2797 Jain recipes with no onion, garlic, potato, carrot, fresh ginger or other root vegetables, and no mushrooms, eggs or honey. Hing, dry ginger and turmeric powder are fine. Each has photos, step-by-step instructions and cook times. The quickest, Apfelschorle, takes 2 minutes. Most take around 40 minutes.
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The basic method for any dried pasta, from penne to spaghetti. A large pan of salted boiling water keeps the pasta from sticking, and you cook it only until just done, with a little bite left. Use it in salads, bakes or with any sauce.
Soviet cafés and school canteens sold these knobbly brown 'potatoes' for a few kopecks, and they began as a thrifty way to use up sponge and biscuit trimmings at the bakery. Crumbs are bound with butter and sweetened condensed milk, flavoured with cocoa and vanilla, shaped into little potatoes, rolled in cocoa and finished with two dabs of pale butter cream for the sprouts. They are fudgy and dense like a brownie truffle, need no oven, and children love making them. Traditional bakers added a spoonful of rum, an optional extra for adult batches only; this version is alcohol-free with vanilla. The usual slip is coarse crumbs, which make the potatoes crack, so blitz them as fine as sand. Chef's tip: chill the shaped potatoes for at least 20 minutes so they hold their shape and slice cleanly.
Walalu means bangles, and these dark, sticky rings of fried urad dal soaked in kithul treacle are a sweet that Sinhala families bring out for Avurudu and for special almsgivings, often made in large batches by an aunt known for her steady hand. A thick, fluffy paste of ground black gram is piped into loops and fried until crisp, then plunged straight into warm treacle, so the rings stay crunchy on the outside while drinking up the syrup. They taste a little like a darker, smokier jalebi, with a toffee finish from the palm treacle. Watery batter is what ruins them; it spreads into flat blobs, so grind the soaked dal with as little water as possible and beat it until light. This recipe uses no asafoetida, so it is naturally gluten free. Chef's tip: pipe the rings onto small squares of baking paper and lower them into the oil paper and all; the paper peels away in seconds.
Nothing is cooked for doi chira, which is why it has been the breakfast of farmers and fishermen in Barisal for generations: flattened rice is rinsed, softened in thick, slightly sour curd and sweetened with jaggery or sugar, then mashed together with a ripe banana. The texture is soft and creamy with a little chew from the rice flakes, and the taste is cool, sweet and tangy. It is eaten on hot summer mornings, at village fairs and as part of the Pohela Boishakh spread, and it is a favourite of children and of anyone fasting who wants something gentle. The usual misstep is soaking the chira for too long, which turns it to paste; a quick rinse is all it needs before the curd does the rest. Chef's tip: use thick-cut chira, not the thin kind for frying, so the flakes hold their shape.
A tin of bsissa sits in many Tunisian kitchen cupboards, from Tunis flats to farmhouses in the south: a finely ground flour of roasted barley, roasted chickpeas and spices such as coriander, fennel and aniseed. In the morning a few spoonfuls are worked with olive oil and something sweet into a nutty, crumbly paste, or stirred with water into a thick drink, and it keeps you going until lunch. Travellers and pilgrims once carried it for the road. Roasting your own flour takes 15 minutes and makes a jar that lasts weeks. Sugar and dates keep it vegan; some families use honey. Chef's tip: roast the flours separately over a low heat and stir constantly; the moment they smell like toasted biscuits and turn light tan, tip them out of the pan.
After dark in Marrakech's great square, the babbouche stalls are recognisable by their steaming cauldrons and the toothpicks laid out by every bowl. Small land snails simmer in a dark broth of liquorice root, aniseed, thyme, caraway, bitter orange peel, chilli and a bundle of herbs that sellers say has fifteen ingredients, believed to soothe the stomach and warm you on a cold night. You pick the snails out with a toothpick, then drink the peppery, herbal, faintly sweet broth. At home, buy live snails sold for cooking, already purged by a reputable seller, discard any with broken shells or that do not move or retract when touched, and cook them through for at least 45 minutes. Chef's tip: keep the spices in a muslin bag; the broth stays clear and you avoid crunching on seeds.
