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Ho si fat choy (dried oysters with black moss)

Ho si fat choy is the Cantonese Lunar New Year dish that every shopkeeper in Hong Kong wants on the table: ho si (dried oysters) sounds like 'good business' and fat choy (black moss) sounds like 'get rich'. Wild fa cai is now banned from harvest in China because gathering it damaged the grasslands, so this recipe uses the widely sold 'vegetarian black moss' substitute, which looks the same; you can also leave it out and the dish is still delicious. The dried oysters are soaked and slowly braised with shiitake until plump, chewy and deeply savoury, in a glossy oyster-sauce gravy. Serve it piled on blanched lettuce with steamed rice. Chef's tip: rinse the soaked oysters under running water, rubbing each one, to wash out any grit hiding in the folds.

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Candied lotus root (tong lin ngau)

Open the octagonal tray of togetherness in a Hong Kong or Guangdong home at Lunar New Year and you will usually find pale, sugar-frosted rounds of candied lotus root. The lotus is prized because its root grows in linked sections and its name, lin, sounds like the word for 'continuous', so the slices carry a wish for abundance that keeps coming back year after year. Simmered slowly in syrup and then dried, they turn translucent and chewy at the centre with a fine crust of sugar and a faint, earthy sweetness, and the lacy pattern of holes stays on show. Set them out with candied lotus seeds, melon seeds and a pot of jasmine or pu-erh tea for visitors. Chef's tip: blanch the slices with a pinch of salt and a splash of vinegar first; it stops them going grey and keeps them crisp-edged instead of mushy.

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Poon choi (basin feast)Layered braised meat and seafood basin

Poon choi comes from the walled villages of Hong Kong's New Territories, where the whole clan eats from one great basin at Lunar New Year and other village celebrations; sharing a single pot stands for unity, and the layers piled to the brim for plenty. Each layer is cooked on its own and stacked so the sauces trickle downwards: soft braised pork belly and soy chicken near the top, prawns and mushrooms in the middle, and radish, tofu skin and cabbage at the bottom soaking up everything. The home version here leaves out shark fin, uses canned abalone only if you want it, and is made for 8 in a large flameproof casserole. Bring the whole basin to the table bubbling and serve with steamed rice. Chef's tip: pack the absorbent vegetables at the bottom and the showy pieces at the top; the radish should finish as the tastiest thing in the pot.

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Wu tau go (taro cake)

Wu tau go is one of the 'gou' cakes that Hong Kong and Guangdong families steam before Lunar New Year, because gou sounds like 'tall' and promises a year that rises higher. This one is studded with chunks of taro, diced Chinese sausage (lap cheong, a sweet cured pork sausage usually made with rose wine or Shaoxing wine) and dried shrimp, set with rice flour and fragrant with five-spice. For an alcohol-free cake, choose a lap cheong labelled alcohol-free, or use the smoked tofu from the vegetarian variation. Cold, it slices cleanly; pan-fried, it gets a crisp golden crust over a soft, starchy, savoury middle with nubbly bits of taro. Serve slices hot with chilli sauce or oyster sauce, alongside turnip cake at New Year dim sum. Chef's tip: cook the batter on the hob until it is as thick as mashed potato before steaming; a runny batter lets the taro sink and leaves a pasty layer at the bottom.

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Sang choi bao (minced pork lettuce cups)

At Lunar New Year in Hong Kong, lettuce (saang choi) is on the table because its name sounds like 'growing wealth', and sang choi bao wraps that wish around a hot, savoury filling. Minced pork is stir-fried quickly with water chestnut, shiitake and a little oyster sauce, then spooned into cold, crisp iceberg cups so every bite is juicy, crunchy and fresh at once. It is fast enough to make while the bigger dishes braise, and it works as a starter or alongside rice and poon choi. Chef's tip: get the wok really hot and spread the mince out flat; crowded, cool mince stews in its juices instead of browning.

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Hong Kong coconut tarts

Next to the wobbling egg tarts in any Hong Kong bakery window sit their sturdier siblings, coconut tarts (yē tāt), with a domed, golden-brown filling of sweetened shredded coconut. Office workers grab one with a milk tea at cha chaan teng tea time around three o'clock, and children love the chewy, macaroon-like centre inside a crumbly, cookie-like butter crust. The filling is just coconut, sugar, egg, butter and a little evaporated milk, with a pinch of baking powder that lifts it into a dome. Overfilling the cases is the usual slip: the coconut rises and spills down the sides, so stop at the rim. Chef's tip: let the filling stand for 15 minutes while you line the tins; the coconut softens and soaks up the liquid, so the tops bake moist instead of scorching.

