Sun, salt and sand: the best beach food from around the world
Coconuts, watermelon … hot doughnuts? We asked five globetrotting chefs for their most memorable seaside eats
Picture a high-summer day at a far-flung beach: the faint putter of lapping waves, drifting plume of suncream scent, and the approaching call of a food hawker making their way across the molten sand. What would you expect, or want, them to be selling? Though cold drinks, fresh fruit and miraculously unmelted ice-creams feel universal, the street snacks and beachside dishes that we crave vary wildly across countries and cultures.
So what pairs best with open water and a coastal breeze all around the world? What should you be on the lookout for when holidaying this summer? And what should you avoid? Here, from custard doughnuts in Portugal and chilli-spiked Mexican coconut pulp to flash-fried red mullet in Cyprus, five chefs fly the flag for the culturally distinct, freshly prepared beach dishes that they spend the whole year craving.
INDIA
Barbecued sweetcorn (pictured top)
Karan Gokani, chef, cookbook author and founder of Hoppers
“Mumbai is a coastal city that was, in fact, seven islands that were joined together. So there are beaches – which tend to be quite crowded and not really sunbathing spots – but the sea plays a huge role. In a weird way, it resets me, and whether I’m in Sri Lanka, the Maldives, Thailand or India, I always go back once or twice a year to get that clarity.
For me, when I think of food by the water, I always go to sweetcorn in monsoon season. Near Marine Drive, a curved coastal road that’s one of the most iconic in Mumbai, you’ll find a small beach and these weird, giant tripod rocks that dot the sea-line. People walk there in the evening, sit in front of the water and, during monsoons, you’d have these ladies sitting at small, charcoal stoves, almost squatting down with umbrellas over them, and they’d have a big heap of corn that they’d peel and roast to order. Now it’s often imported corn, but back in the day it would be local and seasonal. To finish it off, the ladies take a piece of lime that has been cut and dipped into a salt and chilli mix, and they’d scrub that lime across the hot corn.
Now, things have become slightly westernised and some of them will give you versions with butter and cheese. But the old-school way is just freshly grilled corn on the cob, lime and chilli. It’s the simplest food but it’s something that takes me back instantly.”
BRAZIL
Crab and banana pastels
Ixta Belfrage, chef and recipe developer
“Brazil is vast and has different beach eating traditions all across the country – in Rio you get platters of grilled prawns and oysters; milho, which is steamed corn in a cup; and guys with mini grills making skewers of queijo coalho, a curd cheese similar to halloumi. Personally, I don’t see the appeal of eating a hot stick of cheese on a boiling day, and I wouldn’t want to eat seafood or oysters that had been out in the sun. So I tend to look to Salvador, in the north-east of the country, where there’s a bigger African influence and totally different traditions. One is called pamonha, which is a bit like a tamale: cornmeal filled with meat or cheese, wrapped in corn husks or banana leaves, and steamed. It’s got that sticky, chewy, gently steamed texture and the fragrance of the corn husk or banana. If there’s someone selling pamonha on the beach, with some hot sauce, then I’m going straight for that.
But one of the things I really love is pastel, which are almost like fried pasties filled with meat or cheese. One of the most delicious things I can remember eating last year, when I was at a beach bar in Brazil, was a crab and banana pastel. Banana is commonly eaten with savoury food in Brazil and that combo was sensational. That, plus some hot sauce and a Guarana, the cherry-flavoured national soft drink of Brazil, is unbeatable.”
PORTUGAL
Custard doughnuts
Marcelo Rodrigues, head chef at Primeur, London
“The whole perception of eating egg custard doughnuts, or what we call bolas de berlim, at the beach feels wrong. Like, who would want a big doughnut on a hot day? But the first time you’re on the beach, you go for a swim, and you see these Portuguese fellas with massive bags, shouting: “Bolas de berlim! Bolas de berlim!” and try one, you’ll be hooked. They’re so fluffy, eggy and sugary, and I think maybe some of the saltiness on your lips from the sea just means it makes even more sense.
The story behind them is that a lot of German Jews came to Portugal during the second world war, and one of these families started doing the kind of pastries that they made back home. It’s a German-style doughnut, really, which is where the name comes from: bola de berlim or “Berlin doughnut”. They’re something you’ll now find all over Portugal but especially along the coast near Lisbon.
I come from a very humble background, so if we ever had one, it would have been just one that we shared between four of us. These days they’re filled with chocolate and stuff like that but, traditionally, it’s creamed eggs with sugar and milk – a kind of egg sauce. The things that make me nostalgic about the beaches back home in Portugal are egg cream bolas de berlim, or maybe slurping up snails with a lot of garlic and oregano.