Khakhra are thin chapaties roasted slowly on a griddle until they turn crisp, like a cracker. This masala version adds gram flour, fresh fenugreek, turmeric and chilli to the wheat dough. They are a light Gujarati breakfast or tea-time snack, and lovely with pickle, chutney or a smear of butter. You can also make them in a roti maker.
Sakarpada (shakarpara) are little sweet diamonds of a rich dough made with ghee, milk and sugar, fried until golden and crunchy. They are a Diwali favourite with tea, and the cubes go into bhusu too. They keep for weeks in an air-tight tin.
The everyday Gujarati green chutney: fresh coriander, hot green chillies, raw mango and green pepper blended coarsely with fafadia gathia, which thickens it and stops it going watery. It's hot, tangy and a little sweet. Serve it with dhokla, khandvi, sandwiches and all kinds of farsan.
A big, bright salad of red, green and yellow peppers, boiled peanuts, sweet corn, grapes, apple and coconut, tossed in a sweet-sour passion fruit and mint dressing. It is very popular at big parties: it looks festive, keeps its crunch and is easy to double. Serve it on a bed of crisp lettuce.
Sprouting whole green grams makes them crunchier, quicker to cook and more nutritious. All you need is muslin, water and a warm spot, and they're ready in 3–4 days. Use them in salads, bhel, usal and stir-fries. Any other whole pulse sprouts the same way.
When the first hard green mangoes arrive in April, kitchens from Lucknow to Pune start boiling them for panna. The cooked pulp is blended with roasted cumin, black salt, mint and sugar or jaggery into a thick concentrate that keeps in the fridge for a week, then diluted glass by glass with cold water. Grandmothers swear by it against loo, the hot dry wind of a North Indian summer, and in Maharashtra the same drink, called kairi panha, is served to guests at Gudi Padwa and haldi-kumkum gatherings. It tastes sour first, then sweet, then smoky from the cumin. A common mistake is using mangoes that have begun to ripen and turn yellow: the panna tastes flat and fruity rather than bracing, so pick firm, green, sour ones. Chef's tip: pressure cooking the mangoes whole in their skins keeps the pulp pale and fragrant; scraping too close to the skin and stone adds bitterness.
Sadya etiquette puts pachadi next to the kichadi, and pineapple is the festive favourite, especially in central Kerala around Kottayam and Thrissur, where it appears at Onam, weddings and Vishu. Ripe pineapple is simmered briefly with turmeric, chilli and a little sugar, then folded into a paste of coconut, green chilli and raw mustard seed and loosened with whisked curd. The result is sweet, tangy and gently pungent from the ground mustard, with a crackling coconut-oil tadka on top. Serve it cool alongside rice, sambar and thoran, or as a side with appam. The mistake to avoid is adding the yogurt to a hot pan: it splits into grainy curds, so take the pineapple off the heat and let it cool first. Chef's tip: grind the mustard seeds raw with the coconut, but only briefly; over-ground mustard turns bitter.
Fu ru is made all over China, from Guilin's chilli-red cubes to Shaoxing's pale ones, and is usually prepared in the cool months between late autumn and early spring, when the moulds grow slowly and cleanly. Firm tofu cubes sit on rice straw or a rack until a soft white fuzz covers them; they are then rolled in salt and chilli and aged in brine until the centre turns custard-soft and the flavour becomes deep, cheesy and savoury. A quarter of a cube is mashed over plain rice congee for breakfast, or stirred into a sauce for stir-fried water spinach. Common mistake: making it in a warm kitchen; above about 20 °C the wrong moulds and bacteria take over. The bloom must be white or greyish-white and fluffy, smelling mildly of mushrooms; throw away any cube with green, black, pink, orange or yellow spots, sliminess or an ammonia or rotten smell, and if many are affected discard the whole batch. Do not reduce the salt: it is what keeps this low-acid soy ferment safe, and the whole ageing happens in the fridge. It is ready after 6–8 weeks, when a cube is soft right through. Chef's tip: press the tofu overnight first, drier cubes grow a cleaner bloom.
