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Haneeneh

Haneeneh is desert comfort food from the Bedouin tents of the Jordanian Badia: soft dates mashed into hot samneh with crumbs of yesterday's flatbread, scented with cardamom and pressed into a rich, fudgy sweet. It is made for guests, for new mothers and for cold mornings before herding, eaten by hand with black tea or Arabic coffee. It takes ten minutes and uses only store-cupboard things. The mistake to avoid is cooking the dates too long once they meet the ghee; they turn stiff and chewy instead of jammy. Chef's tip: toast the crumbs in the ghee first until nutty, then add the dates off the heat so the mixture stays soft.

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Zarb

Visitors to the desert camps of Wadi Rum often watch the zarb come up from the sand at sunset: tiered racks of spiced lamb, chicken, potatoes and onions that have steamed for hours in a pit of embers, then lifted out smoky and falling apart. At home you get close with a deep roasting tin sealed tightly with foil, a long, low oven and a short blast of heat at the end. Serve it on a big platter over rice or with shrak, with yoghurt and a tomato salad. The mistake most people make is leaving gaps in the foil, so the steam escapes and the meat dries. Chef's tip: marinate overnight in the fridge and add a little smoked paprika to the spice mix; it brings back the taste of the pit.

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Shorbat freekeh

When the sunset call to prayer ends the Ramadan fast in Amman, the first spoonfuls are very often shorbat freekeh, a nourishing broth thickened with cracked green wheat that was roasted in the field while still young. The smoke from that roasting gives the soup its distinctive, almost barbecue-like depth, while chicken, cinnamon and cardamom keep it gentle on an empty stomach. It is followed by dates, salad and the main dish. The usual mistake is not picking over and rinsing the freekeh, which can hold tiny stones and chaff. Chef's tip: toast the rinsed freekeh in butter for a couple of minutes before adding the broth; it brings out the smokiness.

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Ouzi

Ouzi is the showpiece of Jordanian and Damascene wedding buffets and Eid lunches: golden filo bundles that break open to spiced rice, minced lamb, peas and toasted nuts. The name comes from the whole roast lamb once served on a mountain of rice; the parcels are the neat, home-sized version, made ahead and baked as guests arrive. Serve with plain yoghurt or a cucumber-yoghurt salad. The common mistake is filling the filo with wet rice, which turns the bottoms soggy, so cook the rice until just tender and spread it out to steam dry. Chef's tip: lay a few nuts and peas in the bowl first, then the filo, then the filling, so each parcel comes out with a pretty top.

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Galayet bandora

Ask anyone in Amman what they cook when the fridge is nearly empty and the answer is often galayet bandora: ripe tomatoes collapsed in a shallow pan with olive oil, garlic and hot green chilli until they turn jammy and sweet. It turns up at breakfast, as a quick supper, and over a camp fire on desert trips to Wadi Rum, always eaten straight from the pan with torn khubz or shrak. Some families add cubes of lamb; this meatless version is the one most homes make every week. The usual mistake is stirring too much and adding water, which gives you a thin sauce instead of glossy, slightly caramelised tomatoes. Chef's tip: let the tomatoes sit untouched for the first few minutes so their undersides catch and colour; that touch of browning is where the flavour comes from.

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Shrak

In Bedouin camps around Wadi Rum and Ma'an, shrak is baked fresh for every meal: dough stretched thinner than a handkerchief, flung over a domed iron saj above the fire and lifted off seconds later, soft and blistered. It is the bread that lines the mansaf platter and wraps grilled meat, and it is torn for galayet and labneh at breakfast. At home an upturned wok over a gas flame stands in for the saj. The common mistake is rolling the dough on a dry surface; it tears, so oil your hands and worktop instead and stretch the dough over the backs of your hands like a pizza maker. Chef's tip: rest the dough balls a full 30 minutes, well oiled and covered; relaxed gluten stretches to near see-through without fighting back.

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Hilbeh

Hilbeh is the tray cake Jordanian grandmothers bake in winter and for visits after childbirth, when fenugreek is believed to warm and strengthen. Soaked fenugreek seeds swell into soft, jelly-coated beads that dot a dense semolina crumb, giving a gently bitter, maple-like scent that the hot syrup softens. Cut into diamonds, each topped with an almond, it sits on the coffee table beside Arabic coffee from Irbid to Aqaba. The mistake people make is using the seeds dry: they stay hard and bitter, so boil and soak them first. Chef's tip: pour cold syrup over the cake the moment it leaves the oven; hot-on-cold soaks in evenly and keeps the top from going soggy.

