plus small plates of raw thinly sliced vegetables, tofu skin, herbs and rice noodles, which you slide in yourself so they cook at the table. This vegetarian broth is built on mushroom, corn and soybean sprouts. Chef's tip: the broth must be at a rolling boil when it goes into a warmed bowl; that heat is what cooks the toppings.
Khao poon is celebration food in Laos, ladled out at weddings, baci ceremonies and big family gatherings, and sold at morning markets in Vientiane by women with huge steaming pots. Fine round rice noodles sit under a spicy, red-tinged broth of coconut milk, lemongrass and galangal, and everyone adds their own shredded cabbage, banana blossom, beansprouts, mint and lime. The usual chicken or fish is swapped for golden fried tofu and bamboo shoots. Chef's tip: fry the red chilli paste in the coconut cream until oil seeps out in red drops on the surface; that's when the colour and heat are fully released.
Kadu borani is the dish that wins over people who think they don't like pumpkin. In Afghan homes, especially in autumn around Kabul and Kandahar when the big orange squashes come in, wedges of pumpkin are browned, then braised with tomato, a little sugar and warm spices until sticky and caramelised, and served on garlic yoghurt with dried mint. The mix of sweet, savoury and sour is the point. Eat it with naan or as part of a spread with rice. Chef's tip: use a dense, deep-orange pumpkin or butternut squash; watery pumpkins fall apart and turn bland.
Csirkepaprikás is the Sunday chicken of Hungarian homes, cooked by grandmothers in villages and in Budapest flats alike and always served with nokedli, the little egg dumplings. Chicken thighs braise gently with onion, plenty of sweet paprika, tomato and pepper, then soured cream is stirred in to make a velvety, brick-orange sauce. Chef's tip: mix the soured cream with a spoonful of flour and some hot sauce before adding it; this stops it from splitting.
Cuberdons are the purple, cone-shaped sweets sold from handcarts on the Groentenmarkt in Ghent, where locals call them neuzekes, 'little noses'. A thin, firm sugar crust encloses a syrupy raspberry centre, and they only stay that way for about three weeks before the inside crystallises, which is why they have never become an export. They are made with gum arabic, not gelatine, so they suit vegetarians and vegans. Making them at home is a fun weekend project: the syrup is poured into cone-shaped hollows pressed into a tray of dry cornflour, which slowly draws moisture out and forms the crust. Chef's tip: use a sugar thermometer and be exact; just a few degrees too low and the cones never form a crust, a few too high and they set solid all the way through.
Every traditional Assamese lunch begins with khar, a mouthful of it mixed into the first ball of rice to settle the stomach. The defining ingredient is khar itself, an alkaline liquid filtered from the ash of dried bhim kol (seeded banana) peels; it gives the dish its soft, slightly soapy, earthy taste. Raw papaya and a handful of lentils are cooked in it with mustard oil, garlic and green chilli until silky. At home in Guwahati or Jorhat it is made several times a week. Chef's tip: outside Assam, use a small pinch of bicarbonate of soda in place of khar; too much tastes metallic, so start with ⅛ tsp.
Käsespätzle is the cheese-and-noodle dish of Swabia and the Allgäu in the far south of Germany, served in mountain huts after a day's walking or skiing and in every village inn from Stuttgart to Oberstdorf. Freshly made spätzle, soft, irregular egg noodles, are layered hot with grated Bergkäse or Emmental until the cheese melts into long strings, then crowned with onions fried slowly until brown and sweet. A green salad with a sharp vinegar dressing is the classic partner. Use cheese made with vegetarian rennet; many mountain cheeses use animal rennet, so check the label. Chef's tip: layer the spätzle and cheese while both are piping hot, straight from the pot, so the cheese melts in the gaps instead of sitting on top in a rubbery sheet.
Kafteji is a Tunis sandwich-shop classic: fried peppers, tomato, squash and potato chopped together on a board with a cleaver, mixed with harissa and fried eggs, and eaten from a plate or stuffed into a baguette at lunchtime. Stalls near Bab Souika and the central market make it to order, and the sound of the chopping is part of the show. Chef's tip: fry each vegetable separately; they cook at different speeds, and crowding them makes everything greasy and soft.
On the island of Chiloé in southern Chile, curanto is cooked in a pit lined with hot stones and covered with huge nalca leaves; in town kitchens and in Puerto Montt's market it is made in a big pot instead, curanto en olla. Mussels and clams, smoked pork, chicken and sausage steam together over potatoes and milcao (potato dumplings) until the juices make a rich broth, served in cups on the side. This dish contains pork and shellfish. Some cooks add white wine; this version uses water. The mistake is adding the shellfish too early; they go in at the end and must open, and any that stay closed are thrown away. Chef's tip: make the milcao a little ahead and keep it in the fridge so it holds its shape.