Matzah is the flat unleavened bread eaten at Passover, recalling the Israelites leaving Egypt in too much haste for their bread to rise, and in Israel and Jewish homes worldwide it is also eaten as a crisp everyday cracker with soups and dips. The dough is only flour and water; by tradition it is mixed, rolled and baked within 18 minutes so it cannot ferment. This home version follows that rhythm but is not certified for Passover use. There is no salt: about 0.0 g salt per sheet. The usual mistake is rolling too thick, which gives a tough, chewy bread; roll until you can almost see the counter through it. Chef's tip: prick the dough all over with a fork before baking so it stays flat and blisters evenly.
Attaya is less a drink than an afternoon. In Dakar courtyards, Banjul markets and village shade trees across Senegal and the Gambia, someone, usually the youngest man present, sets a tiny enamel teapot on a charcoal burner after lunch and makes three rounds, slowly, for an hour or more while everyone talks. The first glass, lewel, is strong and bitter; the second, naani, is sweeter and softer; the third, ñetteel, is the sweetest and most minty. The saying is that the first is bitter like death, the second gentle like life, the third sweet like love. Each tiny glass carries a thick, pale foam made by pouring the tea back and forth from height. The tea is boiled very strong, so it is high in caffeine: keep the glasses small and do not give it to children. The common mistake is rushing the foam; pour slowly and patiently, from as high as you can control, until a 1 cm head stands on the glass. A round is ready when the tea is dark amber, very sweet-bitter and the foam holds. Chef's tip: warm the empty glasses with a little hot tea first; foam lasts far longer in a warm glass.
Every Filipino household seems to have a calamansi bush or a bag of the little green fruit in the fridge, from Manila condos to farmhouses in Mindoro, the island that grows most of them. At lunch in the dry season the juice comes out iced in a big pitcher; in the rainy months, when everyone has a cough, a lola stirs the same juice into hot water with a little sugar or honey and hands it over at bedtime. It tastes like a lime crossed with a mandarin: sharp, floral and slightly bitter at the edges, with a pale green-gold colour. The usual mistake is squeezing the fruit hard and letting the seeds and pith fall in, which turns the juice bitter within minutes; halve each fruit across, squeeze gently over a small strainer and stop before the peel folds. It is ready when the sugar has fully dissolved, the juice tastes bright rather than harsh and a cold glass fogs on the outside. Chef's tip: dissolve the sugar in a little warm water first, as it never melts properly in iced juice.
Ask anyone who grew up in Chile, from Arica to Punta Arenas, what they drank after school and many will say leche con plátano. It is made in a blender in two minutes, usually at onces, the late-afternoon tea, alongside marraqueta rolls with butter or avocado, and it is the first thing many children learn to make by themselves. It is pale, foamy and thick enough to leave a moustache, tasting simply of sweet ripe banana and cold milk, sometimes with a pinch of cinnamon. The common mistake is making it ahead: within half an hour the banana turns the milk greyish-beige and the foam collapses, so blend it just before drinking. It is ready when it is completely smooth, light and frothy, with no banana lumps at the bottom of the jug. Use bananas with a few brown freckles: they are sweet enough that you may need little or no sugar. Chef's tip: slice and freeze overripe bananas, then blend them straight from the freezer; the drink comes out icy and extra thick without any ice.
Saeujeot is the quiet backbone of Korean cooking. Tiny shrimp from the west coast are packed in salt at sea or on the quay, and the most famous jars age in the old tunnels of Gwangcheon or come from Ganghwa Island. Shrimp caught in June (yukjeot) are prized for kimjang kimchi in November; autumn shrimp (chujeot) go into everyday cooking. A spoonful seasons steamed eggs, stews and kimchi, and a little dish of it, with chilli and sesame, is set beside boiled pork for bossam. It tastes intensely salty, sweet and oceanic, and the shrimp stay plump and pale pink. This is a raw, salt-cured seafood: pregnant people, babies, older people and anyone with weak immunity should only eat it cooked into a hot dish, never raw in kimchi or dips. The common mistake is skimping on salt; the cure needs 30% salt by weight to stay safe, so weigh everything. It is ready after at least 3 months in the fridge, when the liquid is clear amber and the smell is sweet and briny, never ammonia-like. Chef's tip: buy shrimp sold for making jeot, frozen at sea, and work fast while they are still icy.
