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African chicken (Macanese galinha africana)

Macau restaurants have served galinha africana since the 1940s, and the story most often told is that a hotel chef in the city created it from spices that Portuguese sailors brought back from Mozambique and Angola. Today it is a signature at Macanese and Portuguese restaurants from Taipa village to Coloane, eaten at long weekend lunches with rice or crusty bread. Chicken pieces are marinated, grilled until charred, then baked under a thick, brick-coloured sauce of ground peanuts, coconut milk, chilli, paprika, garlic and onion that is rich, nutty and quietly fiery. It is often made with a pale, timid sauce; cook the onion, garlic and paprika slowly until really deep red before the coconut goes in. Chef's tip: marinate the chicken overnight in the fridge so the garlic and chilli reach the bone.

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Galinha à portuguesa (Portuguese chicken)

Puzzlingly, you will not find this in Portugal: galinha à portuguesa belongs to Macau, where cooks mixed a Portuguese idea of a creamy baked chicken with the turmeric, curry powder and coconut milk that came through the Portuguese trading routes from Goa and Malacca. Macanese restaurants and Hong Kong's cha chaan teng serve it bubbling in a clay pot or baking dish, golden on top, with chicken and potatoes in a mild, yellow, gently sweet coconut sauce, always with white rice to soak it up. It is a favourite for family dinners and Christmas tables. The thing people get wrong is boiling the coconut sauce hard, so it splits and turns oily; keep it at a gentle simmer. Chef's tip: brown the chicken well first, and finish under a hot grill for the speckled golden top that Macau restaurants are known for.

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Minchi (Macanese minced meat with potatoes)

If one dish says home to Macanese families, the descendants of Portuguese and Chinese Macau, it is minchi: a quick hash of minced beef and pork seasoned with soy sauce, Worcestershire sauce and a touch of sugar, mixed with crisp little cubes of fried potato and crowned with a runny fried egg. It appears on weeknight tables, at Macanese restaurants near Rua do Cunha, and at gatherings of the Macanese community abroad, always with plain white rice. Savoury, slightly sweet and full of crunch, it tastes like the meeting of a Portuguese kitchen and a Cantonese wok. A common error is stirring the potatoes into the meat too early, which makes them soft and floury; fry them separately until crisp and fold them in at the end. Chef's tip: let the mince sit undisturbed for a minute in the hot pan before stirring, so it browns instead of stewing.

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Serradura

Portuguese for 'sawdust', serradura is the cool, creamy dessert you'll find in every Macanese restaurant and café from Taipa to the Senado Square backstreets, ordered to round off a long Macanese lunch. Alternating layers of sweetened whipped cream and powder-fine tea biscuit crumbs set softly in the fridge, so each spoonful is light, milky and caramel-sweet, with a gentle crumbly texture. It is usually served in small glasses, sometimes semi-frozen like an ice cream cake. Coarse crumbs are where it goes wrong; they stay crunchy and gritty instead of melting into the cream, so grind the biscuits as fine as sand. Chef's tip: whip the cream and condensed milk together only to firm peaks and stop there, or it turns grainy and buttery.

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Makmoura

Makmoura (meaning 'buried') is a village dish from around Jenin in the northern West Bank, made in olive harvest season when there is fresh oil to spare: layers of thin bread dough are baked over chicken and a heap of onions slow-cooked in olive oil with sumac and spice, so the bottom soaks up the juices and the top turns crisp. Families tear it apart by hand and eat it with yoghurt and olives. Common mistake: rushing the onions; they need a full half hour to turn sweet and jammy. Chef's tip: use good, fruity olive oil and don't skimp — it is the soul of the dish.

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Ensalada de pallares

Around Ica, on Peru's southern desert coast, pallares grow in irrigated valleys and dry into fat, flat beans the size of a thumbnail; the region holds them in high regard and sells them by the sack at the Ica market. Cooked until creamy and dressed while warm, they become a filling salad that sits on the table beside fried fish, rice or a plate of boiled sweet potato, and it works as a light lunch on its own. The onion is cut the Peruvian way, in fine half-moons, rinsed so it stays crisp without biting, and the ají limo gives a fruity heat that you can turn up or down. A frequent slip is dressing the beans straight from the fridge: they stay chalky and the lime slides off instead of soaking in. Using dried beans adds an overnight soak; good jarred or canned large lima beans make it a 20-minute dish. Chef's tip: dress the beans while they are still warm with half the lime and salt, then add the onion, tomato and the rest of the lime just before serving.

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Jalea mixta

Ordered to share at a Lima cevichería on a Sunday, jalea mixta arrives as a tall golden pile: chunks of white fish, squid rings and prawns, all in a light, crackly coat, on top of fried cassava and buried under a fresh tangle of salsa criolla. The contrast is the point, hot and crunchy underneath, cold, sour and sharp on top, with tartar sauce or ají on the side and cold drinks all round. A frequent mistake is crowding the oil, which drops its temperature and gives you a soggy, greasy coat; fry in small batches and let the oil come back up between them. Chef's tip: boil the cassava first and let it steam dry before frying; it turns fluffy inside and shatteringly crisp outside.

