Teapot lamb with split peas
In the teahouses of northern and central Afghanistan, from Mazar to the Salang road, every traveller who orders chainaki gets his own small metal teapot packed with lamb, onion, split peas and water, set in the embers beside the samovar from morning until lunch. When it is ready, the broth is poured off over torn naan in a bowl and the soft meat eaten after, with raw onion and green chilli. The taste is simple and pure: clean lamb, sweet onion, a little turmeric and pepper. Rushing it on a high flame toughens the meat and boils the broth cloudy, so the heat should be so low that the liquid only trembles. Chef's tip: a small heavy lidded casserole in a low oven gives exactly the same result as the teapot, with no risk of it boiling dry.
A new country every day, from every cuisine on the site.
A Mombasa street favourite: potatoes cooked in a thin, garlicky tomato and raw mango sauce, ladled into bowls and piled with crushed potato crisps, crunchy sev and a fresh coconut and mango chutney. Everyone builds their own bowl to taste. Serve straight away so the crisps stay crunchy.
Darjeeling's first flush is picked in March and April on estates clinging to the hills above the town, and in Darjeeling's tea rooms it is served plain: pale gold, flowery and slightly astringent, with a 'muscatel' note in the later second flush. It is the opposite of a strong breakfast tea, so it is never boiled, stewed or given milk. Hill families drink it from morning till dusk, and it is a souvenir every visitor buys from Chowrasta. Chef's tip: use water just off the boil (about 90°C) and time the brew; overheated or overbrewed first flush turns bitter and loses its scent.
Profiteroles are a Parisian brasserie dessert: small, crisp choux pastry puffs split and filled with vanilla ice cream, then drowned at the table in warm dark chocolate sauce. The contrast is the point: hot sauce, cold ice cream, crisp pastry. Choux is easier than it looks and needs no special tools, just a wooden spoon and some elbow grease. The puffs can be baked in the morning and filled at the last minute. Check your ice cream is free of gelatine. Chef's tip: bake the puffs until deep golden and firm; taking them out pale is the common mistake and they collapse as they cool.
A simple, homely East African dish of butter beans (or kidney beans) tossed with tender cabbage and carrots in butter with deeply browned onions. It's mild, filling and good for every day; the book's Handy Hints note that cabbage is high in fibre and good for digestion. Serve hot with chapati, rice or ugali.
Kagoshima, at the southern tip of Kyushu, is known across Japan for kurobuta, black Berkshire pork raised on farms in the prefecture. The meat is sweet with soft, clean-tasting fat, and shabu-shabu restaurants in Kagoshima city serve it sliced paper-thin so diners can cook it themselves at the table. Any thinly sliced pork loin or belly works well at home; Asian grocers sell it frozen for hot pots. Each slice is swished through the simmering kombu broth, then dipped in tangy ponzu or creamy sesame sauce. Chef's tip: when the meat is finished, cook a handful of rice or noodles in the leftover broth; it has taken on all the flavour of the pork and vegetables.
Okinawa soba has nothing to do with buckwheat: the noodles are thick, chewy and made from wheat, and the dish is the islands' everyday lunch. Small soba shops all over Okinawa serve it in a clear, gentle broth of pork and bonito, and the soki version is crowned with spare ribs braised so long that even the cartilage turns soft. Slices of fishcake, spring onions and red pickled ginger finish the bowl, and every table has a bottle of chilli steeped in awamori to splash on. October 17 is Okinawa Soba Day on the islands. Chef's tip: braise the ribs a day ahead; cold, the fat sets on top of the cooking liquid and lifts off in one piece, and the broth is cleaner for it.
Tambi ya nazi: soft vermicelli stirred into sweetened coconut milk with crushed cardamom, then baked briefly so it sets lightly. It's creamy, gently sweet and fragrant, and is often made for Eid. Serve hot, sprinkled with more cardamom.
In Paraguay you hear 'chipa, chipa!' called by vendors with big baskets on buses and street corners, and every family bakes it for Holy Week, when chipa is the food of Good Friday. Cassava starch, a little cornmeal, butter, eggs and a lot of hard cheese are kneaded into a dough scented with aniseed, shaped into rings or small rolls and baked in a hot oven, traditionally a domed clay tatakua. It's chewy, crisp outside and best warm with cocido (toasted yerba tea). Chef's tip: the dough should feel soft and slightly greasy; add milk a spoon at a time, as too much makes the chipa spread flat.
In Seoul, bulgogi restaurants still cook it on a domed grill set into the table, with a moat around the edge that catches the sweet juices for spooning over rice. At home it is made in a hot pan, and it is a favourite for family dinners, lunch boxes and birthday tables. Grated Asian pear softens the meat and adds a gentle sweetness to the soy and garlic. Wrap it in lettuce with a little ssamjang, or eat it over rice. Chef's tip: put the beef in the freezer for 30 minutes before slicing; firm meat cuts into wafer-thin slices easily.
Sydney and Wellington both claim the flat white, first poured in their cafés in the mid-1980s, and today it's the everyday coffee across Australia and New Zealand, from Melbourne's laneway cafés to a beach kiosk in Raglan. It's smaller and stronger than a latte: a double shot of espresso topped with milk steamed to a smooth, glossy microfoam with only a thin layer of froth on top, so the coffee stays at the front. It's velvety, rich and sweet-tasting without sugar. For a vegan version, use a barista-style oat milk. Chef's tip: stretch the milk only for the first few seconds, then sink the wand and let it spin; you want paint-like milk, not a hat of stiff foam.
Big pieces of sweet red pepper and fennel tossed with lemon, black pepper and olive oil and roasted until soft and just starting to brown, then topped with black olives, toasted pine nuts and fresh herbs. It works as a side or a light starter, warm or cold. The vegetables can also be roasted on the barbecue jiko.
At a Bangladeshi wedding in Dhaka, the moment the kacchi biryani comes out, so do glasses of pale green borhani. It's a thin, salty-spicy yoghurt drink blended with mint, coriander, green chilli, black salt and a whisper of ground mustard, made to cut through a rich meal and settle the stomach. Pour it alongside any spiced rice dish, including a vegetable biryani or bhuna khichuri. Chef's tip: the ground mustard seed is the signature; toast it lightly first and grind it fine, or the drink turns bitter.
