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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.
Dampfnudeln are a Friday supper in Bavaria and the Palatinate, from the days when meatless Fridays meant a sweet main course. Soft yeast buns are packed into a heavy pan with milk, butter and a little sugar, the lid goes on, and they steam until fluffy on top while the liquid boils away and leaves a salty-sweet caramel crust underneath. They come to the table with warm vanilla sauce. The famous mistake is lifting the lid too early: the steam escapes and the buns collapse. Chef's tip: listen to the pan instead of looking; when the bubbling turns to a crackle, the crust is forming and you have about 3 minutes left.
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.
In the Palatinate, between the Rhine and the vineyards of the Weinstraße, September brings a pairing that puzzles outsiders: a bowl of creamy potato soup served with a slice of plum tray cake on the side, and you dip the cake as you go. It is a plain, cheap farmhouse supper for plum season, and the sweet-sour fruit against the soft, marjoram-scented soup is the whole joy. This version makes a small tray of yeasted plum cake while the soup simmers. A common mistake is sweetening the soup; it should stay savoury so the cake can do the sweet work. Chef's tip: use dark, oval Zwetschgen plums, which hold their shape; round dessert plums go watery.
Every Bavarian inn serves this pale, glossy cabbage salad beside roast pork and dumplings, and it is just as good on its own at a summer barbecue. The white cabbage is shaved very finely, salted and kneaded, then dressed with hot vinegar, oil and caraway so it softens while keeping a crunch. Many cooks finish it with crisp bacon bits; this version leaves them out and is vegan. The common mistake is dressing it cold and serving it at once: it needs the warm dressing and at least half an hour to turn silky. Chef's tip: shave the cabbage as thin as paper; thick shreds never soak up the dressing properly.
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.
From mid-April until 24 June, Spargelzeit takes over Baden, and the little town of Schwetzingen near Heidelberg holds its asparagus market in front of the palace. The thick white spears are peeled, simmered with a pinch of sugar and a knob of butter, and served on a warm platter with new potatoes and a jug of hollandaise, often as a meal on its own. The sauce is thickened with egg yolks warmed gently to about 70 °C, which also takes them past the safe point. The common mistake is peeling too lightly: the woody outer layer stays stringy, so peel generously from just under the tip. Chef's tip: save the peelings and ends to simmer in the cooking water first; it makes the spears taste far more of asparagus.
Handkäs mit Musik is the bar snack of Frankfurt's Sachsenhausen cider taverns, where it is served on a small plate beside a glass of apple wine; apple juice or a sour apple spritzer is the alcohol-free match. Handkäse is a small, firm, low-fat sour-milk cheese, ripened until it turns glassy and translucent at the edge, and the 'music' is the marinade of onion, vinegar, oil and caraway it soaks in. It is eaten with a knife and fork on buttered rye bread. Most Handkäse is made without rennet, using acid alone, but check the label if you are strict. A common mistake is serving it straight away: the cheese needs at least an hour in the marinade. Chef's tip: choose a cheese that is still chalky white in the very middle, which gives a mix of creamy and fresh textures.
In Vienna the Gugelhupf is the Sunday cake of home bakers, set out on the table for afternoon Jause with coffee, and every family has its own fluted copper or ceramic mould. Unlike the yeasted ring cakes of Alsace and southern Germany, the everyday Viennese one is a Rührgugelhupf, a buttery sponge lifted with whisked egg whites, scented with lemon and studded with plump raisins. It is tender, light and keeps moist for several days under a cake dome. A common mistake is a badly greased mould; every ridge needs butter and flour or the cake tears as it comes out. Chef's tip: soak the raisins in hot water for 15 minutes, dry them and toss them in a spoon of flour so they don't sink.
After a morning on the slopes, Austrians head into the mountain huts of Tyrol, Salzburg and Styria for one thing: a Germknödel the size of a fist, steamed until pillowy and split open to reveal dark plum butter. It comes drowned in melted butter, or in vanilla sauce, under a thick snow of ground poppy seeds and icing sugar, and it is eaten as a whole meal. The dough is soft and slightly sweet, and the powidl inside is tart and jammy. A common mistake is lifting the lid while they steam; the dumplings deflate and turn heavy. Chef's tip: seal each dumpling with the seam underneath and let them prove a second time on squares of baking paper, so you can move them without denting them.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Bayerische Creme is the light, wobbling vanilla cream that Munich coffee houses and Bavarian wedding buffets have served for generations: a cooked egg custard folded with whipped cream and set in moulds, then turned out onto a pool of berry sauce. It is traditionally set with gelatine, which is made from animal bones and skin; this version uses agar so it stays vegetarian. A common mistake with agar is adding it to a cool custard: it only sets after it has boiled, so it is simmered in milk first and then whisked into the warm custard. Chef's tip: fold in the cream when the custard has cooled to just warm and is starting to thicken, so the cream stays airy and doesn't melt into it.
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