3470 vegetarian recipes cooked without onion or garlic, as in Swaminarayan and sattvic kitchens, with no meat, fish, eggs or alcohol. Each has photos, step-by-step instructions and cook times. The quickest, Apfelschorle, takes 2 minutes. Most take around 45 minutes.
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In April and May, when Ataulfo mangoes from Chiapas and Manila mangoes from Veracruz flood the markets, agua de mango becomes the drink of every comida corrida. It is thick, golden and very fruity, sharpened with lime. Chef's tip: use soft, fully ripe yellow mangoes with wrinkled skin; they need far less sugar and give a smooth, fibre-free drink.
Hội An's riverside villages grow a sticky, sweet local corn, and chè bắp has been sold in its old town for generations; in Saigon it is a summer evening favourite at street stalls. Fresh kernels are cooked with a little glutinous rice until thick and spoonable, sweetened, and topped with a ribbon of salty coconut cream. The cobs simmer in the water first to give the pudding a deep corn flavour. Chef's tip: add the sugar only after the rice is soft; sugar added early stops glutinous rice from swelling and leaves hard grains.
At home in central Thailand, pad woon sen is a quick lunch with egg, garlic and pork; the jay version served during the October Vegetarian Festival leaves all three out and leans on shiitake and soy instead. The noodles turn springy and translucent, catching the dark soy colour, with sweet cabbage and carrot through them and fried tofu for bite. Out of season, scramble in an egg and a clove of garlic. Chef's tip: soaking the noodles too long is the usual mistake; 10 minutes in warm water is enough, or they turn to mush in the wok.
Mandioquinha, also called batata-baroa, is a pale-yellow root that tastes like a cross between parsnip, celery and chestnut. In São Paulo and Minas Gerais it's prized as a gentle, easy-to-digest food, and this buttery purée is what grandmothers make for children, for the sick and as a smart side for picadinho or a roast. It's naturally smooth and sweet. If you can't find it in a Latin grocer, use half parsnip and half floury potato. Chef's tip: mash it by hand, never in a blender.
Vines of butterfly pea climb fences in gardens all over Thailand, and cafés from Bangkok to Krabi serve the flowers as an iced drink that changes colour at the table. The tea itself is mild and earthy, blue as ink; stirring in lime juice turns it violet and makes it tangy, which children love to watch. Chef's tip: the common mistake is mixing the lime in beforehand; serve the blue tea and lime separately so the colour change happens in the glass.
Crisp potato tacos are a Friday and Lent staple in homes across central Mexico, and a cheap favourite at fondas near schools in Mexico City. Tortillas are rolled around buttery-soft mashed potato, fried until shattering, then buried under cool lettuce, crema, salsa and crumbled cheese. Children love them, and the potato filling is easy to make ahead. Fresh crumbly cheeses here are often set with animal rennet; a vegetarian queso fresco or a microbial-rennet feta keeps the dish meat-free. Chef's tip: mash the potatoes while hot and let them cool before rolling, so the filling is firm and doesn't ooze into the oil.
The name means 'floating lotus', and on cool evenings in Bangkok's Yaowarat and around temple fairs bowls of these tiny glutinous dumplings are ladled out warm. They are coloured with mashed pumpkin and taro, so they taste faintly of both, and the coconut milk around them is sweet with palm sugar and edged with salt. Some vendors add a soft-cooked egg to the bowl; this version keeps it plant-only. Chef's tip: the usual mistake is making the balls too big; keep them the size of a chickpea so they cook through and stay tender rather than gummy.
In the Mixteca region between Oaxaca and Puebla, tetelas are folded into neat triangles on the comal and sold at village markets, often filled with black beans scented with avocado leaf and a little stringy quesillo. The masa turns toasty and slightly crisp outside while the filling stays creamy, and they are eaten with salsa as a snack or light supper. Quesillo is traditionally made with animal rennet, so pick a vegetarian stretched-curd cheese or a mozzarella labelled suitable for vegetarians. Chef's tip: fold the third side over last and press the seams with your fingertip so nothing leaks onto the comal.
Rows of pots of this simple sweet sit on home stoves all over central Thailand, and it is often the first dessert a Thai cook learns. The name compares the pale bananas in white coconut milk to women ordained as nuns in white robes. Small, sweet namwa bananas soften without collapsing, and the milk is seasoned so salt and palm sugar balance. Eat it warm or at room temperature, as an afternoon snack or after a spicy dinner. Chef's tip: boiling the coconut milk hard is the usual error; it splits and turns oily, so keep it at a bare simmer.
Every tamal tray in Mexico City has a few pink ones tucked in among the green and red, and these sweet tamales are what children reach for first at December posadas and on 2 February, Día de la Candelaria. The masa is beaten with butter and sugar, tinted the colour of a sugared almond and studded with raisins, then steamed in husks until soft and cakey; they are eaten warm with atole or hot chocolate. This version uses butter and vegetable shortening, not lard. Chef's tip: add a few drops of colour at a time; the pink deepens as it steams.
When watermelons are piled high in the markets of Jalisco and Sonora in summer, almost every taquería has a jar of bright pink agua de sandía next to the horchata. It needs only ripe watermelon, water, a squeeze of lime and a touch of sugar, and children love it. Chef's tip: a very ripe melon may need no sugar at all, so taste before you sweeten.
These crisp little cubes started in a Northeastern-style bar in São Paulo's north zone and spread to almost every botequim menu in the city, where they arrive in a paper-lined basket with a pot of sweet chilli sauce and a round of cold drinks. Hot milk is stirred into granulated tapioca and salty grated queijo coalho, the mixture sets overnight, and the cubes are fried until the outside shatters and the inside turns soft and stretchy. Queijo coalho is usually made with animal rennet, so for a vegetarian version look for a firm grilling cheese labelled vegetarian rennet. Chef's tip: let the slab chill until it is completely firm, at least four hours, or the cubes slump in the oil.
Mexican market juice stalls make agua de melón with the ripest, most fragrant cantaloupes, and many cooks blend in the seeds and the soft pulp around them, which adds a creamy body and a nutty flavour. It's served in tall glasses on hot afternoons from Guanajuato to Veracruz and is a favourite with kids. Chef's tip: smell the stalk end of the melon before you buy it; if it smells sweet, the drink will too.
Coconut pops are a classic of the paleterías of Michoacán and of the beach carts of Acapulco and Veracruz, where fresh coconuts are cracked open to order. They are milky, sweet and chewy with shreds of coconut, more like frozen coconut cream than ice. It contains dairy. Chef's tip: toast a third of the coconut lightly before using, which brings out a deeper flavour without changing the snowy colour much.
Saigon's café-dessert shops made chè khúc bạch a craze in the 2010s, and it is still a cooling order on hot afternoons around Bến Thành. Soft, creamy cubes of almond-scented milk jelly float with lychees in a light lychee syrup, topped with crunchy toasted almonds, all over crushed ice. Gelatin is often used; this version sets with agar so it is vegetarian, and it holds firm even in tropical heat. Chef's tip: boil the agar for a full 2 minutes before adding the milk; agar that is only warmed won't set, which is the usual reason the jelly stays runny.
On a sticky afternoon in Bangkok, from the food courts of Siam to roadside dessert carts, this is the bowl people order to cool down. Each 'ruby' is a cube of water chestnut wrapped in a chewy, glassy coat of tapioca, so you get crunch inside slipperiness, all floating in jasmine-scented syrup and salted coconut milk with shaved ice. Some shops add jackfruit strips. Chef's tip: shake off excess starch before boiling; a thick coating turns into a gluey lump instead of a thin, see-through skin.
Served in a hollowed pineapple, this is the fried rice of Thai beach restaurants and Bangkok family dinners alike, usually loaded with prawns and pork floss. The jay festival version swaps those for fried tofu and keeps out the garlic and spring onion, relying on curry powder, toasted cashews and juicy caramelised pineapple for flavour. It is sweet, salty and golden, and children love it. Chef's tip: freshly cooked rice is the mistake; use rice cooked the day before and chilled, or the grains clump and steam instead of frying.
Cần Thơ and Vĩnh Long, deep in the Mekong Delta's pomelo country, turn the thick white pith of the fruit into this thrifty, much-loved sweet soup. After salting and rinsing away its bitterness, the pith is coated in tapioca starch and cooked into clear, crunchy-chewy nuggets, served with soft split mung beans and a swirl of coconut milk. Sold at Saigon chè stalls, it is eaten cold or warm. Chef's tip: wash and squeeze the salted pith in several changes of water until it tastes neutral; one rinse leaves the whole pot bitter.
Ginger does the work garlic usually would in this festival favourite from the jay kitchens of Phuket and Bangkok's Yaowarat, where it is ladled over rice from steel trays under yellow flags. Crunchy wood ear and soft oyster mushrooms soak up a glossy sauce of fermented soybean paste and soy, and fine matchsticks of young ginger give heat and fragrance. No garlic, onion or spring onion go in, as jay rules forbid them. Chef's tip: old, fibrous ginger is the mistake here; choose plump young ginger with thin, pinkish skin so you can eat it by the forkful.
Old Bangkok's Phra Nakhon district made mee krob famous as a royal-banquet dish, and it still appears at festive Thai Chinese dinners: a tangle of rice vermicelli puffed in hot oil, then tossed in a sticky sweet-sour sauce. Classic shops fold in prawns, egg and pickled garlic; for the jay festival this version uses fried tofu and pickled ginger, with orange zest standing in for the rare som sa citrus. Serve it with fresh bean sprouts and chilli. Chef's tip: the common mistake is a hot glaze, which wilts the noodles; cool the sauce until thick and toss just before serving.
Every neighbourhood padaria in Brazil pulls trays of these small, golden rolls from the oven at dawn and again in the late afternoon, and people buy them by the half-dozen for breakfast with butter and milky coffee or for a pão na chapa on the griddle. The name means French bread, but the roll is Brazil's own: a thin, crackling crust with a raised lip along the cut, called the pestana, around a very light, fluffy crumb. Chef's tip: a tray of boiling water in the oven gives the steam that makes the crust thin and shiny.
Bến Tre, the coconut province of the Mekong Delta, supplies most of the country's mứt dừa, but plenty of families still make a batch at home for the lacquered khay mứt, the tray of sweets put out for New Year visitors with green tea. The ribbons are chewy-soft in the middle and dry and sugary outside, white or dyed pale green with pandan, pink with dragon fruit or orange with gấc. Chef's tip: keep stirring gently over a low heat as the syrup thickens; high heat browns the coconut and the ribbons break if you stir roughly.
Little boxes of folded pandan leaf filled with jelly sit on the trays of every khanom seller in central Thailand, from Chatuchak's dessert stalls to the morning market in Nakhon Pathom. The base is firm, cool and green with diced water chestnut for crunch; the thick white top is coconut cream set with rice flour and seasoned with a clear note of salt, which is the whole point. They are eaten as a mid-afternoon snack, two or three at a time. Chef's tip: most people undersalt the coconut layer; it should taste lightly salty on its own, so the sweet base underneath sings.