Whole bananas roasted on the barbecue until soft and sweet, cut into quarters, put on skewers, half-dipped in melted dark chocolate and rolled in chopped almonds, pistachios and cashews. It's a quick barbecue dessert that children love to help make. Serve them straight away while the chocolate is still soft.
Up in the hill villages of Himachal Pradesh, where flocks are walked to summer pastures, lamb is often cooked in chhaachh, the thin buttermilk left after churning butter. Thickened with a spoonful of gram flour, it makes a pale, gently sour gravy that is milder and lighter than the red curries of the plains, and it is a favourite at dhams, the festive meals of the Kangra and Chamba valleys. Serve it with steamed rice or makki ki roti. Chef's tip: whisk the gram flour into the buttermilk until there are no lumps before it goes near the pot; once it hits the heat, any lumps stay lumps.
Teri means shine and yaki means grilled, which sums up the glossy, lacquered finish of this weeknight favourite. Japanese restaurants often save the teriyaki treatment for yellowtail in winter, but at home it is usually chicken thighs, cooked in one frying pan and sliced over rice or packed into a lunchbox. The sauce is just soy sauce, mirin, sake and sugar, bubbled down in the pan until it clings. Serve it with shredded cabbage and a bowl of miso soup. Chef's tip: wipe the fat out of the pan with kitchen paper before the sauce goes in, so the glaze thickens and shines instead of sitting in a greasy pool.
Nakatsu, a city in Oita prefecture on Kyushu, calls itself the capital of karaage and has dozens of takeaway shops selling it by weight. Across Japan, these bite-size nuggets fill school bento boxes, sit in the hot cabinet of every convenience store and arrive with a squeeze of lemon at izakaya bars. Boneless thigh soaks briefly in soy, ginger and garlic, then a dusting of potato starch fries into a thin, glassy crust. Frying twice keeps the meat juicy and the outside crisp for longer. Chef's tip: once you have tossed the chicken in starch, wait 5 minutes until the coating looks damp in patches, which is what gives that craggy, crunchy finish.
Everything on this central Thai plate is arranged in little heaps around a mound of rice tossed with garlic and fermented shrimp paste: sticky caramelised pork (moo wan), threads of sour green mango, shallots, chillies, sliced long beans, crisp dried shrimp and ribbons of thin omelette. You mix a bit of each into every spoonful, so salty, sweet, sour and hot arrive together. It's a favourite at Bangkok's curry-and-rice shops and a clever way to use up yesterday's rice at home; lime wedges and cucumber cool it down. Chef's tip: use day-old jasmine rice straight from the fridge, because freshly cooked rice clumps and smears the shrimp paste instead of coating each grain.
Borshch is the soup Ukrainians measure every kitchen by: a deep ruby pot of beetroot, cabbage, potato and beans, soured just enough and finished with garlic and dill. Every region argues for its own version, from Poltava's with beans to Kyiv's with apples, and in 2022 the cooking of Ukrainian borshch was added to UNESCO's list of culture in need of urgent safeguarding. Traditionally it is simmered on a pork or beef bone stock; this version uses a well-seasoned vegetable stock and white beans, which is how many families cook it during Lent anyway. Serve it hot with a spoon of sour cream and garlic pampushky, and know that it tastes even better the next day. Chef's tip: fry the grated beetroot with a splash of vinegar before it goes into the pot; the acid fixes the red colour, so the soup stays bright instead of fading to brown.
This is a pork recipe. Walk through any Greek town after dark, from Athens to Thessaloniki, and the smell of souvlaki stands drifts down the street; cubes of pork shoulder grilled on thin skewers are the country's favourite cheap supper, eaten standing up or at a plastic-table taverna. At home you marinate the meat in lemon, olive oil, garlic and dried oregano, grill it hard and fast, and pile it on warm pitta with tzatziki, tomato and red onion. Chef's tip: cut the pork into even 2.5 cm cubes and leave a little fat on; lean loin dries out, shoulder stays juicy over high heat.
Eight small pizzas on a soft yogurt dough made with half wholewheat flour, spread with hot pizza gravy and loaded with capsicum, pineapple, onion, mushrooms, olives, sweetcorn, chilli flakes and both mozzarella and cheddar. The bases can be baked ahead and topped when the guests arrive. Cut into quarters and serve hot.
Lumpiang sariwa ('fresh lumpia') is the unfried cousin of the crisp Filipino spring roll, served at fiestas, family gatherings and as a substantial afternoon merienda around Manila and the Tagalog provinces. A thin, soft egg crepe is wrapped around a lettuce leaf and a warm sauté of sweet potato, jicama, carrot, green beans, cabbage and tofu, then covered in a glossy brown garlic sauce and a shower of crushed peanuts. In Negros the filling is heart of palm (ubod) instead. It is eaten with a knife and fork, or carefully by hand. Chef's tip: make the crepes thin enough that you can almost see light through them; thick ones turn rubbery and hide the filling.
Khurmi are the sweet half of Chhattisgarh's Teeja-Pola festival snacks, made in big batches alongside the salty thethri. The dough is wheat flour and a little semolina bound with melted jaggery, studded with sesame and coconut, then cut into diamonds or pressed into small patterned shapes and fried until dark gold. They have a hard, crunchy bite and a deep caramel flavour, and they last for weeks in a steel dabba, ready for visitors and children back from school. Chef's tip: cool the jaggery water to lukewarm before kneading; hot jaggery makes a slack dough that spreads and soaks up oil.
Sayur lodeh is everyday cooking in Central Java, made in big pots in Solo and Semarang kitchens and ladled over rice, with lontong rice cakes at Lebaran, or alongside opor and sambal goreng on festive tables. It's soupy rather than thick: a fragrant broth of coconut milk, galangal, lemongrass and lime leaf that carries chunks of aubergine, long beans, chayote and sweetcorn, plus tempeh and tofu to make it a meal. The flavour is mellow and slightly sweet, so the heat comes from sambal on the side. Chef's tip: keep the pot at a gentle simmer once the coconut milk goes in and stir now and then — a rolling boil splits the coconut milk into oily curds.
Lucknow's cooks built their reputation on restraint: the Awadhi biryani is perfumed rather than fiery, with no tomato, very little chilli and whole spices that whisper instead of shout. Vegetables are cooked in spiced yogurt, layered with long-grain rice that is only three-quarters done, then sealed under a dough lid so everything finishes in its own steam, a technique the city calls dum pukht. It is the dish for Eid gatherings, wedding buffets and long Sunday lunches across Uttar Pradesh, served with a cooling raita and a sliced onion salad. The common mistake is boiling the rice fully before layering; it then turns soft and sticky under the lid instead of separating into long, distinct grains. Chef's tip: lift a grain and press it between your fingers before draining; it should break into two or three firm pieces with a white core.