In the villages of Garhwal, kafuli is what goes into the iron kadhai when the terraces are full of palak and methi in late winter. The greens are blanched, ground roughly on a stone and simmered with a spoonful of soaked rice paste, which turns the curry silky without any cream. Mustard oil and a few dried chillies give it a sharp, warm edge, and the iron pan darkens it to a deep forest green. Eat it with mandua ki roti or plain rice and a dab of ghee for those who want it. Chef's tip: grind the greens in short pulses so you can still see flecks of leaf; kafuli should have texture, not look like a smooth soup.
This is a pork dish. Currywurst was born in post-war Berlin, and today kiosks across the city sell it all day and long into the night, on a little paper tray with a wooden fork. A fried pork sausage is cut into bite-size pieces and drowned in a warm, tangy tomato sauce spiced with curry powder, then dusted with more curry powder and served with chips or a bread roll. The sauce is homemade here, so it has no brand of ketchup in it. The usual mistake is cooking the sausages too hot, so they split and burn outside while staying raw inside. Chef's tip: let the sauce simmer a full 10 minutes; the curry powder needs that time to lose its raw, dusty taste.
No plate of pupusas in El Salvador arrives without a jar of curtido beside it: a tangy, crunchy slaw of cabbage, carrot and onion lightly pickled in vinegar with Mexican oregano. Pupuserías keep a big jar on every table, and the sharpness cuts through melted cheese and corn perfectly. It's also good with beans, tacos or a cheese sandwich. Chef's tip: make it a day ahead; it is crisp and raw on day one but turns mellow and properly pickled by day two.
Basel's Fasnacht starts at 4 a.m. on the Monday after Ash Wednesday with Morgestraich, when the city's lights go out and the cliques march with lanterns, piccolos and drums. Afterwards everyone crowds into the old-town restaurants for a bowl of Mehlsuppe: flour toasted in butter until it is the colour of hazelnuts, simmered into a smooth, savoury, deep-brown soup and finished with grated cheese. It warms you on a freezing February morning and is usually eaten with Zwiebelwähe (onion tart). The traditional soup is made with beef stock; this vegetarian version uses a strong vegetable stock with a little red wine and onion to give the same depth. Chef's tip: toast the flour slowly and stir all the time; the colour should be even chestnut brown, and the smell like toasted nuts.
Hodu gwaja (호두과자) were first sold at Cheonan station in South Chungcheong in the 1930s, and the town's walnut orchards still supply the pieces of nut hidden in every one. Today you find them in paper bags at every motorway service station in Korea: bite-sized, walnut-shaped cakes with a soft, eggy shell around sweet red bean paste and a chunk of walnut. They are made in a hinged cast-iron mould; a madeleine or Japanese takoyaki pan works too, though the shape will differ. Eat them warm, on the day. Chef's tip: heat the mould properly before the first batch; the first cakes are always the palest, so judge doneness by the colour of the later ones.
Hogao (or guiso) is the base and topping of Colombian home cooking, from Antioquia to Cali: ripe tomatoes and long spring onions (cebolla larga) cooked slowly in oil with garlic and cumin until soft and jammy. It is spooned over patacones, arepas, boiled potatoes and yuca, stirred into beans and rice, and served in a little bowl at the table. Chef's tip: cook it low and slow; a fast, hot hogao tastes raw and sharp, while a patient one turns sweet.
This is a pork recipe. Sheftalia are the little skinless sausages you find on every souvla barbecue in Cyprus, from Limassol beach grills to Sunday family gatherings in Nicosia gardens. Minced pork is mixed with onion, parsley and mint, wrapped in lacy caul fat and grilled slowly so the fat melts and bastes the meat. They come tucked into a large pitta with salad, lemon and tahini. Ask a butcher for caul fat (sometimes called lace fat); without it you can still shape the mix into thick sausages and grill them on an oiled rack. Chef's tip: soak the caul fat in warm, lightly vinegared water first; it becomes supple and stretches without tearing.
Klepon are the jajan pasar, or market cakes, of Java: sold in the morning from baskets lined with banana leaves, bright green from pandan and dusted with grated coconut. Bite one and a pocket of molten palm sugar floods your mouth, so Javanese eat them whole. Malaysians and Singaporeans know the same sweet as onde-onde, made for festive tea tables, so this page covers both. Chef's tip: seal the balls with no cracks and drop them into gently boiling water — the moment they float, give them one more minute, and the sugar inside will be fully molten.
