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Sambal oelek
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Sambal oelek

Every Indonesian kitchen has an ulekan, the flat stone mortar that gives sambal oelek its name, and this is the most basic thing ground in it: fresh red chillies and salt, pounded to a coarse, wet, fiery mash. It's the foundation many cooks start from, stirred into fried rice and soups, spooned beside every meal at warung tables nationwide, and the base for more complex cooked sambals. Making it fresh tastes brighter and fruitier than any jar. Chef's tip: wear gloves and pound rather than blitz if you can — crushing releases the oils and gives a juicier, more fragrant sambal than chopping blades.

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Marranitas

Breakfast stalls along Cali's busy streets and the bakeries of the Valle del Cauca fry marranitas all morning: green plantain, half-fried, pounded while hot and shaped around a nugget of crunchy pork chicharrón, then fried again until crisp and golden. The name means 'little piglets', after the pork inside. The outside shatters, the plantain layer is dense and starchy and the crackling gives a salty, porky crunch in the middle. Eat them hot with a mug of coffee or hot chocolate, or as a snack with ají and hogao for dipping. The plantains must be truly green and hard; yellowing ones turn sweet and sticky and won't hold a crisp shell. Chef's tip: pound the plantain the moment it comes out of the first fry, using a little warm salted water on your hands; once it cools it stiffens and cracks when you shape it.

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Pepas de membrillo

Pepas are the little round cookies with a jewel of quince jam in the middle that Argentine kiosks sell by the bag and grandmothers keep in a tin for the mate round. They are tender and crumbly, not crisp, with just enough sugar that the tart, dark membrillo stands out. Children love pressing the thumbprint and filling it, which makes them a good first baking job, and they keep for a week in an airtight jar. Kiosk versions are often made with margarine; butter tastes far better. Overbaking is the usual problem: take them out while the tops are still pale and only the bottoms are golden, because they firm up as they cool. Chef's tip: use quince paste softened with a spoonful of hot water and pipe it from a small bag; a spoon leaves smears on the dough that burn.

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Bizcochos de achira

Achira is a canna plant whose root gives a fine, silky starch, and in Huila and Tolima it becomes bizcochos: crunchy, cheesy little sticks and rings that dissolve on the tongue. They are sold in long plastic bags at roadside stands near Neiva, Altamira and the Magdalena valley, and they travel everywhere as a snack with coffee or a cold drink. Look for achira flour in Colombian shops; arrowroot powder is the nearest substitute, while tapioca starch gives a chewier result. The cheese is traditionally a dry, aged curd made with animal rennet, so pick a vegetarian hard cheese. The usual mistake is pulling them from the oven too early: they look done but go soft as they cool. Chef's tip: bake them right through until dry and only lightly coloured; they should snap cleanly once cold.

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Batatas al rescoldo

Long after the meat comes off, the fire of an Argentine asado still has work to do. Sweet potatoes pushed into the glowing embers (el rescoldo) at the start of the cook come out an hour later with charred, papery skins and flesh that is soft, sticky and almost caramelised, with a smoky edge. They are split open at the table, filled with butter and coarse salt and eaten as a side to the asado or as supper by the fire on a camping trip. Burying them in live flames is the trap: the skin blackens right through while the inside stays hard, so wait for a bed of settled embers and ash. Wrapping them in foil gives softer skins and less risk if you are new to it, and an oven at 200 °C does a fine job indoors. Chef's tip: choose sweet potatoes of the same thickness, around 250 g each, so they cook evenly together.

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Arroz de lisa

Carnival in Barranquilla isn't complete without a plate of arroz de lisa, and the market at Barranquillita and the old neighbourhoods around it sell it every day: salted, dried mullet from the Ciénaga Grande, soaked, shredded and cooked into rice with sweet peppers, onion, tomato and achiote. The rice comes out loose, orange and deeply savoury, with flakes of fish all the way through. It is served with bollo de yuca, fried ripe plantain or a simple tomato and onion salad. Plan ahead: the salted fish needs a day's soaking in the fridge. Skipping enough soaking is the usual downfall; the rice ends up far too salty, so taste a flake of the fish before you cook and keep soaking if it is still sharp. Chef's tip: if you can't find salted mullet, salt cod from any fishmonger works well, and use the poaching water for the rice only after tasting it.