Harissa is Tunisia's essential condiment, made in every household from the dried red chillies of Nabeul and Cap Bon, which are hung in strings on house walls in late summer to dry. It goes into lablabi, brik, kafteji, couscous and soups, and is spread on bread with olive oil as a snack. Homemade harissa is brighter and less salty than the tubes. Chef's tip: toast the caraway and coriander seeds only until they smell warm; burnt seeds make the paste bitter.
Late at night along the river in Nakasu, Fukuoka, the yatai street stalls ladle out bowls of creamy, opaque pork-bone soup to people heading home. Hakata noodles are thin and straight and cooked very firm, and regulars order a second ball of noodles, called kaedama, into the same soup. Making it at home is a weekend project: the bones need about 10 hours at a fierce boil to break down into that milky broth, while rolled pork belly braises on the side. Red pickled ginger, sesame and spring onion cut through the richness. Chef's tip: ask your butcher to split the trotters and saw the bones in half, as the exposed marrow and collagen are what make the soup turn white and silky.
Tokyo's earliest ramen counters, starting with one in Asakusa in 1910, served a clear brown soup seasoned with soy sauce, and that style still defines a Tokyo bowl. You'll find it in old-fashioned shops with a ticket machine by the door and a short lunchtime queue outside. This home version simmers chicken wings for under an hour, so the broth tastes clean and light, a world away from the milky pork soup of Kyushu. Wavy noodles catch the soup, and poached chicken, a jammy egg, nori and spring onion go on top. Chef's tip: float a spoonful of the yellow chicken fat you skim off the broth on each bowl, as it carries the aroma of the soy to your nose with every slurp.
On a Georgian table in July and August the tomato and cucumber salad is not dressed with oil and lemon but with ground walnuts loosened with water and vinegar, so the dressing turns creamy and nutty. You find it in Tbilisi kitchens, in Kakhetian village gardens where the tomatoes come off the vine warm, and next to every khachapuri. It takes fifteen minutes and is best eaten as soon as it is made. A common mistake is salting the tomatoes too early, which floods the bowl with juice and thins the dressing; dress and salt just before it goes to the table. Chef's tip: use purple (opal) basil if you can find it; its clove-like scent is what makes this salad taste Georgian.
Saskatoon berries grow wild across the Canadian prairies, and in July families in Saskatchewan, Alberta and Manitoba pick them by the pail for pie. They look like blueberries but taste sweeter and nuttier, almost like a cross with cherry and almond, with soft seeds. The city of Saskatoon takes its name from the Cree word for the berry, misâskwatômina. A double-crust saskatoon pie with ice cream is classic prairie summer dessert. Chef's tip: saskatoons are low in acid, so lemon juice is essential to wake up the flavour; outside Canada, use blueberries with a few drops of almond extract.
Persian love cake is not an old Iranian recipe but a modern one from the Iranian diaspora, popular in cafés in London and Melbourne, built on the flavours of Persian sweets: almond, cardamom, nutmeg, rosewater and pistachio. The name comes from a story about a woman who baked a spell-binding cake for a prince. It has a crunchy almond base and a soft, moist, yogurt-rich top, finished with rose-scented cream, green pistachios and pink petals, and it is lovely for birthdays and Nowruz tea. Made with ground almonds and no wheat flour, it is naturally gluten free. Chef's tip: press the base layer firmly into the tin; that crunchy bottom is the signature of this cake.
Caldo verde comes from the Minho, the green, rainy corner of northern Portugal above Porto, where couve galega (a tall, flat-leaved cabbage) grows in every back garden. It is a plain purée of potato and onion with ribbons of dark green cabbage cut as fine as string, finished with a thread of raw olive oil, and it is drunk from earthenware bowls at the Santos Populares street festivals in June, at weddings at midnight and on any cold evening with a slice of broa (maize bread). In the north a coin of chouriço is usually floated on top; this version keeps the soup vegetarian and lets a little smoked paprika in the oil stand in for it. Chef's tip: shred the greens as thinly as you can, rolled up tight like a cigar, because they only cook for a few minutes and thick strips stay chewy.
Tiyula itum, 'black soup', is the pride of the Tausug people of Sulu in the far south of the Philippines, cooked for weddings, Eid celebrations and when guests come home. Beef (it is a halal, pork-free dish) is simmered with ginger, lemongrass and turmeric, then darkened with pamapa itum, a paste of grated coconut toasted until almost black and pounded with spices. The broth looks dramatic but tastes smoky, earthy and gently peppery, with heat from chillies. Serve it with plain rice. Chef's tip: toast the coconut slowly, stirring all the time, until it is very dark brown but not ashy; burnt-to-ash coconut tastes bitter and ruins the soup.
Butter tarts are fiercely loved in Ontario, where towns along the 'Butter Tart Trail' near Midland and Wellington County hold contests, and where Canadians argue about whether raisins belong in them. Small, flaky pastry cups hold a filling of brown sugar, butter, egg and syrup that bakes into a gooey, caramel-like centre with a crackled top. This version adds a little maple syrup and leaves raisins optional. Chef's tip: bake only until the filling bubbles and the edges are set but the centre still jiggles; runny is the goal, but overbaked tarts turn sugary and hard.
Named after the city of Nanaimo on Vancouver Island, these three-layer bars have been Canada's favourite tray bake since the 1950s, when the recipe appeared in local community cookbooks. A crumbly base of biscuit crumbs, cocoa, coconut and nuts is topped with a thick yellow custard-flavoured buttercream and a snap of dark chocolate. They're made for church sales, Christmas cookie tins and coffee breaks, and need no oven. Chef's tip: dip the knife in hot water and wipe it between cuts; it slices through the chocolate cleanly without cracking it.
For a few weeks in May, the riverbanks of New Brunswick, along the Saint John River, and parts of Maine and Québec sprout fiddleheads: the tightly coiled young shoots of the ostrich fern. Locals forage them or buy them by the bag at roadside stands and farmers' markets, and eat them simply, with butter, garlic and lemon, tasting somewhere between asparagus and green beans with a grassy snap. They're a true taste of Atlantic Canadian spring. Chef's tip: fiddleheads must be boiled for a full 15 minutes before sautéing; undercooked fiddleheads can cause stomach upset, so this step is not optional.