At morning markets across Central and East Java, vendors unwrap banana-leaf triangles of chewy sticky rice, roll them in fresh grated coconut and drench them in dark palm sugar syrup, all served on a square of leaf. Lupis is breakfast and snack at once, eaten with sweet tea. The common mistake is packing the leaves too full: the rice swells as it cooks, so fill each cone only two-thirds, or the parcels split and turn watery. Chef's tip: steam the grated coconut with a pinch of salt for 5 minutes before using it; it keeps longer and the salt sharpens the caramel taste of the syrup.
Across Kano, Zaria and Niger, sinasir is a breakfast and snack food: a fermented rice batter poured into a small pan, covered and cooked on one side only, so the top stays soft and covered in holes like a crumpet while the base turns lightly golden. They are eaten warm with sugar, with groundnut oil and yaji, or alongside miyan taushe (pumpkin soup). Traditionally the rice is soaked and ground; this home version uses rice flour plus a little cooked rice for the same soft chew. The common mistake is flipping them: sinasir is meant to have a pale, holey top, so cover the pan and let steam cook it instead. Chef's tip: the batter is ready when it has doubled and looks bubbly; if it hasn't, give it longer rather than adding more yeast.
Tom Brown is the porridge Ghanaian babies grow up on: a blend of roasted maize, groundnuts (peanuts) and soya beans, ground fine and sold in bags at Makola Market in Accra and in clinics' nutrition corners, or roasted and milled at home. Cooked with water it becomes a smooth, beige porridge that smells of toasted corn and peanuts, and it is rich in protein and energy. It is loved in Nigeria too. For babies there is no salt, sugar, evaporated milk or honey. It contains peanuts and soya. Chef's tip: early, regular peanut is recommended for most babies, but if your baby has severe eczema or a known egg allergy, talk to your health visitor or doctor before the first spoonful.
No Maharashtrian festive thali, at Ganesh Chaturthi, a wedding or a naming ceremony, feels complete without a bowl of aluchi patal bhaji: chopped colocasia leaves stewed soft with chana dal and peanuts in a thin curry that is sour with tamarind, sweet with jaggery and thickened with a spoon of gram flour. It is eaten mixed into rice or sipped from the thali. Colocasia leaves must be cooked thoroughly with an acid like tamarind; undercooked leaves make the throat itch. The usual mistake is skimping on the cooking time to save the bright green colour; the leaves should be fully soft and olive-green. Chef's tip: soak the peanuts and chana dal for at least 2 hours, so they cook in the same time as the leaves.
Thick, tangy amasi was once soured in calabashes in Zulu and Xhosa homesteads, and it is still the drink-cum-meal that many South Africans crave on a hot afternoon, poured over crumbly pap as umvubo. At home it is easy and safe with pasteurised full-fat milk and a spoon of live cultured buttermilk as the starter; never use raw milk. Expect something like a pourable, sharper yoghurt with soft curds, cooling against the dry, crumbly maize. The common mistake is fermenting somewhere too warm, which makes the milk separate into watery whey and rubbery lumps. Chef's tip: once it has set, chill it for a few hours before eating; the cold firms the curd and rounds out the sourness.
Manek Chowk is a jewellery market by day; at night its square fills with stalls, and among the pav bhaji and sandwich carts the chocolate sandwich is the one children beg for. Buttered white bread is packed with grated chocolate, sometimes with a layer of grated cheese for a salty edge, then toasted in a long-handled iron until crisp and dripping. Contains wheat and dairy, and the chocolate may contain soya and traces of nuts. If you add cheese, many cheeses are made with animal rennet; pick one labelled vegetarian. Chef's tip: toast it slowly over a medium-low heat, so the chocolate melts before the bread browns.
