Tklapi are thin sheets of plum purée dried on boards in the late-summer sun around Kutaisi, rolled up and hung from rafters for the winter; dissolved in hot water, they turn into a sharp, fruity base for soups and sauces. This Imeretian Lenten soup is made in the cold months when fresh fruit is gone, thickened with walnuts and lifted with coriander, mint and garlic. If you cannot find tklapi, use dried sour plum leather or a mix of tkemali sauce and prunes. A common mistake is boiling the soup hard after the walnuts go in; they turn oily and the soup splits. Chef's tip: soak the tklapi in hot water first and rub it through a sieve, so the soup is smooth and free of stones or skins.
A new country every day, from every cuisine on the site.
Kahawa is the strong, spiced black coffee poured from brass pots on the streets of Stone Town: freshly ground coffee boiled with cardamom pods and finished with ginger and ground cardamom. It's bitter-sweet and aromatic. Serve hot in small kahawa cups.
Every winter, rooftops in Amritsar's old city are covered with trays of wadiyan: little cones of spiced urad-dal paste studded with black pepper and dried in the sun until rock hard. Punjabi homes break them into chunks, fry them until they smell nutty, and simmer them with potatoes in a mustard-oil gravy. The wadiyan soften into chewy, spicy, almost meaty pieces, and the potatoes soak up their pepper. It is everyday comfort food, eaten with hot phulkas or rice and a raw onion on the side. Chef's tip: wadiyan are already salted and spiced, so add salt only at the end, after tasting.
On winter evenings in Amritsar, roadside stalls near the old city fry river fish in huge karahis and sell it by weight, hot and crisp, sprinkled with chaat masala and lemon. The batter is made from gram flour rather than wheat and is fragrant with ajwain (carom seeds), which Punjabis say makes fried food easier to digest. It is a snack or starter, eaten with mint chutney and sliced onions; at home it is the treat that comes out when guests arrive. Use any firm white fish: singhara is traditional, but cod, haddock, basa or tilapia all work. Chef's tip: a little rice flour in the batter is what keeps it crisp for longer after frying.
Amritsari kulcha is the pride of Amritsar's dhabas in Punjab: a layered, leavened flatbread stuffed with potato, onion and sour pomegranate seed, slapped onto the wall of a tandoor and smothered in butter the moment it comes out. The outside shatters into crisp, flaky layers while the inside stays soft and steamy. In Amritsar it comes with a bowl of chole, a tangy onion-tamarind chutney and a glass of lassi. At home a very hot oven and a heavy tray stand in for the tandoor. Chef's tip: keep the filling dry and cool, with the onion squeezed of its juice, or the kulcha will tear and steam instead of turning crisp.
Baleadas are what Hondurans grab for breakfast on the way to work, from street stands in San Pedro Sula to the beaches of La Ceiba on the north coast. A thick, soft flour tortilla, warm from the comal, is spread with refried red beans, sprinkled with dry salty cheese and a spoon of mantequilla (sour cream), then folded in half. A 'baleada sencilla' stops there; add avocado, scrambled egg or fried plantain for a fuller one. Chef's tip: rest the dough balls a full 30 minutes; relaxed dough stretches thin by hand and puffs on the pan instead of shrinking back.
Batata harra, meaning hot potatoes, is a staple of the hot mezze in Beirut restaurants and at home: crisp cubes of potato tossed while still sizzling in garlic, chilli and a heap of fresh coriander, then squeezed with lemon. Expect it next to falafel and hummus at a Sunday spread or as a side for grilled vegetables on a summer evening. This home version roasts the potatoes instead of deep-frying them, which gives the same golden crunch with much less oil. People often add the garlic and coriander too early, so the garlic burns and turns bitter; they go in only for the last minute in the pan. Chef's tip: parboil the cubes and shake them in the colander until their edges look fluffy, because those rough edges are what turn crisp in the oven.
