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Moravské koláče

In the villages of South Moravia and Wallachia, nobody gets married without a mountain of koláče: small round yeast buns with a deep hollow filled with sweetened poppy seed, vanilla quark or povidla (thick plum butter), each crowned with buttery posypka crumble. Relatives bake hundreds for the wedding and send guests home with boxes of them, and they turn up again at village fairs (pouť) and Sunday coffee. Chef's tip: press the hollow deep and wide just before filling; the dough rises again in the oven, and a shallow dip pushes the filling over the edge.

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Svíčková na smetaně

Svíčková is the dish Czech families make for weddings, name days and big Sunday lunches, and in Prague pubs it appears on the menu as the proud centre of the week. Beef is marinated for a day or two with root vegetables and spices, slow-roasted, and the vegetables are then blended into a smooth, sweet-sour cream sauce. It is always served the same way: sliced beef, a pool of sauce, bread dumplings, a spoonful of cranberry sauce, a twist of whipped cream and a slice of lemon. Many cooks under-season the sauce; it should taste clearly of vinegar, sugar and allspice, not just cream. The optional smoked bacon that flavours the vegetables is pork; leave it out and the sauce is still rich. Chef's tip: blend the sauce until completely velvety, then push it through a sieve; that silky finish is what makes svíčková special.

220 minCzechMeat
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Kulajda

Kulajda comes from South Bohemia, the land of carp ponds and pine forests around České Budějovice and Český Krumlov, where families come home from the woods in late summer with baskets of porcini. It is a thick, pale, gently sour soup of potatoes, mushrooms, cream and plenty of dill, finished with vinegar and served with a soft poached egg floating in each bowl. It is eaten as a filling lunch on its own with a slice of rye bread. Chef's tip: add the vinegar off the heat and taste as you go; the soup should be clearly tangy but never sharp, like a good pickle brine softened by cream.

50 minCzechSoups
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Ovocné knedlíky

Ovocné knedlíky are the summer main course of Czech childhoods: in July with apricots from South Moravian orchards, in September with blue plums, eaten as lunch rather than pudding. Each soft quark dumpling hides a whole fruit that turns jammy as it simmers, and they are served the old way, rolled in melted butter and buried under grated tvaroh (quark) and icing sugar. Kids compete over who can eat the most. Chef's tip: pinch the dough completely closed with no thin patches; a single gap lets water in and the dumpling bursts in the pot.

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Sekuwa

Dharan, in Nepal's eastern hills, is famous for its 'sekuwa corner', a lane of smoky grills where families and friends gather in the evening for spiced goat, chicken and pork skewers fresh off the fire. The meat is marinated in a dry-ish paste of garlic, ginger, cumin, chilli and timur (Nepali Sichuan pepper), with a little mustard oil, then grilled until charred at the edges. It is the classic picnic and party food, eaten with puffed rice, a tomato-sesame achar and sliced onion. This recipe uses lamb or mutton shoulder in place of goat. Chef's tip: soak wooden skewers for 30 minutes and leave a little space between the pieces so the heat reaches all sides.

40 minNepaliMeatGluten freeSpicy
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Buchty

Buchty are the soft, pillowy yeast buns that Czech grandmothers bake in a roasting tin on Saturday, filled with povidla (plum butter), jam or sweet quark and packed so close that they rise into each other and have to be torn apart. They are the Czech answer to a cinnamon bun: eaten warm with milky coffee, packed for train journeys and school trips, and famous from the fairy tale in which the hero sets off with a bag of his mother's buchty. Unlike open koláče, the filling is sealed inside. Chef's tip: brush the sides of each bun with melted butter before you pack them in, so they pull apart cleanly with soft, shiny walls.

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Houskové knedlíky

Houskové knedlíky are the sliced bread dumplings that sit beside almost every sauce in a Prague pub, from mushroom svíčková-style cream sauces to sweet-sour dill gravy. Unlike the round German Semmelknödel, these are a soft yeast dough rolled into a log with crisp cubes of stale roll inside, simmered whole, then cut into thick, spongy slices that drink up gravy. Czech grandmothers still slice them with a length of thread rather than a knife, which keeps the crumb open instead of squashing it. Chef's tip: cut the cooked loaf with a piece of cotton thread wrapped around it and pulled tight; a knife presses the slices into dense, gluey discs.