Thai spa receptions and roadside rice shops both pour this from big glass jars, and in Chiang Mai and Bangkok homes a pot is often simmering on hot afternoons. Bruised lemongrass gives a clean, lemony, slightly grassy taste and pandan a soft vanilla note; lightly sweetened, it is refreshing over ice and soothing warm on a rainy-season evening. Chef's tip: the usual mistake is chopping the lemongrass fine and boiling it hard, which makes it bitter; bash the stalks and simmer gently.
In Hanoi summers, glass after glass of chè đậu đen is poured over crushed ice at pavement stalls, and many families keep a pot in the fridge because the beans are thought to cool the body. The beans are cooked whole until creamy inside but unbroken, then steeped in syrup until they turn dark and glossy; southern versions finish with a little coconut milk. Chef's tip: add the sugar only once the beans are completely tender; sugar too early toughens the skins and the beans never soften.
During the nine days of the Vegetarian Festival in Phuket Town and Bangkok's Chinatown, yellow flags mark the stalls selling food that is jay: no meat, no dairy and none of the pungent alliums. This gentle soup is what people drink alongside their stir-fries, a clear broth of daikon and dried shiitake sharpened with crushed white pepper and coriander root, holding soft silken tofu and slippery mung bean vermicelli. Out of festival season, cooks add garlic oil and minced pork. Chef's tip: don't boil after the tofu goes in; silken tofu breaks into crumbs, so let it warm through at a bare simmer.
Outside Mexican schools and parks, vendors fry little dried wheels and rectangles of wheat dough until they balloon into airy, crackly chicharrones de harina, also called duritos. They're handed over in a plastic bag drenched in lime juice and bottled hot sauce. At home you can buy the dried pellets (duros) at Latin grocers, and they puff in seconds. Chef's tip: fry just a small handful at a time; they triple in size.
Mamey, the rough brown fruit with salmon-orange flesh that tastes like sweet potato, pumpkin and almond at once, is a favourite in Tabasco, Chiapas, Veracruz and the Yucatán, and its ice cream is a star of the nevería in any southern town. The fruit is naturally so creamy that a little milk and sugar is enough. It contains dairy. Chef's tip: use a mamey that gives like a ripe avocado when pressed; underripe ones taste chalky.
In Mexican home kitchens carlota de limón is the dessert everyone's aunt knows by heart: layers of Marías biscuits and a lime cream whipped from condensed and evaporated milk, chilled until it slices like a cake. It is made on hot afternoons in Sonora and Veracruz and turns up at every children's party. The lime curdles the milk just enough to thicken it, so there's no cooking at all. It contains wheat and dairy. Chef's tip: blend in the lime juice slowly, with the motor running, until the cream thickens visibly.
Hồ Chí Minh City street carts fry these little 'cocoons' in big woks, and on rainy evenings a paper bag of them, still too hot to hold, is a favourite with students and children. The inside is soft, sweet mashed sweet potato bound with a little rice flour; the outside is a shaggy, crunchy coat of fine sweet-potato threads that looks like a silkworm's cocoon. Eat them plain, or dip in sweetened condensed coconut milk. Chef's tip: squeeze the shredded sweet potato dry and keep the oil at 170 °C; wet shreds and cool oil give greasy, limp cocoons.
Southern Vietnamese cooks make chè khoai môn for ancestor offerings and for chilly monsoon evenings, when a warm, creamy bowl is welcome; Saigon stalls sell it hot from big pots. Chunks of taro, some left whole and some crushed into the pot, cook with glutinous rice until the whole thing turns thick and faintly lilac, then coconut milk is poured over. Chef's tip: wear gloves or oil your hands when peeling raw taro; the sap can make skin itch badly.
Before dawn in Mexico City, León or Puebla, neighbourhood bakeries pull trays of bolillos from the oven for tortas, molletes and the morning coffee. The rolls are oval with pointed ends and one deep slash, a thin crackly crust and a light, slightly chewy crumb, born from the French bakers who worked in Mexico in the 1860s. This version is made with no lard or butter, so it is vegan. Chef's tip: a tray of boiling water in the oven for the first ten minutes is what gives the crust its shine and crackle.
Thai drink stalls outside schools and markets keep a bottle of red sala syrup next to the condensed milk for this sweet, bubblegum-pink milk, a favourite of children from Bangkok to Hat Yai. Sala is a tangy palm fruit, and the syrup tastes of it lightly, almost like cream soda; any red sala-flavoured syrup from an Asian shop works. Shake it with ice until frothy. Chef's tip: the mistake is too much syrup, which turns it lurid and cloying; start with a tablespoon per glass and add more to taste.
On the first morning of Tết, and again at weddings and ancestor offerings, northern families set a dome of brilliant red xôi gấc on the altar: red for luck, sticky for a family that holds together. The colour comes from the arils of the spiky gấc fruit, which also gives a faint, melon-like sweetness, and coconut milk makes the grains rich and shiny. Frozen gấc pulp from Asian grocers works perfectly. Serve it warm, pressed into moulds, with a little sugar and toasted sesame, or beside giò lụa. Chef's tip: soak the rice for at least 6 hours; unsoaked glutinous rice stays chalky in the middle however long you steam it.
Hanoi grandmothers hand out mứt gừng in the cold, damp days of Tết as much for warmth as for sweetness: each slice is sugary at first, then hot and spicy. The northern style uses plump young ginger, soaked to tame its fire, then candied until each slice is bright yellow and frosted white. It sits on the New Year tray with candied coconut, lotus seeds and roasted watermelon seeds, and goes with a pot of green tea. Chef's tip: choose young, smooth-skinned ginger and slice it thinly across the grain; old fibrous ginger stays stringy and painfully hot.
Born in the 1990s at a juice stand in Guadalajara, Jalisco, the biónico is now the city's favourite breakfast on the go: a tall cup of chopped papaya, melon, apple, banana and strawberries drenched in a sweet cream of yoghurt, soured cream and condensed milk, then scattered with granola, coconut and raisins. Kids adore it and it takes fifteen minutes. Chef's tip: cut the banana last and fold it straight into the cream, so it stays pale.
Brick-red and glossy, chamoy is the sauce Mexicans splash over fresh fruit, mango sorbet, crisps and the rim of a michelada glass. It is said to descend from Asian salted plum sauces, but today's version is pure Mexican: dried apricots and hibiscus simmered and blended with chile, lime, sugar and salt. Homemade chamoy is fruitier and less sweet than the bottled kind. Chef's tip: it thickens a lot as it cools, so take it off the heat when it still pours like warm ketchup.
In town plazas from Oaxaca to Guadalajara, neveros still churn nieve de garrafa by spinning a tall metal can in a wooden barrel of ice and rock salt, scraping the frozen walls with a long paddle. Lime nieve is the sharpest and most refreshing, pale green from the zest, and it is eaten in small cups after a hot walk through the market. At home a metal bowl set in ice and salt works the same way. Chef's tip: add the zest at the start but strain it out; that way you get its oils without the bitterness.
Mangonadas, also called chamoyadas, are a Mexican street sweet sold by neverías and fruit stands from Guadalajara to the US border: thick frozen mango blended to a slush, layered in a tall cup with sticky red chamoy and chile-lime salt and crowned with fresh mango cubes. Sweet, sour, salty and hot at once, it comes with a chewy tamarind-candy straw for stirring. Chef's tip: freeze the mango in cubes beforehand, so you get a thick spoonable slush without watering it down with ice.
The town of Tocumbo in Michoacán sent paleteros all over Mexico, and their shops, the paleterías michoacanas, sell fruit ice pops from Tijuana to Cancún. Mango con chile is one of the most loved: chunky frozen mango purée, sharp with lime, with a ribbon of chile powder through it and more sprinkled on top. Chef's tip: leave a few small cubes of mango in the purée, so every bite has real fruit.
Pale green and very refreshing, agua de pepino is the cooler sold from market juice stands in Mexico City and Oaxaca when the afternoon heat builds, and families blend a jug for comida on hot days. Cucumber, lime and a few mint leaves give a clean, light taste with very little sugar. Chef's tip: leave some of the peel on the cucumber for colour, but strain the drink so it stays silky.
Brown, cloudy and gloriously tart, agua de tamarindo fills the big glass vitroleros at taquerías and fondas across Mexico, especially in hot Guerrero, Colima and the Yucatán, and it is the drink most people reach for with a plate of tacos de guisado. The pods are peeled, simmered and rubbed through a sieve, so it tastes far fresher than paste or concentrate. Chef's tip: soak the pulp in the hot cooking water before you rub it, which loosens every bit from the seeds.
In the Mekong Delta, the week before Tết means trays of papaya, daikon and carrot strips drying in the sun on every balcony, to be packed into jars for dưa món. The drying makes the vegetables wonderfully crunchy and lets them drink up a sweet, salty brine. Families eat a little alongside thịt kho trứng and bánh tét to cut the richness over the holiday. The classic brine uses fish sauce; this one uses tamari, which keeps it vegan and gives a deep amber colour. Chef's tip: dry the strips until they bend like leather; damp vegetables go soft and cloudy in the jar.
Đà Lạt, cool and misty, made the mushroom hotpot famous, and vegetarian lẩu restaurants in Hanoi and Saigon now fill up with groups on cold or rainy evenings. A clear broth sweetened with daikon, corn cobs, carrot and apple sits on a burner in the middle of the table; everyone drops in mushrooms, tofu and greens, fishes them out a minute later and spoons them over rice noodles. Expect to top up the pot and keep eating for an hour. Chef's tip: simmer the broth vegetables gently and never boil hard; a rolling boil clouds the broth and dulls its natural sweetness.
Saigon's chay restaurants, the ones tucked beside pagodas that fill up on the 1st and 15th of each lunar month, nearly always have a plate of this on the table: golden tofu cubes buried under a crunchy, fragrant rubble of fried lemongrass and red chilli. The tofu stays soft inside, the lemongrass turns nutty and crisp, and a splash of tamari with a little sugar glazes everything. Eat it with steamed jasmine rice, sliced cucumber and a bowl of clear vegetable soup. Many chay cooks skip garlic and shallot, so this version leaves them out. Chef's tip: mince the lemongrass really finely and fry it on its own until golden; coarse chunks or lemongrass added with the tofu stay woody and chewy.
Bangkok's old dessert shops in Thonburi and the markets around Ayutthaya stack trays of this cake on their counters, and it turns up at weddings and house blessings because 'chan' also sounds like rising a level in life. Each green or white band is steamed on top of the last, so the finished slice is springy, faintly chewy and scented with pandan and jasmine; children eat it by peeling off one layer at a time. Serve it at room temperature with hot jasmine tea. Chef's tip: the classic mistake is pouring the next layer before the one beneath has turned fully translucent, which blurs the stripes; give each layer its full five minutes.
