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Khmer green mango salad with crispy dried fish

Sharp enough to make you wince and then reach for more, nhoam svay is the salad sold from glass-fronted carts around Siem Reap's Old Market and packed for weekend picnics at the West Baray reservoir. Hard green mango is cut into fine strands and tossed with shallots, mint and a dressing of lime, fish sauce and palm sugar, then topped with crunchy roasted peanuts and flakes of salty dried fish fried until crisp. It is eaten as a snack on its own or as a fresh, sour side to grilled meat and rice. Many people dress it too early, which draws water out of the mango and leaves a limp, watery salad. Chef's tip: fry the dried fish slowly until it shatters, then crumble it over at the very last moment; for a vegetarian version, leave it out and use soy sauce in place of the fish sauce.

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Cha traop dot

Long purple aubergines blackened right on the coals or gas flame are a weeknight staple in Phnom Penh homes and in the rice-and-curry shops where office workers eat lunch from a row of pots. Once peeled, the flesh is soft, silky and deeply smoky; it is laid on a plate, topped with minced pork fried with garlic and fish sauce, then drizzled with hot spring onion oil and a sweet-salty lime dressing. Eaten with plenty of jasmine rice, it is gentle enough for children and rich enough to feel like a treat. A typical mistake is pulling the aubergines off the heat when the skin is only scorched in patches, which leaves hard, bland flesh inside. Chef's tip: char them until they slump completely flat and the skin cracks all over, then rest them in a covered bowl for 5 minutes so the skin slips off in one go.

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Khmer red chicken curry

When a Cambodian family celebrates (a wedding, Khmer New Year, the Pchum Ben days in autumn), a big pot of red curry is usually on the stove, and in Phnom Penh it is just as likely to be eaten for breakfast from a street stall with a crusty baguette for mopping. It is a gentle, fragrant curry rather than a fiery one: chicken on the bone simmered in coconut milk with a red kroeung of dried chillies, lemongrass and galangal, plus chunks of sweet potato, aubergine and long beans that soak up the orange-tinged sauce. Dropping all the vegetables in at once is the error to avoid; the aubergine collapses before the sweet potato is cooked. Chef's tip: make it a few hours ahead or the day before, as the flavours deepen and the sauce settles into a silky, spoonable gravy.

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Khmer pickled vegetables

Cambodian cooks keep a jar of chrouk in the fridge the way others keep ketchup. These quick pickles of green papaya, carrot, cucumber and a little ginger come on the side of broken-rice breakfasts in Phnom Penh, with grilled food at night markets and tucked into num pang baguettes, adding crunch and a sweet-sour snap to anything rich or smoky. The brine is simply rice vinegar, sugar and salt, which keeps the vegetables pale and crisp. Pouring the brine on boiling hot is the classic slip: it softens the cucumber and dulls the colours. Chef's tip: salt the papaya and carrot for 15 minutes and squeeze them before jarring; they stay crunchy for a week instead of turning floppy by day two.

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Trey aing (grilled fish with lemongrass)

Around Siem Reap and the floating villages of the Tonlé Sap, weekend outings mean a bamboo picnic hut by the water and a whole fish grilled over charcoal in a wire basket. The fish is stuffed and rubbed with lemongrass, garlic and salt, so the skin blisters and smokes while the white flesh stays moist; diners pull off flakes and wrap them in lettuce with mint, basil, sliced cucumber and sour green mango, then dunk the parcel in a garlicky lime dip with crushed peanuts. Snakehead or tilapia are the usual fish, but sea bass or bream are excellent. Turning the fish too soon is the classic misstep; the skin tears and sticks to the grill. Chef's tip: oil the fish and the basket well, then leave it alone until the underside releases by itself, about 10 minutes.

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Lort cha (vegetarian)

Late afternoon around Phnom Penh's Orussey and Kandal markets, vendors work flat griddles crowded with lort, short rice noodles tapered at both ends like fat pins. They are fried hard with bean sprouts and garlic chives until some strands catch and turn chewy-crisp, splashed with sweet-salty soy, then crowned with a fried egg and a squeeze of sweet chilli sauce for an after-school or after-work snack. Stalls season with fish and oyster sauce; this vegetarian version uses soy and a mushroom-based stir-fry sauce instead. The usual mistake is stirring the noodles constantly, which breaks them into mush and never lets them brown. Chef's tip: loosen the noodles with warm water before they go near the pan, then leave them alone for a full minute at a time so they pick up toasty, caramelised patches.