55 minCzechSides
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Bryndzové halušky

Bryndzové halušky is Slovakia's national dish, cooked in every koliba (timber shepherd's restaurant) in the Liptov and Orava valleys and fought over each summer at the halušky-eating contest in Turecká. Little grated-potato dumplings are tossed while hot with bryndza, a tangy, spreadable sheep's cheese, and finished with a sour milk drink called žinčica. The traditional topping is crisp smoked bacon; here golden fried onions bring the same savoury crunch, and meat-eaters can add bacon on their own plates. Chef's tip: grate the potatoes at the last moment and work fast; grated potato left standing turns grey and watery and the dumplings go heavy.

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Česnečka

Česnečka is the soup Czechs swear by after a long night in a Prague pivnice: a thin, savoury broth fragrant with raw garlic, caraway and marjoram, with soft potato cubes, crunchy fried bread and a fistful of grated cheese melting into each bowl. It costs almost nothing, comes together in half an hour and is served in workers' canteens and village pubs all winter. This version uses vegetable stock instead of the old meat bouillon. Chef's tip: crush the garlic into the bowls or add it right at the end off the heat; boiled garlic goes sweet and mild, and česnečka should bite.

30 minCzechSoups
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Yomari

Yomari are the sweet dumplings of the Newars of the Kathmandu Valley, made once a year on Yomari Punhi, the full moon of December that marks the end of the rice harvest. Freshly milled rice flour is kneaded with hot water, pinched into a hollow cone, filled with chaku, a dark, fudgy Newari molasses, and toasted sesame, then shaped with a pointed tail like a fish or a teardrop and steamed. Children go from house to house singing for them, and families offer a few to the gods before anyone eats. The shell is soft and slightly chewy, and the filling melts into warm, smoky caramel. The usual mistake is mixing the dough with lukewarm water: it must be just off the boil so the starch swells and the dough stretches without cracking. Chef's tip: keep a bowl of warm water beside you and dip your fingertips often; damp hands smooth out cracks as you shape.

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Juju dhau

Juju dhau means king of curds in the Newar language, and it belongs to Bhaktapur, the old brick-and-temple city east of Kathmandu, where it is sold in round clay bowls from shops around Durbar Square and taken home by the stack. Full-fat milk, traditionally buffalo milk, is boiled down by a third until it is rich and faintly caramel, sweetened, then set overnight in unglazed clay pots that soak up the whey, leaving a custard-thick, creamy yogurt with a pale golden skin. No wedding, festival or important meal in the Valley ends without it, and it is eaten on its own with a small spoon. People often rush the reduction, and the yogurt then sets thin and sour. Chef's tip: if you don't have clay pots, set it in ceramic ramekins and pour off any whey after setting; and keep it warm and undisturbed, wrapped in a blanket, so it sets in one smooth layer.

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Golbheda ko achar

No momo is served in Nepal without a small bowl of golbheda ko achar, and no dal bhat feels complete without a dab of it on the side. Tomatoes (golbheda) are charred over a flame or on a dry griddle until black-blistered and soft, then pounded with garlic, green chilli and timur, the citrusy Nepali pepper that leaves a buzz on the tongue. Grandmothers grind it on the flat stone silauto; a blender or mortar does the job at home. It is smoky, sour and hot, and is made fresh in most kitchens every day or two. A spoonful of toasted sesame or soybean powder thickens the version served with momos in Kathmandu. Don't purée it smooth: the skins and seeds give it its rustic body. Chef's tip: char the garlic and chillies beside the tomatoes; their sharp edge softens and the achar tastes sweeter and deeper.

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Aloo achar

Aloo ko achar is the potato salad of Nepal, but tangy, nutty and hot rather than creamy. Boiled potatoes are tossed with ground toasted sesame, lemon juice, green chilli and timur, then finished with mustard oil in which fenugreek seeds have been fried dark. You find it everywhere: in tiffin boxes on the way to school, at picnics and on the long leaf plates of Newar feasts, alongside beaten rice and spicy beans, and it is a fixture at Dashain and Tihar gatherings when food has to sit out for hours. It keeps well, and the flavour improves after a rest. Dressing the potatoes while still hot is the usual mistake: they soak it up and turn mushy, so let them cool first. Chef's tip: toast the sesame until it just starts to pop and smells like popcorn, then grind it to a coarse sandy powder; it thickens the dressing and gives the salad its nuttiness.