Zamora in Michoacán gave its name to chongos, soft knots of fresh milk curd slowly poached in their own whey with sugar and cinnamon until the syrup turns golden and the curds turn springy. They are served cool in small glass bowls after Sunday lunch, and jars are sold at roadside stands across the Bajío. Traditionally the milk is set with animal rennet; use a vegetarian rennet (microbial or plant-based) to keep it vegetarian. Chef's tip: never stir after the curds form, only tilt the pan, or they break into crumbs.
Mekong Delta households, where banana trees line every canal, make chè chuối when the fruit is ripe and plentiful, and Saigon sweet-soup stalls sell it warm in the evening. Short, sweet bananas soften in coconut milk thickened with tapioca pearls, turning slightly pink as they cook, and the bowl is finished with toasted sesame and crushed peanuts. It is eaten warm, never iced. Chef's tip: use firm, just-ripe bananas; very soft ones dissolve into mush before the tapioca is cooked.
At the candy stalls of Oaxaca's Mercado 20 de Noviembre and in the towns of Michoacán, bright green candied limes stuffed with snowy coconut are a jewel of traditional dulcería. The limes are scraped, soaked and boiled to take away the bitterness, then candied over two days until glassy, hollowed and filled. They are sweet, chewy and sharp at once, made for weddings and gifts. Chef's tip: change the soaking water every time without fail, as that is what takes away the bitterness of the pith.
Fig jam is made in late summer in Provence and the south-west, when the trees are heavy with violet figs, and it is served with breakfast and, very often, with cheese, especially goat's cheese and ewe's cheese from the Pyrenees. The figs are cooked with lemon and vanilla until thick and glossy. The common mistake is undercooking it, so it stays runny. Chef's tip: figs are low in pectin, so add a grated apple or use jam sugar.
The tarte aux fraises arrives in French bakery windows with the first Gariguette and Plougastel strawberries in May and stays all summer, the most popular fruit tart for birthday lunches and Sunday family meals. A crisp sablé case is filled with vanilla crème pâtissière and covered in neat rows of halved strawberries, glazed for shine. The common mistake is filling the case too early, so the pastry goes soft. Chef's tip: brush the baked case with a thin layer of melted white chocolate; it seals the pastry and keeps it crisp for hours.
Riz au lait is the comforting rice pudding of French grandmothers, cooked slowly on the hob with milk and vanilla until thick and creamy, eaten warm or cold at goûter, sometimes with a spoonful of caramel or jam. In Normandy, a baked version is called teurgoule. The common mistake is cooking it too fast, so it sticks and the rice stays hard. Chef's tip: stir in the sugar only at the end; added earlier, it toughens the rice.
The marocchino was born in the bars of Alessandria in Piedmont, and it is now ordered all over northern Italy: a little glass dusted inside with cocoa, filled with an espresso and topped with milk foam and more cocoa, sometimes with a spoonful of chocolate sauce at the bottom. Its name comes from the brown colour of a leather called "marocchino" once used for hat bands. It is a mid-morning or afternoon treat. Contains caffeine. Chef's tip: dust the empty glass with cocoa before pouring the coffee in; it sticks to the hot glass and gives each sip a chocolate edge.
At every Italian children's birthday party, and in every bakery window from Rome to Bari, there is a tray of pizzette: small round pizzas the size of a palm, topped with tomato and a little mozzarella and oregano, soft and easy for small hands. Mothers buy them by the dozen for school snacks and christening buffets. They freeze well. Mozzarella is usually made with calf rennet; vegetarian versions are easy to find. Chef's tip: cook the tomato sauce briefly first and keep it thick; a runny sauce makes soggy pizzette that slide off the plate.
Radis beurre is the simplest and most French of apéro snacks and bistro starters: crisp pink French breakfast radishes from the spring market, served with cold, good butter and flaky salt, often with a baguette. It is how Parisians welcome the first radishes in April. The common mistake is using old, woolly radishes; they must be firm and peppery. Chef's tip: soak the radishes in iced water for 30 minutes to make them extra crisp, and leave a little of the green tops on to hold them by.
Palmiers, "palm leaves", are the crisp, sugar-glazed puff pastry hearts sold by the bag in French bakeries and eaten with coffee or by children at goûter. Puff pastry is rolled in sugar instead of flour, folded towards the centre from both sides, sliced and baked until each heart is caramelised and glassy. The common mistake is underbaking, which leaves them soft and pale. Chef's tip: turn them over halfway through baking so both sides caramelise.
Apricot jam is the most loved jam in France, made in July with the apricots of the Roussillon and the Rhône valley and used for breakfast, for glazing fruit tarts and for filling croissants. Halved apricots are macerated with sugar, then boiled quickly so they keep their bright orange colour. The common mistake is stirring too hard, which breaks up the fruit. Chef's tip: add a few drops of almond extract at the end for the taste of the kernels; do not add the kernels themselves, which are not safe to eat in quantity.
Mendiants are little discs of chocolate topped with an almond, a hazelnut, a raisin and a dried fig, the four "beggars" of the Provençal Christmas, whose colours were said to match the robes of the four mendicant orders of monks; they are part of the thirteen desserts and a favourite home-made Christmas gift. The common mistake is letting the chocolate set before adding the toppings, so they fall off. Chef's tip: pipe only six discs at a time and top them straight away.
The pompe à l'huile is the centrepiece of the thirteen desserts of Christmas Eve in Provence, a flat, slashed sweet bread made with olive oil and scented with orange-blossom water. Tradition says it must be torn by hand, never cut, or you will be ruined in the year to come, and it is eaten after the gros souper on 24 December. The common mistake is using a harsh, peppery olive oil, which overpowers it. Chef's tip: use a mild, fruity olive oil and brush more over the warm loaf.
Pommes Anna was created in the 1860s at the Café Anglais in Paris and named after one of the fashionable ladies who dined there, and it is still a special-occasion side dish for roasts and Christmas dinners in French homes. Very thin potato slices are layered in overlapping circles with butter, pressed down and baked until the outside is a crisp golden cake and the inside soft. It is turned out like a tart and cut in wedges. The common mistake is not pressing the layers firmly, so the cake falls apart when turned out. Chef's tip: use clarified butter; it does not burn and gives the deepest golden crust.
Carottes râpées is the everyday starter of French school canteens, bistro crudité plates and family lunches all over the country, a heap of finely grated carrots in a bright lemon dressing that wakes up any meal. It is sweet, juicy and crunchy, and takes ten minutes. The secret is grating the carrots on the fine side of the grater, so they release some juice into the dressing. The common mistake is using the coarse holes, which gives dry, chewy strands that do not take the dressing. Chef's tip: dress the carrots 20 minutes before serving and toss again just before the table; they soften slightly and taste much sweeter.
Orzata was first made from barley (orzo), but in Liguria, Sardinia and Sicily it has long been made from almonds: a milky, sweet almond syrup, diluted with ice-cold water and drunk on hot summer afternoons in seaside bars and at home. Its gentle almond and orange-blossom flavour makes it a children's favourite. Contains nuts. Chef's tip: soak the blanched almonds in water for an hour before blending; they release more milk and the syrup is richer.
Velouté is one of the five mother sauces of classic French cooking, taught in every cookery school from Paris to Lyon and used as the base for dozens of sauces for vegetables, eggs, chicken and fish. A blond roux of butter and flour is cooked without browning, then whisked into hot light stock and simmered until silky. This version uses vegetable stock so it is vegetarian; for the classic, use chicken, veal or fish stock to match the dish. The common mistake is not simmering long enough, which leaves the sauce tasting of raw flour. Chef's tip: add the hot stock to a warm roux gradually, whisking hard, and you will never get lumps.
Tarte à la tomate is a summer favourite all over Burgundy, home of Dijon mustard, made from July to September for picnics, light lunches and apéritif. A crisp shortcrust case is spread thickly with mustard and grated cheese, covered with overlapping tomato slices and herbs and baked until the tomatoes are jammy; the mustard mellows into a warm, tangy layer. Comté and Gruyère are usually made with animal rennet; use a vegetarian hard cheese if you prefer. The common mistake is using watery tomatoes, which make the pastry soggy. Chef's tip: salt and drain the tomato slices on kitchen paper for 15 minutes before laying them on the tart.
Pêche Melba was created by Auguste Escoffier at the Savoy in London in the 1890s for the Australian opera singer Nellie Melba, and it became a classic of French summer menus: ripe peaches poached in vanilla syrup, served on vanilla ice cream with a sharp, fresh raspberry sauce. The common mistake is using hard, underripe peaches, which have little flavour. Chef's tip: dip the peaches in boiling water for 20 seconds after poaching and the skins will slip off.
The religieuse, "nun", is a Parisian pâtisserie classic invented in the 1850s, so called because the two stacked choux buns, glazed in brown icing with a little ruff of buttercream, look like a nun in her habit. It is still a treat bought at weekend bakeries in Paris for a special goûter. The common mistake is underbaking the choux, which collapse when filled. Chef's tip: once baked, prop the oven door open with a wooden spoon and leave the choux inside for 10 minutes to dry out.
The mustard vinaigrette is made fresh in every French kitchen before dinner, often right in the bottom of the salad bowl, and spooned over butter lettuce served after the main course and before the cheese. The classic ratio is one part vinegar to three of oil, with a spoonful of Dijon mustard to hold it together into a thick emulsion. The common mistake is dissolving the salt in the oil, where it stays gritty; it must go in the vinegar first. Chef's tip: dress the leaves just before serving and toss with your hands, so every leaf is coated but not soggy.
The Saint-Honoré, named after the patron saint of bakers and created in a pâtisserie on the rue Saint-Honoré in Paris around 1850, is a celebration cake for christenings and saints' days: a puff pastry disc ringed with choux, a crown of caramel-dipped cream puffs and a centre of piped vanilla cream. It is a project, but each part is simple. The common mistake is touching the caramel, which burns badly. Chef's tip: dip the puffs top-down into the caramel and set them upside down on baking paper, so the tops dry flat and glassy.
Raie au beurre noir is a much-loved bistro and home dish all along the French coasts and in Paris, served on Fridays with boiled potatoes. The skate wing is poached gently in a vinegary court-bouillon until the soft, ribbed flesh slides off its cartilage, then it is covered with butter cooked until deep brown and nutty, sharpened with capers and a splash of vinegar. Despite the name, the butter should be dark hazelnut, never black and burnt. The common mistake is overcooking the skate, which turns it stringy. Chef's tip: buy skate very fresh; any smell of ammonia means it is old.
