Sweden

Twice a day, work stops for fika: coffee and a cardamom or cinnamon bun, taken slowly and in company, a ritual so ingrained it is practically law. Everyday Swedish cooking — husmanskost — is built for comfort through a long winter, and köttbullar, the small meatballs the world thinks it already knows, are the real article here, with a brown cream gravy, pressed potatoes and a spoon of tart lingonberry jam.

The rest is the sea and the seasons. Pickled herring appears in a dozen guises across the smörgåsbord, alongside cured gravlax and dense dark bread; come August, friends gather for kräftskivor, crayfish parties fuelled by snaps and increasingly wobbly drinking songs. The nerviest bite of all is surströmming, fermented Baltic herring so pungent the tin is cracked open outdoors at arm's length. And modern Sweden happily eats the world — the kebab pizza, of all things, is a proud local invention.