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Choila

Choila belongs to the Newar community of the Kathmandu Valley, where it is served at festivals like Dashain and at feasts in Bhaktapur and Patan, alongside beaten rice (chiura) and a glass of something strong. Traditionally it is water buffalo, grilled over straw so the meat tastes smoky, then tossed while warm with raw mustard oil, garlic, ginger, chilli and a sizzling fenugreek tempering. This version uses chicken thighs, with buffalo or beef as an option, and it is always fully cooked before tossing. Serve it as a starter or snack with chiura and pickled radish. Chef's tip: let the mustard-oil tempering smoke for a few seconds before pouring it over; the hot oil loses its raw bite and coats the meat with a nutty, pungent flavour.

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Chatamari

Chatamari is a thin, round crêpe of rice flour that Newar cooks in Patan, Bhaktapur and old Kathmandu make on a covered griddle, so the topping steams on top while the base turns crisp underneath. It is sometimes called Newari pizza, which says something about how it's eaten: cut into wedges, hot, and shared. It is a festival and teahouse snack, served at Newar feasts and in the small eateries around Patan Durbar Square. The classic topping is a cracked egg spread over the batter with onion, tomato and coriander, and this vegetarian version keeps the egg; leave it out and add more vegetables if you prefer. The common mistake is to pour the batter too thick; it should be as thin as single cream so it cooks through before the edges burn. Chef's tip: swirl the batter with the back of a ladle in a spiral from the centre outwards, so it sets in an even, lacy layer.

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Sel roti

When Tihar, the five-day festival of lights, arrives in late autumn, kitchens all over Nepal fill with the smell of sel roti: big, thin rings of sweetened rice batter fried in hot oil until crisp and russet outside and soft and slightly chewy inside. They are stacked high to offer to the gods, to sisters during Bhai Tika and to every guest, and they are also made at Dashain and for weddings, travelling well and keeping for days. Rice is soaked overnight and ground with sugar into a thick, pourable batter, then poured by hand in one confident circle into the oil. Many families add ghee to the batter, which makes the rings richer but means they are vegetarian rather than vegan; this version uses oil. The common mistake is oil that is not hot enough, so the batter drinks fat and turns greasy. Chef's tip: let the batter rest for an hour after grinding; it thickens and ferments slightly, and the rings puff and hold their shape better.

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Bara

Bara, or wo in the Newar language, is a thick, savoury pancake of ground black lentils that the Newar people of the Kathmandu Valley have made for centuries. It is cooked on a flat griddle until spotted brown and lacy at the edges but soft and airy inside. It is festival food above all: it appears at Sithi Nakha in early summer, on the plates of Newar feasts and at roadside stalls in Kirtipur and Patan, where it is often topped with a cracked egg. This plant-based version keeps it plain, with ginger, garlic and cumin in the batter. Eat it hot with golbheda ko achar. The usual mistake is to add too much water when grinding: the batter must be thick enough to hold a peak, or the bara spread thin and go flat. Chef's tip: beat the ground batter by hand for 3–4 minutes until it turns pale and fluffy; the air you whip in is what makes the bara light.

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Smažený sýr

Smažený sýr, a thick slab of breaded Edam fried until molten, is the dish every Czech student orders at a Prague hospoda and the one vegetarian main that turns up on nearly every menu from Brno to the Šumava mountain huts. It comes with tatarská omáčka (tartare sauce) and either boiled potatoes or chips, and a cold pivo on the side. The joy is the crunch giving way to stretchy, salty cheese. Chef's tip: chill the breaded slices for 20 minutes and double-coat them, otherwise the cheese bursts out into the oil before the crumb is golden.

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Saag (rayo ko saag)

Ask for saag anywhere in Nepal and you will get the leafy part of the dal bhat plate: a tangle of greens, most often rayo (a broad-leafed mustard green), fried fast in mustard oil with garlic and a dried chilli until just wilted. It is nothing like the slow-cooked, puréed sarson ka saag of Punjab. Nepali saag keeps its bright colour, a little bite in the stems and a pleasant bitterness. It grows in every kitchen garden from the Terai to the hills and is on the table most days from autumn to spring. Spinach, chard or Chinese mustard greens all work the same way. The common mistake is to cover the pan, which stews the leaves to a grey mush; keep the heat high and the lid off. Chef's tip: add the stems a minute before the leaves so both are done at the same moment.