The tarte fine aux pommes is the elegant, wafer-thin apple tart of Parisian brasseries, ordered after lunch and served warm, sometimes with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Paper-thin slices of apple are overlapped on a disc of puff pastry, brushed with butter and sugar and baked until the edges caramelise. The common mistake is letting the pastry puff, which pushes the apples off. Chef's tip: bake the pastry with a second tray on top for the first 10 minutes to keep it flat and crisp.
The puits d'amour, "well of love", is an 18th-century Parisian pastry still made by old-fashioned pâtisseries in the capital, especially the famous one on the rue Montorgueil: small puff pastry cases filled with vanilla cream and finished with a crackling caramelised sugar top, like a crème brûlée in pastry. The common mistake is overfilling the cases, so the cream bubbles out under the grill. Chef's tip: fill just level and use a blowtorch for the sugar, in two thin layers.
Nougat noir is the dark, crunchy sister of white nougat, made of just honey and almonds cooked until caramelised, and in Provence both are placed on the Christmas Eve table as part of the thirteen desserts, the white for purity and the black for the shadows. The common mistake is cooking it too far, so it tastes burnt and bitter. Chef's tip: stop as soon as the honey turns a deep amber and the almonds start to crackle.
The tarte Bourdaloue was created in the 19th century by a Parisian pâtissier on the rue Bourdaloue, behind the church of Notre-Dame-de-Lorette, and it is still a classic autumn and winter tart in Paris bakeries. Poached pear halves are fanned over almond cream in a sweet pastry case and baked until the cream puffs up golden around the fruit. The common mistake is using wet pears, which make the almond cream soggy. Chef's tip: pat the pears dry on kitchen paper and slice them thinly crosswise, keeping each half together, so they fan out neatly.
Crème chantilly is named after the Château de Chantilly north of Paris, where the 17th-century steward Vatel is said to have served it, and today it crowns waffles, crêpes, fruit tarts and hot chocolate in cafés across France. Cold cream is whipped with a little icing sugar and vanilla to soft, billowy peaks, light rather than stiff. The common mistake is over-whipping, which turns the cream grainy and then into butter. Chef's tip: chill the bowl and whisk for 15 minutes first, and stop as soon as the cream holds soft peaks that just flop over.
Beurre maître d'hôtel is the simplest of the French flavoured butters, a roll of soft butter beaten with parsley and lemon that every bistro keeps in the fridge to slice on to steak frites, grilled fish and baked potatoes, where it melts into a fresh, green sauce. It takes ten minutes and freezes beautifully. The common mistake is using butter straight from the fridge, which will not take the lemon juice and turns lumpy. Chef's tip: roll it into a log in baking paper, chill and slice coins as you need them; it keeps a month in the freezer.
Italian hot chocolate is not a milky drink but almost a pudding: thick enough to coat a spoon, made with real dark chocolate and cocoa thickened with a little starch. On cold winter afternoons in Turin, Florence and Perugia, families sit in historic cafés with a cup topped with whipped cream (con panna), dipping biscuits into it. Children love it. Chef's tip: mix the cornflour and cocoa with a little cold milk to a smooth paste first; dropped straight into hot milk, they form lumps.
Budino is the dessert Italian children find in the fridge on a Sunday afternoon: a soft, wobbly milk pudding flavoured with cocoa and set with cornflour, poured into little cups or a mould and chilled. It is the kind of thing nonna makes in ten minutes for the grandchildren's merenda (afternoon snack), and it is gluten free and egg free. Chef's tip: whisk the cocoa, sugar and cornflour together before adding the milk; mixed dry, they don't form lumps.
Salame di cioccolato is the sweet that Italian children help to make: crushed biscuits mixed with melted chocolate, butter and cocoa, rolled into a log, chilled and dusted with icing sugar so that, when sliced, it looks just like a salami with "fat" spots of biscuit. It is served at birthday parties and Christmas, and some families add rum for adults. This version uses no raw eggs and no alcohol, so it is safe for everyone. Chef's tip: break the biscuits by hand into pieces the size of a fingernail; crumbs make it look like a plain chocolate log.
In Italian bars you can always ask for "un orzo": a hot drink made from roasted barley that looks like coffee and has a toasty, slightly sweet taste but no caffeine. During the war, when coffee was scarce, families drank it every morning, and today it is given to children, pregnant women and anyone avoiding caffeine. It can be made in a moka pot, served in a small cup like espresso or in a large one with milk. Barley contains gluten. Chef's tip: don't press the barley into the moka basket like coffee; packed tightly, it blocks the water and the pot hisses.
Pommes purée is the smooth, rich mash served all over France with roast chicken, sausages or a Sunday daube, and made famous in Paris restaurants where chefs beat in almost as much butter as potato. Floury potatoes are boiled whole in their skins, peeled hot, pressed through a ricer or sieve and beaten with hot milk and cold butter until silky. The common mistake is mashing in a food processor or with a blender, which turns the starch gluey. Chef's tip: dry the riced potato over a low heat for a minute before adding the butter; drier potato takes in more butter and tastes richer.
The bicerin ("little glass" in Piedmontese dialect) has been served since 1763 at the tiny Caffè al Bicerin opposite the Consolata church in Turin, where it was the drink that churchgoers had after fasting before Mass. It is three layers in a small glass: thick hot chocolate at the bottom, espresso in the middle and cold, lightly whipped cream on top, not stirred, so you taste each layer in turn. Contains caffeine. Chef's tip: pour the coffee and then the cream slowly over the back of a spoon so the layers sit on top of each other instead of mixing.
Gratin de blettes is a thrifty winter favourite in Lyon and across Provence, where Swiss chard is a staple of every market garden and both the white ribs and the green leaves are used. The stalks are boiled until tender, the leaves wilted, and everything is folded into a nutmeg béchamel and baked under crisp breadcrumbs. It is served as a side with roasts or on its own for supper. The common mistake is not cooking the stalks long enough, which leaves them stringy. Chef's tip: peel the strings off the backs of the wide stalks like celery; the gratin will be silky.
In Italy the cappuccino is strictly a breakfast drink, ordered at the bar counter with a cornetto before 11 in the morning, never after a meal. It is a single espresso topped with an equal amount of hot milk and a thick cap of velvety foam, named after the brown habits of Capuchin friars. Baristas in Turin and Trieste are famous for their thick, glossy microfoam. Contains caffeine, so it's not for children. Chef's tip: heat the milk only to about 65 °C, when the jug is too hot to hold for more than a second; hotter milk tastes cooked and the foam collapses.
Green tomato jam is the thrifty end-of-summer preserve of French kitchen gardens, made in October in the south-west and Provence with the tomatoes that will never ripen before the frost; it tastes surprisingly like a mix of melon and lemon and is served with breakfast or with cheese. The common mistake is cutting the tomatoes too big, so they stay hard. Chef's tip: slice them thinly and leave them overnight in the sugar; they turn translucent when cooked.
Strawberry jam is the jam of French breakfasts, spread on buttered baguette or tartines and stirred into fromage blanc, and families make it in early summer when the Plougastel and Carpentras strawberries are cheap at the market. Macerating the fruit overnight in sugar keeps the berries whole. The common mistake is cooking too long, which darkens it and loses the fresh taste. Chef's tip: test for a set on a cold saucer; when you push it with a finger, it should wrinkle.
Poires au vin are a simple winter dessert from Burgundy and the Loire, whole pears poached in red wine with sugar, cinnamon, orange and cloves until they turn a deep ruby, then served cold in their reduced syrup. The red wine version is made with alcohol, and most but not all of it cooks off; for children, pregnant guests or anyone avoiding alcohol, use red grape juice with less sugar and a squeeze of lemon. The common mistake is not turning the pears, so they colour unevenly. Chef's tip: leave the pears in the syrup overnight for the deepest colour.
Marrons glacés are the luxurious Christmas sweet of the Ardèche and Privas, whole chestnuts candied slowly in vanilla syrup and finished with a thin sugar glaze, given as gifts in December and served with coffee after the Christmas meal. Home versions use cooked, peeled chestnuts, which saves the hardest work. The common mistake is stirring, which breaks the chestnuts. Chef's tip: wrap the chestnuts in muslin, or set them in a steamer basket, so you can lift them in and out of the syrup without touching them.
Chocolate truffles, named after the black truffles of Périgord they resemble, are the home-made Christmas gift and after-dinner treat of France, rolled roughly and dusted with bitter cocoa. They need just good dark chocolate, cream and a little butter. The common mistake is overheating the chocolate, which makes it split and greasy. Chef's tip: work with cold hands and a melon baller, and keep the tray in the fridge between batches.
Crème de marrons, sweet chestnut cream, was invented in Privas in the Ardèche in the 1880s to use up broken chestnuts from making marrons glacés, and it is now a French store-cupboard classic: spread on crêpes at Candlemas, stirred into fromage blanc, or piled into a Mont Blanc dessert. This home version uses cooked, peeled chestnuts. The common mistake is not blending it smooth enough. Chef's tip: blend while still warm, and push it through a sieve for a silky finish.
Poires Belle-Hélène was created in Paris in the 1860s, probably by the great chef Escoffier, to honour Offenbach's operetta La Belle Hélène, and it is still on bistro menus and served at home as an easy winter dessert. Whole pears are poached in vanilla syrup, then served cold with vanilla ice cream and a jug of hot dark chocolate sauce. The common mistake is poaching hard pears too fast, so they stay crunchy in the middle. Chef's tip: the pears are done when a knife slides in like butter; keep the syrup at a gentle shiver.
Crêpes dentelle, "lace crêpes", are a speciality of Quimper in Brittany, said to have been invented by a baker there in 1886 who burnt a crêpe and rolled it up; they are wafer-thin, crisp, buttery rolled biscuits, sold in tins all over Brittany and eaten with coffee or crumbled over ice cream. The common mistake is spreading the batter too thick, so they will not crisp. Chef's tip: spread the batter so thin you can see the tray through it, and roll each one as soon as it comes out of the oven.
Candied fruit is a speciality of Apt in the Vaucluse, the world capital of fruits confits, and a bowl of glistening candied clementines, melon and orange peel is one of the thirteen desserts of Christmas Eve in Provence. Home candying takes several days of patient simmering in syrup, but very little work each day. The common mistake is boiling the fruit hard, which toughens it. Chef's tip: increase the sugar a little each day so it soaks in slowly to the centre.
Pâte feuilletée is the queen of French pastries, the flaky dough behind galettes des rois, mille-feuilles, vol-au-vents and palmiers, still made by hand in pâtisseries all over France. A simple dough is wrapped around a flat block of cold butter, then rolled and folded six times, so that in the oven the water in the butter turns to steam and lifts hundreds of layers. It takes time rather than skill. The common mistake is letting the butter get warm and soft, which smears the layers together. Chef's tip: chill the dough for 30 minutes after every two turns, and work in a cool kitchen.