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Za'atar spice blend

In Palestinian homes za'atar is both a herb and the blend made from it, kept in a jar beside a bowl of olive oil so torn bread can be dipped in one and then the other at breakfast; children grow up on it, and it goes to school in sandwiches. The blend is mostly dried wild za'atar (or thyme and oregano), tangy with sumac, nutty with toasted sesame and seasoned with salt. Common mistake: grinding it to dust; it should be coarse and slightly flaky. Chef's tip: rub the dried leaves with a few drops of olive oil before mixing; it wakes their aroma and helps the sumac cling.

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Qidra

Qidra takes its name from the tall copper or clay pot it is cooked in, which in Hebron is sealed and carried to the neighbourhood bakery to cook slowly in the bread oven for Friday lunch, weddings and Eid. The rice is golden with turmeric and cumin, studded with whole garlic cloves and chickpeas, and the lamb underneath turns meltingly tender. At home, a heavy lidded casserole in the oven does the job. Common mistake: lifting the lid to stir, which breaks the rice and lets the steam escape. Chef's tip: soak the rice for 30 minutes and use only as much broth as the recipe says; the sealed pot loses almost nothing.

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Sumaghiyyeh

Sumaghiyyeh is Gaza's festive dish, cooked in big pots for Eid al-Fitr and eaten cold the next days with bread: chunks of lamb and chickpeas in a thick, purple-brown sauce of sumac, chard, tahini, garlic, dill and chilli. It tastes sour, nutty and herby all at once and is served at room temperature, sealed under a film of olive oil. Common mistake: using ground sumac straight into the pot, which leaves it gritty; soak the sumac and use the strained liquid. Chef's tip: make it a day ahead; the sauce sets and the flavours deepen, just as Gazan families serve it.

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Djaj mahshi

For Eid, Christmas or a wedding lunch in Palestine, a whole chicken stuffed with spiced rice is the centrepiece: the rice cooked with a little minced lamb, seven-spice and cardamom, packed into the bird and roasted until the skin is lacquered brown, then piled on a platter under handfuls of fried almonds and pine nuts. Serve with yoghurt and a chopped salad. Common mistake: packing the cavity tightly with raw rice, which leaves the centre undercooked; part-cook the rice first and stuff loosely. Chef's tip: simmer the chicken briefly in spiced water before roasting, as many Palestinian cooks do; it seasons the meat and keeps it moist.

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Kofta bi tahini

Kofta bi tahini is a family tray-bake from Jerusalem, Nazareth and the West Bank, the kind of dinner that goes into the oven on a weeknight and comes out bubbling and golden: parsley-flecked lamb and beef kofta fingers, sliced potatoes and onions, all covered in a tangy, garlicky tahini sauce. Rice with vermicelli and a chopped salad go alongside. Common mistake: making the tahini sauce too thick; it should pour like single cream, as it thickens a lot in the oven. Chef's tip: brown the kofta and potatoes before they meet the sauce; it keeps the kofta firm and stops the potatoes turning soggy.

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Msabbaha

Hummus shops in Jerusalem's Old City and in Nablus open before dawn, and alongside the smooth hummus they ladle out msabbaha: whole, just-cooked chickpeas bathed in a loose, garlicky tahini and lemon sauce, still warm. It is a working breakfast, eaten with raw onion wedges, green chilli and plenty of bread, and it is just as popular in south Lebanon. The texture is the point, soft chickpeas in a creamy pool rather than a purée. The common mistake is making the tahini sauce too thick; it should pour like double cream so it seeps around every chickpea. Chef's tip: crush a handful of the hot chickpeas into the sauce before you spoon it over; it makes the msabbaha richer and creamier.

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Mushabbak

Glass counters in the souks of Nablus and Damascus are stacked with mushabbak, crisp latticed spirals of fried batter dunked in syrup until they glisten. They are bought by the bag for Christian and Muslim feast days, for Ramadan evenings and for no reason at all, and are best eaten within hours while the shells still crack. A lightly fermented batter piped into hot oil gives the hollow, crunchy rings. The mistake to avoid is oil that is not hot enough: the batter soaks up fat and the spirals turn heavy and limp. Chef's tip: the syrup must be cold and the mushabbak hot; dip, count to three and lift, and they stay crisp for hours.

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Dagga

Dagga, sometimes called salata ghazawiyya, is the salad that sits on every table in Gaza, pounded in a clay bowl (zibdiya) with a wooden pestle until the tomatoes collapse into a juicy, chunky relish. Fresh dill, green chilli, garlic and lemon make it sharper and hotter than any salad in the north, and it is spooned over fish, rice and grilled meat or scooped up with bread. Common mistake: using a blender, which turns it into a smooth sauce; you want broken pieces in their own juice. Chef's tip: pound the garlic, chilli and salt to a paste first, then add the dill, so its oils bloom before the tomatoes go in.