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Wife cakeWinter melon flaky pastry

Wife cakes (lou po beng) are one of the gifts people carry home from Yuen Long in Hong Kong's New Territories, and every Cantonese bakery from Guangzhou to London's Chinatown sells them by the box. The thin, shattering pastry hides a soft, chewy filling of candied winter melon set with glutinous rice flour, with toasted sesame and ground almonds for a nutty sweetness. Serve them with a pot of oolong or pu'er. Traditionally the pastry is made with lard; this version uses vegetable shortening, which flakes just as well, so the cakes are vegetarian and dairy free. Rolling too hard is the mistake that ruins them: the layers tear and the pastry bakes up dense. Chef's tip: cook the filling until it pulls away from the pan in a single mass and chill it, because a soft, wet filling bursts through the thin pastry in the oven.

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Hong Kong paper-wrapped sponge cake

Hong Kong bakery windows line up these tall, golden cylinders, each in its own band of greaseproof paper, and they sell out early as a breakfast with a glass of milk tea or an after-school snack. Known in Cantonese as zhi bao dan gao, they are close to a chiffon cake: oil and milk keep the crumb soft and moist, and whisked egg whites make it light and bouncy. You peel the paper off as you eat, and the thin outer crust is the best bit. Greasing the paper is a frequent mistake; the batter needs a dry surface to grip and climb, otherwise the sponges slump. Chef's tip: stand the paper cups in a deep muffin tin or ramekins so they keep their shape, and fill them only three-quarters full.

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MasikitaGrilled beef skewers

As the light fades in Mahajanga, Toliara and Antananarivo, the smoke from masikita grills drifts along the pavements, with vendors fanning glowing charcoal under rows of tiny skewers. In Madagascar they are made with zebu, the humped cattle that are central to life on the island; good beef rump or sirloin is the closest match at home. Small cubes are marinated with garlic, ginger, pepper and a little oil, threaded tightly and grilled fast, so the outside chars and the inside stays juicy. Eat them straight off the stick with sakay, a squeeze of lime and a cold drink, or with rice for dinner. Cutting the cubes too big is the common mistake: masikita should be bite-sized so they cook through in minutes. Chef's tip: soak wooden skewers for 30 minutes first so they don't burn before the beef is done.

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KitozaSmoked dried beef strips

Butchers in the Highland markets of Antananarivo and Ambositra hang long, dark strips of kitoza above smoky fires, and households grill a few pieces each morning to eat with a bowl of soft rice. The meat is lean, cut with the grain, seasoned with salt, garlic, ginger and pepper, then dried until it is chewy and concentrated; a quick grill before serving gives it a smoky, salty crust. This home version uses beef in place of zebu and, for safety, cooks the strips to 71 °C in the oven before drying them slowly at a low heat. It is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. The common mistake is cutting the strips too thick, which leaves them leathery outside and damp inside. Chef's tip: half-freeze the beef for an hour so you can slice it in even 5 mm strips.

175 minMalagasyMeatGluten free
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Mi saoVegetable fried noodles

Chinese families who settled in Toamasina and Antananarivo a century ago brought mi sao with them, and it is now one of the most ordered plates at any hotely, often eaten at lunch with a bowl of clear soup on the side. This version is all vegetables: shredded cabbage, carrot, green beans and spring onion tossed with springy wheat noodles, garlic, ginger and soy sauce until glossy and a little smoky. Because of the soy sauce and wheat noodles it is not gluten free. Overcrowding the pan is the usual mistake; it steams everything into a limp tangle, so cook in two batches if your wok or pan is small. Chef's tip: rinse the boiled noodles in cold water and toss them with a few drops of oil, so they fry into separate strands instead of a sticky clump.

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Vary sosoaRice soup with greens

In Antananarivo and across the highlands, the day starts with a bowl of vary sosoa: rice cooked with plenty of water until the grains are soft and loose in their milky cooking liquid, wetter than plain rice but not as smooth as congee. Stalls serve it with kitoza (dried meat), eggs or a spoon of fiery sakay; this vegan version tops it with garlicky greens and homemade sakay chilli paste. The common mistake is stirring it like risotto, which makes it gluey; stir only now and then. Chef's tip: make the sakay the day before; the ginger and chilli mellow overnight in the oil.