Puff puff is the snack of Nigerian parties, school gates and roadside stalls: a sweet yeast batter scooped by hand into hot oil, where it swells into soft, chewy, golden balls. Across the border in Ghana the same treat is called bofrot (or 'boflot'), often a little larger and spiced with more nutmeg, and sold in clear bags on Accra's streets; we treat them as one dish here. Eat them warm on their own, or with a dusting of sugar. Chef's tip: the batter is ready only when it has doubled and is full of bubbles; under-proved batter gives heavy, greasy balls.
Anarsa is a sweet of patience. In Bihar and eastern Uttar Pradesh, women start soaking rice three days before Teej or Diwali, changing the water every day, then pound it into a damp flour, bind it with jaggery and leave the dough to mellow overnight. Fried with the sesame side up, each disc puffs into a lacy, honeycombed top with a crisp edge and a chewy middle. They are stacked in brass plates for guests and offered at home shrines. Chef's tip: fry one test anarsa before the batch; if it spreads and dissolves, knead in a spoonful of rice flour, and if it cracks, add a few drops of milk or water.
Coffee was born in Ethiopia's south-western forests around Kaffa and Jimma, and buna is still a ceremony as much as a drink: in homes from Jimma to Addis Ababa, a woman of the house roasts green beans in a pan over charcoal, carries the smoking pan around so guests can breathe in the aroma, grinds them, and brews the coffee in a clay pot called a jebena. It is served in small handleless cups with sugar (or salt or butter in the countryside), alongside popcorn or dabo kolo, and poured three times: abol, tona and baraka. The ceremony takes the best part of an hour and is about conversation. Chef's tip: let the jebena stand for a few minutes before pouring so the grounds settle, and pour in one steady stream without stopping.
Satay smoke drifts along Javanese streets every evening, where sellers fan charcoal grills set up on the pavement and serve skewers with peanut sauce, rice cakes and sliced shallot. Tofu and tempeh are naturals for it: they drink up a sweet-savoury marinade of palm sugar, tamari, coriander and garlic and pick up dark, sticky char at the edges. The sauce here is cooked until smooth and glossy, sweeter and milder than the grainy dressing on gado-gado, made for dipping. Chef's tip: soak the bamboo skewers for 30 minutes and brush the satay with marinade as it grills — the sugar caramelises into the dark, slightly burnt edges that make satay taste like satay.
Sweet potato is not old Moroccan tradition, but today it is sold in every souk from Agadir to Meknes and turns up in modern home tagines alongside the classic chickpeas, dried apricots and ras el hanout. This version leans on the sweet-and-spiced style of Fez and Marrakech cooking: the sweet potato melts slightly into the sauce, the chickpeas keep their bite and a handful of apricots adds little pockets of tang. It is filling enough for a weekend lunch with couscous or bread, and it reheats beautifully the next day. Chef's tip: bloom the ras el hanout in the oil for 30 seconds before the liquid goes in; raw spice blends taste dusty, cooked ones taste round.
Mazamorra morada is a deep purple pudding from Lima, made by boiling Andean purple corn with pineapple peel and spices and then thickening the dark juice with sweet potato starch and fruit. It is sold in little cups at markets and street carts, and in Lima it is eaten all year but above all in October, often spooned into the same bowl as rice pudding, a combination called el clásico. It is fruity, gently spiced and wobbly, like a thick jam pudding. Dried purple corn (maíz morado) is sold in Latin shops and online; purple corn powder works too. Chef's tip: dissolve the starch in cold water and stir it in off the boil; tipping it into a bubbling pan makes lumps that never smooth out.
As night falls in Lima, anticucheras set up charcoal grills on street corners and fan the smoke towards passers-by; the October processions of the Señor de los Milagros are lined with them. The skewers are traditionally beef heart, a lean, firm and surprisingly mild meat, soaked in a dark-red marinade of ají panca, vinegar, cumin and garlic. They come with a boiled potato, a piece of choclo (large-kernel corn) and a spicy green ají sauce. If you can't get heart, sirloin steak works well. Chef's tip: baste the skewers with the leftover marinade and oil using a few coriander stalks tied together as a brush, the way the street cooks do.
