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Lao iced coffee

High on the Bolaven Plateau above Pakse, the coffee towns around Paksong grow most of Laos's beans, and roadside stalls there brew them dark and strong through a long cloth sock, all day long. Ordered cold, it arrives as a glass of ice with a thick layer of sweetened condensed milk at the bottom, the black coffee poured over and stirred to a caramel brown, often with a free cup of weak tea to sip afterwards. It is bitter-sweet, chocolatey and much richer than a café latte, made for hot afternoons on the plateau or a morning stop in Pakse. A French press or a fine sieve lined with a paper filter stands in for the cloth sock. Pouring hot coffee straight onto ice before adding the milk is where it goes flat: the condensed milk won't dissolve in cold coffee and sinks in a gluey lump. Chef's tip: stir the condensed milk into the hot coffee first, then pour over the ice.

10 min

Lao Drinks

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Lao bamboo shoot soup

When the rains arrive in June, Vientiane's morning markets fill with pale, freshly dug bamboo shoots, and pots of kaeng nor mai start simmering in kitchens across the city for the family lunch. The broth is a deep olive green, tinted by the juice squeezed from yanang leaves, and thickened with a spoonful of pounded soaked sticky rice so it coats the spoon. Earthy bamboo, sweet pumpkin and slippery mushrooms float in it with lemon basil on top, and a basket of sticky rice and a dish of jeow sit alongside. Skipping the pre-boil of the bamboo is where most cooks go wrong: raw shoots taste bitter and need cooking through to be safe, so always blanch fresh ones and drain. This version leaves out the fermented fish of village kitchens and seasons with salt and tamari. Chef's tip: squeeze the yanang leaves in cold water, never hot, or the broth turns brown and loses its grassy freshness.

60 min

Lao Soups

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Luang Prabang khao lam

Lines of blackened bamboo tubes propped beside smouldering charcoal mark the khao lam sellers on the roads into Luang Prabang, busiest in the cool season after the November harvest, when new-crop sticky rice is at its sweetest. Inside each tube, rice and black beans have cooked slowly in salted coconut milk, picking up a faint smoky, grassy flavour from the bamboo lining. You split the tube, peel back the thin inner skin and eat the dense, chewy, gently sweet log by hand, often on the morning walk or on a bus journey. At home the tubes roast in the oven or over a barbecue, and a lidded dish lined with banana leaf works if you can't get bamboo. Overfilling the tubes is the usual slip: the rice swells, the plug pops and the coconut milk boils away. Chef's tip: soak the rice overnight; well-soaked grains cook evenly right to the centre of the tube.

90 min

Lao Desserts

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Jeow het

Monsoon jeow, this one: once the rains bring mushrooms to every Lao market from July onwards, cooks grill a basket of them over charcoal and pound them with roasted chilli and garlic for a meaty, smoky dip that disappears with sticky rice at dinner. The texture is shaggy rather than smooth, juicy shreds of mushroom held together by a hot, garlicky paste, with fresh herbs stirred through at the end. It is just as good with steamed greens, cucumber and long beans, or spooned over grilled tofu. Oyster and king oyster mushrooms are the closest match to the wild ones. Many people blitz or pound it to a paste and lose the chew, and that's the thing to avoid. Chef's tip: tear the grilled mushrooms into strips by hand before they go into the mortar, then pound only to bruise them.

25 min

Lao Chutneys & Dips

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Koy pa

Fishing villages on the Mekong in Champasak, down towards the islands of Si Phan Don, make koy pa from the morning catch and eat it with sticky rice under the stilt houses at lunchtime. It is a fierce, fresh salad: finely chopped fish tossed with lime, roasted chilli, shallot, galangal and toasted rice powder, then buried in mint, dill and sawtooth herb. Traditionally the fish is raw and only 'cooked' by lime, and raw river fish in the region can carry parasites; that raw version is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. Here the fish is poached until opaque and flaking, then chopped, keeping the texture and punch. Stirring the rice powder into hot fish is the mistake that ruins it, turning the salad gluey. Chef's tip: toast your own rice powder with a lemongrass stalk and lime leaf; the shop-bought kind has nothing like the same nutty perfume.