Black cherry jam is the pride of the Basque country, made in June with the black cherries of Itxassou, where the village holds a cherry festival every year, and it is served with a slice of ewe's-milk cheese (Ossau-Iraty) after a meal, or used to fill the gâteau basque. The cherries are stoned and cooked until the jam is dark and glossy. The common mistake is leaving in stones; count them out. Chef's tip: wear an apron and stone the cherries over a bowl to catch the juice.
Redcurrant jelly is a summer preserve of eastern France, and in Bar-le-Duc in Lorraine the currants are still seeded by hand with a goose quill for the famous whole-berry jam; at home, the jelly is simply strained to a clear, ruby set, spread on bread and used to glaze fruit tarts. Redcurrants are full of pectin, so it sets easily. The common mistake is squeezing the jelly bag, which makes it cloudy. Chef's tip: let the juice drip on its own, overnight if you can.
The trois chocolats is the most popular birthday entremets in French pâtisseries, a crisp praline base topped with three layers of mousse, dark, milk and white chocolate, set in a ring and sliced to show the stripes. This home version sets the mousses with agar, so it is vegetarian. The common mistake is pouring a layer before the one below is set, so they mix. Chef's tip: chill each layer for 30 minutes, until it no longer moves when you tilt the ring.
Dattes fourrées, dates stuffed with pale green or pink almond paste, are one of the thirteen desserts on the Christmas Eve table in Provence and a favourite home-made sweet across France in December, simple enough for children to help make. Soft Medjool or Deglet Nour dates are split, stoned and filled with a little roll of marzipan, then rolled in sugar. The common mistake is using very dry dates, which split. Chef's tip: warm the marzipan in your hands before colouring; the colour mixes in evenly.
Sole meunière, "in the style of the miller's wife", is the fish dish of old Paris brasseries and Normandy seaside restaurants, served on Fridays and for special lunches with boiled potatoes. The sole is dusted in flour and cooked in foaming butter until golden, then bathed in nutty browned butter with lemon juice and parsley. The common mistake is a pan that is too crowded or not hot enough, so the flour turns soggy instead of crisp. Chef's tip: cook the fish in clarified butter or butter with a little oil, then make a fresh batch of browned butter for the sauce; it stays golden, not burnt.
Mostarda di Cremona is a jar of jewel-like whole fruits, pears, cherries, figs, clementines and apricots, candied slowly in sugar syrup and then spiked with mustard oil so that each sweet mouthful ends with a sharp, nose-tingling heat. In Cremona and across Lombardy it is served at Christmas with bollito misto (boiled meats) and with cheese, and it fills the tortelli of Cremona and Mantua. Pure mustard essence is hard to buy, so this home version uses strong mustard powder. Chef's tip: candy the fruit over three days, bringing the syrup to the boil each day; slow candying keeps the fruit whole and glossy.
On snowy days in northern and eastern Japan, and especially after kagami-biraki on 11 January, when the New Year offering of mochi is broken up, families warm up with a bowl of oshiruko: azuki beans simmered into a sweet, thick soup with a puffed, toasted rice cake bobbing in it. In Kansai a chunky version is called zenzai. Mochi is very sticky: cut it into small pieces for young children and older people, and make sure they chew well and eat sitting down. The common mistake is adding all the sugar at the start, which stops the beans softening; sweeten only once they are tender. Chef's tip: a pinch of salt at the end makes the sweetness taste rounder and the bean flavour deeper.
Kakigori is Japan's great summer cooler, sold under a flag printed with the character 氷 (ice) at festival stalls and seaside huts and turned into an art in Tokyo dessert cafés, where queues form in July and August. Ice is shaved into soft, snow-like flakes that melt on the tongue, then soaked in fruit syrup, matcha syrup or sweetened condensed milk. Contains dairy if you use condensed milk. The common mistake is using ice straight from the freezer: very cold ice shatters into crunchy shards, so let the block soften for 10 minutes first. Chef's tip: build it in two layers, pouring syrup over the half-full bowl and then again on top, so it is flavoured all the way through.
Diavola, the "devil's" pizza, is what most Italians order when they want heat: tomato and mozzarella topped with slices of spicy salami from Calabria or Naples, which curl into small cups in the oven and fill with red, chilli-laced oil. It is a pizzeria staple across the country and a Friday-night favourite. The salami is a cured pork sausage. Chef's tip: add the salami after the pizza has baked for half the time; it crisps at the edges without burning.
In Florence, coccoli are little balls of bread dough fried until puffy and golden, piled into a basket and served hot with stracchino, a soft, fresh, slightly tangy cow's-milk cheese, and usually with prosciutto too. They are the start of a meal in Florentine trattorie and a snack at street stalls in the evening. This is the vegetarian way, with cheese only; stracchino is often made with animal rennet, so look for a vegetarian soft cheese if needed. Chef's tip: salt the coccoli the moment they come out of the oil, while they are still glistening, so the salt sticks.
Kkultteok, 'honey rice cake', are the bite-sized coloured balls lined up in the windows of Korean tteok shops and on every Chuseok and birthday tray; bite one and a sweet, runny syrup of brown sugar and sesame bursts out. Despite the name, the filling is usually sugar, which melts into a honey-like syrup as the dumplings cook. The cakes are boiled, cooled in water and glossed with sesame oil. The common mistake is using too much filling or a thin dough, so the balls burst in the pot; keep the wall about 5 mm thick and seal well. Rice cakes are chewy and sticky, a known choking risk: cut them into small pieces for young children and older people and eat them sitting down. The filling is very hot straight from the pot, so let them cool before giving them to children. Chef's tip: let the boiled balls sit 1 minute in ice water; the shell firms up and the syrup inside turns fully liquid.
After a big Seollal feast in Seoul, sujeonggwa comes out ice-cold in small bowls, dark red-brown and fragrant with cinnamon and ginger, with a soft dried persimmon and a few pine nuts floating in each one. It is the punch of the New Year season, made a day or two ahead and kept on a cold balcony. The cinnamon and ginger are boiled separately and then combined, which keeps each flavour clean. The common mistake is boiling the cinnamon too long or too hard: it turns bitter and cloudy, so keep it to a gentle simmer. Contains pine nuts. Chef's tip: soak the dried persimmons in the cooled punch only a few hours before serving, so they soften without falling apart.
Neapolitan Christmas trays always include mostaccioli: soft, spiced biscuits shaped like diamonds and covered in a shiny coat of dark chocolate. The dough is flavoured with honey, cocoa, orange and pisto, a Neapolitan spice mix of cinnamon, clove, nutmeg, star anise and coriander. They are made in early December with roccocò and struffoli and kept in tins for the whole holiday. Not for babies under 1 because of the honey. Chef's tip: let the biscuits rest a day before coating; spiced honey biscuits soften and their flavour deepens after a night in the tin.
Zuccotto is said to have been inspired by the dome of Florence Cathedral, or by the shape of a cardinal's skullcap (zucchetto). It is a dome of sponge or savoiardi soaked in syrup, filled with whipped cream studded with chocolate, toasted nuts and candied fruit, half of it flavoured with cocoa, and chilled until set. Florentine families make it for summer Sunday lunch or a birthday. The traditional soak uses alchermes or brandy; this version uses an orange syrup so it is alcohol free. Contains nuts. Chef's tip: line the bowl with cling film first and leave the sponge to set overnight; it turns out cleanly with a neat dome.
On the eve of Chuseok, the harvest moon festival, families all over Korea sit around one table pinching songpyeon, and the old saying goes that whoever shapes the prettiest ones will have pretty children. The chewy rice-flour shells are filled with crunchy toasted sesame and sugar that melts into a syrup as they steam, and the batch is laid on fresh pine needles so the cakes pick up a faint forest scent. They go to the ancestral table first, then out to everyone with a cup of tea. The common mistake is a dough that is too dry: it cracks while you shape it and splits in the steamer, so it should feel as soft as an earlobe. Rice cakes are dense and sticky, so cut them small for young children and older people and make sure they eat sitting down: they are a known choking risk. Chef's tip: brush the steamed cakes with sesame oil while they are still hot; it stops them sticking together and gives that glossy finish you see at the market.
Yaksik began as a dish for Daeboreum, the first full moon of the lunar year, and is now a standard of Chuseok and Seollal tables and of birthday gifts, cut into neat squares and wrapped in cling film. Glutinous rice is steamed, tossed with dark sugar, soy sauce, sesame oil and cinnamon, then steamed a second time with chestnuts, jujubes and pine nuts until it turns a deep caramel brown and holds together like a soft, chewy cake. The usual mistake is skipping the soak: unsoaked rice stays hard in the centre however long you steam it. Contains soy, sesame and pine nuts. Rice cakes are dense and sticky, so cut them small for young children and older people and make sure they eat sitting down: they are a known choking risk. Chef's tip: caramelise a spoonful of the sugar in a dry pan before adding it; that dark caramel gives the traditional colour without needing extra soy sauce.
Bresaola is beef cured with salt and spices and air-dried in the cool mountain valleys of the Valtellina, near Sondrio in Lombardy. Locals serve it as a light lunch or an antipasto before pizzoccheri: thin dark-red slices dressed with lemon and olive oil, topped with peppery rocket and flakes of Grana Padano. It takes five minutes and needs nothing else but bread. Chef's tip: dress the bresaola with lemon 5 minutes before serving; the acid softens the edges of the slices and brings out the meat's sweetness, but much longer and it turns grey.
Kurikinton means 'chestnut golden mound', and its bright yellow colour is meant to look like piled gold, which is why it sits in the osechi box at New Year as a wish for wealth. Smooth, sweet mashed sweet potato is folded around whole candied chestnuts, giving a dessert-like side that children love. The traditional yellow comes from dried gardenia pods cooked with the potato. The common mistake is mashing the potatoes without sieving them, which leaves fibres; pushing them through a sieve while hot gives the silky, glossy finish. Chef's tip: peel the sweet potatoes thickly, cutting away the layer just under the skin, as that is where the grey colour and stringiness sit.
Sushi counters from Tokyo's Tsukiji outer market to neighbourhood conveyor-belt bars set a heap of gari by every plate, a palate-cleanser eaten between pieces of fish. The best is made in early summer, when young ginger with thin, pink-tipped skin appears in Japanese and Asian greengrocers; its blush turns the pickle naturally pale pink in the vinegar, with no colouring. It takes 20 minutes and keeps for months. The usual mistake is slicing too thick: gari should be almost see-through, so use a mandoline or vegetable peeler. Chef's tip: blanch the slices for just 30 seconds; any longer and the ginger loses its crunch.
