18 recipes that use coarse salt, with photos, step-by-step instructions and cook times. The quickest, Mexican avocado soup, takes 10 minutes. It is most often cooked with garlic, onion and dried oregano.
Got a few things in the fridge? Search by everything you have
A smooth, pale green soup of ripe avocado, cucumber, lime and coriander, blended and served cold. It's refreshing on a hot day; serve it with lime quarters, coarse salt and nacho triangles. Mexicans also serve it hot: make it with boiling vegetable stock instead of cold water, just before serving, and don't reheat it.
In Genoa and along the Ligurian coast, pesto is pounded from small-leaved basil, pine nuts, garlic, hard cheese and local olive oil, and served on trofie, short twisted pasta, cooked in the same pot as diced potato and green beans. The starch from the potato helps the pesto cling, and the beans add sweetness. It is the dish of a summer lunch in the Cinque Terre. Chef's tip: never heat the pesto; loosen it with a spoon of pasta water in a bowl and toss the pasta off the heat so the basil stays bright green.
Parmigiana di melanzane is Campania's big summer bake, made when aubergines are cheap and glossy and served for Sunday lunch or carried in a tin to the beach. Fried slices of aubergine are layered with a quick basil tomato sauce, fior di latte and grated hard cheese, then baked until the edges bubble and darken. It is better warm than piping hot, and better still the next day, cut into neat squares. Chef's tip: salt the slices and press them for 30 minutes before frying; they drink less oil and the layers stay distinct instead of watery.
Mojo criollo is the raw sauce Cuban cooks keep in a jar by the stove: sour orange juice from the naranja agria tree, pounded garlic, cumin, oregano and olive oil. On the island it marinates whatever goes on the grill and is spooned over tostones, boiled malanga and roast vegetables; vegetarians use it to marinate tofu, mushrooms or thick slices of squash. It is sharp, garlicky and bright. Chef's tip: pound the garlic to a paste with the salt rather than chopping it; the salt helps it break down so the sauce tastes round, not harsh.
Adjika comes from Samegrelo and neighbouring Abkhazia in western Georgia, where it is a thick, fiery paste of dried red peppers, garlic and seeds, pounded in a stone mortar and stored in jars for the year. It is nothing like the tomato relishes sold as adjika in some shops: a little goes a very long way, stirred into beans, rubbed into vegetables before roasting, or spread thinly on mchadi with cheese. It needs no cooking, just patience while the peppers soak. A common mistake is skipping the soaking, which leaves the paste gritty with hard flakes of skin. Chef's tip: wear gloves while handling the peppers, and use a mix of mild and hot ones so you get colour and fruitiness, not just heat.
In Hakata, the old merchant half of Fukuoka, motsunabe is the winter dish of izakayas and back-street restaurants. Soft pieces of beef small intestine simmer in a garlicky soy broth under a tall heap of cabbage and garlic chives, with slices of chilli on top. When the pot is nearly empty, champon noodles go into the rich broth to finish the meal. Many butchers and Asian grocers sell the intestine already cleaned and boiled, which saves time. Chef's tip: keep the white fat on the intestine; as it melts into the broth it makes the soup rich and sweet, which is the point of the dish.
Abai Village in Sokcho, on Gangwon's east coast, was settled by people from Hamgyeong province in the north who could not go home after the Korean War. With squid plentiful in the East Sea, they stuffed it the way they had once stuffed pork casings for sundae, and the dish is now sold in the village's small restaurants and at Sokcho's Jungang market. The squid is filled with sticky rice, tofu and vegetables, steamed, cut into rounds and fried in beaten egg until golden. It makes a good sharing plate with a soy and vinegar dip. Chef's tip: mix a little glutinous rice into the filling; it binds the slices so they don't fall apart in the pan.
After the rice harvest in the Mekong Delta, farmers would catch snakehead from the flooded fields, skewer each fish on a stick, stand it in the ground and pile dry rice straw over it before setting it alight. When the straw burns away the blackened skin peels off to reveal steaming, sweet white flesh, which is rolled in rice paper with herbs, cucumber and rice noodles. Countryside restaurants around Cần Thơ still serve it this way. Snakehead is hard to buy outside Asia, so use sea bass, barramundi or tilapia and a barbecue or a hot oven. Chef's tip: push a long metal skewer from mouth to tail so you can turn the fish over without it breaking.
Along the coast from Valencia up to the Costa Brava, arroz negro (arròs negre in Catalan and Valencian) is a seafront restaurant favourite, ordered for the table at lunchtime and brought out in its pan. Squid and its ink turn the rice glossy black and give it a deep taste of the sea, and every forkful gets a dab of garlicky all-i-oli. This version uses the traditional egg-free all-i-oli, just garlic, oil and salt pounded together; if you'd rather make the easier egg version, use a pasteurised egg, and note that raw egg is not suitable for pregnant women, young children, older people or anyone with a weakened immune system. Chef's tip: buy squid ink in sachets or small jars from a fishmonger or Spanish deli; the ink sac inside a whole squid is far too small to colour a whole pan.