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Kwati

Kwati is a thick, warming soup of nine kinds of sprouted beans that the Newar families of the Kathmandu Valley cook on Janai Purnima, the August full moon also called Kwati Punhi, when the monsoon is at its height and people are said to need strength against the damp. The mix usually includes black gram, green mung, chickpeas, soybeans, field peas, kidney beans, cowpeas, field beans and rice beans, soaked and sprouted for two or three days beforehand, then cooked with ajwain, ginger, garlic, tomato and a pinch of timur. Markets in Asan sell ready-mixed kwati beans in the week before the festival. It is eaten in bowls with beaten rice or simply on its own. The mistake people make is skipping the sprouting, which leaves the soup heavy and the beans hard. Chef's tip: fry the ajwain until it crackles; its thyme-like warmth makes the beans easier to digest and is the flavour of the festival.

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Dal bhat

Across Nepal, from Terai farmhouses to trekking lodges below Everest, dal bhat is not a dish so much as the meal itself, eaten twice a day, late morning and early evening, often with the words "dal bhat power, 24 hour". The plate is always the same idea: a mound of plain rice (bhat), a thin, soupy lentil dal scented with jimbu (a dried Himalayan allium) fried in ghee, a dry vegetable tarkari, a little stir-fried greens when there are some, and a sharp spoonful of achar. You pour the dal over the rice and mix it by hand, a little at a time, with bites of curry and pickle. Most newcomers make the dal too thick; Nepali dal should run off the spoon like a light soup so it soaks the rice. Chef's tip: fry the jimbu in the hot ghee only until it darkens a shade and smells of garlicky onion, about 10 seconds, then pour it straight into the dal and cover the pan to trap the aroma.

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Aloo tama

Aloo tama is the curry that tells you you are in Nepal: potatoes (aloo) and black-eyed beans (bodi) simmered with tama, slivers of bamboo shoot that have been fermented until they are pleasantly sour and funky. It is a Newar dish at heart, cooked all over the Kathmandu Valley for weddings, feasts and cold winter evenings, and every Nepali restaurant abroad keeps a pot of it. The sourness comes from the bamboo, sharpened with tomato, and the warmth from fenugreek seeds burnt nearly black in mustard oil and a dusting of timur, the Nepali Sichuan pepper that numbs the lips. Eat it with rice or beaten rice (chiura). Don't skip rinsing the bamboo: straight from the jar it can be so sharp that it takes over the whole pot. Chef's tip: let the fenugreek seeds turn a deep reddish brown before anything else goes in; that bitter-sweet, almost maple smell is the backbone of the curry.

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Gundruk ko jhol

In the terraced hill villages between Pokhara and Ilam, families pack mustard, radish and cauliflower leaves into clay pots after the autumn harvest, let them ferment for a week or two and then sun-dry them into gundruk. That dark, tangy leaf is the store cupboard of the winter months, and its most common use is this thin, sour soup (jhol), served on the side of dal bhat or with dhido, the stiff buckwheat or millet porridge of the hills. It tastes a little like a smoky, vinegary green tea and is light, warming and very cheap. A handful of roasted soybeans (bhatmas) is often thrown in for crunch. The mistake is to cook gundruk without soaking it first, which leaves it gritty and too sour. Chef's tip: squeeze the soaked leaves hard and fry them in the oil until they crackle before you add water; that frying gives the soup its toasty depth.

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Vepřo knedlo zelo

Ask anyone in Prague, Brno or a village pub in Moravia for the most Czech meal of all and they will name vepřo knedlo zelo: roast pork, dumplings and cabbage, eaten at Sunday lunch and washed down in pubs with a cold lager. This is a pork dish: shoulder rubbed with garlic, caraway and salt and roasted slowly in a little water until it falls into tender slices, the pan juices becoming the gravy. Alongside go slices of soft bread dumpling and red or white cabbage braised sweet and sour. The trap is roasting the pork too hot and too dry; a splash of water in the tin and a low oven keep it juicy. Chef's tip: lay the pork fat side down for the first hour, then turn it fat side up so the fat renders and crisps at the end.

210 minCzechMeat
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