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Zhu jiao jiangPork trotters in ginger and vinegar

Zhu jiao jiang is the Cantonese confinement dish that Hong Kong families cook in a big clay pot after a baby arrives, offering a bowl to visiting friends to share the good news; many also make it in winter simply because it is delicious. Pork trotters, hard-boiled eggs and a great deal of old ginger stew slowly in sweet black rice vinegar until the trotters are sticky and tender and the eggs turn dark and tangy. The usual mistake is skipping the trotters' blanch: they must be boiled first and rinsed to clean them. Chef's tip: dry-fry the ginger in the pot before the oil goes in, so it loses some moisture and keeps its bite through the long stew; the pot tastes best after resting overnight.

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LasopyBlended vegetable soup

Highland evenings in Antananarivo can turn surprisingly cold, and that is when lasopy comes out, a smooth, pale-orange soup of carrot, leek, potato, turnip and green beans blended until velvety. Market cooks and grandmothers usually simmer it with beef bones; this version keeps it fully vegetarian, with the vegetables browned lightly first and a bay leaf and thyme for depth, so the water turns into a sweet, savoury broth on its own. It is often eaten with a handful of thin vermicelli cooked in it, or simply with bread, and a dab of sakay stirred in at the table. Leave the vegetables in big chunks: chopping them tiny makes them boil to mush before the flavour comes out. Chef's tip: hold back a ladle of cooking liquid and blend the rest, then thin to taste, because once lasopy is too watery there is no fixing it.

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Akoho sy sakamalaoGinger and garlic chicken

Sakamalao means ginger, and Malagasy cooks are generous with it: this everyday braise from family kitchens across the island uses a whole fist of the root, along with a full head of garlic and soft onions. Bone-in chicken is browned, then simmered gently in its own juices until the meat slides off the bone and the sauce turns golden, sticky and warming, with ginger heat that lingers rather than burns. Serve it with a big plate of rice, a dish of romazava greens or lasary, and sakay for anyone who wants more fire. Many people rush the onions; give them time to turn soft and golden, because they become the body of the sauce. Chef's tip: pound the ginger and garlic together into a coarse paste rather than slicing them, so they melt into the sauce and coat every piece of chicken.

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Dragon's beard candy

Dragon's beard candy is one of the old street crafts of Hong Kong, still demonstrated by a few hawkers in Tsim Sha Tsui and at Kowloon City snack shops, where children watch a hard disc of sugar stretched and folded in starch until it becomes a skein of hair-fine threads. Each cocoon is wrapped around a crunchy filling of peanuts, sesame and coconut and must be eaten within minutes, before it melts in the humidity. It takes practice; your first batch may be thicker threads, and that is fine. Contains peanuts and sesame; not for children under five, who can choke on the filling. Chef's tip: toast the cornflour first, as raw starch tastes chalky and is not safe to eat uncooked.

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Sugarcane and cogon root drink

Ask a Hong Kong family what they drink at the first hint of a sore throat in autumn, or when the city's spring humidity sets in, and many will say jook je mao gun soi. Lengths of thin green bamboo sugarcane, split open, are simmered with dried cogon grass root and carrots, sometimes with water chestnuts and a few dried corn silks, into a pale amber broth that tastes of sugarcane, sweet carrot and a faint grassiness. It is drunk warm after dinner or chilled from the fridge during the day, and herbal tea shops sell it by the bottle for children who refuse the bitter stuff. The common mistake is skipping the splitting of the cane: whole sticks barely release any sweetness, and you end up adding sugar. Bash each piece with the back of a cleaver until it cracks lengthwise. The drink is ready when the carrots are soft, the liquid is clear and light amber, and it tastes naturally sweet. Bamboo cane and cogon root are sold as soup packs in Chinese grocers; ordinary purple or green sugarcane works too. It is traditionally drunk to 'clear heat', but it is a refreshment, not a cure. Chef's tip: add a few peeled water chestnuts for extra crunch-sweetness.

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Cart noodles

Cart noodles began in the 1950s, when hawkers pushed carts of simmering pots through Sham Shui Po and Wong Tai Sin and let customers pick their own noodles and toppings. The carts are long gone, but the noodle shops of Mong Kok and Kowloon City keep the custom: tick off your choices on a slip, perhaps curry fish balls, soft braised daikon, chewy pork skin, pig's blood or squid, and choose your broth, here a spicy curry-satay one. It is a cheap, filling late-night meal. This version uses pork skin and pork stock. Contains fish, wheat, egg and soy. Chef's tip: give the pork skin time in the curry pot; it should be soft and jelly-like, soaking up the sauce.