Poutine was born in rural Québec in the 1950s, at snack bars (casse-croûtes) in towns like Warwick and Drummondville, and is now eaten across Canada at 2 a.m. after a night out and at hockey arenas. The rules are simple: crisp fries, fresh cheese curds that squeak against your teeth, and a hot, savoury gravy poured over so the curds soften but don't fully melt. This gravy is made with browned mushrooms and vegetable stock instead of the usual chicken-beef stock. Chef's tip: keep the curds at room temperature and the gravy very hot; cold curds stay rubbery and lukewarm gravy makes the fries soggy without softening the cheese.
Akki rotti is the breakfast of Bengaluru and the old Mysore country: rice flour mixed with grated vegetables, dill, coconut and green chilli, patted out thin by hand straight onto a cold pan, then cooked until speckled and crisp at the edges. Every home has its own mix; dill (sabbasige soppu) is the classic flavour, but cucumber, carrot or fenugreek all turn up. It is eaten hot off the pan with coconut chutney or a dab of ghee and spicy chutney powder, and it is naturally gluten-free. Chef's tip: work with two pans in turn, patting the next rotti onto a cooled pan while the first one cooks; patting onto a hot pan burns your fingers and gives an uneven rotti.
Rafute comes from the cooking of the old Ryukyu court in Okinawa, where pork has long been the most important meat. Thick blocks of skin-on belly are boiled to remove fat, then braised slowly in awamori, the local rice spirit, with soy, bonito stock and the islands' dark brown sugar. Today it is a dish for family celebrations and the Okinawan New Year, a staple of izakayas in Naha, and a topping for Okinawa soba. Expect deep amber pieces that hold their shape but cut with chopsticks. Chef's tip: cook it the day before; chilling lets you lift off the set fat, and the flavour soaks deeper into the meat overnight.
Jushi is Okinawa's seasoned rice, cooked with pork, vegetables and bonito stock. The firm kind, kufa-jushi, is what you find in rice balls at Okinawan supermarkets and alongside soba at lunch counters; a soupy, porridge-like version is cooked as well. On the winter solstice many families make a special jushi with taro root. Pork fat is part of its flavour, so the rice is cooked with a little lard and the belly pork itself. Chef's tip: measure the liquid carefully; the soy and stock replace part of the water, and firm, separate grains are what you want.
Market women at Đông Ba in Huế sell bánh nậm by the stack, still warm in their banana-leaf wrappers, as one of the city's many little afternoon cakes. A soft rice-flour paste is spread thin on a leaf, sprinkled with a savoury filling of prawn and pork, folded flat into a neat parcel and steamed. Unwrapped, the cake is silky, almost translucent, and you eat it straight off the leaf with a spoonful of sweet chilli fish sauce. It is often served on the same plate as bánh bột lọc and bánh ít for a mixed snack. Chef's tip: soften the banana leaves in hot water or over a flame first and brush them with oil; dry leaves split and the paste sticks.
Lunchtime in the old town of Hội An means cơm gà: small eateries near the river pile plates high with yellow rice and shredded chicken from late morning until it runs out. The rice is fried with garlic and chicken fat, coloured with turmeric and cooked in the poaching stock, so every grain tastes of chicken. On top goes chicken pulled into strips and tossed with sliced onion, Vietnamese coriander, lime and pepper, plus a spoon of chilli sauce and a little pickled papaya. A small bowl of the clear broth comes alongside. Chef's tip: plunge the poached chicken into iced water for 5 minutes; it stops the cooking and keeps the meat juicy and the skin firm.
Restaurants all over Hội An serve 'white rose' dumplings as a starter, and much of the town's supply is said to come from a single family workshop that has made them for decades. The wrapper is a thin, glassy rice-flour dough, pinched up around a pounded prawn filling so that each dumpling looks like an open flower, and the plate is finished with crisp fried shallots and a light, sweet chilli-fish-sauce dip. They are delicate and fiddly, but shaping becomes quick after the first dozen. This home version adds a little pork to the prawn for juiciness. Chef's tip: keep the dough under a damp cloth the whole time; even a few minutes in the air makes it crack when you pinch it.
Saigon's bánh canh cua is a late-afternoon and evening soup, sold from street stalls and small shops where the pots of red-orange broth sit beside trays of crab claws, prawns and quail eggs. The noodles are thick, round and bouncy, made with tapioca or a mix of tapioca and rice flour, and the broth is thickened slightly so it clings to them. Crab meat sautéed with shallots and annatto colours the soup and gives it its sweet, rich taste. Fresh bánh canh noodles are sold chilled in Asian shops; thick udon is a fair stand-in. Chef's tip: stir the crab meat in the annatto oil for only a minute so it stays in big, sweet lumps.
In Cần Thơ and Sóc Trăng, lẩu mắm is the hotpot friends gather round at weekends, and it is at its best in the flood season, when wild greens, water lily stems and yellow sesbania flowers fill the markets. The broth starts from mắm, fish fermented with salt and roasted rice, which is simmered and strained, then softened with coconut water, lemongrass and a little sugar. Everyone cooks their own slices of pork belly, fish, prawns and squid at the table and eats them with rice noodles and whatever vegetables are piled beside the pot. Buy mắm cá linh or mắm cá sặc in jars from a Vietnamese grocer. Chef's tip: add the strained mắm gradually and taste as you go, because jars vary a lot in saltiness.
After the rice harvest in the Mekong Delta, farmers would catch snakehead from the flooded fields, skewer each fish on a stick, stand it in the ground and pile dry rice straw over it before setting it alight. When the straw burns away the blackened skin peels off to reveal steaming, sweet white flesh, which is rolled in rice paper with herbs, cucumber and rice noodles. Countryside restaurants around Cần Thơ still serve it this way. Snakehead is hard to buy outside Asia, so use sea bass, barramundi or tilapia and a barbecue or a hot oven. Chef's tip: push a long metal skewer from mouth to tail so you can turn the fish over without it breaking.