Legend has a hungry beggar near Hangzhou wrapping a stolen chicken in mud and burying it in the embers; restaurants in Hangzhou and Changshu still crack open the crust at the table for a bit of theatre. This home version swaps the mud for a salt-and-flour dough, so it bakes in an ordinary oven. Inside two lotus leaves, the bird steams in its own juices with pork, mushrooms and bamboo shoots, so the meat is fall-apart tender and smells of the leaves. Make it for a special dinner and serve with rice and greens. Chef's tip: the crust is only an oven, not something to eat; seal every crack with a scrap of dough so the steam stays in.
Cebu claims the best lechon in the Philippines, and its whole roast pigs are stuffed with lemongrass, garlic and spring onion so the meat needs no sauce. Lechon belly (lechon belyo) brings that flavour to a home oven: a slab of pork belly is rolled around the same herbs, tied, and roasted slowly, then blasted with heat until the rind turns to crackling. It is the centrepiece for Cebuano fiestas, Christmas and big birthdays, carved at the table and eaten with rice and a little spiced vinegar. Chef's tip: score only the meat side, never the skin, and dry the rind in the fridge overnight; an unbroken, dry skin crackles evenly.
Jinan restaurants have served this Shandong classic for more than a century, and its name, 'nine turns', borrows from Taoist alchemy to praise how many times the flavour seems to change on the tongue. Sections of pork intestine are cleaned thoroughly, simmered until tender, fried golden and then braised in a dark glaze that is sweet, sour, salty, peppery and gently spiced all at once, finished with a dusting of cinnamon and white pepper. The texture is soft and rich with a slight chew. It is banquet food in Shandong, eaten with plain rice or steamed buns and a green vegetable. Chef's tip: buy intestines already cleaned by a butcher if you can; you will still give them a wash, but the hard part is done.
Sajji comes from Balochistan, where shepherds once roasted whole lambs on sticks around an open fire with nothing but salt. In Quetta and Karachi's Balochi restaurants it is now usually a whole chicken, lightly spiced, roasted slowly until the skin is crisp and the meat drips with juice, then served on a heap of rice or with flat kaak bread. It is a festive dish for gatherings and family Sundays. This oven version stays true to the simple style: salt, a little lemon and green papaya, and slow heat. Chef's tip: roast it low first and finish hot; slow cooking keeps the meat juicy while the final blast crisps the skin.
This is a pork dish. In Cuba a whole pig is roasted for Nochebuena, Christmas Eve, and for big family parties, often in a pit in the yard; at home in Miami or Havana the same flavour comes from a pork shoulder soaked overnight in mojo, the sour-orange, garlic and oregano marinade. The meat roasts slowly until it pulls apart, and the skin turns to crackling. Serve it with moros y cristianos, yuca con mojo and a squeeze of lime. A common mistake is leaving the shoulder in the marinade on the kitchen counter: it must always marinate in the fridge. Chef's tip: if you can't find sour (Seville) oranges, mix two parts orange juice with one part lime juice for the same sharp edge.
For Argentines the Sunday asado is less a recipe than a ritual: someone (the asador) lights the fire mid-morning in a backyard in Buenos Aires or a ranch in the Pampas, and lunch happens hours later. Beef is cooked low and slow over glowing embers, seasoned with nothing but coarse salt, and carved at the grill to be eaten with bread, salad and a bowl of chimichurri. This home version uses two favourite cuts: tira de asado (thin cross-cut short ribs) and vacío (flank). The classic mistake is grilling over flames; wait until the coals are covered in white ash, and spread them so the heat is gentle. Chef's tip: hold your hand 15 cm above the grill; if you can keep it there for 8–10 seconds, the heat is right for asado.
No Puerto Rican Nochebuena (Christmas Eve) is complete without pernil, a whole pork shoulder rubbed with a pounded paste of garlic, oregano and black pepper, left in the fridge overnight and roasted low for hours until it falls apart. This is a pork dish. Families fight over the cuerito, the crackling skin on top, and the meat goes with arroz con gandules, salad and more rice the next day. The usual mistake is smearing the marinade over the skin: the garlic burns and the skin never crackles, so push the paste into slits and under the skin, and keep the skin itself dry and salted. Chef's tip: marinate for a full 24 hours if you can; the garlic and vinegar soak right into the meat.
Nyama choma, "roasted meat" in Swahili, is the centre of every weekend gathering in Kenya: at roadside joints on the edge of Nairobi you choose your goat ribs or beef by the kilo, it is grilled slowly over charcoal, chopped on a wooden board and brought to the table with salt, kachumbari (tomato and onion salad) and ugali. The meat is meant to be firm and chewy, smoky and simply salted. The mistake is grilling over fierce flames; the outside chars before the inside is tender, so keep it over glowing coals and turn it often. Chef's tip: leg of goat or lamb on the bone is easiest at home; rub it with salt and a little lemon only.
Sunday in Uruguay means asado: in Montevideo backyards and the cattle towns of the interior, beef ribs (asado de tira), chorizo and morcilla cook slowly over the embers of a wood fire, with only coarse salt, while the family waits. The parrillero rakes coals under the grill and keeps the heat low and even. This recipe includes pork chorizo. The mistake is cooking over flames; the fire should burn down to embers you can hold your hand above for 6–8 seconds. Chef's tip: salt the meat only when it goes on the grill, with coarse salt, never fine.
