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Welsh cakes, picau ar y maen or 'cakes on the stone', are cooked on a cast-iron bakestone in kitchens across Wales and sold warm at markets and rugby matches, and they are a must on St David's Day, 1 March. The dough is like a rich scone with currants and mixed spice, and they are dusted with sugar while hot. Chef's tip: keep the heat medium-low; they need time for the middle to cook before the outside darkens.
Walk into any bakery in Colmar, Ribeauvillé or Strasbourg on a Sunday morning and the kougelhopf sits in the window, tall and fluted, wearing a snowfall of icing sugar and a crown of whole almonds. Alsatian families buy or bake one for weekend breakfast with coffee, and slices that go stale are toasted the next day. The crumb sits halfway between brioche and cake: soft, buttery and only lightly sweet, studded with plump raisins. Many bakers soak the raisins in kirsch (cherry brandy); this recipe uses warm black tea, which plumps them just as well without alcohol. You need a kougelhopf or bundt tin of about 22 cm. Chef's tip: chill the buttered tin for 10 minutes and press the almonds into the grooves before the dough goes in, so they stay put and toast as the cake bakes.
Every December, kitchens across the Beiras fill with the smell of these broas: soft, cakey cookies made with mashed sweet potato, flour, olive oil and honey, spiced with cinnamon and fennel seed and glazed with egg yolk. Families bake big batches to share with neighbours and keep in tins over the holidays. They are only lightly sweet, with a tender crumb and a shiny top. Chef's tip: dry the cooked sweet potato in the pan for a minute before mashing, as watery mash makes a sticky dough that spreads.
Every village fête in the Aveyron, the old province of Rouergue, has a baker selling fouace: a big golden brioche ring scented with orange flower water and topped with crunchy sugar, carried home in a paper bag to be torn up at breakfast or after Sunday lunch. Laguiole and Rodez bakeries are famous for it, and families bake one for Easter, weddings and christenings. It is softer and less buttery than a Paris brioche, with a light, cottony crumb. Chef's tip: let the shaped crown rise until it is puffy and a fingertip leaves a dent that springs back slowly; underproved fouace tears in the oven.
Bara brith means 'speckled bread', and this is the fruit loaf of Welsh farmhouses and tea rooms from Snowdonia to the Gower. Dried fruit is soaked overnight in strong black tea, then mixed with sugar, egg, flour and spice, so it is moist, dark and keeps well without any butter in the mix. Slice it thickly and spread with salted Welsh butter. Chef's tip: wrap it and wait a day before cutting; it gets stickier and slices cleaner.
Lorraine grows most of the world's mirabelles, small golden plums with a blush of red that ripen for only a few weeks from mid-August, when Metz holds its Mirabelle festival and every pâtisserie in Nancy fills its window with this tart. The plums are halved and packed tightly into a crisp shortcrust, sometimes over a thin layer of almond or semolina to soak up the juice, and they bake into a jammy, honey-sweet layer. Families eat it warm or cold for Sunday dessert or at four-o'clock goûter. Out of season, use small yellow plums or halved apricots. Chef's tip: stand the halves upright and overlapping, cut side up; they shrink as they bake, and a tight layer stops the tart looking bare.
Millionaire's shortbread, called caramel shortcake in much of Scotland and caramel squares across the water in Belfast, is the traybake of school bake sales, cafés and church teas. A crisp shortbread base is covered with thick condensed-milk caramel and a layer of chocolate, rich enough to justify the name. Chef's tip: keep stirring the caramel the whole time it bubbles; it catches on the bottom in seconds.
Juice bars from Tangier to Agadir list a 'panaché' on the board, which in Morocco means a thick milkshake blended from whatever mix of fruit is in season, most often banana, apple, avocado and orange, served in a tall glass and sometimes topped with chopped dried fruit and nuts. Avocado is used as a sweet fruit here, and it makes the drink extra creamy. It is a favourite after school, as a quick breakfast or after an afternoon in the medina. Make it just before drinking: the orange juice can make the milk turn slightly grainy and the avocado darkens if it stands, which is the usual mistake. Chef's tip: use a ripe, soft avocado and a banana with brown freckles for natural sweetness, so you need very little sugar.
Order an Adana kebab in its home city and a tall glass of şalgam arrives with it, deep purple, salty, sour and often fiery. It is made by fermenting black carrots with a little bulgur and salt for a week or more, and the sharpness clears the palate between bites of lamb and grilled onion. Street carts in Adana sell it by the glass in summer. This home version skips the separate bulgur-sour-dough stage the big producers use. Use non-iodised salt: iodised salt can stall the ferment. Chef's tip: taste from day 5; when it is sour enough to make you blink, strain and chill it, because it keeps fermenting at room temperature.
