In the Lowcountry around Charleston, South Carolina, shrimp and grits started as a fisherman's breakfast and is now brunch on every restaurant menu in town. Stone-ground grits are simmered slowly until creamy and finished with sharp cheddar and butter, then crowned with prawns cooked fast in a smoky, lemony pan sauce with spring onions. Chef's tip: whisk the grits into the liquid a little at a time and keep stirring for the first five minutes; lumps form only at the start.
A new country every day, from every cuisine on the site.
Maji ya bungo is a favourite Zanzibar street drink made from the orange, sweet-sour pulp of the bungo fruit (Saba comorensis), soaked off the seeds, blended with sugar and water and strained. It's tangy, fruity and very refreshing. Serve well chilled.
Thoran is the everyday dry vegetable of Kerala, on the lunch plate in nearly every home and in the steel tiffin boxes carried to offices from Thiruvananthapuram to Kannur. Cabbage is the classic choice: shredded fine, steamed in its own juices with mustard and curry leaves, then tossed with coconut that has been crushed (never ground smooth) with green chilli, garlic and cumin. It comes out sweet, fluffy and lightly crunchy. Serve it with rice, sambar or moru curry, or eat it with chapati. Chef's tip: shred the cabbage as finely as you can; thin shreds cook in their own steam in a few minutes and stay bright.
Buuz are the dumplings every Mongolian family makes in their hundreds before Tsagaan Sar, the Lunar New Year, in Ulaanbaatar flats and countryside gers alike, freezing them outside in the cold to steam for the stream of visitors. A simple dough wraps a juicy filling of chopped mutton, onion, garlic and caraway, pinched into a pleated shape with a small hole at the top, and the dumplings are eaten hot, with salty milk tea. The mistake is lean meat: buuz need some fat, or the filling is dry. Chef's tip: add a few spoons of cold water to the filling so it stays juicy when steamed.
Slices of sweet potato dipped in batter, coated in breadcrumbs and fried until crisp, arranged around lettuce, grated carrot, tomato and sliced hard-boiled egg. The book's Handy Hints say sweet potato is good for the eyes and lifts the mood. Serve with tomato sauce, chilli sauce and mayonnaise; leave out the eggs (and use egg-free mayonnaise) for an egg-free salad.
A soft, savoury pie of blended boiled maize folded into a peppery white sauce and baked until golden on top. It's mild and comforting, a little like a corn pudding, and children love it. The eggs are optional: they make it set firmer. Serve hot with a salad or tomato stew.
Along the waterfront of Ensenada, in Baja California, fish taco stands open mid-morning and are often sold out by early afternoon. Strips of mild white fish go into a light, crackly batter, straight from the fryer into warm corn tortillas, and every customer finishes their own with shredded cabbage, a pour of crema and a squeeze of lime from the bowls on the counter. The batter here uses cold beer, which makes it puff and stay crisp; it contains alcohol, and ice-cold sparkling water gives almost the same lift without it. Chef's tip: keep the batter fridge-cold and mix it only until just combined, so the coating stays thin and shatters instead of turning bready.
Many Naga kitchens have a rack of pork hanging above the fire, slowly smoking for weeks, and this stew is what it is saved for. The smoky meat is simmered with sour fermented bamboo shoot, crushed ginger and garlic and raja mircha, the famously hot king chilli, with almost no oil and no ground spices. In Kohima it is festival food during the Hornbill Festival in December and Sunday food all year, served with rice and boiled greens. Chef's tip: smoked pork is already salty, so salt only at the very end.
Bourekas are what Israelis grab from the bakery on a Friday morning or bring to a family gathering: puff pastry shapes with savoury fillings, shiny with egg and dotted with sesame. The tradition came from Sephardi Jews of Turkey and the Balkans, but in Israel it settled into puff pastry, with the shape telling you the filling at a glance (triangles for cheese, rectangles for potato in many bakeries). This version fills triangles with feta and ricotta and rectangles with herby mashed potato, and goes with a hard-boiled egg, pickles and grated tomato. Chef's tip: keep the pastry cold right up to the oven; warm puff pastry won't rise into flaky layers.
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.