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Rashoof

In the stone villages around Karak and Tafileh, rashoof is what simmers on cold, wet evenings: brown lentils and coarse bulgur cooked soft, then enriched with jameed, the dried salted yoghurt that is also the soul of mansaf. The result is thick, sour and comforting, almost a porridge, finished with a heap of onions fried golden in samneh. Jameed is sold in hard balls or as a liquid in Middle Eastern shops; thick strained yoghurt with a little extra salt makes a fine stand-in. The classic mistake is letting the soup boil hard once the yoghurt goes in, which makes it split into grainy curds. Chef's tip: temper the yoghurt with a ladle of hot soup first and stir in one direction over a low heat; it stays silky.

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Ka'ak bi ajwa

In the last nights of Ramadan, Jordanian kitchens turn into small bakeries, and trays of ka'ak bi ajwa go into neighbourhood ovens ready for Eid morning. A crumbly semolina pastry scented with anise and mahlab is wrapped round a rope of date paste, closed into rings and baked pale gold, then offered to every visitor with bitter Arabic coffee. Children usually do the rolling. The common mistake is overworking the dough after the butter goes in, which makes the cookies hard rather than sandy. Chef's tip: rest the semolina and butter mixture overnight before adding the liquid; the grains drink the fat and the ka'ak melt in the mouth.

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Cornulețe

Cornulețe are the little crescent cookies that fill tins in Romanian kitchens before Christmas and New Year, and that grandmothers in Sibiu and Timișoara bake by the hundred for weddings and name days. This version uses a tender yeasted dough made with butter and yogurt, wrapped around a spoonful of thick plum jam (magiun) or rose rahat and rolled into horns. They bake pale and soft, not flaky, and are rolled in vanilla sugar while warm (the recipe makes 32, two per serving), which sets them apart from the cream-cheese rugelach of Jewish baking. Chef's tip: use thick jam and pinch the ends shut; runny jam is the usual mistake and bubbles out and burns on the tray.

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Ciorbă de perișoare

Across Romania, from Bucharest canteens to Moldavian grandmothers' kitchens, a pot of ciorbă de perișoare turns up on the Sunday table and again on Monday, when it tastes even better. This version contains pork: soft meatballs of minced pork and rice simmer in a clear vegetable broth that is soured at the end with borș (fermented wheat-bran liquid) or lemon juice, then finished with a handful of lovage. It is eaten very hot with a spoon of sour cream and a fresh green chilli to bite between spoonfuls. A frequent slip is boiling the soup hard once the meatballs are in, which breaks them apart and clouds the broth. Chef's tip: wet your hands in cold water before rolling each meatball; the mixture will not stick and the balls stay smooth and round.

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Mămăligă

Mămăligă is the golden cornmeal staple of the Romanian countryside, from the hill villages of Oltenia to the farms of Maramureș, where it was once eaten more often than bread. It is cooked in water until thick enough to hold a spoon upright, turned out onto a wooden board and cut with a thread, then eaten hot with crumbled salty brânză and a cold spoon of smântână (soured cream). Unlike Ukrainian banosh, which is cooked in sour cream, mămăligă is plain cornmeal and water; the richness goes on top. It sits beside stews such as tocăniță or under a fried egg for supper. Chef's tip: rain the cornmeal in through your fingers while whisking, and keep stirring from the bottom; dumping it in at once is the classic mistake that leaves raw, gritty lumps.

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Ciorbă de burtă

Romanians swear by ciorbă de burtă the morning after a wedding or a long night out, and in Bucharest there are restaurants that serve little else from breakfast onwards. Strips of beef tripe sit in a silky broth thickened with egg yolk and sour cream, sharpened with vinegar and served with mujdei, a raw garlic sauce, and a hot pepper on the side. It takes time, because tripe only turns tender after a long, slow simmer. The mistake most people make is boiling the soup after the yolks go in, which scrambles them into flecks. Chef's tip: buy cleaned, blanched (white, 'dressed') tripe from the butcher; it saves an hour of scrubbing and is much milder.

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Mici

Every Romanian park, beer garden and May Day picnic smells of mici, the little skinless rolls of minced beef and lamb that sizzle on charcoal grills from Bucharest's Obor market to the Black Sea coast. The mince is beaten with garlic, thyme, a strong beef stock and a little bicarbonate of soda, which makes them springy and juicy inside with a crusty outside. They come in tens, with plenty of mustard, fresh bread and sometimes chips. The usual error is cooking them straight after mixing: the mince needs a night in the fridge for the bicarbonate and garlic to work. Chef's tip: shape them with oiled hands on an oiled tray, and grill them no thicker than your thumb so the middle cooks before the outside burns.