Ichigo daifuku appeared in Tokyo sweet shops in the 1980s and quickly became the treat everyone queues for from January to April, when Japanese strawberries are at their best. A whole berry is wrapped in smooth sweet bean paste, then in a thin skin of soft, stretchy mochi, so you get juicy fruit, earthy sweetness and a pillowy chew in one bite. Mochi is very sticky: cut it into small pieces for young children and older people, and make sure they chew well and eat sitting down. The common mistake is wrapping a damp strawberry, which makes the bean paste slide and the mochi split; dry the berries completely. Chef's tip: microwave the mochi dough in short bursts and stir hard between them, until it turns translucent and elastic, rather than in one long blast.
Yōkan is one of Japan's oldest sweets, brought by Zen monks and refined in Edo-period Tokyo into dense, dark blocks that were carried by samurai and are still given as gifts in long wooden boxes. Red bean paste, sugar and agar are cooked down until thick and set into a smooth, firm jelly that slices cleanly, served in thin pieces with bitter green tea. The common mistake is undercooking the agar: it must boil for two full minutes or the yōkan won't set firmly. Chef's tip: cook the paste until a trail drawn across the bottom of the pan holds for a second before closing, which gives the classic firm, glossy neri yōkan.
Lotus root is full of holes you can see straight through, so in Japan it stands for a clear view of the year ahead, and these crunchy, snow-white slices of sweet-vinegared lotus are a fixture of osechi boxes on New Year's Day. Often cut into flower shapes, they taste bright and lightly sweet with a satisfying crispness. The common mistake is boiling the slices for too long: more than 2 minutes and they turn starchy instead of crunchy. Chef's tip: add a splash of vinegar to the boiling water as well as to the pickle, which keeps the lotus root brilliantly white.
In the ume orchards of Minabe, in Wakayama's old Kishu province, families salt the June harvest of ripe yellow ume in crocks and then spread them on bamboo mats under the hottest days of late July, the doyo-boshi, before the plums go back into their brine. The result is wrinkled, intensely salty-sour fruit, the classic filling for onigiri and the red sun in the middle of a lunchbox of rice. This is a once-a-year project spread over about two months; the active work is about two hours. Do not cut the salt: below about 15 % of the fruit's weight the plums go mouldy, which is the most common failure at home. Chef's tip: use only fully ripe, yellow, fragrant ume; hard green ones turn tough and bitter.
On 5 May, Children's Day, families in Tokyo and across eastern Japan eat kashiwa mochi: soft, flat rice cakes folded over sweet bean paste and wrapped in an oak leaf. Oak trees keep their old leaves until new ones bud, so the leaf stands for a family line carrying on. The leaf isn't eaten; it adds a faint woody scent and keeps the mochi moist. Mochi is very sticky: cut it into small pieces for young children and older people, and make sure they chew well and eat sitting down. The common mistake is steaming the dough too briefly, which leaves it pasty; steam until it turns slightly translucent, then knead. Chef's tip: dried oak leaves from Japanese grocers need a 10-minute simmer and a rinse before use; if you can't find them, wrap in cherry or bamboo leaves or baking paper.
Real Sicilian pistachio gelato is not bright green; it is a dull, olive-brown colour and tastes intensely of roasted nuts, especially when made with pistachios from Bronte on the slopes of Mount Etna. In Palermo and Catania it is eaten in a brioche for breakfast or as a cone after dinner. The secret is pure pistachio paste, with no added colour or flavourings. Contains nuts. Chef's tip: if you can't find pistachio paste, blend roasted pistachios with a spoon of oil for 5 minutes until it runs smooth; any graininess shows up in the gelato.
In Kansai homes around Osaka and Kyoto, osechi always includes tataki gobo: burdock root boiled, then beaten with a rolling pin so it splits open, and dressed in a thick ground-sesame vinegar. The long, deep-rooted burdock stands for a family that is settled and lasting. The pounding gives rough, fibrous edges that soak up the nutty, tangy dressing, so each bite is earthy, sweet and sharp. The common mistake is overcooking the burdock until soft; it should still be pleasantly firm before you pound it. Chef's tip: dress the burdock while it is still warm, when the fibres open up and drink in the sesame vinegar.
Pinsa is a modern Roman creation inspired by the flatbreads of ancient Rome: an oval base made from a mix of wheat, rice and soy flour (or in this home version, wheat and rice), with a lot of water and a long rest in the fridge. The result is crisp outside, light as a cloud inside and easy to digest. Pinserie in Rome top it with everything from buffalo mozzarella to courgette flowers; this version uses cherry tomatoes, mozzarella and basil. Mozzarella is usually made with calf rennet; vegetarian versions are easy to find. Chef's tip: shape the pinsa by pressing with your fingertips on a floured board, never stretching it; you want to keep all the bubbles.
Mitarashi dango are said to come from Shimogamo Shrine in Kyoto, where they were sold at the midsummer purification festival; today they are the snack of shrine fairs, flower-viewing picnics and station kiosks all over Japan. Chewy little rice-flour balls are threaded on skewers, toasted until speckled, and coated in a translucent, sweet-salty soy glaze that tastes a little like caramel. Mochi is very sticky: cut it into small pieces for young children and older people, and make sure they chew well and eat sitting down. The common mistake is a runny glaze: it must simmer until it turns clear and thick, or it slides off. Chef's tip: mix silken tofu into the rice flour instead of some of the water; the dumplings stay soft for hours instead of hardening as they cool.
In Milan, nobody throws away risotto alla milanese. The next day it is pressed into a hot buttered pan and fried until it forms a thin, crackling golden disc, flipped "al salto" (with a jump) like a pancake. Old Milanese trattorie near the Brera district served it late at night after the theatre, and it is still a favourite way to use up saffron risotto. The cheese in the leftover risotto is usually made with animal rennet. Chef's tip: use cold risotto straight from the fridge and press it thin; warm or thick risotto won't crisp and falls apart when you flip it.
On 1 May, Romans head out to the parks and the Castelli Romani hills with a sack of fresh broad beans still in their pods and a hunk of young Pecorino Romano, and spend the afternoon shelling, nibbling and talking. The pairing is simple and very Roman: sweet, grassy raw beans against salty, sharp cheese, often with a glass of something cold and a hunk of bread. Only the youngest, smallest beans work raw, so this is a dish for a few weeks of spring. Traditional pecorino uses animal rennet; choose a vegetarian sheep's cheese if you need to. Chef's tip: taste a bean before you buy; if it is starchy or bitter rather than sweet, braise those beans instead.
In Tuscany pinzimonio comes out in November, when the frantoi (olive mills) press the new oil and families want something that shows off its peppery green bite. A jug of raw, cold vegetables is set in the middle of the table and everyone dips into their own little bowl of oil seasoned with salt and pepper, usually before a plate of pasta or alongside bruschetta at the mill. Crunch matters more than anything: fennel, celery hearts, radishes, carrots, young artichokes and red peppers, all very fresh. Chef's tip: keep the cut vegetables in a bowl of iced water for 15 minutes before serving; they turn crisper and look glossy without any dressing.
In the narrow streets of Naples's historic centre, pizzerie sell a small margherita folded in four like a wallet, wrapped in paper and eaten while walking, for a couple of euros. It is the city's original fast food and still a lunch for students and workers around Via dei Tribunali and the Spanish Quarter. The pizza is small and soft so it folds without cracking. Mozzarella is usually made with calf rennet; vegetarian versions are easy to find. Chef's tip: take the pizza out while the crust is still soft and a little pale; a crisp pizza snaps when you fold it.
Dalgona, or ppopgi, was the 1970s and 80s snack of Seoul alleyways, where an old man with a little stove melted sugar in a ladle and stamped a star or umbrella into it; if you could break the shape out without cracking it you won a free one. It is just sugar and a pinch of baking soda, puffed into a crisp, toffee-brown honeycomb that tastes faintly bitter-sweet. The common mistake is adding too much baking soda, which leaves the candy bitter and soapy; a tiny pinch on the tip of a chopstick is all it needs. Melted sugar reaches about 160 °C and burns badly, so children should watch while an adult does the melting, and should only press shapes once the candy has set a little. Chef's tip: use a stainless-steel ladle or small pan, not non-stick, and keep the flame low; the moment the sugar is clear and amber, take it off.
Anmitsu became a craze in Tokyo's Ginza and Asakusa tea rooms in the 1930s and is still the classic summer order in kanmidokoro, the sweet cafés of old Tokyo. Clear, firm cubes of agar jelly are piled into a bowl with seasonal fruit, a scoop of sweet bean paste and boiled red peas, then drenched in dark, smoky kuromitsu syrup. The common mistake is using gelatin, which melts; agar jelly stays firm and refreshing at room temperature. Chef's tip: make the kuromitsu with Okinawan kokuto black sugar if you can; it gives a deep, almost liquorice-like flavour that muscovado only gets close to.
No osechi box, the lacquered stack of cold dishes Japanese families share over the first three days of January, is complete without kuromame: plump black soybeans simmered so slowly in syrup that they stay whole, wrinkle-free and shining like jet. The word 'mame' also means hard work and good health, so eating them wishes for a diligent year. They are soft, sweet and gently savoury, with a deep bean flavour. The common mistake is letting the beans touch the air while cooking, which wrinkles their skins; keep them submerged under a drop-lid the whole time and top up with water. Chef's tip: soak the dry beans directly in the hot seasoned syrup overnight rather than in plain water, which seasons them from the inside and keeps the skins smooth.
Every Korean jjimjilbang (bathhouse) sells sikhye in little cans, and every grandmother makes a big pot of it before Seollal and Chuseok to sip after the heavy holiday meal, because it is believed to help digestion. Barley malt water and cooked rice are kept warm for several hours until enzymes turn the rice starch into sugar and the grains float up to the top, then the drink is boiled with ginger and chilled until icy. It is mild, lightly sweet and nutty, with soft rice grains to slurp. The usual mistake is letting it get too hot while it ferments: above about 65 °C the enzymes stop working and the grains never float. Contains barley (gluten). Chef's tip: use the rice cooker's 'keep warm' setting; it holds the perfect temperature on its own.
Four-cheese pizza is a pizzeria classic from Milan to Palermo, a pizza bianca (no tomato) where each cheese does a different job: mozzarella for stretch, gorgonzola for a blue tang, fontina from the Aosta Valley for creaminess and Parmigiano for a salty crust. It is the order for winter evenings, often with a drizzle of honey or a few walnuts on top. Most of these cheeses are made with animal rennet; choose vegetarian versions of each if you need to. Chef's tip: cut the cheeses into small cubes rather than slices and scatter them unevenly; they melt at different speeds and give pockets of flavour.
Ohagi are made twice a year, at the spring and autumn equinoxes (higan), when Japanese families visit ancestors' graves and leave these rice balls as offerings; in spring they are called botamochi. Sticky rice is cooked and only half-pounded, so you can still see the grains, then shaped into ovals and coated in chunky red bean paste, roasted soybean flour (kinako) or black sesame. Mochi is very sticky: cut it into small pieces for young children and older people, and make sure they chew well and eat sitting down. The common mistake is pounding the rice smooth like mochi; ohagi should keep a rustic, grainy texture. Chef's tip: wet your hands and squeeze out cling film between shaping, so the rice never sticks.