Smoked tofu (xiāng gān) hangs in strings in Hunan markets, firm and brown from wood smoke. Restaurants in Changsha usually toss it with a little pork, but leaving the meat out is common at home and in Buddhist eateries. The tofu soaks up the black beans and chillies, and the leeks go sweet and soft. Serve it with plenty of rice. Chef's tip: cut the tofu about 5 mm thick; thinner slices break apart in the wok.
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.
Pai huang gua turns up on tables from Beijing to Guangzhou, often the first dish to land at a summer meal because it takes ten minutes and cools the mouth between spicy bites. Smashing the cucumbers rather than slicing them cracks them into rough pieces that soak up dressing in minutes. It goes with any stir-fry, noodles or dumplings. Chef's tip: salt the smashed pieces for 10 minutes and pour off the water, otherwise the dressing is diluted to nothing by the time you sit down.
A mild, golden Ethiopian lentil sauce (kik alicha) of split bengal gram lentils simmered with onion, ginger, garlic, a pinch of turmeric and green chilli until thick and creamy. It's gentle and soothing next to the fiery missir wat. Serve hot with injera.
Beijing pastry shops stack these pale yellow cakes high in early summer, when they're eaten for the Dragon Boat Festival and as a cooling sweet on hot afternoons. Peeled mung beans are steamed, mashed with sugar and oil, then pressed in wooden moulds, so each cake comes out with a pattern. Northern versions are dry and crumbly; Suzhou ones further south are oilier. You need a mooncake press or small mould. Chef's tip: cook the paste until it pulls away from the pan in one ball; if it's too wet the cakes slump.
Dan dan mian is named after the shoulder pole (dan) that Chengdu hawkers once used to carry their noodles and sauces through the streets. A proper bowl is small and intense: springy wheat noodles over a puddle of sesame paste, chilli oil and soy, topped with a crunchy, salty crumble and blanched greens. The crumble here is mushroom and tofu fried with preserved ya cai until crisp. Mix everything from the bottom before eating. Chef's tip: loosen the sesame paste with a little of the hot noodle water so it coats every strand instead of clumping.
Small seaside stalls at Corbyn's Cove and the fish shacks of Havelock fry the morning's catch this way: red snapper, mackerel or pomfret rubbed with a tangy paste of tamarind, chilli and garlic, dusted with rice flour and fried in a heavy pan until the edges blister. On the islands it is lunch with rice and dal, or a beach snack with onion rings and lime. It takes very little time, so cook it just before you eat. Chef's tip: dry the fish well with kitchen paper before the marinade goes on, so the paste sticks and the crust crisps.
Many families in Port Blair and the South Andaman villages trace their roots to Bengal, and their seafood cooking blends that heritage with the coconut palms growing everywhere on the islands. This prawn curry starts like a Bengali malaikari — mustard oil, bay leaf, whole garam masala and onion paste — but leans more heavily on fresh coconut milk, and the prawns come straight from the Junglighat fish market. It is everyday island food, eaten with plain rice and a squeeze of lime. Chef's tip: heat the mustard oil until it just smokes, then let it cool for a minute; that takes off the raw, sharp edge.
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.
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.
Beskuit grew out of the Voortrekker need for bread that kept on long ox-wagon journeys; today a tin of rusks sits next to the kettle in homes from the Karoo to Pretoria, and they are dunked in early-morning coffee or rooibos. A soft buttermilk dough is baked as a loaf, cut into fingers and then dried in a low oven for hours until rock hard and crunchy. Chef's tip: dry the rusks slowly at a very low heat with the oven door slightly open; they should dry out completely, not brown further.
Ambasha is the round, slightly sweet festival bread of Tigray and Amhara, baked for holidays such as Easter (Fasika) and Meskel and for welcoming guests. The dough is scented with fenugreek, cardamom and coriander seed, and before baking the top is cut with a knife into a wheel-like pattern, so it comes out of the oven looking like a decorated plate; it is brushed with niter kibbeh and berbere and served torn into pieces with coffee. Chef's tip: cut the pattern deep (about 1 cm), or it disappears as the bread rises in the oven.