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Prahok ktis

Prahok, the pungent fermented fish paste of the Tonlé Sap, is softened here into something mellow and moreish: it is simmered with coconut cream, minced pork, a fragrant lemongrass paste and pea aubergines until thick and orange-flecked. In Phnom Penh it is a family-table dish for lunch or a weekend feast, set in a bowl in the middle with a platter of crisp raw vegetables (cucumber, cabbage wedges, long beans, Thai aubergines) and steamed rice for everyone to scoop with. Salty, sweet, funky and creamy all at once, it tastes far gentler than the jar smells. Prahok tossed in at the end goes wrong: it stays harsh and is not cooked through, so it must simmer properly with the pork. Chef's tip: buy prahok in jars from an Asian grocer, mash it with a splash of hot water before adding, and let the dip simmer for a full 10 minutes after the pork is cooked.

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Kampot pepper and lime dip

Every table in Kampot and along the crab-shack pier at Kep gets a saucer of tuk mrech, and diners mix their own: a heap of salt, a spoonful of freshly cracked local pepper and a squeeze of lime. It is sharp, salty and floral-hot, with none of the sweetness of most Khmer dips, and it is meant for dragging grilled corn, griddled tofu, fried eggs or a pepper crab through. Kampot pepper carries a protected geographical indication and tastes fruity and resinous rather than just hot; any good whole black peppercorns work, but pre-ground pepper does not. People often get it wrong by grinding the pepper to dust, which turns the dip muddy and bitter, or by mixing it hours ahead so the lime goes flat. Chef's tip: warm the peppercorns in a dry pan for a minute before cracking them, and squeeze the lime straight into the saucer at the table so it stays fresh and zingy.

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Num akor

Tiny, springy and the colour of light caramel, num akor are sold from bamboo trays at Cambodian markets in the early morning and appear on the sweets table at weddings and pagoda ceremonies. A rice-flour batter sweetened with palm sugar is left to bubble with yeast, then steamed in small cups so it rises into a soft, airy dome with a faint fermented tang. A spoonful of salted grated coconut on top balances the sweetness. People tend to overfill the cups or lift the steamer lid early, and both give flat, dense cakes with a sunken top. Chef's tip: stir the risen batter just once before pouring, fill each cup only three-quarters, and wrap the steamer lid in a tea towel so drips can't pock the surface.

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Kep crab with green Kampot pepper

This is the dish people travel to the seaside town of Kep for: at the crab market, women haul baskets of blue swimmer crabs out of the water, and the wooden restaurants behind them stir-fry the catch for lunch with whole sprigs of green peppercorns picked that week in the Kampot hills. Fresh green pepper is juicy and aromatic rather than fiery, popping between the teeth with a bright, almost citrusy heat, and it clings to the sweet crab meat along with garlic and a light, salty-sweet sauce. Eat it with your hands, with rice and a saucer of salt, pepper and lime. Overcooking is the usual failure: crab left in the wok too long turns dry and stringy. Chef's tip: buy crabs already killed and cleaned by the fishmonger, or frozen cut crab, and throw out any piece that smells off; cook just until the shells turn bright orange and the meat is opaque right through.

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Samlor machu kroeung

Sour, herbal and gently golden from turmeric, samlor machu kroeung is one of the soups Phnom Penh families put on the table at lunch, ladled over rice with a side of something fried or grilled. Its base is a fresh kroeung of lemongrass, galangal, turmeric and kaffir lime, fried and simmered with slow-cooked beef until the broth turns aromatic, then soured with tamarind and finished with armfuls of crunchy morning glory. Many cooks use beef tripe; here it is braising beef, which turns spoon-tender. A slip that ruins it is adding the morning glory too early, so it turns khaki and slimy. Chef's tip: toast the kroeung in the beef fat until it darkens a shade and smells sweet; that is where the soup's depth comes from.

