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The shrimp trucks parked along Kamehameha Highway in Kahuku, on Oʻahu's North Shore, serve this on paper plates to surfers and day-trippers: shell-on prawns from the local farms fried in a heap of garlic and butter until the shells are crisp enough to eat, with two scoops of rice and lemon. Chef's tip: dust the prawns in a little cornflour before frying; it helps the garlic butter cling and the shells crisp.
Malasadas came to Hawaii with Portuguese workers from Madeira and the Azores in the 1870s, and on Malasada Day, the Tuesday before Lent, bakeries in Honolulu have queues round the block. They are eggy, airy yeast doughnuts with no hole, fried golden and rolled in sugar while hot; some are filled with haupia or custard. Chef's tip: the dough is very soft and sticky, so oil your hands rather than adding more flour, or the malasadas turn heavy.
Every Hawaiian plate lunch, from drive-ins in Hilo to the lunch wagons of Honolulu, comes with two scoops of rice and one of this soft, creamy macaroni salad. It is simpler than American pasta salads: overcooked elbow macaroni soaked in vinegar while hot, then folded with lots of mayonnaise, a little milk and grated carrot. Chef's tip: cook the pasta past al dente, a few minutes longer than the packet says; plate-lunch mac is meant to be soft so it soaks up the dressing.
Laulau is one of the oldest dishes of Native Hawaiian cooking: fatty pork and salted butterfish are wrapped in young taro (lūʻau) leaves, tied in a ti-leaf parcel and steamed for hours until the leaves turn soft as cooked spinach and the pork is meltingly tender. It is the centrepiece of a plate with poi, lomi lomi salmon and haupia at lūʻau and family celebrations. Taro leaves must be cooked a long time, as they irritate the throat when undercooked; if you can't find them, use large spinach leaves and wrap in banana leaves or foil. Chef's tip: steam the bundles for the full four hours; shortcutting leaves the taro leaves scratchy.
Huli means turn in Hawaiian, and this chicken was named in the 1950s when a farmer on Oʻahu grilled it between two racks and flipped it over the fire; today you smell it from roadside fundraiser stands and North Shore weekend grills. Chicken is marinated in soy sauce, pineapple juice, ginger and brown sugar, then grilled and basted until sticky and charred. Chef's tip: boil the leftover marinade before basting with it, so it is safe and turns into a glaze.
Butter mochi is the sweet of Hawaii's potlucks, school fundraisers and family parties, a local mix of Japanese mochi and the islands' coconut. Glutinous rice flour is baked with coconut milk, evaporated milk, butter and eggs into a golden, chewy cake with crisp edges and a soft, bouncy middle. Chef's tip: cut it with a plastic knife once fully cooled; a metal knife drags and sticks.
Lilikoi is the Hawaiian name for passion fruit, which grows wild on vines all over the islands, and lilikoi butter is the tangy golden curd that farmers' markets on Maui and Kauai sell in jars. It is spread on toast, sweet bread and scones, or spooned onto shave ice and cakes. Chef's tip: keep the heat low and stir constantly; the curd is ready when it coats the back of a spoon and holds a line drawn through it with your finger.
Shave ice came to Hawaii with Japanese plantation workers, and on hot afternoons on Oahu's North Shore families still queue at roadside stands for a towering, soft cone of ice soaked in rainbow syrups. The ice is shaved so fine it is like fresh snow and soaks up the syrup instead of letting it run to the bottom. Without a shaver, freeze ice in a block and scrape it with a fork. Chef's tip: let the ice block sit out for 5 minutes before shaving; slightly tempered ice gives fluffier flakes.
Shoyu chicken is the home-cooked comfort of Hawaii's plantation families, a Japanese-influenced braise of chicken thighs in soy sauce (shoyu), sugar, ginger and garlic, and a staple of the plate lunch: two scoops of rice, a scoop of macaroni salad and chicken with plenty of sauce. Chef's tip: simmer uncovered at the end and spoon the sauce over until it turns glossy and coats the chicken.
