Vegetarian, or something you can't eat? Set your diet once and we'll hide recipes that don't fit.
23 recipes
Cramique is the Sunday breakfast loaf of Brussels and Wallonia: a soft, golden brioche packed with raisins, bought from the bakery on Sunday morning and sliced thickly with salted butter. Its sister, craquelin, swaps the raisins for pearl sugar. A common mistake is adding the raisins at the start of kneading, which tears the gluten and turns the dough grey. Chef's tip: soak the raisins in warm tea for 20 minutes, then knead them in only at the end, gently.
Cougnou, also called cougnolle or bommetje, is the Christmas bread of Wallonia, given to children on Christmas morning: a soft brioche shaped like the infant Jesus in swaddling clothes, with a little clay or sugar medallion pressed into the middle, eaten with hot chocolate. Bakeries in Namur and Charleroi make them from early December. A common mistake is shaping them too small, which dries them in the oven. Chef's tip: make three balls, one large for the body and two small for the head and feet, pressed together tightly so they bake as one.
Lukken are paper-thin, crisp waffle biscuits baked in West Flanders, around Kortrijk and Roeselare, in the days before New Year, when children go from house to house wishing neighbours a happy new year and are rewarded with them. They are made in a special iron that presses a fine pattern; a pizzelle iron or a thin-waffle (gaufrette) iron works. A common mistake is using too much batter, which makes them thick and soft. Chef's tip: use only a teaspoon of dough per biscuit and roll them while warm if you like, for 'rolled lukken'.
Couques de Dinant are the famously hard honey biscuits of Dinant on the Meuse, made only of flour and honey, pressed into carved wooden moulds showing castles, animals and the town's skyline, and baked so hot that the honey caramelises into a very hard, glossy biscuit. Dinant bakers say they keep for years; locals let a piece melt slowly in the mouth rather than biting. Honey is traditional; golden syrup makes a vegan version. A common mistake is a soft dough; it must be stiff enough to hold the mould's detail. Chef's tip: dust the mould with flour, press hard and tap the dough out sharply.
Kletskoppen are the lacy, crackly biscuits of Bruges, sold in the old city's bakeries and served with coffee in the cafés around the Markt: brown sugar, butter and chopped almonds with very little flour (this version uses none), baked until they spread into thin, see-through, toffee-flavoured lace. A common mistake is putting them too close on the tray; they spread enormously and join up. Chef's tip: let them cool for a minute on the tray before lifting, and drape them over a rolling pin while still warm if you want curved tuiles.
Before Eid and during Ramadan, Moroccan kitchens fill with the scent of fekkas: logs of a soft, eggy dough studded with almonds, raisins, aniseed and sesame are baked, cooled, sliced thin and baked again until dry, golden and very crunchy. They are offered to guests on trays with ghriba and other biscuits and dunked into mint tea or milky coffee, and they keep for weeks in a tin, so they are perfect to make ahead. The flavour is gently sweet, with liquorice notes from the anise and a little lemon. Avoid slicing the logs while they are still hot from the first bake; they crumble. Let them firm up first. Chef's tip: let the baked logs cool completely, ideally overnight, before slicing; warm logs crumble under the knife.
Early in the morning, in medina lanes from Fez to Casablanca, the sfenji pulls handfuls of sticky dough from a bowl, pokes a hole through each with his thumb and drops the rings into a big pan of oil, where they puff into crisp, golden, irregular doughnuts with a chewy, airy inside. Customers carry them away threaded on a strip of palm leaf, to eat hot with mint tea or coffee, plain, dusted with sugar or dipped in honey. The dough is just flour, yeast, salt and water, and deliberately very wet; that is what gives the open, holey crumb. Allow about 1 1/2 hours for it to rise. Where sfenj go wrong is a dough that is too stiff; it should be sticky and slack, or the rings come out bready instead of open and chewy. Chef's tip: keep a bowl of water beside you and wet your hands before every piece, so the sticky dough slides off your fingers instead of clinging to them.