35 min

Lao Salads

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Jeow mak keua

Long purple aubergines laid straight on the embers turn into one of the softest dips on a Lao dinner tray, eaten up and down the country in the hot season when aubergines are cheap and plentiful. The skins blacken and the flesh collapses into a smoky, silky pulp, which is pounded loosely with charred garlic, shallot and green chilli until it is spoonable but still a little stringy. Pinch a ball of sticky rice, press a hollow in it and scoop up the jeow, or dip in cucumber, long beans and cabbage. Families often add fish sauce; here it is seasoned with salt and a little tamari so it suits vegetarians. Rinsing the charred aubergine under the tap is a mistake, as it washes away the very smoke you worked for. Chef's tip: peel with damp fingertips and leave a few flecks of black skin in the dip.

30 min

Lao Chutneys & Dips

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Mok het

Wild mushrooms pile up at Luang Prabang's Phosy market as soon as the monsoon soaks the hills, from July into September, and families wrap them up as mok het for the evening meal. Mushrooms are bruised with lemongrass, shallot, chilli and a big handful of dill, bound with beaten egg, then folded into banana leaf and steamed until set, so each parcel opens into a soft, fragrant, slightly wobbly cake. It goes on the shared tray with sticky rice, a bowl of soup and some raw greens. Cultivated oyster, shiitake or chestnut mushrooms work beautifully. A watery filling is the common pitfall: mushrooms leak juice, so salt them and squeeze them first or the egg never sets. Chef's tip: grill the steamed parcels over a flame for a few minutes at the end; the charred leaf adds a lovely smoky edge.

50 min

Lao Vegetarian

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Sin savanh

Translated loosely as heavenly meat, sin savanh is the sweet beef jerky of Vientiane, sold in glossy dark strips at the morning market and carried home as a snack, a picnic food or a gift for family upcountry. Thin slices of beef are marinated with garlic, coriander root, sugar and fish sauce, coated in sesame and traditionally dried in the dry-season sun, then flash-fried just before eating, so they turn chewy, caramelised and slightly crisp at the edges. Eat it with sticky rice and a tomato jeow, or alone with cold drinks. Here it dries in a low oven until fully cooked and leathery, which is easier and safer than sun-drying. The common mistake is cutting the beef too thick, so the outside goes hard while the middle stays soft. Chef's tip: freeze the beef for 45 minutes before slicing; it firms up and slices thin as card.

240 min

Lao Snacks & Starters

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Nam khao

Party food in Vientiane often means a platter of nam khao: golden balls of curry-spiced rice deep-fried until crackling, then smashed and tossed with sour pork, peanuts, shallots, herbs and lime, and scooped into lettuce leaves with a fresh chilli on the side. Evening stalls near the city's markets sell it by the bag, and it's a fixture at weddings and New Year gatherings in April. Traditionally the sour pork is som moo, cured raw fermented pork with shredded skin, which is never cooked; that raw cured version is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. This safer version uses minced pork cooked through and sharpened with lime and garlic, with cooked pork skin for chew if you like. Frying rice balls in oil that isn't hot enough is the usual mistake, as they soak up oil and fall apart. Chef's tip: use rice cooked the day before and chilled; it holds together and fries far crisper.

75 min

Lao Salads

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Jeow mak phet

Of all the jeows on a Lao table, this is the most basic and most loved, roasted fresh chillies, garlic and shallots pounded together and eaten with sticky rice at almost every meal, from farm lunches in the rice fields to Vientiane office canteens. Made with long green chillies, as here, it is bright, grassy and more fragrant than fierce, with sweetness from the softened shallot; swap some for bird's eye chillies if you want it hotter. Serve it with sticky rice, boiled pumpkin shoots, steamed vegetables, eggs or grilled tofu. Charring the chillies to carbon is the trap, and burnt skins turn the whole jeow bitter. Fish sauce is the usual seasoning; this version uses salt and a little tamari to stay vegetarian. Chef's tip: wear gloves when peeling hot roasted chillies, and keep your hands away from your eyes for the next hour.

20 min

Lao Chutneys & Dips

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Khai paen

Along the Mekong and Nam Khan below Luang Prabang, women gather silky green river weed in the dry months, when the water runs low and clear, then press it into thin sheets and dry them in the sun. Those sheets turn up everywhere in town, stacked at the morning market and the night market, and a plate of fried khai paen is a favourite nibble with sticky rice and a pot of jeow bong in the late afternoon. Frying takes seconds: the sheets puff, darken and turn shatteringly crisp, tasting of the river, toasted sesame and garlic, a little like nori but earthier. Buy the sheets dried; outside Laos, look in Southeast Asian grocers, and if you can't find them, nori sheets make a stand-in, though they are thinner, sea-salty rather than freshwater and fry even faster. Leaving a sheet in the oil a moment too long is the classic error, as it goes bitter and brown almost instantly. Chef's tip: cut the sheets into squares with scissors before frying, not after, so they don't crumble into dust.