Paisas finish lunch with a glass of mazamorra the way others take dessert: soft, swollen kernels of hulled white corn in their own starchy cooking liquid, topped up with cold milk and eaten with a piece of panela or guava paste to nibble between sips. In Medellín it is sold from carts as well as made in big pots at home for the week, and it is mild, milky and quietly filling. Look for dried hulled white corn (maíz pilado or peto) in Latin American shops. Soak it overnight first. A common mistake is serving it before the corn is fully soft; the kernels should split open and be tender to the bite. Chef's tip: save the thick cooking liquid; it gives the drink its silky body, and the corn keeps in it for 4 days in the fridge.
The smooth, round macaron with its ruffled 'foot', sandwiched around a ganache, is a Paris creation of the early 1900s, and the city's tearooms still sell them in pastel rows for gifts, weddings and afternoon tea. They are made from just ground almonds, icing sugar and egg whites, but they reward care: weigh everything, age the whites if you can, and rest the piped shells until a skin forms. This recipe uses a simple dark chocolate ganache; once you have the method, change the filling to raspberry jam or lemon curd. Chef's tip: bang the tray firmly on the worktop three times after piping; it knocks out air bubbles that would crack the tops.
Legend says a cook at the court of the Counts of Savoy, in Chambéry, invented this sponge in the fourteenth century to impress a visiting emperor, and Savoyard families still bake it in a tall fluted mould for birthdays and Sunday tea. It has no butter and very little flour, using potato starch for a crumb so light it almost dissolves, and it is eaten plain with a dusting of icing sugar, or with jam, fruit compote or a cup of hot chocolate. Chef's tip: fold the whites in three goes with a large metal spoon, cutting down through the middle; you are keeping in the air that makes it rise.
In Lecce the day starts at the bar with a pasticciotto still warm from the oven: a little oval of crumbly, golden shortcrust split open to reveal thick lemon-scented custard. It is said to come from a pastry shop in nearby Galatina in the 1700s, and the whole Salento eats it at breakfast, after Sunday Mass and with a caffè in ghiaccio in summer. The traditional pastry is made with lard; this version uses butter, which keeps it short and crisp. Chef's tip: make the custard first and chill it well; cold, thick custard stays put inside the pastry while it bakes.
Salpicón is what Caleños grab at fruit stands and in the parks of San Antonio when the afternoon heat sets in: a tall cup of tiny, jewel-like cubes of papaya, pineapple, mango, banana and apple, swimming in freshly blended watermelon juice, eaten with a spoon and drunk to the last drop. Some stalls top it up with a fizzy orange or lemon soda; this version keeps it to fresh juice. It is sweet, cool and very refreshing. The mistake people make is cutting the fruit too big; the joy is in tiny cubes you can drink through the juice. Chef's tip: blend and strain the watermelon just before serving and keep everything ice cold; watermelon juice loses its fresh taste within an hour.
The Avesnois, the green, hedged corner of northern France near the Belgian border, makes Maroilles, a square, orange-rinded cheese with a powerful smell and a surprisingly gentle, creamy taste. Its most famous use is this tart, sold hot in slices at markets and fairs in Maubeuge and Avesnes-sur-Helpe and eaten with a salad and a cold drink. A yeasted bread-dough base is topped with slices of Maroilles and a little crème fraîche and baked until bubbling. Maroilles is made with animal rennet; a vegetarian washed-rind cheese gives the same melting richness. Chef's tip: leave the rind on; it carries much of the flavour and turns golden in the oven.
A paper bag of bizcochitos de grasa sits next to the mate gourd in kitchens, offices and roadside service stations across Argentina, from Buenos Aires to the Andes. These little rounds, a couple of bites each, are layered with beef fat, so they flake and crumble, salty and plain enough to eat by the dozen with bitter mate in the afternoon. The fat is rendered beef fat (grasa vacuna), so they are not vegetarian; ask your butcher for dripping or render suet yourself. A dough worked too warm is the mistake that robs them of their layers; the fat melts into it instead of staying in sheets. Chef's tip: chill the dough for 10 minutes between folds whenever it starts to feel greasy, and prick each round right through so it puffs in flakes rather than domes.