Up in the Central Highlands, around Kon Tum, Pleiku and Buôn Ma Thuột, roadside grills and village homestays serve this pair: chicken marinated in lemongrass and chilli, grilled slowly over charcoal, and cơm lam, sticky rice cooked inside green bamboo tubes laid in the fire. Splitting the charred bamboo reveals a cylinder of rice wrapped in a thin, fragrant skin of bamboo membrane. Both are eaten with the hands and dipped in salt, pepper and lime or a crushed peanut and sesame salt. Without fresh bamboo, rolling the rice in banana-leaf parcels gives a very similar result. Highland rice wine (rượu cần) is the usual drink, but cold jasmine tea goes just as well and is alcohol-free. Chef's tip: brush on the honey only in the last few minutes of grilling so it glazes without burning.
Cơm hến began as a cheap meal of the boat people around Cồn Hến, an islet in the Perfume River in Huế, and it is still sold for breakfast and as an afternoon snack from tiny stalls across the city. Room-temperature rice is topped with stir-fried baby clams, crunchy pork crackling, roasted peanuts, toasted rice cracker and a heap of raw herbs and greens, then splashed with hot clam broth and plenty of chilli. Huế cooks use tiny river clams; at home, choose the smallest clams you can find, such as baby or Manila clams. The mix of cool and hot, crisp and soft, is the whole point. Chef's tip: keep the rice cool and the broth boiling hot right up to the moment you pour it.
In the villages around Valencia, paella is a Sunday lunch dish, never a dinner one, cooked in the open air by whoever in the family has the steadiest hand and eaten straight from the pan with spoons. The Valencian original has no seafood, no chorizo and no peas: just chicken, rabbit, wide flat green beans (ferraura), big white garrofó beans, tomato, sweet pimentón, saffron and short round rice. If you can't get rabbit, use all chicken; it is still very good. This version is sized for a 38–40 cm paella pan on a large hob ring or a barbecue. Chef's tip: once the rice goes in, smooth it flat and then leave it alone; stirring releases starch and turns paella into risotto.
At Tết, the lunar new year, a plate of nem rán sits on almost every family feast tray in Hanoi and the north, and the same rolls turn up at weddings, death anniversaries and Sunday lunches all year. Northern cooks wrap a filling of minced pork, crab or prawn, glass noodles and wood ear mushroom in thin rice paper, which fries into a pale golden, bubbly shell quite different from wheat-wrapped spring rolls. Southerners call the same idea chả giò. Serve them cut in pieces with rice vermicelli, lettuce, herbs and a warm sweet-sour fish sauce. Chef's tip: fry them twice, first gently to cook the filling through, then briefly in hotter oil to crisp; they stay crunchy far longer.
Mukari are soft, lightly sweet Zanzibari pancakes made from a yeasted rice flour and coconut milk batter scented with cardamom. They're cooked covered over a low heat so they puff up and stay spongy. Serve warm with tea.
Tiramisù ('pick me up') was created in Treviso, in the Veneto, around the 1960s and 70s; the restaurant Le Beccherie is the best-known claimant. The original is simple: savoiardi biscuits dipped in espresso, layered with a cream of egg yolks, sugar and mascarpone, and dusted with cocoa. No alcohol and no cream in the Treviso version, which is different from this site's Baileys tiramisu. It is best made the morning of, or the day before. Because the eggs are raw, use the freshest you can find, or pasteurised eggs. Chef's tip: beat the yolks and sugar for a full 5 minutes until pale and thick as custard; that is what makes the cream light without whipped cream.
In the Mekong Delta, families gather in the days before Tết (Lunar New Year) to wrap bánh tét: long, round logs of coconut-scented sticky rice around a core of mung bean, tied in banana leaves and boiled overnight over a wood fire. The everyday version hides a strip of pork belly in the middle; the chay version here, with peppery shallot-seasoned mung bean, is the one made in Buddhist pagodas and vegetarian households, and some cooks make a sweet bánh tét chuối with ripe banana instead. Slices are cut with a loop of string, eaten with pickled vegetables, or fried until crisp in the days after Tết. Chef's tip: roll and tie the log tightly; a firm parcel is what keeps the water out and gives clean, dense slices.
Every 1 January, Haitian families from Port-au-Prince to Brooklyn wake up to soup joumou. It marks independence from France on 1 January 1804: under French rule, enslaved Haitians cooked this pumpkin soup but were forbidden to eat it, so the free people of the new nation made it their own as a dish of freedom. In 2021 it was added to UNESCO's list of the intangible cultural heritage of humanity. The base is a velvety purée of joumou (Caribbean pumpkin) with epis, and in it simmer chunks of carrot, potato, cabbage, celery and turnip, with pasta and a squeeze of lime. It's usually made with beef; this vegetable version is full and golden, rich enough for the day. Chef's tip: roast half the pumpkin before puréeing it; the caramelised edges give the soup the depth that slow-cooked meat usually provides.
Alouda is the cold, sweet milk drink sold from stalls in the Port Louis central market and at beaches all over Mauritius, especially on hot afternoons. Vanilla- or rose-scented milk is poured over soaked tookmaria (sweet basil) seeds and cubes of agar jelly, and often topped with a scoop of ice cream. It is a cousin of the Indian falooda. Because the jelly is set with agar agar, it is vegetarian. Chef's tip: soak the basil seeds for a full 20 minutes until each one has a thick, clear coat; dry seeds stick in the throat.
On Saigon pavements at breakfast time, bánh mì carts with glass cases are stacked with light, crackly rolls, tubs of pickles and trays of pâté and pork. The bread came with the French, but the filling is entirely Vietnamese: a smear of liver pâté and mayonnaise, cold cuts or lemongrass-grilled pork, sweet-sour carrot and daikon, cucumber, coriander and fresh chilli, with a splash of savoury seasoning sauce. It's eaten on the move, often on the back of a motorbike. This is the meat version; there is also a lemongrass tofu bánh mì on the site. Chef's tip: choose the lightest, airiest baguettes you can find, as a dense French loaf squeezes the filling out the sides.
Älplermagronen is what dairymen cooked in the summer huts of central Switzerland, from Uri to the Bernese Oberland, using what they carried up and what the cows gave: pasta, potatoes, cream and their own cheese. Today it is a fixture of mountain restaurants and a quick weeknight supper across German-speaking Switzerland, always eaten with a bowl of warm apple sauce (Apfelmus) on the side, the sweet-sour fruit cutting the rich cheese. Many versions scatter bacon over the top; this one leaves it out and leans on a heap of slow-browned onions for depth. Use cheese made with vegetarian rennet. Chef's tip: cook the potatoes and pasta in the same pot, adding the macaroni once the potatoes are half done, so they finish together and the starchy water helps the sauce cling.