Bacalhau com natas is the comfort bake that turns up at Portuguese Christmas gatherings, Sunday lunches and every café menu from Porto to Faro. Flaked salt cod, soft onion and cubes of fried potato are folded into a light béchamel enriched with cream, then baked until bubbling and golden on top. It is rich, gently salty and easy to make ahead for a crowd. Serve with a crisp green salad and some bread. Chef's tip: fry the potato cubes only until pale gold; they finish cooking in the oven, and crisp ones turn soggy anyway.
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.
Bienmesabe, 'it tastes good to me', is the festive dessert of Cumaná and the eastern Venezuelan coast, made for Christmas, birthdays and first communions. Layers of sponge fingers soaked in sweet wine are spread with a thick, silky coconut cream thickened with egg yolks, then crowned with soft meringue and a dusting of cinnamon. It is rich, tropical and best made a day ahead. Chef's tip: cook the coconut cream gently and stir constantly once the yolks go in; if it boils hard the yolks scramble and it turns grainy.
Anzac biscuits are baked in kitchens all over Australia and New Zealand in the days before 25 April, Anzac Day, when both countries remember the soldiers of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps who landed at Gallipoli in 1915. Recipes appeared in fundraising cookbooks soon after the war, and they keep well because they contain no eggs: just oats, flour, coconut, sugar, butter and golden syrup, raised with bicarbonate of soda. Bake them short for chewy, longer for crunchy; every family has its side. Chef's tip: add the bicarbonate to the hot butter and syrup and wait for it to foam up before mixing; that froth is what makes them light and lacy.
On cold mornings in La Paz, El Alto and Sucre, market stalls ladle out steaming api: a thick, spiced drink of purple corn flour with cinnamon, cloves and orange peel. It's served with a pastel, a big, thin fried empanada filled with fresh cheese and dusted with icing sugar, crackling and blistered outside. Some stalls swirl the purple api with white (corn and milk) api in the same glass. Chef's tip: whisk the corn flour into cold water before it meets anything hot, or it lumps immediately.
Appam with stew is a Kerala breakfast loved across communities, and the classic Easter and Christmas morning meal for Syrian Christian families. Appams are bowl-shaped pancakes of fermented rice and coconut batter: crisp, lacy edges around a thick, spongy, slightly sweet centre. The stew (ishtu) is pale and gentle: potatoes and vegetables simmered in thin coconut milk with whole spices, ginger and green chilli, finished with thick coconut milk and curry leaves. Chef's tip: swirl the appam pan once, firmly, the moment the batter goes in, then cover; the swirl makes the lace and the lid steams the soft centre.
Ceviche is Lima's great obsession, eaten at lunchtime in cevicherías all along the coast; this vegetarian ceviche de champiñones keeps everything that makes it thrilling except the fish. Raw mushrooms are sliced thin and tossed at the last minute in leche de tigre, the bright, peppery marinade of lime, garlic, ginger, celery and ají limo, so they turn silky but still bite back. Red onion brings crunch, coriander freshness, and on the plate it gets the classic Lima company: a slice of sweet potato, a wedge of corn on the cob and a handful of toasted cancha. Serve it as a starter on a hot day, straight away. Chef's tip: squeeze the limes gently by hand and stop before the pith; pressing hard or using a squeezer that crushes the peel makes the leche de tigre 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.
Banosh is the shepherds' dish of the Hutsul highlands in the Ukrainian Carpathians, around Verkhovyna, Kosiv and Yaremche. Coarse cornmeal is stirred into simmering sour cream over a fire until the butterfat beads on the surface, then heaped on plates and crumbled with salty bryndza sheep's cheese and forest mushrooms; tourists queue for it in the mountain kolyba restaurants. Traditionally it is also topped with crisp pork crackling, which this vegetarian version leaves out in favour of extra buttery mushrooms. Bryndza is usually made with animal rennet, so look for a sheep's or feta cheese labelled vegetarian. Chef's tip: stir in one direction only with a wooden spoon, as the Hutsuls insist; it keeps the porridge smooth and helps the fat separate out, which tells you it is ready.