Catalinas are the big dark cookies stacked in clear bags by the till of every Venezuelan bodega and panadería, eaten as a mid-afternoon snack with a glass of cold milk or a small black coffee. The dough is sweetened with melted panela and perfumed with anise, cinnamon and clove, and they stay soft and chewy for days. The mistake people make is baking until hard; they firm up as they cool. Chef's tip: take them out when they have puffed and the edges just feel set.
Fororo is the name for finely ground toasted corn, and for the smooth porridge made from it that grandmothers in Lara, Barinas and the rest of the Llanos give to children before school or to anyone feeling under the weather. It tastes gently nutty, like warm popcorn in a cup, sweetened with panela and scented with cinnamon. If you can't find fororo flour, toasting fine cornmeal in a dry pan gives the same result. The common mistake is tipping the flour straight into hot milk, which makes lumps. Chef's tip: whisk the flour into a little cold milk first, then pour it into the pot.
Beli mal is the herbal tea almost every Sri Lankan grandmother keeps in a tin. The small white flowers of the bael tree, the sacred tree found around temples and village gardens, are dried in the sun and brewed into a fragrant, amber drink that tastes softly floral, slightly fruity and a little bitter, a bit like a lighter chamomile. It is drunk in the morning or in the evening instead of black tea, offered at almsgivings and alongside kevum and kokis at Avurudu, and is traditionally taken after rich food to help digestion. Coriander seeds and a slice of ginger are a common addition at home. The custom is to sip it hot with a small piece of kithul jaggery held in the mouth, or stirred in. The common mistake is boiling the flowers fast for a long time: the tea turns dark and unpleasantly bitter. Simmer gently for a few minutes and then let it steep off the heat. It is ready when the tea is clear amber and smells sweet and flowery. It is caffeine-free, but bael may lower blood sugar, so check with a doctor if you take diabetes medication or are pregnant. Chef's tip: buy flowers that look pale cream; dark brown, crumbly ones are old.
In Sri Lanka's dry zone, around Anuradhapura, Polonnaruwa and down towards Hambantota, wood apple trees fruit through the hot months, and roadside sellers crack the hard grey shells open for you. Divul kiri, wood apple with coconut milk, is what families blend at home in the afternoon heat or offer guests during the Sinhala and Tamil New Year season in April. The pulp is brown, sticky and full of seeds, with a sour, funky smell that turns fruity once it meets creamy coconut milk and dark jaggery. The drink is thick and smooth, tangy-sweet and a little smoky. The common mistake is blending the seeds in: they break and make the drink gritty and bitter. Squeeze the pulp by hand and strain out every seed before blending. It is ready when it is thick enough to coat a glass, pale caramel-brown and tastes clearly sour under the sweetness. Outside Sri Lanka, look for frozen or tinned wood apple pulp in South Asian shops; there is no true substitute, though tamarind pulp with a few soft dates gives a similar sweet-sour idea. Chef's tip: pick a fruit that sounds hollow when tapped and smells strongly when cracked; it is fully ripe.
Boca Chica, just east of Santo Domingo, is where vendors walk the sand with trays of yaniqueques (the name comes from "johnny cakes"): wide, thin discs of dough fried until they puff, blister and crack like a cracker, sprinkled with salt or sugar and eaten with fried fish and a cold drink. The dough is just flour, baking powder, salt and water with a spoon of oil. The common mistake is rolling them too thick, which gives a bready fritter instead of a shatter-crisp one. Chef's tip: prick each disc a few times with a fork before frying so it blisters evenly instead of ballooning.