Gan bian si ji dou, 'dry-fried four-season beans', is a fixture of Sichuan restaurant menus and home tables alike. The beans are fried until their skins wrinkle and blister, then tossed in a hot, dry wok with chilli, Sichuan pepper and salty preserved mustard greens (ya cai) from Yibin. Nothing is saucy: every bean is coated and slightly chewy. Restaurants usually add pork; this vegetarian version leans on the ya cai for depth. Chef's tip: dry the beans completely after washing, or they will spit and steam instead of blistering.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Liège is famous for its boulets: big, tennis-ball-sized meatballs served in a dark, sticky sauce made with sirop de Liège, the region's thick apple-and-pear syrup, with onions and a little vinegar. They are a brasserie staple across Wallonia, eaten with a mountain of chips and a side of salad, and families make them for Sunday lunch. The mix is half pork, half beef, so this is a pork dish. Rushing the onions is the step most people get wrong: they need a good 20 minutes to turn sweet before the sauce comes together. Chef's tip: if you cannot find sirop de Liège, use 3 tablespoons of apple butter or date syrup with 1 tablespoon of black treacle for the same dark, fruity tang.
Golden fritters of coarsely ground black-eyed bean and green gram lentils with fenugreek, spinach, coriander, spring onion and chilli. They're crunchy outside and fluffy inside, and they go into Zanzibar mix and Coastal Mombasa mix too. Serve hot with coconut chutney.
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.
These are one of Tianjin's three famous snacks, named after Erduoyan ('ear hole') Lane, where the original shop opened over a hundred years ago. The dough is soft, slightly fermented glutinous rice, filled with dark, sweet red bean paste and fried until the shell is crisp and blistered while the inside stays chewy. Locals buy them for festivals and as a winter treat. Chef's tip: seal the edges thoroughly and fry at a moderate heat; hot oil makes them burst and spit.
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.
In Thessaloniki, breakfast is often a plate of bougatsa eaten at a marble counter at seven in the morning: warm vanilla custard wrapped in crackly pastry, chopped into bite-size pieces in front of you and dusted with icing sugar and cinnamon. The city's bougatsa shops stretch the dough paper-thin by hand; at home, shop fillo does a fine job. The custard is thickened with fine semolina, so it slices cleanly but stays soft and wobbly. Eat it warm with a Greek coffee or a cold frappé. Chef's tip: whisk the semolina into the milk in a slow stream and keep whisking; dumping it in at once is the usual mistake and leaves lumps you can't beat out.
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.
In Taiyuan, noodle cooks hold a block of stiff dough on one arm and shave strips off it straight into a boiling cauldron, so fast they look like falling leaves. Each noodle comes out thick in the middle and thin at the edges, chewy and slightly uneven, which is the whole charm. The most common topping in Shanxi homes is a soft tomato and egg sauce, with a splash of aged vinegar at the table. Chef's tip: a firm dough is essential; a soft one sticks to the blade and tears.
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.
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.
Shanxi has more pasta shapes than almost anywhere in China, and these are among the easiest to make by hand: small pieces of dough pressed and rolled with the thumb so they curl up like a cat's ear. Families in Taiyuan and Pingyao boil them and then stir-fry them with vegetables, or serve them in broth. The cupped shape catches the sauce. Children enjoy shaping them. Chef's tip: dust the board lightly with flour; too much and the dough slides instead of curling.
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 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.
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.
Across Chengdu and Chongqing, friends spend whole evenings round a bubbling pot of red broth, dipping in mushrooms, tofu and greens a few at a time and fishing them out with chopsticks. The best-known bases are cooked in beef tallow; the clear-oil style (qīngyóu huǒguō) uses rapeseed oil instead, which keeps it vegetarian without losing the heat and tingle. You need a portable burner or electric hot pot on the table. Chef's tip: give each person a bowl of sesame oil with crushed garlic for dipping; it cools each mouthful just enough to keep going.
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.
When the spring bamboo shoots push up through the hillsides of Huizhou, farmhouse kitchens braise them with chunks of the region's cured ham. The salty, deep-flavoured ham seasons the broth, and the shoots soak it up while keeping their crunch and gentle sweetness. Serve it as a side dish with rice and other plates, or as a light lunch by itself. Fresh bamboo shoots must be peeled and boiled before use, because raw shoots contain natural toxins; canned shoots are already cooked and only need rinsing. Chef's tip: taste the broth before adding any salt, as the ham often brings all the salt the dish needs.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Beijing's famous roast duck is a banquet showpiece, carved at the table in restaurants near Qianmen and eaten in thin wheat pancakes with sticks of cucumber, spring onion and a smear of sweet bean sauce. Restaurants use hanging ovens and inflate the skin with air; at home a scald with boiling water, a sweet vinegar glaze and a night uncovered in the fridge get you most of the way there. The prize is the lacquered, glass-crisp skin, with the meat underneath still juicy. Serve it as the centrepiece of a family feast, followed by a simple soup made from the carcass. Chef's tip: dry the duck uncovered on a rack in the fridge for at least 12 hours; a dry skin is the whole secret.