Musubi is Hawaii's favourite grab-and-go snack, sold wrapped in cling film by the till in every convenience store from Honolulu to Hilo and packed for beach days and school lunches. A slice of tinned pork luncheon meat is fried in a sweet soy glaze, set on a block of rice and belted with a strip of nori, a Japanese rice-ball idea adapted after the Second World War. Chef's tip: wet the mould and your hands so the rice doesn't stick, and press firmly so the block holds.
Saimin was born in the sugar plantation camps of Hawaii, where Chinese, Japanese and Filipino workers shared pots and combined their noodle soups into one, and it is still sold everywhere from old Kauaʻi diners to the snack bars at Little League games. Springy wheat noodles sit in a clear dashi and shrimp broth, topped with sliced char siu (roast pork), pink fish cake, egg and spring onion. Chef's tip: cook the noodles separately and rinse them, so their starch doesn't cloud the clear broth.
Despite its name there is no rice in it: chicken long rice is a gingery chicken broth with bean thread noodles, brought to Hawaii by Chinese plantation workers and now a fixture at every lūʻau and baby's first-birthday party alongside kalua pig and poi. The glassy noodles soak up the broth until it is almost a stew. Chef's tip: soak the noodles and cut them into short lengths before they go into the pot, or you get one long, tangled clump.
Poke, from the Hawaiian word for cut into pieces, began as fishermen's snack of raw reef fish with sea salt, seaweed and roasted kukui nut, and is now sold by the pound from the deli counters of every Hawaiian supermarket, eaten over rice as a quick lunch or with drinks after work. This shoyu ahi style dresses cubes of yellowfin tuna in soy sauce, sesame oil, sweet onion and chilli. Traditional poke is raw fish, which is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system, so this version quickly sears the cubes until cooked through. Chef's tip: dress the tuna just before eating; the soy sauce draws out moisture and turns it soft if it sits for hours.
Lomi means to massage: at Hawaiian lūʻau and graduation parties, salted salmon is squeezed by hand with diced tomatoes, sweet onion and spring onions into a cold, juicy relish that cuts through rich kalua pig and poi. It arrived with salted salmon traded from the Pacific Northwest by nineteenth-century whalers. The traditional version uses raw salt-cured salmon, which is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system; this safer version gently poaches the salmon first. Chef's tip: chill everything well and drain the tomatoes, so the relish stays bright rather than watery.
Hawaiian sweet bread grew from the pão doce that Portuguese families baked in the islands at Easter, and bakeries in Hilo made it famous as a soft, golden, faintly tangy loaf. Pineapple juice gives a gentle fruity sweetness, and the crumb is pillowy and pulls apart in strands. Eat it toasted with butter, or use it for French toast. Chef's tip: the dough should be very soft; be patient during kneading instead of adding extra flour.
In Hawaii, Chantilly cake means a chocolate layer cake covered in a rich, caramel-coloured frosting made from evaporated milk, egg yolks and butter, not the whipped cream the name suggests. Honolulu bakeries have sold it for birthdays and graduations for decades, and it is very different from mainland cakes. Chef's tip: cook the frosting base slowly and stir constantly until it is as thick as pudding; if it is runny, the frosting will slide off the cake.
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.
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.
Chajá was created in 1927 at a bakery in Paysandú, a city on the Uruguay River, and named after a local bird whose feathers look as fluffy as its crumbly meringue coat. Today it's Uruguay's birthday and celebration cake: layers of light sponge soaked in peach syrup, filled with whipped cream, peaches and dulce de leche, then covered in crushed meringue. It's sweet, soft and crunchy at once, best on the day it's assembled. Chef's tip: soak the sponge but not too much; it should feel moist, not wet, or the layers slide.
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.
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.
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.
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.
In Uruguay, a grey rainy afternoon has one answer: torta frita and mate. These thin discs of dough, pierced with a hole in the middle, are fried until puffed and golden and either sprinkled with sugar or eaten plain, still hot, between sips passed around the circle. In Montevideo you'll smell them from street stalls on wet days; at home they're made with butter or beef fat, here with butter. Chef's tip: the hole in the middle isn't decoration; it lets the centre cook through at the same speed as the edges.
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