Around 11 in the morning, the side streets of Hanoi's Old Quarter fill with smoke as cooks fan little charcoal braziers loaded with pork. Bun cha is the city's lunch: grilled patties and caramelised strips of pork belly served floating in a warm bowl of thin, sweet-sour fish sauce, with cold rice vermicelli and a basket of lettuce and herbs to dip in alongside. Each mouthful is a bit of noodle, a bit of meat and a leaf or two, all dunked together. A barbecue gives the real smoky edge, but a ridged grill pan works well indoors. Chef's tip: let the grilled meat sit in the warm sauce for a few minutes before eating, so the smoky fat seasons the sauce and the sauce soaks into the meat.
Hue, the old imperial capital on the Perfume River, is famous for its chè: sweet soups and puddings sold from tiny shops where the menu runs to dozens of kinds. The most elegant is chè hạt sen long nhãn, once a palace dessert. Lotus seeds from the city's lakes are simmered until soft and creamy, then tucked inside juicy longan fruit and served in a light, clear syrup. It is eaten warm on cool rainy afternoons or over crushed ice in the hot months. Chef's tip: split each dried lotus seed and pick out any green germ inside before cooking; one missed germ makes the whole bowl bitter.
On a Jamaican Sunday morning, from Kingston yards to country kitchens in St Mary, the smell of salt cod frying with onion, thyme and scotch bonnet means breakfast is nearly ready. The ackee itself is a red tree fruit whose cream-coloured flesh cooks up soft and mild, a lot like scrambled egg, and it soaks up the salty fish and peppery oil around it. It is eaten with fried dumplings, boiled green banana, roast breadfruit or hard dough bread, and is just as welcome at lunch. A note on safety: ackee is only safe when the pod has ripened on the tree and opened by itself, and the black seeds and pink membrane are removed. Outside Jamaica, tinned ackee is the safe, easy choice and is what this recipe uses. Chef's tip: soak the saltfish overnight and then boil it once; taste a flake before it goes in the pan, because you can always add salt but you can't take it out.
No Jamaican wedding, nine-night or big Sunday family lunch is complete without a pot of curry goat, often cooked outdoors in a huge pot by whoever has the steadiest hand with the seasoning. It came to the island with Indian indentured workers in the 1800s and became fully Jamaican with scotch bonnet, pimento and thyme. The bone-in pieces are seasoned overnight, browned with the curry powder until it darkens, then simmered for a couple of hours into a rich, brick-yellow gravy with soft potatoes that thicken it. Serve with white rice or rice and peas and a little fried plantain. If you can't find goat, bone-in mutton or lamb shoulder works the same way. Chef's tip: 'burn' the curry first; fry the curry powder in hot oil for a minute until it darkens and smells toasty before the meat goes in, and the gravy will never taste raw or chalky.
Ask a Jamaican what was on the table for weekday dinner growing up and brown stew chicken will be near the top of the list, served at home and at every cookshop from Montego Bay to Spanish Town. The deep colour comes from 'browning': sugar caramelised in hot oil until it is dark, then the seasoned chicken is turned in it so every piece takes on a mahogany coat. Peppers, onion, tomato and thyme simmer down into a sticky, savoury gravy that begs for a pile of white rice, rice and peas or boiled dumplings. Chef's tip: season the chicken the night before and dry each piece well before it goes into the caramel; wet chicken spits violently and won't take on that deep brown colour.
Halved mushrooms cooked on the tawa in a rich masala of browned onions, ginger, garlic and puréed tomato, finished with a little cream and dried fenugreek. It's quick, creamy and full of flavour. Serve hot with naan, paratha or bread straight off the barbecue.
Oxtail started out as a cheap cut in Jamaica and is now the Sunday-best dish that cookshops in Kingston sell out of first, and that people across the diaspora queue for on Saturdays. The bony pieces are seasoned overnight, browned hard, then braised slowly for hours with pimento, thyme and whole scotch bonnet until the meat slides off the bone and the gravy turns glossy with gelatine. Butter beans go in near the end to soak up the gravy. Serve with rice and peas, steamed cabbage and fried plantain. Chef's tip: cook it a day ahead, chill, and lift off the hard layer of fat before reheating; the gravy is cleaner and the flavour deeper.
Fried chicken shops are on almost every street corner in Korea, and late-night delivery boxes are shared over sport on TV or by the river in summer. The pairing with beer even has its own word, chimaek, but an ice-cold alcohol-free beer, barley tea or a fizzy drink works just as well. Yangnyeom chicken is the glazed kind, tossed in a sweet, garlicky gochujang sauce, and it always comes with cubes of white pickled radish to cut the richness. Chef's tip: let the chicken rest for 5 minutes between the two fries; the moisture that rises to the surface is what the second fry turns into a shatteringly crisp shell.
On Tobago, curry crab and dumpling is the dish people travel for, eaten with fingers on Sunday afternoons and sold at the Store Bay food huts near Crown Point, where a plate is half the reason to visit. Blue crabs are cleaned, rubbed with green seasoning, 'burnt' in curry and simmered in coconut milk until the shells turn red and the sauce goes rich, spicy and sweet with crab. Long, flat flour dumplings cook right in the gravy and soak it all up. It's messy, so have bowls for shells and plenty of napkins. Chef's tip: crack the claws lightly before they go in the pot, so the curry can get inside and the meat is easy to pull out at the table.
In the Kashmir Valley this deep-red lamb braise turns up at every wazwan, the multi-course wedding feast cooked by hereditary chefs, and on Sunday tables in Srinagar through the cold months. The Kashmiri Pandit version cooked here uses no onion, garlic or tomato: the colour comes from mild Kashmiri chillies, the warmth from ground fennel and dry ginger, and the body from yogurt cooked down until the fat rises red to the top (that red oil is the 'rogan'). Eat it with plain steamed rice, the Kashmiri way. Chef's tip: use bone-in shoulder or leg and give it time; the bones and slow simmer make the thick, glossy gravy, and boneless meat turns stringy before the sauce is ready.
No South African braai is finished without braaibroodjies, the sandwiches that go onto the grid once the coals have died down, from Cape Town to the Highveld. White bread is buttered on the outside and filled with cheddar, tomato, onion and a thin smear of apricot jam, a sweet-and-savoury combination every South African swears by. They come off the fire smoky, crisp and oozing. A frying pan or griddle works when there's no braai. Chef's tip: toast them over gentle, ashen coals and turn often; fierce heat burns the bread before the cheese inside has melted.