15 min

Lao Snacks & Starters

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Luang Prabang salad

Clear spring-fed beds outside Luang Prabang grow some of the crispest watercress in Laos, and the old royal capital turned it into a salad that shows its French years: peppery cress, tomato and cucumber under a smooth dressing made from mashed hard-boiled yolks. Cafés along the Nam Khan serve it at lunch in the cool season, from November to February, often as the light plate beside grilled river fish or a bowl of sticky rice. It tastes fresh, gently sweet and garlicky, with crunch from fried garlic and peanuts on top. Restaurants sometimes add fish sauce or pork; this version is vegetarian and seasoned with salt. Dressing the cress too early is the mistake to avoid, because it wilts into a soggy heap in minutes. Chef's tip: dry the watercress properly in a salad spinner, or the dressing slides off instead of clinging.

30 min

Lao Salads

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Lao fish soup with dill

Restaurants on stilts over the Mekong at Pakse, where the Xe Don river joins it, serve tom pa at lunch in big communal bowls, and southern Lao families make it at home whenever the market has fresh river fish. Chunks of fish poach gently in a clear broth fragrant with lemongrass, galangal and lime leaf, soured with tomato and lime and finished with a generous fistful of dill, an herb Lao cooks use far more than their neighbours. The result is light, tangy and aromatic, with soft fish and a whisper of chilli heat; spoon it over sticky rice or sip it between mouthfuls of jeow. Boiling hard once the fish goes in is the mistake to watch, as the pieces break up and the broth turns cloudy. Chef's tip: add the dill only when the pot is off the heat, so it stays green and sweet.

30 min

Lao Soups

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Jeow som

Grilled food in Laos rarely leaves the stall without a little bag of jeow som, the thin, sour-sweet sauce that every street grill from Vientiane's riverside to small-town bus stations ladles out beside the skewers. Unlike the pounded jeows, it is pourable: lime juice, garlic and raw chilli in a light, sweet-salty syrup, sharp enough to cut through anything charred. Dip grilled tofu, corn, aubergine or sticky rice into it, or spoon it over a plate of steamed vegetables. Stall versions lean on fish sauce; salt and tamari keep this one vegetarian. Tipping granulated sugar straight into cold lime juice is the usual fault, since it never fully dissolves and the sauce tastes gritty and unbalanced. Chef's tip: let the sauce sit for 15 minutes before serving so the garlic and chilli mellow into the lime.

10 min

Lao Chutneys & Dips

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Kartoffelkäse

Despite its name, Franconian Kartoffelkäs contains no cheese at all: it is a soft spread of riced potato, sour cream, onion and caraway that farm families around Bamberg and Nuremberg put on the table for Brotzeit, the cold evening supper. It goes on thick slices of rye bread with chives and sliced radish, and it was a way to turn a few leftover potatoes into something rich enough to stand in for cheese. A common mistake is using waxy potatoes, which go gluey; floury ones make it light. Chef's tip: rice the potatoes while hot, but stir in the sour cream only when they are cool, so the spread stays fresh-tasting rather than heavy.

30 min

German Chutneys & Dips

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Brezenknödel

Brezenknödel are what thrifty Munich kitchens make from yesterday's pretzels: the cubes soak in warm milk with egg, onion and parsley, then are shaped into dumplings with a faintly salty, malty crust flavour running through them. They are served on Sundays in place of bread dumplings, alongside a creamy mushroom sauce or a pile of red cabbage, and leftovers are sliced and fried the next morning. The big mistake is adding too much milk: the mixture should hold when squeezed, not drip. Chef's tip: pick off most of the coarse salt before cubing the pretzels, otherwise the dumplings end up far too salty.

50 min

German Sides

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Krautkrapfen

Krautkrapfen come from the Allgäu and the Swabian Alb, where farm cooks rolled noodle dough paper-thin, spread it with sauerkraut and fried onion, rolled it up like a strudel and sliced it into snails. The slices are packed upright in a buttered pan, fried until the bottoms crisp, then half-covered in stock and braised until the dough is tender. They are a Friday or winter supper with a green salad. A common mistake is pouring in too much stock: it should come only a third of the way up, or the crisp base turns soggy. Chef's tip: let the dough rest a full 30 minutes; relaxed dough rolls out thin without shrinking back.