Moroccan bakeries pile their windows with krachel, round, glossy buns of enriched dough perfumed with aniseed, toasted sesame and orange-flower water, and families bake them at home for breakfast, for guests and for feast days. They are soft and pillowy, lightly sweet, with a distinctive liquorice-like scent from the anise and a nutty crunch of sesame on top. Eat them warm with butter and jam, dipped into milky coffee, or with mint tea in the afternoon. The dough needs two rises, about 1 1/2 hours in all. Don't rush the rise: under-proved krachel bake dense and tight instead of soft and fluffy. Chef's tip: lightly toast the aniseed and sesame in a dry pan before adding them to the dough; it doubles their fragrance.
Every Moroccan home cook seems to have a meskouta recipe, the light, fluffy sponge that is baked in a ring tin and set out for afternoon tea, unexpected guests or a children's snack. This one is flavoured with fresh orange juice and zest; many families make a yogurt version instead, using the yogurt pot to measure everything, and that variation is in the steps. The crumb is airy and moist, not too sweet, and it pairs perfectly with mint tea or a glass of milk. No mixer is strictly needed, but it helps. Chef's tip: beat the eggs and sugar for a full 5 minutes until pale and tripled in volume; under-whipped eggs, the usual mistake, make a dense, flat meskouta.
Atlas households once kept jars of smen for months, even years, until the salted butter developed a pungent, almost blue-cheese aroma; a spoonful stirred into couscous, harira or a chicken tagine gives a depth nothing else can. Long ageing at room temperature is risky at home, so this is a safer fridge version: pasteurised unsalted butter is simmered with dried za'atar or oregano, strained, salted and then matured in the fridge for 2–4 weeks, which gives a mellow, nutty, faintly tangy smen rather than the fiercely strong old kind. For the real long-aged flavour, buy smen from a reputable shop. Use it a teaspoon at a time; it is meant as a seasoning, not a cooking fat. The mistake to avoid is leaving any milk solids or water in the butter, as that is what turns it rancid or mouldy rather than pleasantly aged. Chef's tip: strain it through muslin until perfectly clear; any milky bits left in the jar are what turn butter rancid.
Ras el hanout means 'head of the shop', and every spice seller in the Marrakech souk will tell you theirs is the best: a warm, complex mix of a dozen or more spices that they grind to their own formula. This home version balances earthy cumin and coriander with sweet cinnamon, ginger and turmeric, the perfume of cardamom and dried rosebuds, and the heat of black pepper. Rub it on vegetables before roasting, stir a teaspoon into tagines, lentils or couscous broth, or season chickpeas and roast pumpkin with it. Toasting the whole spices first takes 5 minutes and makes a real difference. Chef's tip: make small batches and store the blend in a sealed jar away from light; it is at its best for about 3 months.
No Moroccan pantry is complete without a jar of l'hamd marked, lemons packed in salt and their own juice and left for about a month until the rind softens and takes on a mellow, floral, almost sweet flavour. The rind is what you use: finely chopped into salads, slivered over chicken with olives, added to fish tagines, chermoula and bean dishes. Fez cooks traditionally use small, thin-skinned doqq or beldi lemons, but any unwaxed lemon works. Hands-on work is only 20 minutes; the jar then needs 3–4 weeks in a cool, dark cupboard before it is ready. Chef's tip: press the lemons down hard every day for the first week; as they release juice they shrink, and you can squeeze one more lemon into the jar.
On the road into Chefchaouen, women from the Rif villages sit with rounds of jben wrapped in palm leaves, a fresh, soft, lightly salted cheese with a clean, milky tang. Breakfast in the north often means a slab of it drizzled with olive oil, sprinkled with dried thyme or za'atar, with olives, honey and warm bread. Traditionally jben is curdled with animal rennet (sometimes with thistle or fig sap), so check if you buy it; this home version uses vegetarian (microbial) rennet and pasteurised milk, and is drained in the fridge. Hands-on time is about an hour; the curd then needs 1–2 hours to set and 4–6 hours to drain. Keep it chilled and eat it within 4 days. Chef's tip: avoid UHT and ultra-pasteurised milk, which will not set into a firm curd; ordinary pasteurised whole milk works well.