Somewhere between a shortbread and a cake, gâteau breton is the big round that Breton bakeries cut into wedges for the road, and families buy one for the weekend or a picnic at the coast near Concarneau or Lorient. It is made from almost as much salted butter as flour, with lots of egg yolks, and baked thick so the edges are crisp and the middle is dense, moist and fudgy. The top is glazed and marked with a criss-cross pattern using a fork. Plain is traditional; some bakers add a layer of prune purée in the middle. Chef's tip: chill the dough in the tin before baking; it holds its pattern and bakes up with a sharp, shiny crust.
A Maisons-Laffitte pâtissier created this ring of choux pastry in 1910 to honour the Paris–Brest–Paris bicycle race, shaping it like a wheel, and it has been a fixture of Paris pâtisseries ever since. The ring is baked crisp, scattered with flaked almonds, split and piped full of a rich hazelnut-praline buttercream, then dusted with icing sugar. It is a celebration cake for birthdays and Sunday lunches, best eaten the day it is filled. Smooth hazelnut praline paste is sold in baking shops; or blend toasted hazelnuts with caramel. Chef's tip: let the baked ring dry in the switched-off oven with the door ajar; a dry shell stays crisp under the cream instead of going soft.
Cassata is the baroque centrepiece of a Palermo Easter: a dome of sponge lined with pale green marzipan, filled with sweetened sheep's ricotta and chocolate, glazed white and crowned with jewel-like candied fruit. Pastry shops around the city fill their windows with it in Holy Week, and families slice it after Easter lunch. It is rich, cool and creamy under the shell of almond paste, and nothing like the layered Indian-style cassata ice cream. The sponge is often brushed with a liqueur syrup; this version uses orange juice instead. It must chill for at least 4 hours, so make it the day before. Chef's tip: drain the ricotta overnight; that is the secret to a filling that holds its shape when cut.
The small town of Pithiviers, between Orléans and Paris, gave its name to this domed puff-pastry pie filled with almond cream, its top scored in curved lines like the petals of a flower. It is close to the galette des rois that French families share at Epiphany in January, but in Pithiviers it is eaten all year as a Sunday dessert. The almond cream is traditionally flavoured with a spoonful of rum; leave it out and add orange zest or vanilla for an alcohol-free version. All-butter shop puff pastry works well. Chef's tip: chill the assembled pie for 30 minutes before scoring and baking; cold pastry rises tall and the pattern stays crisp.
Palets are the thick cousin of the thin Breton galette biscuit: chunky rounds as wide as a small cookie and nearly a centimetre high, crisp on the outside and crumbly within, tasting strongly of salted butter. Bakeries in Pont-Aven and all along the Finistère coast sell them in tins, and Breton families serve them with coffee, with a bowl of cider-poached apples or crumbled over ice cream. Baking them in muffin tins or metal rings keeps their shape and straight edges. Chef's tip: use proper salted butter rather than adding salt to unsalted; the flavour is rounder and the dough handles better.
On summer mornings in Catania, breakfast is a glass of granita, almond, coffee, lemon or black mulberry, with a warm brioscia col tuppo beside it. The brioche is a soft, sweet, orange-scented bun with a little ball of dough on top, the tuppo, named after the bun women once wore their hair in. You tear off the tuppo first, dip it in the granita, then work through the rest. Bakeries in eastern Sicily sometimes enrich the dough with lard; this version uses butter. Chef's tip: give the dough a long, slow rise; it is what makes the crumb so light and stringy. Serve it with granita al limone.
In Lille and across the Nord, a sugar tart is not pastry at all but a flat round of soft brioche dough, dimpled and covered with brown cassonade sugar, butter and a little egg and cream, which bakes into a sticky, caramelised top over a fluffy base. Families buy it from the boulangerie for Sunday breakfast and goûter, or bake one when guests come for coffee. The Nord's own beet sugar, vergeoise, gives it a deep, almost molasses flavour; soft dark brown sugar is the closest swap. Chef's tip: press deep dimples into the risen dough with your fingertips before adding the topping; the sugar and cream collect in them and bake into little pools of caramel.
Matera's bread is a big golden loaf of durum-wheat semolina and sourdough, with a thick crackling crust and a crumb the colour of straw that stays moist for a week. It is shaped into a horned cornetto or a high-backed loaf, and until the 1950s families in the Sassi took their dough to the communal oven, each loaf marked with a carved wooden stamp so it came back to the right house. It is still eaten every day in the city, sliced thickly with olive oil and tomato or soaked in soups. Plan over two days, with a cold rise overnight. Chef's tip: feed your starter with semolina the day before, so its flavour matches the dough.
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