80 min

German Vegetarian

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Obatzda

Obatzda is what a Munich beer garden puts beside a giant soft pretzel: overripe Camembert mashed with soft butter, sweet paprika, caraway and raw onion until it turns a creamy, rusty orange. It is a thrifty spread that grew up in Bavarian taverns as a way to use cheese that had gone a little too far, and it is still eaten in the afternoon sun with radishes and dark bread. Camembert is usually made with animal rennet, so pick one labelled vegetarian if that matters to you. A common mistake is blitzing it in a processor, which makes it gluey; mash with a fork so a few soft lumps stay. Chef's tip: make it an hour ahead and chill it, then let it stand 15 minutes before serving, so the paprika flavour blooms and it spreads easily.

15 min

German Chutneys & Dips

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Mecklenburger Rippenbraten

Mecklenburger Rippenbraten is the Christmas and Sunday roast of Mecklenburg on the Baltic coast, a flat piece of pork belly spread with apple and prunes, rolled, tied and roasted until the skin crackles. The fruit melts into the meat and turns the pan juices into a sweet, dark gravy, served with red cabbage and boiled potatoes. The prunes are sometimes soaked in rum; here they are soaked in apple juice, so the dish is alcohol-free. Chef's tip: dry the scored skin uncovered in the fridge overnight; dry skin is what puffs into crackling.

180 min

German Meat

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Radi

In Bavaria a Radi is a single big white radish, cut into one long spiral or paper-thin slices and salted until it 'weeps', then eaten with your fingers in the beer garden between bites of pretzel. Stalls at Munich's Viktualienmarkt sell the long white roots from spring to autumn, and old regulars carry a special spiral cutter. It is crisp, peppery and cooling, the opposite of everything rich on the table. A common mistake is eating it straight away: the salt needs ten minutes to draw out the bitter juice and soften the bite. Chef's tip: pick a heavy, firm radish with a smooth skin; a light one is often woody and hollow inside.

15 min

German Snacks & Starters

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Pfitzauf

Pfitzauf is a Swabian Sunday-afternoon treat: a thin egg and milk batter poured into a heavy clay or tin mould with deep cups, which rises in the oven like a soufflé and 'pfitzt auf', pops up, far above the rim. Grandmothers on the Swabian Alb served it hot with apple sauce or vanilla sauce, sometimes with stewed cherries. A muffin tin or popover tin works too. The classic mistake is opening the oven during baking: the puffs collapse and never come back. Chef's tip: get the buttered tin really hot in the oven before pouring in the batter; the shock of heat is what makes them climb.

45 min

German Desserts

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Panhas

Panhas comes from the slaughter days of Westphalia and the Lower Rhine, when the pork broth left in the kettle was thickened with buckwheat flour and the scraps of meat and sausage so nothing went to waste. It sets into a firm loaf that keeps for days in the fridge; thick slices are fried until crisp and eaten for breakfast or supper with apple sauce, fried potatoes or rye bread. This version uses pork belly and coarse liver sausage. Chef's tip: fry the slices in a hot pan and leave them alone for the first 4 minutes, so a crust forms before you turn them.

90 min

German Meat

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Birnen, Bohnen und Speck

Birnen, Bohnen und Speck is late-summer cooking from Hamburg and Schleswig-Holstein, made in August when green beans and small, firm cooking pears ripen at the same time in the Vierlande market gardens. A piece of smoked pork belly bacon is simmered until tender, and its smoky broth then cooks the beans, whole pears and potatoes, with summer savory to tie the sweet and salty together. It is one pot, served straight from the stove with the bacon sliced on top. Chef's tip: choose pears that are still hard; ripe dessert pears collapse into the beans.

90 min

German Meat

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Grüne Soße

Grüne Soße, or Grie Soß in Frankfurt dialect, arrives in spring when market stalls in Hesse sell paper bundles of exactly seven herbs: borage, chervil, cress, parsley, burnet, sorrel and chives. Blended into sour cream and yoghurt, they make a cold, bright, grassy sauce that is eaten with halved boiled eggs and new potatoes, traditionally on Maundy Thursday. It is a whole meal, light but filling. If you can't find the herb bundle, any mix of soft herbs with some sorrel for sourness works. A common mistake is blending the herbs to a smooth purée in a hot blender, which turns them dull and bitter; chop or pulse briefly. Chef's tip: make the sauce an hour ahead and chill it so the herbs flavour the cream fully.

45 min

German Vegetarian

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