Sciatt means "toads" in the dialect of Valtellina, the Alpine valley near Sondrio, because of their lumpy shape. They are buckwheat batter fritters, each hiding a cube of Valtellina Casera cheese that melts as they fry, served on a bed of chicory salad. Mountain huts and village festivals serve them hot from the pan in autumn and winter. Local cheeses are usually made with animal rennet; choose a vegetarian melting cheese if you need to. Chef's tip: make the batter with very cold sparkling water and a splash of grappa, as locals do; the bubbles and alcohol make a lighter, crispier crust. The alcohol mostly cooks off in the frying; leave it out for an alcohol-free version.
Dotorimuk is a jelly made from acorn starch, gathered in Korea's oak-covered mountains, and dotorimuk muchim is the salad hikers eat at the little restaurants at the foot of Bukhansan and Gwanaksan after a weekend climb. Wobbly, nutty-bitter cubes of jelly are tossed gently with lettuce, cucumber, carrot and a soy, chilli and sesame dressing. Temple cooks make it exactly like this, without garlic or onion. The common mistake is tossing it hard like a green salad: the jelly breaks into crumbs, so fold it with your fingertips. Chef's tip: if the jelly has firmed up in the fridge, blanch the block in boiling water for 30 seconds and cool it; it turns soft and bouncy again.
Walk past any Roman forno at eleven in the morning and you'll see pizza bianca coming out of the oven in planks a metre long: crisp on top, chewy and full of holes inside, brushed with olive oil and scattered with salt. Romans buy it by the slice for children's snacks after school, or split it open and fill it with mortadella or fresh figs in late summer. The dough is very wet and needs only folding, not kneading. Chef's tip: stretch the dough with oily fingertips straight onto the tray; dimpling it presses big bubbles into the dough that puff up in the oven.
Each autumn in the farmhouses of Miyazaki and Kanagawa, whole daikon are strung up under the eaves to dry in the wind before being packed into barrels of rice bran, and the bright yellow, crunchy slices that come out weeks later sit beside almost every bowl of rice in Japan. Homemade takuan is milder and sweeter than shop-bought, with a gentle ferment and no artificial colour; persimmon peel and a little turmeric give the golden tone. The active work is about two hours, but the radish needs 5–10 days of drying and 3–4 weeks in the bran. The common mistake is underdrying: the daikon must bend into a U without snapping, or it will turn watery and soft. Chef's tip: keep the tub somewhere cool (below 15 °C) and press it with a heavy weight, so the brine rises over the radishes within a few days.
In Rome, pizza al taglio is sold by weight from long rectangular trays, cut with scissors and folded in paper, the lunch of office workers and students across the city. The dough is very wet and rests in the fridge for a day or more, which gives a crust that is crunchy at the base and light and airy above. This recipe makes two classic toppings, potato and rosemary on one half and tomato and mozzarella on the other. Mozzarella is usually made with calf rennet; vegetarian versions are easy to find. Chef's tip: bake the base with just oil and tomato first and add the mozzarella for the last few minutes, so the cheese melts without burning.
Baci di dama, "lady's kisses", were born in Tortona in Piedmont in the 1800s: two small domes of buttery hazelnut shortbread pressed together with dark chocolate, like two lips meeting in a kiss. They are sold in every pastry shop in Piedmont and eaten with coffee or as a gift at Christmas. The local Piedmont hazelnuts are some of the best in the world. Contains nuts. Chef's tip: weigh each ball of dough so they're all the same size; matching domes make neat kisses.
At the end of August, all over southern and central Italy, families gather for the "giornata della salsa", the day of the sauce: crates of ripe plum tomatoes are washed, cooked, passed through a hand-cranked mill and bottled in hundreds, with a basil leaf in each bottle. The passata lasts until the next summer and is used for every ragù and pizza. For home bottling, add lemon juice to each jar and process in a water bath, as tomatoes alone are not acidic enough to be safe at room temperature. Chef's tip: use only fully ripe, deep red plum tomatoes; underripe tomatoes give a pale, sour passata.
High in the Valtellina valley near Sondrio, where wheat struggles but buckwheat grows well, polenta is made grey-brown and nutty with a mix of buckwheat and cornmeal. Taragna gets its name from the tarell, the long wooden stick used to stir it in a copper pot over the fire. At the end, butter and cubes of the local Valtellina Casera or Bitto cheese are stirred in until they melt into strings. It is winter food for cold mountain evenings, eaten with mushrooms or sausages on the side. Local cheeses are usually made with animal rennet; a vegetarian melting cheese works. Chef's tip: stir the flour into the boiling water in a slow rain with a whisk; once it is all in, switch to a wooden spoon and keep stirring.
Carciofi alla giudia come from Rome's old Jewish Ghetto, where for centuries the restaurants along Via del Portico d'Ottavia have fried them from February to April, when the round Roman romanesco artichokes are in season. The artichokes are trimmed, fried once slowly until tender, then opened like flowers and fried again in hotter oil until the leaves are bronze and crunchy like crisps, while the heart stays soft. Chef's tip: before the second fry, flick a few drops of cold water into the oil from your fingers, standing well back; Roman cooks say the spatter is what makes the leaves extra crisp. Do this carefully.
In late June and July the black mulberry trees of Sicily, especially around Messina and Acireale, drop their dark, juicy fruit, and the bars turn them into a granita the colour of ink, sweet and tangy, served in a glass with a warm brioche. Mulberries stain everything, so locals eat it carefully. If you can't find black mulberries, blackberries make a very similar granita. Chef's tip: add a squeeze of lemon; it brightens the berry flavour and keeps the colour vivid.
In Sicily, and in Rome at the famous Tazza d'Oro café near the Pantheon, coffee granita is served in a glass layered with unsweetened whipped cream: cream at the bottom, coffee ice in the middle and more cream on top. It is a summer breakfast or afternoon pick-me-up, eaten with a long spoon or a brioche. It contains caffeine, so it isn't for children. Chef's tip: make the coffee strong and sweet; flavours fade when frozen, so it should taste almost too sweet before it goes in the freezer.
Stracciatella was invented in 1961 at the Gelateria La Marianna in Bergamo's upper town, inspired by stracciatella soup, where egg is stirred into broth in little rags (stracci). The gelato maker drizzled melted dark chocolate into churning fior di latte, where it froze instantly into thin, crisp shards. It became one of the best-loved flavours in Italy, a favourite with children. Chef's tip: drizzle the chocolate in a thin stream right at the end of churning; it must hit the cold gelato and set at once, or it forms hard lumps.
On summer mornings in Catania, Messina and the towns around Mount Etna, Sicilians have granita for breakfast: a glass of soft, flaky ice made from almond milk and sugar, eaten with a warm brioche col tuppo (with a little bun on top) for dunking. The almond granita is the most traditional flavour, white, sweet and fragrant. It is made without a machine, just scraped with a fork as it freezes. Contains nuts. Chef's tip: stir the granita every 30 minutes without fail; that's what gives it the soft, creamy flakes instead of a solid block.
Garaetteok are the long white rice-cake logs that Korean mills churn out before Seollal, when families queue with their own rice to have them pressed and then slice them into ovals for tteokguk, the New Year soup. The length is meant to wish for a long life. Freshly made, they are soft and chewy and eaten warm, dipped in honey or toasted over a grill; once they firm up they are sliced for soup or cut into sticks for tteokbokki. Making them at home is simple, though the logs come out a little less glossy than machine-pressed ones. The usual mistake is rolling the dough when it has cooled: it must be hot to stay smooth. Rice cakes are chewy and sticky, a known choking risk: cut them into small pieces for young children and older people and eat them sitting down. Chef's tip: leave the logs to firm overnight before slicing on the diagonal; they cut cleanly instead of squashing.
Mujigae tteok is the rice cake of children's birthdays and school picnics in Korea, with soft stripes of pink, yellow, green and white that stand for harmony and happiness; it is also a fixture on the doljanchi first-birthday table. Each layer is the same lightly sweet, fluffy steamed rice flour, coloured naturally. The common mistake is packing the layers down: press too hard and the cake turns dense and the colours bleed, so spread each layer and just level it with a scraper. Rice cakes are chewy and sticky, a known choking risk: cut them into small pieces for young children and older people and eat them sitting down. Chef's tip: colour each portion of flour before sieving it, so the colour is even with no streaks.
Every Roman pizzeria a taglio and friggitoria has a tray of fiori di zucca in summer: courgette flowers stuffed with a stick of mozzarella, dipped in a thin cold batter and fried until they shatter. Romans usually tuck in an anchovy fillet, but this vegetarian version swaps it for a little lemon zest and a caper, which gives the same salty spark. They are eaten as an antipasto before pizza or as a snack standing at the counter. Mozzarella is usually made with calf rennet; vegetarian versions are easy to find. Chef's tip: make the batter with ice-cold sparkling water and leave a few lumps; a smooth, warm batter fries heavy and soft.
Jeolpyeon are the patterned rice cakes Korean tteok shops press with carved wooden stamps called tteoksal, so each piece carries a flower or a wish for long life; they appear at weddings, 60th birthdays and Dano, the early-summer festival, when they were made green with mugwort or Korean ox-eye daisy. The cakes are plain and only lightly salted, firm yet chewy, and glossy with sesame oil. The common mistake is pounding too little: the dough must be kneaded until completely smooth, or the stamp won't leave a clean pattern and the cakes crack. Rice cakes are chewy and sticky, a known choking risk: cut them into small pieces for young children and older people and eat them sitting down. Chef's tip: no stamp? Press the base of a decorative glass or a clean biscuit mould into each piece.
In April, when the azaleas bloom on Korean hillsides, women in Joseon times climbed to picnic spots for hwajeonnori, the flower-cake party, frying little rice cakes with fresh petals pressed into them on the spot. Hwajeon are still made for spring festivals and Samjinnal, the third day of the third lunar month. The cakes are soft and chewy, barely crisp at the edges, and brushed with syrup. The common mistake is frying over too high a heat: the cakes should stay white with the flower bright, so keep the pan low and turn only once. Use only flowers you know are edible and unsprayed, such as pansies, violas or azalea (jindallae) petals; never ornamental shop flowers. Rice cakes are chewy and sticky, a known choking risk: cut them into small pieces for young children and older people and eat them sitting down. Chef's tip: press the flower on after you flip the cake, so it warms through and sticks without browning.