Sapporo's soup curry was born in the city's cafés in the 1970s and became a craze in the 2000s, when hundreds of small shops opened across Hokkaido's capital, each letting you pick a heat level from 1 to 30. It is nothing like the thick roux curry most of Japan knows: the broth is as thin as soup, aromatic with cumin, cardamom and garlic, and the vegetables arrive large and separately roasted, so each keeps its own colour and bite. Locals eat it in the long Hokkaido winter with a plate of rice on the side, taking a spoonful of rice and dunking it into the broth. Chef's tip: roast or fry the vegetables apart from the broth and only meet them in the bowl. The contrast of crisp-edged vegetables and hot, loose broth is the whole point.
Created in a Harbin government kitchen in the early 1900s to please Russian guests, this is the north-east's own sweet-and-sour pork, and every Dongbei restaurant still serves a heaped plate of it. Large, thin slices of tenderloin go into a thick potato-starch coating, are fried twice until they shatter, then are tossed in a pale, sharp sugar-and-vinegar glaze with shreds of ginger, carrot and coriander. Unlike the red Cantonese version there is no ketchup and no pineapple; the flavour is cleaner and more sour. Bring it to the table the second it leaves the wok, alongside steamed rice and a cold cucumber salad. Chef's tip: soak the potato starch in water for an hour and pour off the clear liquid; the thick paste underneath gives the crispest coating.
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.
Kaimati are bite-size Swahili doughnuts: a yeasted cardamom and coconut batter dropped by the spoonful into hot oil, then dipped in a fragrant saffron, cardamom and rose syrup while still hot. They're crisp outside and soft inside. Serve with tea.
Mbaazi wa nazi: soft pigeon peas cooked in thick coconut milk with onion, raw mango, ginger-chilli paste and a pinch of turmeric until creamy. It's mild, rich and comforting. Serve with mamri (mandazi) for the classic Swahili pairing.
A big tawa of potato cubes tossed with a fragrant tempering of mustard, cumin, coriander seeds, aniseed, cloves, cinnamon and black pepper, then onions, ginger, garlic and two kinds of chilli. It's hot, aromatic and great as a barbecue starter. Swap the potatoes for steamed paneer cubes for a change.
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.
Bột chiên came to Saigon with the Teochew Chinese community of Chợ Lớn and is now an after-school snack sold from street pans across the city in the late afternoon. Cubes of steamed rice-flour cake are fried in a wide pan until crisp outside and soft inside, then an egg is poured over and stirred until it binds them in golden scraps. It is eaten with shredded pickled green papaya and a sweet, sour soy dipping sauce. Chef's tip: make the cake the day before and chill it overnight; cold, firm cake cuts into neat cubes and crisps far better.
Tender peas in their pods tossed with chilli, ginger, garlic and lemon, sealed in foil and steamed on the barbecue. Everyone shells their own at the table and gets the spice on their fingers. Use the youngest, sweetest pods you can find.
Party skewers of paneer, onion petals, capsicum, tomato, mushroom and cassava, each marinated in a thick, garlicky tandoori yogurt marinade and grilled over charcoal until charred at the edges. Make the marinade the day before and string the skewers just before the barbecue. Serve hot with mint and yogurt chutney.
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.
Soft vegetarian seekh-style kebabs of sweetcorn, kidney beans and potato with fenugreek, spinach, ginger and green chilli, pressed onto skewers and browned over charcoal. They're crisp outside and soft inside. Serve hot with green chutney and mint and yogurt chutney.
In Chengdu this is the dish a family orders when the table already has something rich: a heap of potato cut as fine as matchsticks, cooked for barely two minutes so it stays crunchy, sharp with vinegar and warm with dried chilli. Over the border in Shanxi the same dish is made with the province's dark aged vinegar (lǎo chéncù) and less chilli, and it tastes deeper and slightly sweet; both versions are given here. It goes with plain rice and any braised tofu or bean dish. Chef's tip: rinse the cut potato until the water runs clear, because that washed-off starch is what turns the shreds gluey in the wok.