No Kazakh dastarkhan, the cloth spread with food for guests, is complete without a heap of baursak: soft, hollow pillows of yeasted dough fried until they balloon. They are scattered over the table at weddings, at Nauryz in March and at funerals, where the smell of frying baursak is said to reach the departed. In Almaty families fry hundreds at a time and eat them through the evening with milk tea, butter, jam or honey. Kyrgyz and Turkmen households make almost identical versions. Chef's tip: roll the dough just 1 cm thick and keep the oil hot; thin dough in hot oil puffs into a hollow ball, thick dough stays bready.
Pale, fragrant and nothing like espresso, qahwa is the coffee of Gulf hospitality: poured from a brass dallah into tiny handleless cups in majlis sitting rooms from Kuwait to Oman, always beside a bowl of dates. The beans are only lightly roasted, so the drink is golden-brown and herbal, dominated by cardamom with a little saffron and clove. Guests take a few sips at a time, and a small shake of the empty cup tells the host you've had enough. Chef's tip: grind the cardamom just before brewing; pre-ground cardamom has lost most of the perfume that makes qahwa.
Arancini are the pride of Sicilian rosticcerie, eaten mid-morning or as a snack on the ferry across the Strait of Messina; in Palermo they are round and called arancine, in Catania they are cone-shaped. The rice is cooked with saffron, cooled, then wrapped around a filling and fried until the crust is crackling gold. The best-known filling is meat ragù; this vegetarian version uses a thick tomato ragù of mushrooms and peas with a cube of caciocavallo or mozzarella, which is also found in Sicilian bars. Chef's tip: let the filling cool completely and keep it thick; a wet filling seeps through the rice and makes the balls split.
A simple Swahili dish of tender cassava and sweetcorn simmered in thick coconut milk with green chillies, a little raw mango and lemon. It's creamy, mild and filling. Serve hot as a side or a light meal.
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 Andean cities of Bogotá, Medellín and the coffee region, breakfast very often means an arepa: a thick, griddled round of white corn dough, split or topped with butter and melting fresh cheese. This Colombian arepa con queso has cheese kneaded into the dough as well as on top, so it comes out soft and steamy inside with a crisp, freckled crust. Serve it with hot chocolate, aguapanela or eggs scrambled with tomato and spring onion (huevos pericos). Chef's tip: the dough should feel like soft play dough; if the edges crack when you flatten a ball, it needs a splash more warm water.
Arepa de huevo is the famous fried snack of Colombia's Caribbean coast, sold from the hot oil drums of street cooks in Cartagena, Barranquilla and especially the beach town of Luruaco. A thin yellow-corn arepa is fried until it puffs like a pillow, then slit open, a raw egg is slipped inside, and it goes back into the oil to seal and cook the egg. It is crisp, a little chewy and rich. Street versions often add minced beef; this one keeps it simply egg and salt. Chef's tip: fry the arepas the first time just until they puff, not until golden, or they will burn during the second fry.
In Caracas the arepa is not a topped flatbread but a pocket: a thinner, crisp-skinned white-corn round that is split open while hot and stuffed, sold from areperas that stay open late into the night. The dominó is the classic vegetarian filling, named for its black and white look: warm black beans (caraotas) and crumbly salty white cheese. It is a filling meal for breakfast or dinner. Chef's tip: once the arepas have a crust, finish them in a hot oven or let them stand on the griddle until they sound hollow when tapped; that dry, steamy middle is what makes them easy to split and stuff.