Rainbow trout were introduced to the cold, fast Beas river over a century ago, and today the farms and roadside dhabas between Kullu and Manali serve it simply: rubbed with lemon and a light masala, then fried whole in a hot pan. It is what travellers stop for on the drive up to the snow, eaten with rice, a green salad and a squeeze of lemon. The spicing is gentle so the clean, sweet flavour of the fish stays in front. Chef's tip: dry the fish very well and leave it alone in the pan for the first few minutes; moving it too early tears the skin, which should come out crisp.
Mansaf is Jordan's national dish and the centrepiece of its weddings, Eid gatherings and big family days, set down on a huge round tray for everyone to eat from together. Bone-in lamb is simmered until tender in a sauce of jameed, the dried, salted goat's-milk yogurt of the Bedouin, then served on thin shrak bread and turmeric-tinted rice, scattered with almonds and pine nuts and drenched in more of the hot sauce. If you can't find jameed, a mix of thick yogurt and labneh gives a fair stand-in. Chef's tip: stir the yogurt sauce in one direction constantly as it heats, and never let it boil hard before the lamb goes in; that is what keeps it smooth.
Butter chicken was born in the Punjabi restaurants of Old Delhi after Partition, when cooks found a way to use up tandoori chicken by simmering it in tomatoes, butter and cream. It is not the same as chicken tikka masala: tikka masala builds its sauce on fried onions and is chunkier and spicier, while makhani gravy has no onion at all, is strained silky-smooth, and gets its gentle sweetness and smoky-savoury note from butter, cashews and dried fenugreek leaves. It is the dish families order for celebrations across Delhi and Punjab, mopped up with butter naan or eaten with jeera rice, and it's mild enough for children. Chef's tip: crush the kasuri methi between your palms right over the pot; that one step is what makes it taste like the restaurant version.
Tandoori chicken comes from Punjab, where clay tandoor ovens fired with wood or charcoal reach well over 400 °C and roast marinated chicken in minutes. In Punjabi dhabas and wedding buffets it arrives on a sizzling plate with raw onion rings, lemon and mint chutney, and it's the starting point for butter chicken. A home oven can't match a tandoor, but a very hot oven plus a final blast under the grill gets you charred edges and juicy meat. The two-step marinade (lemon and salt first, then spiced yogurt) is the key. Chef's tip: cut deep slashes right down to the bone; the marinade gets inside and the thick legs cook through at the same time as the thinner parts.
In the lanes around the Jama Masjid in Old Delhi, korma is cooked in huge copper degs for Eid and wedding feasts and sold from dawn with khamiri roti and sheermal. It descends from the Mughal court kitchens, where 'korma' meant meat braised slowly in yogurt and its own juices rather than in water. This one is not the mild, pale, coconut-sweet korma of British curry houses: it is golden-brown, fragrant with cardamom and mace, enriched with almond paste and fried onions, and medium-hot. Chef's tip: fry the onions slowly to an even golden-brown and grind them with the yogurt; the browned onion paste is both the colour and the backbone of the sauce.
Beef stroganoff was named after the aristocratic Stroganov family of St Petersburg in the nineteenth century, and the original is strips of beef in a sauce of smetana and mustard. In Russian homes today the meatless version, made with forest mushrooms in autumn and button mushrooms the rest of the year, is just as common, especially during Orthodox fasts and on weeknights. It differs from Hungarian paprikás: no paprika, a gentle mustard edge, and a sauce that should stay pale and creamy. Serve it on fluffy buckwheat or mashed potatoes. Chef's tip: stir the smetana in off the boil; bubbling it hard makes it split into grainy curds.
A complete barbecue meal on one big tawa: a tangy wheat and vegetable mix with three chutneys, crisp cheesy corn balls, baked stuffed capsicums and creamy cheesy pasta, all sizzling under hot barbecue sauce. Every part can be made ahead and finished on the jiko. It's a healthy and filling meal by itself.
Bhopal was ruled for over a century by the Begums, and its Muslim kitchens developed their own style: earthier and more robust than the delicate cooking of Lucknow, with a liking for red chilli, roasted coriander and a thickening paste of dried coconut and poppy seeds. This mutton korma is the centrepiece of Eid lunches and nikah dinners in the old city around Chowk Bazaar, eaten with sheermal or khamiri roti. Compared with an Old Delhi chicken korma, it is darker, hotter and nuttier, and it's made with goat on the bone. Chef's tip: crush the fried onions roughly with your hands instead of blending them smooth; the little flecks of onion are part of the Bhopali texture.
Chambo is a tilapia from Lake Malawi, and fried chambo with nsima (stiff maize porridge) is what visitors to Mangochi, Cape Maclear and Nkhata Bay are served at lakeside lunches. The fish is fried or grilled whole, then topped with a fresh tomato and onion relish; the nsima is pinched off and used to scoop up the fish and juice. The mistake is skipping the relish, which keeps the meal fresh; make it while the fish fries. Chef's tip: any whole tilapia or sea bream works if you can't find chambo.
Salat Olivier was born in a fashionable Moscow restaurant in the 1860s, but today it belongs to every Russian kitchen on 31 December, when a bowl the size of a washing-up basin is made in the afternoon and eaten until 1 January is well over. Soviet cooks swapped the original's game for boiled sausage; this vegetarian version leaves it out and lets the sweet carrots, peas, sharp pickled cucumbers and creamy egg carry the salad. Chef's tip: cut everything to the size of a pea, the same size as the peas themselves; that is what makes Olivier feel like Olivier rather than potato salad.
Kashata ya nazi is a simple Swahili sweet of desiccated coconut cooked with milk, sugar, evaporated milk and cardamom until thick, then pressed into a dish and cut into diamonds. It's chewy and sweet, and it keeps well. Store in an airtight container.
Ask anyone from Salcete or Bardez what they eat for lunch and the answer is xitt codi: rice (xitt) and curry (codi), almost always fish curry. The gravy is ground from fresh coconut and Kashmiri chillies, soured with kokum and tamarind, and cooked with whatever the boats brought in, from kingfish and pomfret to mackerel. It is a weekday dish, ladled over red Goan rice with a fried fish or a pickle on the side. Chef's tip: grind the coconut masala for a full 2–3 minutes until it is completely smooth; a grainy paste gives a thin, separated curry.