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Ijjeh

Ijjeh is the quick supper of Palestinian and Levantine homes: eggs beaten with so much parsley, mint and spring onion that they turn green, spiced with a little cinnamon and allspice, then fried as thick little patties. They are tucked into warm bread with tomatoes and pickles for school lunches, or served on a breakfast spread with olives and labneh. Common mistake: frying in too little oil over a high heat, so the outsides burn before the herbs inside cook. Chef's tip: a spoonful of flour and a pinch of baking powder make them puff and stay soft when eaten cold the next day.

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Khubz taboon

In Palestinian villages the taboon is a small clay oven lined with hot pebbles, and the bread baked on them comes out round, chewy and pocked with dimples where the stones pressed in. Women still bake it at dawn in the Galilee and around Nablus, and it is the bread that wraps musakhan, gets dipped in olive oil and za'atar, and is torn for breakfast with labneh. At home, a tray of clean pebbles or a very hot baking steel gets you close. Common mistake: rolling it too thin, which makes a cracker; it should be about 1 cm thick. Chef's tip: a little wholemeal flour and an overnight rest in the fridge give the nutty, slightly sour taste of village bread.

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Rummaniyeh

Rummaniyeh, from rumman (pomegranate), is a Gazan autumn dish made when the pomegranates ripen: brown lentils and cubes of aubergine cooked to a thick, earthy stew, soured with pomegranate juice and molasses, enriched with tahini and finished with a sizzling oil of garlic, dill and chilli. It is eaten warm or at room temperature, scooped up with bread, and keeps well for days. Common mistake: adding the tahini over a high heat, where it seizes and turns grainy; stir it in off the boil. Chef's tip: fry the garlic and dill only until the garlic is pale gold; brown garlic tastes bitter against the sour fruit.

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Khubeizeh

After the winter rains, mallow (khubeizeh) springs up along field edges and roadsides in Palestine, and families gather bags of it for a humble, much-loved dish: the leaves chopped and wilted with lots of onion fried in olive oil, sometimes with a handful of bulgur or rice to stretch it. It is eaten warm with bread and lemon, soft and earthy like spinach with a slightly silky texture. If you can't forage mallow, use chard or spinach with a little baby kale. Common mistake: drowning the greens in water; they release their own and only need a splash. Chef's tip: brown half the onions deeply and keep the rest soft; you get sweetness and crunch together.

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Qizha

Qizha is Gaza's own sweet: a dense, near-black semolina cake made with a paste of roasted nigella seeds, eaten especially in winter and during Ramadan, when bakeries in Gaza City stack trays of it. It tastes nutty and slightly bitter, a little like dark sesame, softened by syrup and topped with almonds or pistachios. Nigella paste is sold in some Middle Eastern shops; if you can't find it, grind toasted nigella with tahini as below. Common mistake: over-toasting the nigella, which turns it acrid; stop as soon as it smells fragrant. Chef's tip: rest the mixed batter for 30 minutes before baking so the semolina swells and the cake slices cleanly.

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Kharroub

Through Ramadan, street vendors in Jerusalem's Old City and in Nablus walk the alleys with brass urns of kharroub on their backs, clacking cups to announce the cold carob drink that breaks the fast. Made by soaking crushed carob pods (or more easily from carob molasses), it is dark, chocolatey-caramel in taste, lightly sweet and very refreshing over ice. Common mistake: boiling the pods hard, which makes the drink bitter and cloudy; soak and simmer gently. Chef's tip: a few drops of orange-blossom water just before serving lifts the earthy carob flavour.

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Shai bil maramiya

Offer a guest tea in a Palestinian home and it will most likely come in small glasses, sweet, strong and fragrant with maramiya, the soft-leaved sage that grows on every terrace and is said to settle the stomach after a heavy meal. In winter the leaves are dried; in spring they are picked fresh. Common mistake: boiling the sage with the tea, which brings out a medicinal bitterness; it goes in after the heat is off. Chef's tip: bruise the sage leaves between your fingers before dropping them in, and let them steep only 2–3 minutes.

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Zibdiyit gambari

In Gaza's seafront restaurants zibdiyit gambari arrives bubbling in the same clay bowl (zibdiya) in which the sauce was pounded: prawns baked in a fierce tomato sauce full of garlic, green chilli and dill seed, with olive oil pooling at the edges for dipping bread. Families make it at home for special Friday lunches when the catch is good. Common mistake: cooking the prawns as long as the sauce, which makes them tough; they need only a few minutes at the end. Chef's tip: pound the garlic, chilli and dill seed by hand; the rough paste fries into the oil and gives the sauce its punch.

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Lemonana

From café terraces in Ramallah and Jaffa to juice bars along Hamra Street in Beirut, summer means tall glasses of lemonana: lemons and fistfuls of fresh mint blended with ice into a sharp, sweet, electric-green slush. It is the drink handed to you after a walk through the market at noon, and it cools a mezze lunch like nothing else. Everything goes in a blender, but the mint must be fresh and plentiful. The common mistake is blending the mint for too long, which bruises it and turns the drink murky and grassy. Chef's tip: make a lemon-sugar syrup first and chill it; dissolved sugar sweetens evenly and lets you blend for only a few seconds.

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