Hokey pokey is what New Zealanders call honeycomb toffee, and vanilla ice cream full of crunchy little nuggets of it has been the country's best-loved flavour since the mid-twentieth century; it's scooped into cones at dairies and beaches from Auckland to Invercargill. The honeycomb is a bubbling golden syrup toffee that foams up when bicarbonate of soda goes in and sets glassy and light. Folded through a rich no-churn vanilla base, it stays crunchy at first and slowly turns chewy and toffee-like. Chef's tip: don't stir the sugar once it starts to melt; swirl the pan instead, or it will crystallise and turn grainy.
Dabo kolo are small crunchy nuggets of spiced dough, sold in paper cones in markets from Addis Ababa to Gondar and offered to guests with coffee. Families make big batches before holidays such as Enkutatash (Ethiopian New Year in September) and for long journeys, since they keep for weeks. The dough is seasoned with berbere and a little sugar, rolled into thin ropes, cut into tiny pieces and toasted until crisp. Children love them, and they can be made mild by reducing the berbere. Chef's tip: cut the pieces as small and even as you can, about the size of a chickpea, so they crunch all the way through.
Every table in Manado, North Sulawesi, has a bowl of dabu-dabu: diced tomato, shallot and red chilli with calamansi juice and lemon basil, sometimes dressed with hot oil. It is spooned over grilled food, fried tofu and the pumpkin porridge tinutuan, and its cool juiciness makes very hot chilli easier to take. Unlike Bali's sambal matah, it is built on tomato and stays chunky and wet. Chef's tip: salt the tomatoes and leave them 5 minutes before mixing, so they release juice that becomes the dressing.
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.
Kahwa is the warming green tea of Kashmir, traditionally brewed in a brass samovar and poured for guests on cold winter days. Green tea leaves are infused with saffron, green cardamom and cinnamon, sweetened lightly and served with slivered almonds in each cup. It's golden, fragrant and soothing, and is drunk after heavy meals to help digestion. Chef's tip: never boil the tea leaves; simmer the spices first, then let the tea steep off the heat for just 2 minutes or it turns bitter.
Dahi baigana is one of the easiest dishes of an Odia summer lunch, and it turns up at home thalis in Puri and Bhubaneswar beside dalma and rice. Thick rounds of aubergine are rubbed with turmeric and salt, fried until golden and creamy, then bathed in whisked yogurt that has been tempered with mustard seeds, cumin, curry leaves and dried chilli. It is served at room temperature: cool, tangy and smoky from the fried aubergine. Chef's tip: add the tempering to the yogurt, never the yogurt to the hot pan, so it doesn't split.
Chicken on the bone braised with big chunks of potato in a thick red sauce is a weeknight staple in Daejeon, the central city where many Korean rail lines meet, and in homes right across the country. Some people still call it dakdoritang. Unlike Andong's soy-based jjimdak, it gets its colour and heat from chilli flakes and gochujang, and the potatoes slowly thicken the sauce as they soften. It's usually brought to the table in the pot and shared, with rice and kimchi, and the last of the sauce is spooned over rice. Chef's tip: blanch the chicken for 3 minutes and rinse it first; this takes away scum and excess fat, so the sauce stays bright and clean-tasting.
Chuncheon, a lakeside city in Gangwon province, is so proud of dak galbi that it has a whole lane of restaurants and a yearly festival for it. There, a waiter stir-fries the marinated chicken, cabbage, sweet potato and rice cakes on a huge round iron pan in the middle of your table. When the pan is nearly empty, rice is fried in the leftover sauce to finish the meal. This version is made in a large frying pan or wok at home. Chef's tip: a teaspoon of curry powder in the marinade is a Chuncheon trick; you won't taste curry, but the sauce tastes deeper.
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.
Pilgrims who come to the Ranchhodraiji temple at Dakor, in the Charotar belt of central Gujarat, rarely leave without a paper cone of gota from the shops around the temple square. These fritters are different from ordinary bhajia: the batter uses coarse gram flour, crushed black pepper and coriander seeds and plenty of fresh methi, and it is whipped light so the gota come out round, craggy and soft inside. Families buy the ready-mixed flour to take home and fry them on the first rainy evening of the monsoon. Serve them with green chutney, fried green chillies and a cup of masala chai. Chef's tip: beat the batter by hand in one direction for a full 3 minutes before frying; the air you whip in matters as much as the baking soda.
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