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Num kom

Neat little green pyramids tied in pairs are a sign of celebration in Cambodia: num kom are folded by the tray for Khmer New Year in April, for weddings and for offerings at the pagoda. Inside the banana-leaf wrapper is a thin, soft, chewy skin of glutinous rice dough around a sticky filling of grated coconut cooked with palm sugar and toasted sesame. The leaf leaves a gentle tea-like scent, and the cakes keep well for a day at room temperature, which makes them good for sharing. A brittle leaf is what trips people up: straight from the packet it splits along the veins as you fold, and the dough leaks out. Chef's tip: pass each leaf piece briefly over a gas flame or dip it in hot water until it turns glossy and pliable before you start folding.

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Chek k'tis

Ask for something sweet at a Phnom Penh dessert cart on a rainy-season afternoon and you may be handed a warm cup of chek k'tis: chunks of small, tart-sweet bananas bobbing in coconut milk with clear, chewy tapioca pearls. The coconut milk is sweetened with palm sugar and seasoned with a good pinch of salt, which makes it taste rich rather than cloying, and a knot of pandan gives it a grassy vanilla scent. It is also cooked at home as an offering-day treat and eaten warm or at room temperature. The usual error is using very ripe, spotty bananas, which melt into grey sludge; firm, just-yellow fruit holds its shape and blushes pink as it cooks. Chef's tip: let the coconut milk only shiver, never boil hard, or it splits and turns oily.

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Samlor proher

Home cooks in the villages around Siem Reap make samlor proher when the garden is full: a light, clear soup crowded with pumpkin, banana blossom, long beans, little aubergines and leafy greens, seasoned with a lemongrass kroeung and a spoonful of prahok. Toasted ground rice is stirred in near the end, giving the broth a faint body and a nutty, popcorn-like aroma. It is everyday lunch food, eaten with steamed rice and perhaps a piece of grilled fish, and it tastes savoury, sweet from the pumpkin and gently earthy. Leaving the prahok raw is the big no; it must be mashed and boiled in the broth for at least 10 minutes, so it cooks through and its sharpness rounds out. Chef's tip: slice the banana flower straight into lime-acidulated water, or it will turn black within minutes.

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Num kachay with soy-lime dip

Bright green and blistered gold, these little chive cakes are fried to order on oiled griddles at Phnom Penh's Russian Market and at morning carts outside schools. A dough of rice and tapioca flour is packed with chopped garlic chives, steamed until translucent and then pan-fried, so each cake has a crackly shell and a soft, bouncy, slightly sticky inside. At the stalls they come with a sweet fish-sauce dip; this vegetarian version is served with a sweet-sour soy, lime and garlic dip with crushed peanuts. A frequent slip is frying the cakes raw, which leaves them gummy in the middle and greasy outside. Chef's tip: steam them a day ahead if you like, chill them uncovered, and fry from cold; the dried skin crisps even better.

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Num kong

Stacked on trays at morning markets across Cambodia and pressed into the hands of guests at Khmer New Year, num kong are rings of glutinous rice dough sweetened with palm sugar and fried until deep bronze. Bite through the crackly, caramel-glazed shell and the inside is soft and chewy, almost like mochi, with a smoky toffee flavour from the palm sugar and a coating of toasted sesame. They go with strong iced coffee or jasmine tea. Most failures come from oil that is too hot: the outside darkens in a minute while the inside stays raw and pasty, and trapped air can make a ring pop and spit. Chef's tip: knead the dough until it is completely smooth and crack-free, then fry at a steady 160 °C for a good 6–7 minutes; patience gives the shatter-crisp crust.

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Esterházytorte

Named after a Hungarian noble family and claimed by both Budapest and Vienna, this torte is a showpiece of Viennese pastry shops, where it sits in the glass counter beside richer chocolate cakes. Five or six crisp-chewy almond meringue layers are stacked with a vanilla custard buttercream, then topped with white icing and the famous feathered chocolate lines. It has no flour at all, so it suits gluten-free guests. A common mistake is baking the layers too pale; they should be light golden, or they go soft and sticky in the cream. Chef's tip: draw the circles on baking paper first and spread the meringue to the line with a palette knife, so every layer matches.

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Linzer Torte

Linz, the Danube city in Upper Austria, has baked this tart for centuries, and it still fills bakery windows there all year, with extra demand in Advent. It is closer to a soft, crumbly nut biscuit than a pastry: ground hazelnuts, butter, cinnamon and cloves are pressed into the tin, filled with tart redcurrant jam and topped with a lattice. Serve a thin slice with coffee or tea. A common mistake is eating it on the day it is baked; it is much better after two or three days, when the jam soaks into the crumb. Chef's tip: chill the lattice strips on a tray before lifting them on, and they will not tear.