Aseeda (asida) is the stiff, slightly sour sorghum porridge eaten across Sudan, especially in Darfur, Kordofan and the countryside, where it is the daily staple. The batter is left to ferment before being cooked into a smooth, firm dough, shaped in a bowl into a dome, and turned out with mullah poured around it. During Ramadan it is a common iftar dish. Chef's tip: beat hard with a wooden spoon once the dough thickens; that beating is what makes aseeda smooth instead of lumpy.
Caracas named this filling after a beauty queen: in 1955 a family running an arepera in the city made it for Susana Duijm, Venezuela's first Miss World, and called it 'the curvy queen'. Shredded chicken is mashed with ripe avocado, a little mayonnaise, lime and coriander, then stuffed into a hot, crisp-skinned arepa split down the side. Venezuelans eat it for breakfast, at lunch from areperas and late at night after a party. The usual mistake is cooking arepas over too high a heat: the outside blackens while the middle stays raw and doughy. Chef's tip: an arepa is done when it sounds hollow when you tap it; if it doesn't, give it a few more minutes in the oven.
No Sankranti in coastal Andhra Pradesh is complete without ariselu. In the days before the January harvest festival, women gather to pound soaked rice into damp flour, cook it into a thick jaggery syrup, and press the dough into rounds on sesame seeds before frying. Each ariselu is chewy, dense and caramel-sweet, with a crisp sesame coat; after frying they are squeezed between two wooden spatulas to push out the excess oil. They keep for two weeks and are shared with every neighbour. Chef's tip: use home-made flour from soaked rice that is still slightly damp; dry shop flour gives hard, cracking ariselu.
Armenian harissa has nothing to do with the North African chilli paste. It is a thick, smooth porridge of whole wheat and chicken, cooked for hours until both break down, then beaten hard with a wooden spoon. It is tied to Musa Dagh and the village of Anjar, where it is cooked in huge cauldrons for the September feast, and many families also make it for Easter and cold winter Sundays. The taste is gentle and comforting, lifted by browned butter and cumin poured on top. Cooks often stop stirring once the wheat has softened, but the long beating at the end is what gives harissa its creamy, stretchy texture. Chef's tip: soak the wheat the night before; it halves the cooking time.
In Armenian villages lavash is still slapped onto the hot clay wall of a tonir by women working in pairs, one rolling and one stretching, and the craft is on UNESCO's list of intangible heritage. The sheets come out blistered and soft, then dry to a cracker that keeps for months; a sprinkle of water brings them back to life. Lavash wraps grilled vegetables and herbs, carries cheese to the mouth, lines the pot for a crusty plov and is laid on the table at every meal and wedding. This version is unleavened and cooked in a heavy frying pan, the easiest way to get close to the tonir at home. Chef's tip: roll on a lightly oiled worktop rather than a floured one; the dough clings a little, so it stretches thinner without tearing.
A spicy Ethiopian stew of masoor lentils cooked down with browned onions, garlic, ginger, fresh tomato and tomato paste, and finished with red chilli and black pepper. It's thick, rich and hot. Serve with injera, alongside atter kik and azifa.
Bambalouni are the big, flat, chewy doughnuts sold hot and wrapped in paper at the top of the blue-and-white village of Sidi Bou Said, outside Tunis, and on beaches all along the coast in summer. The dough is very soft and yeasty; it is stretched by hand into a ring and fried until puffed and blistered, then rolled in sugar. They are best eaten warm with a mint tea. Chef's tip: oil your hands, not the bench, to shape them; floured dough browns too fast and loses its blistered look.
Bamia is on every Egyptian family table from Alexandria to Aswan, usually on a weekday with a plate of vermicelli rice. Chunks of lamb on the bone are simmered until tender, then baby okra is cooked in the rich tomato broth with garlic fried in ghee and fresh coriander, a finish called the ta'leya. The sauce is loose, sweet-sour and silky. The common mistake is cutting the okra pods open before cooking, which lets out the slime; trim only the very top of each cap. Chef's tip: fry the okra briefly in a hot pan before it goes into the stew so it holds its shape and stays bright green.