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Zacuscă

Zacuscă is the autumn preserve of Moldavia and Transylvania: in Iași and the villages around it, families spend a September weekend charring aubergines and red peppers over a grill and slowly frying them down with onion and tomato into a thick, chunky spread. The jars go into the cellar and come out all winter, spread on bread or eaten with mămăligă during the Orthodox fasts. It is coarser and more oniony than smooth Balkan ajvar, with bay and a long, jammy cook. Chef's tip: let the onions go fully soft and sweet before adding anything else; rushing them leaves a sharp, raw edge that the long cook never removes.

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Salată de vinete

Salată de vinete is on every Romanian table from Bucharest to Brașov in late summer, when market stalls are piled with aubergines and every balcony grill is busy charring them. The smoky flesh is chopped with a wooden knife and beaten with sunflower oil into a pale, fluffy spread, almost like a mayonnaise, then finished with sharp raw onion. There is no tahini or yogurt, which sets it apart from baba ganoush. It is eaten on toasted bread with sliced tomatoes for supper or as a meze before grilled vegetables. Chef's tip: drain the cooked aubergine well; leaving in the brown juices is the usual mistake and makes the salad bitter and watery.

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Ciorbă de legume

Ciorbă is the sour soup that opens a Romanian lunch, from canteens in Cluj to Sunday tables in Moldavia, and the vegetable version is cooked all through the fasting weeks before Easter and Christmas. Root vegetables, beans and peppers simmer in a light broth that is soured at the end with borș, the fermented wheat-bran liquid sold in bottles at Romanian shops, or with lemon juice. Fresh lovage (leuștean) gives its unmistakable celery-like perfume. It is eaten piping hot with bread and a fresh green chilli on the side. Chef's tip: add the borș only at the end and let it come back just to a simmer; boiling it hard dulls the sour tang.

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Fasole bătută

Fasole bătută, 'beaten beans', is the fasting-day spread of Romania: on Christmas Eve and through Lent, plates of it appear in homes from Bucharest to the monasteries of Bucovina. Soft white beans are mashed smooth with garlic and oil, then crowned with a tangle of slow-fried onions stained red with paprika. It is spread thickly on bread, or served beside pickles and mămăligă. Chef's tip: beat the beans while they are still warm; cold beans turn stiff and pasty, and a common mistake is adding too little liquid, so loosen with a splash of cooking water until the purée is light and fluffy.

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Tocăniță de ciuperci

Tocăniță is the everyday stew of Romanian home cooking, and the mushroom version is a fixture of the Orthodox fasting days, when Transylvanian cooks use forest mushrooms gathered in the Apuseni hills and city cooks use button mushrooms from the market. Onions, garlic, tomato, white wine and thyme cook down into a thick, glossy sauce, without the sour cream and paprika of a Hungarian paprikás. It is always eaten with hot mămăligă and a spoon of the sauce over the top. Chef's tip: brown the mushrooms in batches in a hot pan; crowding them is the usual mistake, and they then stew grey in their own water instead of turning golden.

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Papanași

Papanași are the dessert Romanians order after almost any restaurant meal, from the old town of Bucharest to the mountain chalets of Sinaia and Bran. A soft dough of fresh cheese, egg and semolina is shaped into a ring with a little ball on top, fried until puffed and golden, then crowned with cold smântână and sour cherry or blueberry jam. Warm, tangy and very rich, one is a full dessert. Chef's tip: use dry, crumbly cheese and drain it if it's wet; a common mistake is a sloppy dough that soaks up oil and falls apart, so add flour only until it just stops sticking.

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Cozonac

Cozonac is the festive loaf every Romanian family bakes for Easter and Christmas, filling kitchens from Craiova to Suceava with the smell of butter, rum, lemon and orange zest. The rich yeast dough is rolled around a walnut and cocoa filling studded with pieces of rahat (Turkish delight), then braided and baked in a tall loaf tin so each slice shows a dark swirl. Unlike Slovenian potica, which is rolled into a thin spiral ring, cozonac is a braided loaf. It is eaten in thick slices with coffee on the feast mornings. Chef's tip: knead until the dough is silky and comes away from the bowl, then be patient with the rises; under-proving is the classic mistake and gives a dense, heavy loaf.

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Plăcintă cu brânză

In Moldavia, on both sides of the Prut, plăcintă means a flat round pie fried or baked on a griddle, and the cheese and dill one is what grandmothers in Iași and Chișinău make for weekend breakfasts and for guests at the door. A soft, stretchy dough is pulled thin, wrapped around salty cheese with fresh dill and egg, coiled into a snail and flattened, then cooked in a pan until blistered and crisp. They are eaten hot with a glass of sour milk or tea. Chef's tip: rest the oiled dough properly so it stretches without tearing; skipping the rest is the common mistake and you'll be fighting a springy dough that leaks its filling.

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