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Kardinalschnitten

Kardinalschnitten, 'cardinal slices', were created in Vienna with the colours of the Church in mind: white meringue and yellow sponge baked side by side in stripes. In Viennese cafés they are a light, summery choice with an afternoon coffee. Two baked sheets of alternating stripes sandwich a soft coffee cream, and the result is crisp, airy and cool at the same time. A common mistake is overfilling with cream that has not been stabilised; it squeezes out when you cut. Here a little mascarpone keeps the cream firm without gelatine. Chef's tip: pipe the meringue stripes first and the sponge in the gaps after, so the sponge does not spread flat.

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Steirische Kernöl-Eierspeis

Eierspeis is the Austrian word for scrambled eggs, and in Styria they get a final drizzle of the region's dark green pumpkin seed oil. It is a farmhouse breakfast or a late-night snack after a long evening in a Graz wine bar, eaten straight from the small pan it was cooked in with a slice of rye bread. The eggs are soft and creamy in big folds, and the oil adds a toasted, nutty depth that tastes almost like brown butter. A common mistake is stirring too fast on a high heat, which gives small dry crumbs instead of soft curds. Chef's tip: salt the eggs a few minutes before cooking; it helps them set more tenderly.

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Chinchulines

No proper Sunday asado in Buenos Aires province or the interior is complete without a round of achuras, and chinchulines are the boldest of them: beef small intestine, coiled on the grill and cooked slowly until the outside crackles like pork scratchings and the inside stays soft and rich with its own fat. Pass them round on a board with lemon and bread as a starter while the bigger cuts cook. Buy them already cleaned from a butcher or a Latin American meat counter, and rinse them again well at home. The usual mistake is too much heat: the outside burns long before the inside cooks. Offal must be cooked right through, with no soft, raw-looking parts. Chef's tip: simmer them briefly before grilling; it cleans them further, shortens the time on the coals and gives you a much more even crunch.

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Steirische Kürbiscremesuppe

When the pumpkin fields of Styria turn orange in October, every inn from Graz to the Slovenian border puts this soup on the board. It is velvety and gently sweet, with a little nutmeg and a dash of vinegar for lift, and comes to the table with a swirl of almost black pumpkin seed oil and a scattering of toasted seeds. Serve it as a starter before a Sunday roast or with crusty bread for supper. A common mistake is boiling the soup hard after the cream goes in, which can split it and dull the colour. Check the stock if you need it gluten free. Chef's tip: toast the seeds dry in a pan until they puff and pop; it takes 3 minutes and doubles the nutty flavour.

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Sachertorte

This dense, dark chocolate torte is Vienna's most famous cake, eaten in coffee houses all over the city with a cup of Melange and, always, a cloud of unsweetened whipped cream on the side. The sponge is made with melted chocolate and whisked egg whites, so it is fine-crumbed and slightly dry by design; a thin layer of sharp apricot jam runs through the middle and over the top, under a shiny, snappy chocolate glaze. A common mistake is pouring the glaze too hot or too cold; too hot and it runs off thin, too cold and it sets dull and lumpy. It is a cake for birthdays and Sunday visits, and it keeps well for days. Chef's tip: bake it the day before and let it rest overnight wrapped; it cuts far more neatly and the crumb softens.

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Punschkrapfen

Punschkrapfen are the bright pink cubes that glow from every Viennese Konditorei counter, especially in winter. Traditionally the filling of sponge crumbs, jam and chocolate is soaked in rum punch, which gives the cake its name, so the classic version contains alcohol. This recipe makes the alcohol-free version with orange juice and strong black tea, which keeps the fruity, warming flavour that children can eat too; to make the traditional one, swap 40 ml of the orange juice for dark rum. The sponge is moist and dense, the icing sweet and crackly. A common mistake is skipping the overnight press; the cubes fall apart when cut. Many pink colourings use carmine, made from insects, so choose a plant-based one such as beetroot red. Chef's tip: cut with a knife dipped in hot water and wiped between each cut for clean edges.

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