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Leung cha (Cantonese herbal tea)

Across Guangdong and Hong Kong, the leung cha shop with its gleaming brass urns is a neighbourhood fixture. People drop in after a run of fried food, late nights or the heavy, humid weather of early summer, when Cantonese tradition says the body has too much 'heat', and down a bowl standing at the counter, then chase it with a dried plum. Brews range from the gentle 'five-flower tea' to fiercely bitter 24-herb mixes. This home version uses dried mesona (sin cho), prunella spike (ha fu cho), chrysanthemum and honeysuckle: dark brown, earthy and grassy, clearly bitter but rounded by the flowers and a little rock sugar. The common mistake is boiling everything together for an hour; the flowers turn harsh and muddy. Simmer the woody herbs first, add the flowers only for the last 10 minutes. It is ready when the liquor is the colour of strong tea and has reduced by about a third. It is traditionally drunk for comfort, not as medicine: skip it in pregnancy and check with a doctor if you take regular medication. Chef's tip: buy herbs pre-weighed as a packet from a Chinese herbalist, who will rinse-check them for grit and freshness.

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Hong Kong red bean iceRed bean shaved ice

Red bean ice is a cha chaan teng drink and dessert in one: tall glasses of sweet stewed adzuki beans, sugar syrup and crushed ice, topped with a layer of evaporated milk, served all summer at the old-school cafés of Sham Shui Po and Mong Kok and at the dai pai dong on Stanley Street. You stir with a long spoon, sip the cold milky liquid through a straw and spoon up the soft beans. The beans can be cooked a day ahead. Contains milk. Chef's tip: add the sugar only once the beans are completely soft; sugar added early keeps the skins tough.

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ZhaliangRice noodle roll with fried dough

In Hong Kong dim sum halls and congee shops, zhaliang is a morning favourite: a fried dough stick wrapped in a slippery steamed rice noodle sheet, cut into pieces and doused in sweet soy, with hoisin and sesame paste or seeds on the side. The joy is the contrast between soft and crisp. The mistake is wrapping a stale dough stick; re-crisp it in the oven first, or it turns leathery inside the sheet. Store-bought dough sticks sometimes contain egg or milk, so check the label for a vegan plate. Chef's tip: steam the rice sheets in a lightly oiled tin no thicker than 2 mm, and roll them round the dough stick while still hot so they cling.

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Satay beef instant noodles

In Hong Kong's cha chaan teng diners, the morning set often means a bowl of instant noodles in clear broth topped with tender beef in a sweet, peanutty satay sauce, eaten with a buttered bun and a cup of milk tea. Restaurants use a jarred Chinese satay paste; this quick home sauce gets close with peanut butter and curry powder. The usual mistake is putting cold beef in a crowded pan, which makes it stew grey; fry it hot and fast in one layer. Chef's tip: a pinch of bicarbonate of soda in the marinade makes the beef silky and tender, the cha chaan teng way.

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GodrogodroCoconut rice flour sweet

Along the northern coast around Antsiranana, and down to Mahajanga, godrogodro is a festival and family-celebration sweet, cut into diamonds and passed round at weddings, circumcision ceremonies and the New Year. Coconut milk, rice flour and dark sugar are stirred for the best part of an hour until the mixture thickens, darkens and pulls away from the pan, then it sets into a dense, sliceable fudge-like block, fragrant with vanilla and cardamom. It is rich, so small squares with a cup of tea are plenty. Stopping too early is the mistake to avoid: undercooked godrogodro stays sticky and pale and will not hold a clean edge. Chef's tip: use a heavy, non-stick pan and a flat wooden spatula that scrapes the whole base, and keep stirring as it thickens, as the bottom scorches easily.

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Mofo akondroBanana fritters

Wherever bananas pile up on market tables, from Toamasina on the east coast to the roadside stalls near Moramanga, someone is frying mofo akondro to sell warm in twists of paper. Ripe banana is cut into thick slices, dipped in a soft, vanilla-scented batter of flour, egg and milk, and fried until the coating puffs and crisps while the fruit inside turns jammy and sweet. Children love them after school, and they make an easy dessert with a dusting of sugar. Underripe bananas are the common mistake: they stay starchy and sour, so wait until the skins are well freckled with brown. Chef's tip: let the batter rest for 10 minutes before you dip, so the flour hydrates and the coating clings evenly instead of sliding off in the oil.

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