The Kitchen
Everything here is a real recipe with real temperatures. Nothing needs a restaurant kitchen — a pan, an oven, and something to drink while you wait.
23 showing · 444 plates · 15 drinks
Blended while the chickpeas are still hot, so it comes out pale and whipped instead of gritty. Then buried under harissa oil, crisp chickpeas, pickled onion and pine nuts.
From behind the bar: Blend the chickpeas hot, straight out of the pot. Cold chickpeas give you sandy hummus and no amount of extra tahini fixes it later.
Built in two layers so the middle isn't a dry disappointment. Cashew queso that actually pours, chipotle black beans, and enough pickled jalapeno to wake you up. Eat it standing.
From behind the bar: The cornstarch is not optional. Without it the cashew sauce breaks into grit the second it hits the oven and you get nacho soup.
Boiled, flattened, roasted until the edges shatter. Cold cashew crema, a heavy spoon of chili crisp, scallions. Cheapest thing in the kitchen and it still outsells half the menu.
From behind the bar: Salt the boiling water like pasta water. Potatoes seasoned only on the outside taste hollow no matter how much chili crisp you pile on.
ส้มตำเจ (som tam jay) · Bangkok
Papaya pounded with garlic, chili, lime and long beans. The jay version swaps soy for fish sauce and drops the dried shrimp. It is on every jay menu in Bangkok, not a workaround.
Where you'd actually eat it: Jay shops flying the yellow-and-red flag, all over Yaowarat and around markets citywide, plus every som tam cart that will make it to order. Beer, ice, no ceremony.
From behind the bar: Order som tam thai and you get dried shrimp; som tam pu gets fermented crab and pla ra. Only the jay version is meat-free. Strict jay also drops the garlic.
ผัดผักบุ้งไฟแดง เจ (phat phak bung fai daeng jay) · Bangkok
Water spinach thrown into a wok hot enough to scare you, out in ninety seconds, stems still squeaking. The jay version leans on fermented soybean instead of oyster sauce.
Where you'd actually eat it: Every open-front shophouse with a wok on the sidewalk, and jay shops during the October vegetarian festival. Beer over ice, ordered by the bucket.
From behind the bar: The standard shophouse version uses oyster and fish sauce. Vegan mushroom sauce plus tao jiao gets the same salty-funky base, and jay kitchens do exactly this.
Barbunya Pilaki · Istanbul
Borlotti beans stewed slow in olive oil with carrot and tomato, then served cold. Sweet, soft, entirely unglamorous, and on the tray at every meyhane in the city.
Where you'd actually eat it: Standing item on the cold meze tray from Beyoğlu to Kadıköy, and in every zeytinyağlı case at a lokanta. Raki, which it soaks up better than most.
From behind the bar: Use more olive oil than feels sensible. Pilaki is defined by the oil setting into the sauce as it cools — cut it back and you get a wet bean stew.
Topik · Istanbul
Chickpea and potato shell wrapped around a tahini, onion and currant filling, cinnamon dusted over the top. Armenian Lenten food that became an Istanbul meze. Cold, sweet-savory, strange, correct.
Where you'd actually eat it: Armenian meyhanes and delis around Kurtuluş and Samatya, and the Lenten table in March. Raki, cold, and one wedge per person is usually enough.
From behind the bar: Traditionally the shell is made from soaked raw chickpeas peeled by hand. Cooked chickpeas and a processor get you 90 percent of the way in a fraction of the time.
Batatas a murro · Lisbon
Small potatoes baked in coarse salt, then hit with the heel of your hand until they split, and drowned in garlic olive oil. A murro is a punch. That is the entire technique and the entire name.
Where you'd actually eat it: Honestly a side, sent out with grilled fish or bacalhau in every tasca, but it holds its own on a shared table with red wine. Nobody calls it vegan; it just is.
From behind the bar: Use small potatoes, not medium ones cut down. The point is a whole crusted skin holding a split center, and a cut potato has no skin to hold it.
Favas guisadas · Lisbon
Broad beans stewed down in onion, garlic, white wine and coriander until they collapse a little. Spring food, eaten with bread. The tasca version has chouriço in it; this is the one Portuguese vegans actually make.
Where you'd actually eat it: Spring menus in tascas around Campo de Ourique and Alvalade, in a bowl with bread. A copo of tinto, or vinho verde if it is warm.
From behind the bar: Put the coriander in twice: stems during the simmer, leaves off the heat at the end. Coriander cooked the whole way through tastes of nothing.
chips and curry sauce · London
Double-fried chips under thick yellow chip-shop curry sauce. Not a starter and not a side. This is the thing you eat after the drinking, out of paper, standing up.
Where you'd actually eat it: Chip shop on the walk home, or a pub with a proper fryer and no shame. Wrapped in paper, eaten standing, and it will be the last clear memory of the night.
From behind the bar: Most chip shop curry sauce is vegan, but some brands carry milk powder or ghee. Read the tub before you assume anything.
patatas bravas · Madrid
Madrid brava sauce has no tomato and no ketchup. It is oil, flour, onion, and two kinds of pimentón, orange-red and quietly aggressive. Anything else is a different city's dish.
Where you'd actually eat it: Docamar in Ciudad Lineal since 1963 and Las Bravas near Sol are the reference points. Ordered with a caña, shared, always the first thing on the table.
From behind the bar: Many Madrid bars build the sauce on ham broth, which makes it not vegan. Vegetable broth gives the same texture and near enough the flavor — the pimentón is doing the talking.
espinacas con garbanzos · Madrid
Chickpeas and spinach thickened with fried bread, spiked with cumin and sherry vinegar. Lent food that stayed on the bar menu because it is better than most of the meat.
