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Ranon'apango is the everyday drink of Madagascar: after rice is cooked, the crust at the bottom of the pot is left to toast until golden, then water is boiled with it to make a pale amber, nutty, slightly smoky drink. It is served warm or cold in jugs alongside meals in homes and hotelys, and is a safe way to drink boiled water. Chef's tip: toast the crust until golden-brown, not black; burnt rice makes the drink bitter.
Akoho sy voanio, chicken with coconut, is a dish of Madagascar's east coast around Toamasina, where coconuts are everywhere, and it has become a favourite all over the island. Chicken is browned with onion, garlic, ginger and tomato, then simmered gently in coconut milk with a pinch of curry until the sauce is creamy and mild. It is eaten with plenty of white rice and a little achard (vegetable pickle). The mistake is boiling the coconut milk hard so it splits; keep it at a gentle bubble. Chef's tip: brown the chicken well first; the coconut sauce needs that savoury depth.
Koba is the street sweet of Madagascar's highlands, sold in thick slices from huge logs wrapped in banana leaves at markets and taxi-brousse stops around Antananarivo and Antsirabe. Koba ravina is a dense block of ground peanuts, rice flour and brown sugar; koba akondro adds ripe banana and is softer. This home version makes small parcels that steam in an hour and a half instead of a whole day. Chef's tip: wrap the parcels tightly; loose parcels let water in and the koba turns sticky instead of firm.
Lasary legioma, vegetable lasary, is a tangy, turmeric-yellow pickle of carrot, green beans and cabbage that sits on the table in Malagasy homes and hotelys (small canteens) to brighten rice and plain dishes. It is close to the achards of Réunion and Mauritius and is made in large jars to last the week. Chef's tip: blanch the vegetables for only a minute and cool them fast; they should stay crunchy, not cooked.
Split and the Dalmatian coast reserve pašticada for weddings, christenings and Christmas, and the preparations start days ahead. A piece of beef is studded with garlic and cured ham (so this recipe contains pork), marinated overnight in wine vinegar, then braised for hours with onions, dried prunes, tomato and a little sweet Prošek or red wine until the sauce turns dark, glossy and sweet-sour. In Split it is always served with homemade gnocchi; pasta works too. This recipe uses red wine and dried figs or prunes; for an alcohol-free version use grape juice with a spoon of red wine vinegar. The common mistake is rushing the braise: it needs a low, steady heat for at least three hours. Chef's tip: blend the cooked onions and prunes back into the sauce for that velvet texture.
Henakisoa sy voanjobory is a highland dish from the countryside around Antsirabe and Fianarantsoa, cooked for family gatherings: pork simmered for a long time with Bambara groundnuts, a hard, round pulse that turns creamy and nutty, until the meat is tender and the beans have thickened the sauce. This dish contains pork. It is eaten with rice and a fresh tomato salad. The mistake is not soaking the dried pulses, which then never soften; soak them overnight. Chef's tip: if you can't find Bambara groundnuts, black-eyed beans or borlotti give a similar result in less time.
Along the Dalmatian coast, from Korčula to Dubrovnik, konobas serve crni rižot as the first thing fishermen order when they come ashore, its jet-black colour startling against a white plate. Cuttlefish is cooked slowly with onion and garlic until tender, then rice goes in with fish stock and the ink sac, making a creamy, sea-sweet rice that tastes of the shore. It traditionally includes a splash of dry white wine; for an alcohol-free version, use more stock with a squeeze of lemon. The usual mistake is adding the cuttlefish late and cooking it fast, which leaves it rubbery; it needs to stew first. Chef's tip: serve with a drizzle of good olive oil and grated hard sheep's cheese if you like, and warn your guests about black teeth.
Lasary voatabia is the fresh tomato relish served beside the rice at almost every Malagasy meal, from Antananarivo's highland homes to the coast. Tomatoes and spring onion are chopped very small, sharpened with lime or vinegar and a little sakay (chilli), and spooned onto the rice to wake up broths like romazava. It is juicier and finer than a salad. Chef's tip: chop the tomatoes very small, almost to a pulp at the edges; the juice is meant to soak into the rice.
Romazava is often called the national dish of Madagascar: a light, gingery broth of several kinds of leafy greens (brèdes) and tomato, ladled over a big plate of rice. In Antananarivo it usually includes zebu beef; this vegetable version keeps the essential leaves, especially brèdes mafana (paracress), whose flowers and leaves make the mouth tingle. Spinach, watercress and mustard greens work well outside Madagascar. Chef's tip: add the greens in order of toughness and stop as soon as they are tender; romazava should taste fresh and green, not stewed.