Sabudana khichdi is the dish that sees Maharashtra through every vrat (fast), from Navratri to Ekadashi, but it's so good that people eat it any day of the week. Soaked sago pearls are tossed in a pan with crushed roasted peanuts, cubes of potato, cumin and green chilli until each pearl turns glassy and separate, then finished with lemon and coriander. It's soft, chewy, nutty and gently hot. Fasting rules vary from family to family, so check yours; this version uses rock salt and no asafoetida, onion or garlic. Traditionally it's cooked in ghee; use ghee instead of oil if you aren't keeping it vegan. Chef's tip: soak the sago in just enough water to cover by the height of the pearls themselves, no more; too much water is the reason khichdi turns into one sticky lump.
Tangawizi is a warming Swahili drink of ginger boiled with cinnamon, clove and black pepper and sweetened to taste. It's hot, peppery and soothing on a cool evening or when you have a cold. Serve hot in small kahawa cups.
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.
Nagano, the old province of Shinshu, grows buckwheat on cool mountain plateaux, and its soba is famous across Japan. In the castle town of Takato, and in the Aizu villages that took the custom with them, the noodles are not dipped in sweet soy sauce at all. Instead each diner gets a cup of juice squeezed from grated, eye-wateringly hot daikon, stirred with toasted miso. The result is sharp, clean and peppery, and it wakes up the earthy buckwheat. It's a summer lunch, eaten cold with a sprinkle of spring onion. Chef's tip: grate the daikon only just before serving. Its heat fades within 20 minutes, and the dish depends on that fresh bite.
In the old mountain town of Takayama, in Gifu's Hida region, inns serve breakfast with a small charcoal brazier on the table and a dried magnolia leaf, hoba, resting on its grill. On it sits a mound of miso mixed with leek and mushrooms. As the leaf warms, the miso bubbles and gives off a smoky, woodsy smell, and you scoop it up with rice. It started as farmhouse winter food, when people toasted frozen pickles on leaves to thaw them. Dried hoba leaves are sold in Japanese shops and online; a sheet of baking paper works too, without the scent. Chef's tip: soak the leaf in water first. A damp leaf scorches slowly and perfumes the miso instead of catching fire.
Champurrado is a chocolate atole, the thick, hot corn drink Mexicans have drunk since before the Spanish arrived. Masa harina is whisked into water and milk with Mexican chocolate (stone-ground with sugar and cinnamon) and piloncillo, a dark unrefined cane sugar, and cooked until velvety and spoon-coating. It is drunk on cold mornings with tamales or conchas, and above all during Día de Muertos and Christmas posadas. Chef's tip: always dissolve the masa harina in cold liquid before it meets the hot pot, and whisk constantly once it's in; dumped into hot milk it seizes into lumps.
Bosanski lonac goes back to Bosnian village hearths, where a tall clay pot was layered with meat and vegetables and left in the embers for hours; in Sarajevo and Mostar it is still cooked for name-day gatherings and cold winter weekends. This home version layers chunks of beef, lamb and pork with cabbage, potatoes, carrots, tomatoes and peppers, then cooks it slowly in a covered pot with only a little water, so everything stews in its own juices. This recipe contains pork; use all beef and lamb if you prefer. The mistake people make is stirring it: the layers should stay intact and steam gently. Chef's tip: put the meat and onions at the bottom and the watery vegetables like tomatoes at the top, so the juices drip down through everything.
Zanzibar's spiced pilau: rice cooked with onions, garlic, whole cinnamon, cloves, cardamom, peppercorns, cumin and nutmeg and plenty of vegetables, then finished with coconut milk and baked until fluffy. It's fragrant rather than hot. Garnish with grated coconut and serve hot with kachumbari or a curry.
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.
Vichyssoise is a creamy leek and potato soup served cold, named after the spa town of Vichy and made famous by a French chef in New York in 1917, who based it on his mother's hot potage. In France it's made in hot weather, when a bowl of something cool and silky is all anyone wants, and served in small portions as a starter, sprinkled with chives. It needs only a few ingredients, so the leeks must be cooked gently to keep the colour pale and delicate. Chef's tip: let the leeks soften without browning; colouring them is the common mistake that turns the soup grey-beige and bitter.
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