Where you'd actually eat it: Sevillian by birth and nobody pretends otherwise, but it sits on Madrid tapas boards year round and heaviest in Lent. Old tabernas and market bars, red wine or a caña, midday, standing.
From behind the bar: Squeeze the spinach properly dry before it goes back in. Wet leaves turn the whole thing to soup and mashed chickpea will not save it.
Tlacoyos de frijol con nopales · Mexico City
Blue masa ovals stuffed with beans, cooked on a comal, topped with cactus and salsa. Griddle food from women working the sidewalk, eaten wherever you stand.
Where you'd actually eat it: Comal stands outside metro entrances and near pulquerías, busiest in the morning and again at dusk. With pulque, or a bag of agua de horchata from the next stall.
From behind the bar: Street tlacoyos usually get queso, and the beans are often cooked in lard. If you want it vegan you have to make it yourself or ask, plainly.
zucchine in carpione · Milan
Zucchini fried, then drowned in hot vinegar with onion, garlic and sage and left overnight. Lombard preservation trick from before refrigeration. Sharp, cold, and built for a hot evening.
Where you'd actually eat it: Summer antipasto in osterie with a courtyard, dragged out of the fridge already made. Chilled Lugana, and bread for the marinade.
From behind the bar: Glass or ceramic only. Metal and vinegar overnight is a metallic-tasting mistake.
farinata di ceci · Milan
Chickpea flour, water, olive oil and salt, rested and baked screaming hot until the top blisters and the inside stays custardy. Ligurian by birth, sold by the slice all over Milan.
Where you'd actually eat it: Genoese by origin and honest about it, but sold by the slice in Milan's pizzerie al trancio and friggitorie. Hot, heavily peppered, with a beer.
From behind the bar: The rest is not optional — unrested batter tastes raw and chalky. Thin layer, brutal heat, that is the whole recipe.
cipolline in agrodolce · Milan
Flat borettane onions braised down in vinegar, sugar and oil until glossy and translucent. They sit in the pickle bowl on every bar counter in Lombardy, free with the drink.
Where you'd actually eat it: In the free pickle bowls on the counter alongside the olives and the chips. Sharp enough to reset your mouth between a Campari and the next one.
From behind the bar: If the glaze tightens before the onions soften, add a splash of water. If the onions soften first, lift them out and reduce the liquid alone.
fagioli borlotti in insalata (fasoeu) · Milan
Borlotti cooked soft with sage and garlic, dressed warm with red onion, oil and vinegar. Osteria antipasto, costs nothing, permanently on the table. Do not overthink it.
Where you'd actually eat it: Osteria antipasto in the cheap places that have not been renovated. Barbera or Bonarda, bread, no ceremony, no plating.
From behind the bar: Canned borlotti work: rinse, warm them gently in oil with sage and garlic, then dress. Do not skip warming, or the dressing sits on top instead of soaking in.
Poireaux vinaigrette · Paris
Leeks poached soft, pressed dry, drowned in sharp mustard vinaigrette and served cold. Bistro cooking at its most stubborn. Cheap vegetable, expensive attention.
Where you'd actually eat it: On the entrées list at every prix-fixe bistro in Paris, and reworked as a small plate in the 11th. A dry Loire white handles the vinegar.
From behind the bar: The classic bistro version often gets grated hard-boiled egg on top, which is fine but not vegan. Leave it off and add extra shallot.
Champignons à la grecque · Paris
Button mushrooms simmered in olive oil, white wine, lemon and coriander seed, then cooled in the liquid. Despite the name it is a French preparation. Cold, sharp, and it lasts a week.
Where you'd actually eat it: A traiteur-counter classic sold by weight, and back on wine bar slates as a cold vegetable plate. Aligoté or any lean white.
From behind the bar: Take it out of the fridge 30 minutes ahead. Cold olive oil goes cloudy and dull and the coriander disappears.
도토리묵무침 (dotorimuk-muchim) · Seoul
Wobbling slabs of acorn jelly, faintly bitter and almost flavorless on purpose, dressed with soy and chili and buried in shredded greens. Cold, clean, and built for rice wine.
Where you'd actually eat it: The standard order at mountain-foot drinking houses below Bukhansan and Gwanaksan, eaten with dongdongju after a hike. Also on every makgeolli bar menu in Jongno.
From behind the bar: Dress it at the last second. Acorn jelly weeps water within ten minutes and turns the whole plate into a soup.
콩나물무침 (kongnamul-muchim) · Seoul
Crunchy, nutty, salty, cold. It shows up free on the table before you have ordered, and by the third bottle it is the only thing anyone is still eating.
Where you'd actually eat it: Arrives unasked on every pocha table alongside the peanuts. Also the base of the hangover soup you will need in about nine hours.
From behind the bar: Soybean sprouts, not mung bean sprouts. Mung sprouts collapse in the pot and lose the crunch the whole dish is built on.
枝豆 (edamame) · Tokyo
The first thing ordered, always, before anyone has decided what they want. Salt on the outside, bean on the inside, empty pods stacking up as evidence.
Where you'd actually eat it: Ordered within eight seconds of sitting down, anywhere in Tokyo, with the first beer, before the menu is even open.
From behind the bar: Genuinely vegan as served — pods, water, salt. Nothing else goes in it, and no izakaya adds dashi.
茄子田楽 (nasu dengaku) · Tokyo
Eggplant halves roasted soft, painted with sweet dark miso and blistered under heat. Sweet, salty, silky. It gets ordered by whoever is drinking shochu.
Where you'd actually eat it: An izakaya with a charcoal grill, where the eggplant comes out blistered on the skin. Barley shochu, cut with hot water in winter.
From behind the bar: Save the leftover glaze. It keeps a month in the fridge and works on tofu, mushrooms and grilled leeks. Some shops thicken theirs with egg yolk — theirs is not vegan, yours is.