Sirutteok, named after the earthenware siru steamer, is the rice cake Koreans make to bless a new home, open a shop or mark the autumn harvest at a village gosa ceremony; the red adzuki beans were believed to chase away bad luck, and a slice is often left at the door. Layers of fluffy rice flour are steamed between layers of coarse, salted red bean crumble, so every bite is soft, a little sweet and earthy. The common mistake is mashing the beans to paste: the crumble should stay dry and grainy or the layers turn soggy. Rice cakes are chewy and sticky, a known choking risk: cut them into small pieces for young children and older people and eat them sitting down. Chef's tip: cook the beans until just tender, drain them, then dry them out in the pan over a low heat until the crumble falls apart.
Baekseolgi, 'white snow cake', is the plain steamed rice cake that Korean families share out on a baby's baek-il, the 100th day, and at the doljanchi first-birthday party, where its pure white colour stands for a clean, long life. Custom says it should go to a hundred neighbours. It has a fine, crumbly-soft, cake-like texture and a mild, milky rice sweetness, best eaten the day it is made with a cup of barley tea. The usual mistake is skipping the sieving: unsieved flour steams into a heavy, patchy cake, so push it through twice. Rice cakes are chewy and sticky, a known choking risk: cut them into small pieces for young children and older people and eat them sitting down. Chef's tip: score the raw cake into portions before steaming; it cooks more evenly and you can lift pieces out cleanly.
Injeolmi is the rice cake you meet everywhere in Korea, from the tteok shop by a Seoul subway exit to the trays handed round at weddings, Chuseok and housewarmings. Glutinous rice is steamed, pounded until it stretches like soft taffy, then cut into pillows and rolled in nutty, sweet roasted soybean powder. Bingsu cafés now pile it on shaved ice too. The common mistake is under-steaming the dough, which leaves powdery white specks that never turn chewy; keep cooking until it is evenly translucent. Rice cakes are chewy and sticky, a known choking risk: cut them into small pieces for young children and older people and eat them sitting down. Chef's tip: oil the knife and your hands, and cut the warm slab with a dough scraper pressed straight down rather than a sawing knife.
In every gelateria from Turin to Palermo, fior di latte ("flower of milk") is the plainest flavour in the case and the one gelato makers judge each other by: just fresh milk, cream and sugar, with no eggs and no vanilla, so it tastes clean and milky. It is the base for stracciatella and the perfect partner for fruit sorbets in a cone. Italian children often choose it on summer evenings during the passeggiata. Chef's tip: chill the base overnight before churning; a fully cold base freezes faster into smaller ice crystals, which makes it smoother.
Gim bugak is a temple snack that Buddhist nuns and village cooks in South Jeolla, especially around Damyang and Namwon, still make in large batches in autumn: sheets of laver are painted with glutinous rice porridge, scattered with sesame, dried in the sun and fried until they puff into crackling, savoury chips. It is eaten as a banchan with rice or as a snack with tea. The common mistake is frying it before it is completely dry; any damp patches stay chewy and spit in the oil. Chef's tip: cut the dried sheets with scissors before frying; once fried they shatter if you try to cut them.
Kongjaban is the shiny black bean banchan that sits in a small dish on Korean tables from Gwangju to Seoul and fills countless lunchboxes, because one batch keeps for a week. Dried black soybeans are soaked, simmered in soy and sugar and finished with rice syrup until each bean is chewy, sweet-salty and gleaming. It is a good source of plant protein and children usually love it. The common mistake is adding the syrup too early: it scorches before the beans are tender and makes them hard. Chef's tip: keep the lid off while the beans cook; the steam escaping helps the skins stay intact and wrinkled rather than bursting.
Hobak juk is the golden pumpkin porridge sold in thermos-sized portions at Seoul's Gwangjang market and cooked in temple kitchens through the cold months, when stored pumpkins are at their sweetest. Steamed pumpkin is blended smooth, thickened with glutinous rice flour and dotted with chewy little rice-cake balls, giving a velvety, naturally sweet bowl that is soothing for convalescents and children alike. The rice balls are soft and sticky, so cut them small for young children to avoid choking. The common mistake is adding the rice-flour slurry in one go to boiling porridge, which makes lumps. The optional pine-nut topping is a tree-nut allergen; leave it off for anyone with a nut allergy. Chef's tip: roast or steam the pumpkin rather than boiling it in water; less water means a deeper colour and sweeter taste.
Jat juk is a pale, silky porridge of ground rice and pine nuts, once served to the royal household in Seoul and still made by Korean families for anyone recovering from illness, for elderly parents and as a gentle breakfast. Pine nuts from Gapyeong, Korea's pine nut capital, give it a rich, buttery taste with nothing more than salt. Pine nuts are a tree-nut allergen. The common mistake is adding the pine nut milk too early; its oil makes the rice starch thin out, so the porridge turns watery. Chef's tip: thicken the ground rice first and stir in the pine nut purée only for the last few minutes.
In the Salento, the heel of Puglia, pittule are fried on the night of 7 December, the eve of the Immaculate Conception, to open the Christmas season, and again on St Martin's Day in November when the new wine is tasted. The dough is so wet it can't be shaped; it is dropped from a spoon or a wet hand into hot olive oil, puffing into soft, irregular golden balls. Plain ones are dusted with sugar; savoury ones hide olives, capers or cherry tomatoes. Chef's tip: dip your hand or spoon in water before each scoop so the sticky dough slides off into the oil.
When the first cold snap hits, Korean convenience stores bring out glass steamer cabinets full of hoppang, and office workers grab one for breakfast on the way to the subway. The bun is soft, slightly sweet yeasted dough wrapped around a thick, smooth red bean paste, steamed until pillowy and eaten piping hot. Making them at home takes a morning but they freeze perfectly. The usual mistake is opening the lid too early or steaming over too fierce a heat: the buns collapse and wrinkle, so keep a steady medium heat and leave them to rest 5 minutes before lifting the lid. Contains wheat. Chef's tip: let the shaped buns rise on squares of baking paper; you can move them into the steamer without squashing them.
Before refrigerators, almost every Japanese kitchen kept a nukadoko, a crock of salted, fermenting rice bran that someone stirred by hand every morning, and families in Kyoto and Kyushu still pass theirs down for decades. Cucumbers, carrots, daikon or aubergine buried overnight come out crisp, sour and deeply savoury, a little like a gentle sauerkraut. Starting a bed takes about an hour of work and a week of 'feeding' with scraps before it pickles well. The most common mistake is forgetting to stir: left alone, the surface grows yeast and the bed starts to smell sharp and off. Chef's tip: stir from the bottom up once a day with clean hands, and if the bed gets watery, soak up the liquid with a clean cloth rather than pouring it away.
Beoseot jeongol is the mushroom hot pot that Korean temple kitchens and mountain restaurants around Odaesan and Songnisan serve in autumn, when wild mushrooms come down from the slopes. Fans of shiitake, oyster, enoki and king oyster mushrooms are arranged with tofu, cabbage and greens in a shallow pot and cooked at the table in a clear kelp and shiitake broth. It tastes deep, clean and woodsy, with no garlic or onion in the temple way. The common mistake is boiling it hard from the start, which turns the broth cloudy and the enoki stringy. Chef's tip: save the shiitake soaking water and add it to the broth; it doubles the savoury depth without any seasoning.
Yakgwa, 'medicinal sweet', were once so prized at royal banquets in Joseon-era Seoul that the court restricted who could make them, because of the honey and oil they swallowed. Today they turn up in gift boxes for Seollal and Chuseok and on the ancestral memorial table, and lately in Seoul cafés that cannot keep them in stock. The flaky, layered dough is fried at a low heat, then left to drink a ginger and cinnamon honey syrup until it is dense and soft all the way through. The mistake nearly everyone makes the first time is frying too hot: the outside browns while the middle stays raw and hard, so keep the oil low and be patient. Contains wheat and sesame. Chef's tip: fold and press the dough, don't knead it; the loose layers are what open up into those flaky ridges.
On a winter evening in Seoul, the smell of gun goguma drifts out of black drum ovens on street corners, and vendors hand the potatoes over in paper bags to warm cold hands on the way home. Korean sweet potatoes have purple skin and pale, chestnut-sweet flesh that turns dense and sticky when slow-roasted, and the sugars seep out and caramelise on the skin. At home they are eaten with cold dongchimi or kimchi and a glass of milk or a cup of tea. The common mistake is roasting too hot and too short: the potato cooks but never turns syrupy, so give it the full hour. Chef's tip: once roasted, leave them in the switched-off oven for 15 minutes; they keep getting sweeter as they rest.
In late August in western Sicily, around Trapani and Palermo, tomato purée is spread on large wooden boards and left in the hot sun for several days, stirred by hand until it turns into a thick, dark-red paste that smells of sun and sweet tomatoes. Strattu, short for "estratto", is used a spoonful at a time to give depth to sauces and stews. This home version dries the passata slowly in a low oven over a day. Chef's tip: spread the purée thin, no more than 1 cm, and stir it every hour; thick layers dry on top and stay wet underneath.
Treviso, north of Venice, is famous for its radicchio tardivo, long crimson leaves with white ribs that are harvested in December and forced in cold spring water until they are crisp and only gently bitter. In the Veneto it is often grilled on a griddle over the fire, dressed with olive oil, salt and a few drops of vinegar, and served next to grilled meat or polenta. The heat softens the bitterness and adds a smoky sweetness. Chef's tip: cut the heads lengthways through the root so the leaves stay joined and don't fall through the grill.
Yeongeun jorim is a winter banchan from the lotus ponds of South Jeolla, where Muan county is famous for its lotus fields, and it is now made in homes all over Korea for lunchboxes and holiday tables. Slices of lotus root are blanched in vinegared water, then simmered in soy and syrup until they turn dark, glossy and chewy with a lingering crunch. The holes make every slice look like lace. The common mistake is skipping the vinegar blanch, which leaves the slices grey and starchy. Chef's tip: stop cooking while there are still a couple of spoonfuls of sauce in the pan; the glaze thickens as it cools and turns sticky rather than hard.
Gelo di mellone is the summer dessert of Palermo, eaten above all on 15 July for the feast of Santa Rosalia, the city's patron saint. Fresh watermelon juice is set with starch into a soft, wobbly pink pudding, scented with cinnamon and sometimes jasmine flowers, and topped with chocolate chips and chopped pistachios that look like watermelon seeds. It is served chilled in small bowls or as a tart filling. Contains nuts in the topping. Chef's tip: strain the watermelon juice through a fine sieve; any pulp clouds the jelly and stops it from setting smoothly.
In 1952, in the seaside town of Pizzo in Calabria, a gelato maker ran out of moulds for a wedding banquet and shaped gelato by hand in his palm, around a centre of molten chocolate, then rolled it in cocoa. The tartufo, named for its resemblance to a truffle, is now protected as a local speciality, and the cafés on Pizzo's main piazza serve it in summer to crowds of visitors. Contains nuts. Chef's tip: work in a cold kitchen with chilled cling film and refreeze between each step; the gelato must stay firm enough to hold its ball shape.
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