Chajá was created in 1927 at a bakery in Paysandú, a city on the Uruguay River, and named after a local bird whose feathers look as fluffy as its crumbly meringue coat. Today it's Uruguay's birthday and celebration cake: layers of light sponge soaked in peach syrup, filled with whipped cream, peaches and dulce de leche, then covered in crushed meringue. It's sweet, soft and crunchy at once, best on the day it's assembled. Chef's tip: soak the sponge but not too much; it should feel moist, not wet, or the layers slide.
Ghriba are the crinkle-topped cookies that fill Moroccan biscuit trays for Eid, weddings and guests dropping by for tea; the almond version, ghriba bel louz, is especially loved in Fez and Tétouan. The dough is just ground almonds, sugar, egg and lemon zest, rolled in icing sugar so the top cracks into white rivers as it bakes. They are naturally gluten free, crisp at the edge and soft and chewy inside. Chef's tip: take them out when the cracks have formed but the centres still feel soft; they firm up as they cool, and overbaked ghriba turn hard.
Despite the name, pain à la grecque is pure Brussels: the 'Greek' is thought to come from the Flemish gracht, the canal next to the old abbey on the Wolvengracht whose monks handed out bread to the poor. Today it is a long, flat stick of cinnamon-spiced bread pressed into pearl sugar and baked until the sugar melts into a crunchy, glassy crust. Brussels bakeries such as those around the Sablon sell it by the slab, and it is eaten with coffee in the afternoon or dunked at breakfast. Chef's tip: press the dough hard into the pearl sugar on both sides; loosely scattered sugar just falls off in the oven.
In Liège, in French-speaking Wallonia, the waffle is not a light batter but a rich yeasted dough studded with pearl sugar, eaten warm from a paper sleeve as you walk down the street. As it cooks in a deep-grid iron, the sugar nuggets melt and caramelise into a crackling, toffee-like crust, while the inside stays soft and chewy like brioche. Belgians eat them plain, any time of day, not loaded with cream (that is the lighter Brussels waffle). Chef's tip: knead the pearl sugar in only at the very end, after the dough has risen; if it goes in earlier, it dissolves and the waffles lose their crunch.
In the province of Liège, and above all in the town of Verviers, no village fair (ducasse) or family celebration happens without tarte au riz, called rijsttaart in Flanders. A thin, soft yeast-dough crust holds a thick layer of rice cooked slowly in milk with vanilla and sugar, enriched with egg yolks and baked until the top is speckled brown. People buy whole tarts from the bakery for a birthday and eat them cold with coffee. Chef's tip: cook the rice until a spoon drawn through it leaves a clear path that closes slowly; a runny filling never sets in the oven, and the crust turns soggy.
The small town of Geraardsbergen in East Flanders is so proud of its mattentaart that the little round puff-pastry tart has protected (PGI) status in the EU, and only bakers in the area may sell it under that name. It is filled with matten, a fresh curd made by curdling hot milk with buttermilk, mixed with eggs, sugar and a hint of almond, and baked until puffed and golden. Locals eat it with coffee, especially in late February when the town holds its Krakelingen festival. You make the curd yourself the day before. Chef's tip: hang the curd for a full night; too much whey left in it makes the filling weep and the pastry soggy.
Crumbly, buttery biscuit dough is rolled out, spread with a soft date filling flavoured with cinnamon and lemon, rolled into logs, sliced and baked into pretty pinwheels. They make a big batch of 50 and keep well in an airtight tin. Serve with tea, or with ice cream as a dessert.
A soft, moist cake made without eggs: self-raising flour and brown sugar are rubbed with butter, then mixed with milk and sour cream and studded with chopped dates, raisins and pistachios, with a warm hint of nutmeg and vanilla. Lovely with tea or served warm with cream.
Ma'amoul are delicate shortbread-like pastries made for Eid and Easter across the Middle East. A soft, rose-scented butter dough is wrapped around a filling of dates, walnuts, almonds and pistachios cooked with cinnamon, marked with a fork, baked pale and dusted with icing sugar. Makes 35; they keep well in a tin.
A moist eggless cake made with semolina, coconut and yogurt, baked with slivered almonds on the bottom and top and moistened with orange juice. Serve with coconut ice cream or custard sauce.
Belgian
Moroccan
Paraguayan