On Christmas Eve, in kitchens from Split to Dubrovnik and out on the islands, bowls of fritule are fried by the dozen: small, airy doughnut drops scented with orange and lemon zest and studded with raisins, rolled in sugar while still warm. Many families add a splash of rakija or rum to the batter, but fresh orange juice works just as well and keeps them child-friendly. They are eaten all through Advent and the carnival season, often from paper cones at Christmas markets. Chef's tip: keep the oil at about 170°C; too hot and the fritule brown outside while the middle stays raw and doughy, the most common mistake.
Elbasan, in central Albania, claims tavë kosi as its own and serves it on Dita e Verës, the spring festival in March, though families across Albania and Kosovo bake it all year. Pieces of lamb on the bone are browned with garlic and a little rice, then covered with a thick custard of tangy yogurt, eggs and a butter-flour roux and baked until puffed and golden on top. Inside, the custard stays soft and slightly sour against the rich meat. A classic slip is using thin, low-fat yogurt, which splits in the oven; use full-fat strained yogurt. Chef's tip: let the yogurt come to room temperature and whisk the warm roux in slowly, so the custard stays smooth.
No Slovenian Easter or Christmas table is complete without potica, a yeasted dough rolled thin around a honeyed walnut filling and baked in a fluted ring mould called a potičnik. When sliced, each piece shows a tight spiral of pale dough and dark nuts. Families in Ljubljana and across Carniola argue about the best filling, but walnut with honey is the classic one, eaten with coffee from Christmas morning until the tin is empty. Unlike a braided Romanian cozonac, the beauty is all in the thin, even swirl. Chef's tip: spread the filling no thicker than the dough and roll it up tightly; a loose roll or a thick layer leaves a gap between dough and filling once baked, the most common potica fault.
In Hrvatsko Zagorje, the green hill country north of Zagreb, štrukli are Sunday food: paper-thin dough is spread with fresh cow's cheese, rolled up, pinched into pieces with the edge of a plate, then boiled and finished in the oven under a blanket of cream. Zagreb restaurants serve them as a starter or a main, blistered golden on top and soft and custardy inside. The dough is stretched by hand over a tablecloth, which is easier than it sounds once it has rested. Chef's tip: squeeze the cheese if it is wet; a runny filling soaks the thin dough and makes the rolls tear when they boil.
When late-summer markets in Novi Sad and Belgrade fill up with pale yellow and light green peppers, Serbian kitchens make big pots of punjene paprike to eat for several days. The peppers are packed with seasoned beef and pork mince and rice, stood upright and simmered slowly in a light tomato sauce until meltingly soft. They are served with a dollop of sour cream and bread to mop up the sauce. This recipe contains pork. The easy mistake is stuffing the peppers too tightly: the rice swells and splits them, so leave the top 2 cm empty. Chef's tip: plug each pepper with a slice of potato or tomato before simmering, so the filling stays inside.
Tufahije came to Bosnia with the Ottomans, and the name comes from the Persian and Arabic word for apple. In Sarajevo's old Baščaršija quarter they sit in the windows of slastičarne (sweet shops), whole apples poached pale in lemon syrup, filled with sweet walnuts and capped with whipped cream; at home they are a favourite after the iftar meal during Ramadan and at Bajram. They are soft, juicy and only moderately sweet. Chef's tip: choose firm, slightly tart apples and poach them gently; boiling them hard is the classic mistake and leaves you with split, mushy apples.
Leskovac, in southern Serbia, holds a whole grill festival every September in honour of pljeskavica, and Belgrade's street kiosks sell it day and night in a lepinja flatbread with chopped onion, kajmak and urnebes, a fiery cheese spread. It is a broad, thin patty of mixed beef and pork with onion and paprika, grilled hard and fast. The 'gourmet' version, gurmanska pljeskavica, hides cheese and bacon in the middle, and that is the version given here. This recipe contains pork. A common error is pressing the patties on the grill with a spatula: the juices drain away and they dry out. Chef's tip: press a shallow dimple into the centre of each patty with your thumb before grilling; it stops them doming up as they shrink.
Kremšnita has been served in the cafés on the shore of Lake Bled since the 1950s, and a tall, wobbling square of it with a coffee and a view of the island church is still the reason many people stop in the town. It is a thick layer of vanilla custard, lightened with whipped egg whites, topped with whipped cream and sandwiched between thin sheets of crisp puff pastry. The custard holds its shape with egg yolks, cornflour and meringue alone; there is no gelatine. Chef's tip: fold the meringue into the custard while it is still boiling hot and keep stirring on a low heat for a minute, so the whites cook and set the cream.