I often wonder what the people who sell bolas de berlim do for the rest of the year. From May to September they’ll be hustling on sunny beaches, walking on sand with heavy stuff, carrying very fresh doughnuts. Where do they come from? How do they do it? Even for me, it’s a mystery, but that only adds to the excitement.”
MEXICO
Fresh coconut pulp
Adriana Cavita, chef and founder of Cavita, London
“There are so many different things that we eat at the beach, wherever you go in Mexico, whether it’s prawn skewers, fruits or empanadas. And you’ll often find ceviche with tostada at little stalls and restaurants, in different styles, whether you’re on the west coast or the east. Sometimes you can find oysters, just with drops of lime and a Valentina-style hot sauce, but I think my favourite thing to have on the beach in Mexico is fresh coconut pulp.
It’s something you’ll get at most beaches but especially on the Pacific coast, in places like Jalisco. When you’re on the beach, and it’s so hot, you’ll see these women, sometimes walking barefoot and carrying their kids, selling the coconuts. First they make a hole in the top, you drink the water with a straw and then, when you’ve finished, they cut the coconut in half, scoop up the pulp, ask you whether you want lime or salt and check how spicy you want it. Sometimes it will be a chilli powder or a homemade hot sauce, and you either scoop it up with your fingers or use a toothpick.
And that’s it: you look out at the sea and eat this sweet, spicy, acidic pulp. It’s the kind of thing I crave a lot when I’m in the UK because you cannot find it anywhere. It’s super simple but super fresh – exactly what you want when it’s warm.”
ANTIGUA
Seasoned rice
Kareem Roberts, chef and cookbook author
“If you’re talking about the quintessential beachside dish in Antigua, then it’s often fried fresh, served in foil and simply dressed, but I have a more intimate connection to beachside cookery. I grew up next to a fishing village, and a lot of the best things you can experience in the Caribbean aren’t things we would necessarily position for tourists. They’re for locals. So as much as I could send you to go and get fresh coconut water or something, the real Antiguan experience is a dish we call seasoned rice.
It’s a one-pot, seafood rice dish, but for it truly to be seasoned rice the one ingredient that has to be in there is salted pork. Some people add salt fish, some people add beans, and I’ve had it before with octopus, cockles and pigeon peas. But without the pork it’s not seasoned rice, and becomes something called cook-up rice. If you’re a tourist in Antigua, I would encourage you to go and find these dishes – they’re accessible if you look for them.
There’s one cook-up rice in particular that I can still remember: the chewiness of the octopus, the fluffiness of the rice, the wilted local spinach and the specific notes of the seasoning peppers. It’s the kind of thing that you’ll find by a beachside vendor or restaurant, served in a styrofoam container with a plastic fork that you think might melt in the heat. If it’s on a plate, it ain’t right! Let me tell you, it’s a nap right after, but it is the authentic way we eat in Antigua. Something real, rather than something performed.
CYPRUS
Fried red mullet
Hasan Semay, chef, presenter and cookbook author
“When I think of eating by the water in Turkey and Cyprus, one of my first thoughts is the mackerel sandwiches by the Bosphorus in Istanbul. I think what actually makes it so special is the way that your other senses heighten your tastebuds – it’s the sea breeze on the air, the mountains of fresh mackerel, watching these men cook on rocking, moored boats and that specific, oily fish smell of the mackerel as it renders on the plancha. A warm piece of crusty bread, the oil from the mackerel soaking into sliced lettuce and onions; being encouraged to drink pickle juice and garnish how you want. I remember when I first ate one, there was this moment of serenity, as if all the commotion and street vendors had stopped, and I just enjoyed the food.
When it comes to Cyprus, it’s a difficult one because growing up dual nationality [Semay has both British and Turkish-Cypriot heritage], I had a dad whose whole thing was that everything revolves around Cyprus – the best olive oil, the best tomatoes, the best everything all comes from Cyprus. But there are things that remind me of going back there as a kid, covered in salt water, with fresh, peeling sunburn on my shoulders and going to a backside restaurant for fresh red mullet. The fish came from a man selling them out of a bucket – they were lightly coated in semolina or cornmeal, and you could either get them grilled or deep-fried.
If you go to a Michelin-starred restaurant, red mullet can cost you quite a bit of money but, in these places, where the fish swims in the sea next to you, they’re quite cheap. And I think it’s one of the only fish that, if you fry or grill it, it gives you that smell and taste of prawn shells smoking over a barbecue. I just think of those pieces of red mullet, stacked on top of each other and almost hissing from the grill, eaten with a quarter of an onion, some rocket, salt and lemon juice. And I think of my dad with his deep, tanned summer complexion, fish grease and lemon juice on his hands and face, just groaning with pleasure as he attacks this plate of fried fish.”
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