Late summer in the Damascus and Beirut markets means piles of tiny okra pods, and bamieh, okra stewed in tomato with coriander and garlic, follows on many family tables. This meat-free version is the one Lebanese Christians cook during Lent and serve with vermicelli rice or flatbread. Small, whole pods are the secret: kept intact and seared first, they stay tender without turning slimy, and a squeeze of lemon at the end sharpens the sauce. Chef's tip: trim only the very top of each cap without cutting into the pod; a pierced pod lets the sticky juice escape into the sauce.
Walk the ghats of Varanasi in Uttar Pradesh at dawn and you'll smell kachori sabzi frying in huge karahis. Banarasi kachori is small and puffed like a puri, with soaked urad dal ground with ginger and fennel worked straight into the wholewheat dough rather than stuffed inside. It comes with a thin, peppery potato and tomato rasa made without onion or garlic, scented with hing and fenugreek seeds, and is usually followed by a hot jalebi. Chef's tip: roll the puris evenly to 3 mm and slide them into really hot oil, pressing gently with a slotted spoon; even thickness and fierce heat are what make them balloon.
Walk through the lanes near Dashashwamedh Ghat in Varanasi in the evening and you will see vendors mashing tomatoes and potatoes in large iron pans, cooking them with ghee and spices until thick, then spooning the mixture into small clay cups. Tamatar chaat is unique to Banaras: served hot, spicy, tangy, and finished with a thin sugar syrup and a pinch of chaat masala, then topped with crisp sev for crunch. Locals eat it standing up after the aarti, often followed by a glass of lassi. Many people forget the sugar syrup, but that's what balances the sourness and makes it Banarasi. Chef's tip: use very ripe, soft tomatoes and mash them right in the pan with the back of the ladle, leaving some texture.
This is a pork sandwich. The Cubano was the lunch of cigar workers going between Havana and Tampa, and Miami's Little Havana cafés still press it to order on a hot plancha. Soft Cuban bread is layered with mojo roast pork, boiled ham, Swiss cheese, dill pickles and yellow mustard, then flattened and toasted until the cheese melts and the crust shatters. It is the best use of leftover lechón asado. Drink it with a café cubano. The usual mistake is pressing on too high a heat, which burns the bread before the middle is hot. Chef's tip: butter the outside of the bread, not the inside, and weigh it down with a heavy pan so it crisps evenly.
An easy no-churn ice cream of coconut milk, sweetened condensed milk and evaporated milk, scented with nutmeg or cardamom and a little rose. Whisking it once while it freezes keeps it smooth and fluffy. Garnish with shredded coconut and a sprig of mint.
Arroz al horno (arròs al forn in Valencian) is the oven rice of Valencia and Xàtiva, traditionally made the day after a big pot of cocido, using its leftover chickpeas and broth. Families once carried the clay dish to the village baker's oven; today it is baked at home in a wide, shallow earthenware cazuela. Pork ribs, morcilla (Spanish onion blood sausage), slices of potato, chickpeas and a whole head of garlic sit on top of the rice, which bakes into a dry, tender layer full of flavour. Use any ovenproof dish about 30 cm across and 5 cm deep if you don't have a cazuela. Chef's tip: have the stock at a rolling boil when you pour it in, then get the dish into the hot oven within seconds; a lukewarm start leaves the rice chalky in the middle.
Arroz carreteiro is named after the carreteiros, the ox-cart drivers who crossed the pampas of Rio Grande do Sul with charque (dried salted beef) that kept for weeks, cooking it with rice in one iron pot at camp. In southern homes today it is often the Monday dish, made with whatever is left from Sunday's churrasco, though some cooks still use carne seca. It's quick, filling and savoury, with tomato, onion, garlic and plenty of fresh herbs. Chef's tip: dice the leftover beef small, about 1 cm, and brown it hard before the rice goes in; those crispy edges flavour the whole pot.
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