Bosanski lonac goes back to Bosnian village hearths, where a tall clay pot was layered with meat and vegetables and left in the embers for hours; in Sarajevo and Mostar it is still cooked for name-day gatherings and cold winter weekends. This home version layers chunks of beef, lamb and pork with cabbage, potatoes, carrots, tomatoes and peppers, then cooks it slowly in a covered pot with only a little water, so everything stews in its own juices. This recipe contains pork; use all beef and lamb if you prefer. The mistake people make is stirring it: the layers should stay intact and steam gently. Chef's tip: put the meat and onions at the bottom and the watery vegetables like tomatoes at the top, so the juices drip down through everything.
Fërgesë is the dish people in Tirana order at lunchtime in a small clay pot, still bubbling, with a basket of bread for dipping. Soft fried peppers and tomatoes are folded through gjizë, Albania's fresh salted curd cheese, then baked until the top spots golden. The meatless version with peppers is the everyday one across central Albania; it is rich, tangy and gently spicy. Ricotta mixed with a little feta is a good stand-in for gjizë outside Albania. Chef's tip: cook the tomatoes down until thick before the cheese goes in; a watery fërgesë that splits in the oven is the usual mistake.
In Sarajevo's old Baščaršija bazaar, ćevabdžinicas grill ćevapi from morning till late night, serving them ten at a time stuffed into a puffy, griddle-warmed somun flatbread with raw onion and a spoon of kajmak. The little skinless fingers are made from beef (often mixed with lamb), seasoned with nothing more than salt, pepper, garlic and a little bicarbonate of soda, which gives them their bouncy bite. Belgrade and Banja Luka have their own versions, but the idea is the same: smoky meat, soft bread, sharp onion. People often over-season them with herbs and paprika; the Bosnian way is plain, letting the meat and charcoal speak. Chef's tip: chill the shaped ćevapi well before grilling and turn them only once or twice, so they keep a juicy centre and a crusty outside.
Every September the smell of charring peppers drifts over courtyards from Leskovac in southern Serbia to Strumica in North Macedonia, as families roast crates of long red babura peppers on wood stoves and spend a whole Sunday stirring the pulp into ajvar for the winter shelves. A little roasted aubergine softens the flavour, and long cooking with sunflower oil turns it into a glossy, sweet-smoky spread that is eaten on bread with white cheese, beside beans or potatoes, and with almost every winter meal. This is a home-sized batch for two medium jars rather than a cellar full. Chef's tip: do not rinse the roasted peppers under the tap to get the skins off; it washes away the smoky juices that make ajvar taste of autumn, so peel them with oiled fingers and a paper towel instead.
Tavče gravče, 'beans in a pan', is the dish North Macedonians call their own: large white beans, ideally the Tetovo variety, cooked soft, then baked in a shallow earthenware tava with onions fried in paprika until the top forms a crust. In Skopje it is a Friday staple and a Christmas Eve fast-day dish, served in the same clay dish it baked in, with bread, pickled peppers and a cabbage salad. This version keeps to the meat-free fasting style, with a paprika-and-onion roux for depth. Chef's tip: let the paprika sizzle in the oil for only a few seconds off the heat; scorched paprika turns brown and bitter and spoils the whole dish, which is the most common slip.
Where ajvar is the patient winter preserve, pindjur is its quick summer cousin, made in Macedonian and Bosnian kitchens in July and August when tomatoes are at their ripest. Roasted peppers and aubergine are chopped rather than ground, then simmered briefly with fresh tomatoes and plenty of garlic, so it stays chunky, juicy and bright. It is eaten warm or at room temperature, scooped up with bread and a slab of white cheese, as part of a mezze spread in Ohrid or Mostar. Chef's tip: chop everything with a knife instead of a blender; a puréed pindjur loses the texture that sets it apart from ajvar.
Ravitoto sy henakisoa, cassava leaves with pork, is a favourite of the Malagasy highlands around Antananarivo and is served at family Sunday lunches with a mound of white rice. This dish contains pork. The cassava leaves are pounded to a dark green paste and simmered for a long time with fatty pork, garlic and ginger until rich and soft, often finished with coconut milk. The mistake is undercooking the cassava leaves: they must cook for at least an hour to be safe and lose their bitterness, so don't cut it short. Chef's tip: frozen pounded cassava leaves (sold as ravitoto, pondu or saka saka) save a lot of work.
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