Vindalho grew out of the Portuguese vinha d'alhos, meat kept in wine and garlic, which Goan Catholic cooks remade with palm vinegar, Kashmiri chillies and spices. In Goa it is a feast dish for Christmas, weddings and the big family lunch after a church feast, made a day or two ahead because it improves as it sits. Despite its fame, the real thing is more sour and garlicky than blisteringly hot, and it has no potatoes. This recipe contains no alcohol. Chef's tip: let the pork marinate overnight in the fridge so the vinegar and chilli go right through the meat.
No Argentine asado (barbecue), from a Buenos Aires rooftop to an estancia in the Pampas, is complete without a jar of chimichurri on the table. It is a loose, oily sauce of finely chopped parsley, garlic, dried oregano and chilli flakes in red wine vinegar and oil, sharp and herby rather than smooth like pesto. Spoon it over grilled vegetables, provoleta, halloumi, potatoes and bread. Chef's tip: chop everything by hand and let it sit for a few hours; a food processor bruises the parsley into a green purée and the flavours never settle.
Sauerkraut is how German households have kept cabbage through the winter for centuries, and autumn is still when families in Baden, Franconia and Alsace shred the new white cabbage into stoneware crocks. It's nothing but cabbage and salt: the salt pulls out the juice and natural lactic acid bacteria do the rest, turning it sour, crunchy and full of flavour in a few weeks. Raw homemade sauerkraut tastes far fresher than the jar and is a lovely side for Kartoffelpuffer or potato mash; for a warm side, simmer it with onion and a grated apple. Chef's tip: weigh the cabbage and use exactly 2% of its weight in salt; too little and it goes soft and mouldy, too much and it won't ferment.
On the Malabar coast of northern Kerala, the port town of Thalassery makes its biryani with kaima (jeerakasala), a tiny fragrant rice that stays separate and buttery instead of long and dry. Mappila Muslim families serve it at weddings, at Eid and at Friday lunches, the chicken cooked first in a green-chilli and tomato masala, then buried under ghee rice and sealed for dum. There is no red chilli powder in it; the heat comes from fresh green chillies, and the sweetness from cashews, raisins and deeply fried onions. Serve it with a sharp date-and-onion pickle or a simple raita. Chef's tip: toast the washed, drained rice in ghee until it smells nutty before the water goes in; it keeps every grain whole.
Hiroshima Bay is lined with oyster rafts, and from late autumn to early spring the city's restaurants put kaki nabe on the menu. In the version called dote nabe, a thick band of sweetened miso is smeared around the inside of the pot like a riverbank, then melts into the broth bit by bit as you eat. Cabbage, tofu, leek and mushrooms go in first; the oysters only need a few minutes at the end. It is cooked at the table on a portable burner, so everyone eats it as it is ready. Chef's tip: rinse the shucked oysters in a bowl with potato starch and a little salt, then in clean water; the grey starch pulls out grit and slime and leaves them clean-tasting.
Onomichi is a hilly port town in Hiroshima prefecture on the Seto Inland Sea, and the start of the Shimanami Kaido cycle route across the islands to Shikoku. Its ramen shops serve a dark soy-seasoned broth made from chicken and small dried fish, with flat, slightly wavy noodles. The signature is a scattering of soft pork back-fat pieces that float on top and melt into each mouthful. Many visitors eat a bowl before or after the bike ride. Chef's tip: pull the heads and dark bellies off the dried sardines before using them; that is where the bitterness lives, and the cleaned fish give a sweet, clean sea flavour.
The Nattukottai Chettiar merchants of Karaikudi and the villages around it in southern Tamil Nadu built grand mansions on the spice trade, and their kitchens show it. Their chicken curry is built on a masala roasted and ground at home: dried red chillies, black pepper, fennel, star anise, coconut and the earthy lichen called kalpasi. It is hot, aromatic and deep brown, and in Chettinad it is eaten at Sunday lunch and festivals with rice, idiyappam or flaky parotta. Chef's tip: grind the roasted masala while it is still warm with a splash of water; the oils release and the paste comes out smooth.
Kobe's steakhouses cook beef on a hot iron plate in front of the diners, cut it into bite-size pieces and serve it with little more than salt, wasabi and golden garlic chips. Genuine Kobe beef is a protected name: it can only come from certified Tajima cattle born and raised in Hyogo prefecture that meet strict grading rules, and it is rare and costly outside Japan. This recipe is cooked in the same style, with any good wagyu, or a well-marbled sirloin or ribeye if you cannot get wagyu. Because the fat is so rich, a modest portion goes a long way. Chef's tip: cut a small piece of fat from the edge of the steak and melt it in the pan instead of oil; it greases the pan and adds a lovely beefy aroma.
Ask for tamagoyaki in Akashi, a fishing town on the coast of Hyogo, and you will be served these dumplings rather than a rolled omelette: that is what locals call them. Small shops near the Uonotana fish market sell them on tilted wooden boards, with a bowl of warm dashi for dipping. Compared with Osaka takoyaki, the batter is mostly egg and stock, so the balls are soft and trembling inside, and they come without sauce or mayonnaise. Akashi is famous for its octopus, and a piece sits in every ball. Chef's tip: oil the pan generously and fill each hollow right to the brim; the soft batter needs the extra to make a round, puffy ball.
In Nagoya's izakaya, chicken wings come whole, with the mid-joint and tip still joined in a V, and they arrive in piles beside cold drinks. Tebasaki are fried without batter until the skin turns crisp and thin, then brushed with a sweet soy glaze and dusted heavily with pepper and sesame. The spice is the point: they should taste peppery, salty and sticky at once. Eat them with your hands, twisting the two bones apart to pull the meat off. Chef's tip: brush on the glaze the moment the wings leave the oil; hot, crisp skin soaks it up and stays crunchy, while cooled wings just turn sticky.
Guntur district grows more red chilli than almost anywhere on earth, and Andhra home cooking wears that proudly. Kodi kura is the Sunday chicken curry of Andhra homes, from Vijayawada to the Rayalaseema villages: thick, red and properly hot, with a little ground poppy seed and coconut to round out the sauce. It is eaten with heaps of plain rice, a spoon of ghee and a bowl of rasam on the side, or with jowar rotis. Chef's tip: fry the masala until oil pools at the sides before adding any water; that is where the colour and flavour come from.
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