Walk past the Muslim sweet shops of Pettah in Colombo or the old trading streets of Beruwala before Eid and you will see trays of muscat, dense, jewel-like diamonds that are glossy with ghee and studded with cashews. The texture is the whole appeal: firm and chewy, almost like a soft Turkish delight, with a sweet, buttery, cardamom-scented flavour, and it is shared with neighbours at Eid, weddings and the Avurudu table. Traditional cooks extract the starch from wheat flour; this home version soaks and blends semolina, then strains it, which gives the same clear, bouncy set. Most failures come from adding the ghee too quickly, so it pools on top instead of being absorbed; pour it in a spoonful at a time and keep stirring. Chef's tip: the muscat is done when it rolls into a single glossy mass that leaves the pan clean and the ghee starts to seep back out at the edges.
Saluf is the everyday bread of Yemenite Israelis, slapped onto a hot pan or taboon in Rosh HaAyin and Sha'arayim in Rehovot and eaten with marak temani, hilbe and zhug. It is soft and blistered, thicker than pita and with no pocket, made to tear and dunk. Home cooks often roll it too thin, which gives a cracker; it should be about 1 cm thick so it stays pillowy. Chef's tip: cook it under a lid on a very hot dry pan for the first minute, which traps steam and puffs it the way a taboon does.
On hot afternoons in Guadalajara, vendors ladle tejuino from big clay pots into plastic bags or glasses with ice, a squeeze of lime, a pinch of salt and often a scoop of lime sorbet. It is made from corn masa cooked with piloncillo and left for two or three days to ferment a little, which gives it a tangy, slightly sour taste. The fermentation is light and the drink is sold as non-alcoholic, but a trace of alcohol can form, so keep the fermentation to 2 days and serve it well chilled. Skip the fermenting stage entirely for children: drink it fresh as a sweet atole-style cooler. Chef's tip: taste it each day; take it to the fridge as soon as it tastes pleasantly sour, like a mild yoghurt.
Order 'um pingado' at the balcão of any São Paulo padaria at 7 in the morning and the attendant pours hot milk into a ridged glass tumbler (the copo americano) and 'drips' in a splash of strong coffee, hence the name. It is milkier and gentler than a média (half coffee, half milk), creamy and lightly sweet, usually drunk standing up with a pão na chapa, a toasted buttered roll. At home you need strong filter coffee and milk heated until steaming. Scalding the milk is the frequent mistake, as boiled milk tastes flat and forms a skin. Chef's tip: froth the hot milk for a few seconds with a whisk or by pouring it back and forth between two jugs before adding the coffee, as padaria machines do.
Armenian coffee, soorj, is boiled in a small long-handled pot called a jazzve and poured unfiltered into tiny cups. It is offered the moment a guest sits down in any Yerevan home and lingers after meals while the grounds settle; when the cup is empty, it is turned upside down on its saucer so someone can read the patterns left in the grounds. The coffee is powder-fine, often scented with a pinch of cardamom, with a velvety foam (kaymak) on top that is a point of pride for the host. Serve with a glass of water and a little gata or dried fruit. Chef's tip: start with cold water and a low flame; the slower the coffee heats, the thicker and longer-lasting the foam.
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.
Aamti is the everyday dal of Maharashtrian homes from Pune to Kolhapur: toor dal cooked soft, soured with kokum, sweetened with a little jaggery and seasoned with goda masala, the dark, aromatic spice blend of the state. It's thinner than a Punjabi dal and has a gentle sweet-sour-hot balance. Before the tempering goes in, many cooks scoop out a bowl of the plain cooked dal for varan bhaat, the simple turmeric-yellow dal with rice, ghee and lemon that every Maharashtrian child grows up on and that starts every festive thali. Chef's tip: add the kokum near the end and taste after 5 minutes; it keeps releasing sourness, and it's easy to overshoot.
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.
Ais kacang ('bean ice'), also called ABC for air batu campur ('mixed ice'), is the towering, rainbow-coloured treat Malaysian kids beg for at food courts and hawker centres on hot afternoons. Underneath a snowy dome of shaved ice hide red beans, sweetcorn, cubes of black grass jelly and chopped peanuts; on top go streaks of pink rose syrup, dark palm-sugar syrup and a drizzle of condensed milk. Everyone digs in from the top and mixes it into a sweet, icy slush. Chef's tip: chill the bowls in the freezer for 15 minutes first, so the ice holds its peak long enough to get it to the table.
