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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.

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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 minLaoSoupsVeganGluten free
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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.

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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.

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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 minLaoSaladsGluten free
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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.

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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 minLaoSaladsGluten freeSpicy
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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.

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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.

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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 minLaoSoupsGluten free
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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.

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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 minLaoDrinksGluten free
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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 minLaoSaladsGluten free
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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.

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Shulbato

Shulbato is a summer pot from the villages of the West Bank and Galilee, made when the garden overflows: coarse bulgur cooked with aubergine, courgette, peppers, tomato and plenty of onion until the wheat is fluffy and stained red. It is eaten warm or cool on hot days with a bowl of yoghurt or a cucumber salad, and it is also a fasting dish for Christian families. Common mistake: using fine bulgur, which turns mushy; it needs the coarse grade. Chef's tip: let the vegetables catch and brown a little before adding the wheat; that slight char is the flavour of the dish.

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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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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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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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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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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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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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Salatet za'atar akhdar

In spring, Palestinian families pick young za'atar (wild hyssop-thyme) from the hills of the West Bank and the Galilee, and the tender leaves are tossed raw with onion, lemon and the year's new olive oil. The salad is sharp, piney and peppery, eaten as part of breakfast with labneh, olives and warm taboon bread, or beside grilled meat. If you can't find fresh za'atar, a mix of fresh oregano, thyme and a little marjoram comes close. Common mistake: chopping the leaves; keep them whole so they stay perky and don't turn dark. Chef's tip: rub the sliced onion with sumac and salt for 5 minutes first; it softens its bite and turns it a pretty pink.

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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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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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