Ugali, East Africa's staple of maize meal cooked into a stiff porridge, given a lift with toasted cumin, butter, fresh coriander and green chilli. Stir it hard and keep it soft. Serve hot with sukumawiki or any stew.
Every Indonesian kitchen has an ulekan, the flat stone mortar that gives sambal oelek its name, and this is the most basic thing ground in it: fresh red chillies and salt, pounded to a coarse, wet, fiery mash. It's the foundation many cooks start from, stirred into fried rice and soups, spooned beside every meal at warung tables nationwide, and the base for more complex cooked sambals. Making it fresh tastes brighter and fruitier than any jar. Chef's tip: wear gloves and pound rather than blitz if you can — crushing releases the oils and gives a juicier, more fragrant sambal than chopping blades.
Affogato means 'drowned': a scoop of vanilla or fior di latte gelato with a shot of hot espresso poured over it at the table. It is served in bars and gelaterie all over Italy as the simplest after-dinner dessert, half drink and half ice cream, eaten quickly with a spoon while the coffee melts into the gelato. It takes five minutes and needs good ice cream and strong coffee. Chef's tip: chill the glasses in the freezer for 10 minutes first, so the gelato melts slowly and you get both hot and cold in each spoonful.
Churros con chocolate is Madrid's most famous treat, eaten at the city's historic chocolaterías for breakfast, as a late-afternoon merienda or at dawn after a night out. Churros are made from a simple dough of flour, water and salt piped straight into hot oil, fried until ridged and crisp, and dunked into a cup of hot chocolate so thick it almost holds the churro up. The dough has no egg or sugar, so the churros are light and crunchy; the sweetness comes from the chocolate and a dusting of sugar. Chef's tip: pipe through a star nozzle; the ridges let steam escape so the churros don't burst in the oil, and they create the extra crunch that makes a good churro.
Horchata de chufa is the drink of Valencia's summer, sold ice-cold in the city's horchaterías with long, soft fartons pastries for dipping. It is made from chufas, or tiger nuts: small wrinkled tubers grown around the village of Alboraya just north of Valencia, which have their own protected designation of origin. Soaked, ground with water, strained and sweetened, they give a creamy, nutty, naturally dairy-free milk with a hint of cinnamon. Valencians drink it very cold, or half-frozen as 'granizada'. Chef's tip: soak the tiger nuts for a full 24 hours and change the water once; they must be plump and soft enough to blend into a fine pulp, or the horchata will be thin and taste of raw starch.
Mochi (もち) are soft, chewy rice cakes made from glutinous rice flour, and Kyoto's confectioners have long flavoured them with matcha from nearby Uji. This quick home version cooks the dough in the microwave rather than pounding steamed rice. Each little green ball is wrapped around a centre of sweet red bean paste and dusted with cornflour. They are best eaten the day they are made, while still soft. Chef's tip: work while the dough is still warm, and keep your hands and the tray well dusted with starch. Warm mochi stretches easily around the filling; once it cools it tears and won't seal.
Ma'amoul are delicate shortbread-like pastries made for Eid and Easter across the Middle East. A soft, rose-scented butter dough is wrapped around a filling of dates, walnuts, almonds and pistachios cooked with cinnamon, marked with a fork, baked pale and dusted with icing sugar. Makes 35; they keep well in a tin.
A refreshing, lighter mango lassi made with low-fat yogurt: ripe mangoes, yogurt, a little sugar and rose water are blended with water until smooth and frothy, chilled and poured over crushed ice. Perfect on a hot day or with a spicy meal.
A traditional Gujarati store-cupboard side: green chillies slit, soaked overnight in salted yogurt and dried in the sun until shrunk and brittle. Fried for a few seconds, they turn crisp, salty and tangy with a gentle heat. Serve one or two alongside farari khichdi, kadhi or any fasting meal. Allow 3–5 days of strong sun for drying. Makes about 300 g.
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