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Cañoncitos de dulce de leche

Look at the tray of facturas in any Argentine panadería and the little cannons are easy to spot: flaky tubes of puff pastry, baked around metal moulds and filled from both ends with dulce de leche, then finished with a snowfall of icing sugar. They come from the Italian cannoncini, but here the filling is almost always dulce de leche. Each bite is crisp, buttery and shattering on the outside with a dense, caramel middle, and they sit on the Sunday table next to medialunas and bolas de fraile. Undercooking is the problem to avoid: pale pastry goes soft as soon as the filling goes in, so bake until it is a deep gold all over. Use all-butter puff pastry, and metal cannoli or cream-horn tubes (or rolls of foil). Chef's tip: wrap the strips without stretching them, overlapping each turn by a third; stretched pastry shrinks in the oven and the tubes split.

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Papas a la provenzal

Bodegones, the old-school Buenos Aires canteens with jamón hanging from the ceiling and waiters in white jackets, serve mountains of papas fritas, and the upgrade everyone orders is "a la provenzal": crisp chips tossed while still sizzling in a mix of finely chopped raw garlic and parsley. The heat of the potatoes takes the edge off the garlic, so it turns fragrant rather than fiery, and the parsley stays bright green. They go with milanesas, grilled steak or a plate of fried eggs. Adding the garlic to the frying oil is the error many make: it burns in seconds and turns bitter; it goes on only after frying. This method fries the chips twice for a crunch that lasts; for an oven version, toss the chips with 3 tbsp oil and roast at 220 °C for 35 minutes, turning once, then dress them the same way. Chef's tip: rinse and dry the cut potatoes very well; surface starch and water are what make chips limp.

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Arroz atollado

Cali's cooks say the rice should be 'atollado', stuck in the mud: wet, creamy and spoonable, somewhere between a risotto and a thick soup. It is the Valle del Cauca's Sunday and paseo dish, cooked in a big pot by the river or for a crowd at home, with chicken, pork, Colombian chorizo and two kinds of potato all simmered into the rice, the whole thing coloured orange-gold with achiote. The papa criolla melts and gives the body; the meats give a deep, porky savour. Serve it straight from the pot with ripe avocado, fried plantain and a squeeze of lime, and don't wait: it keeps thickening as it stands. People often rinse the rice or use long-grain, which gives separate grains; medium-grain, unrinsed, keeps it creamy. Chef's tip: hold back a ladle of hot stock and stir it in just before serving to bring the rice back to that loose, muddy consistency.

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Morrones con huevo a la parrilla

While the meat rests on the cooler side of the parrilla, many asadores put halved red peppers cut side up over the coals, let them soften and char, then crack an egg into each one with a piece of cheese and a pinch of oregano. The pepper becomes a little dish: sweet, smoky and juicy, with a just-set egg and molten cheese in the middle. It is one of the classic starters at an Argentine asado, eaten with bread before the steak arrives, and it makes a good vegetarian main for anyone who skips the meat. The mistake is cracking the egg into a raw pepper: the egg overcooks before the pepper softens, so grill the shells first. Cook until the white is completely set. Queso cremoso or mozzarella is usually made with animal rennet; pick a vegetarian one if needed. Chef's tip: cover the peppers with a foil tent or a lid once the egg goes in; the trapped heat sets the top of the egg without burning the base.

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Pasta frola

Pasta frola came to the River Plate with Italian immigrants (it is a cousin of the crostata), and it is now the tart every Argentine kitchen keeps on the counter for afternoon mate. The crust is short and cakey rather than crisp, scented with lemon zest and vanilla, and the filling is dulce de membrillo melted down into a spreadable jam; dulce de batata is the other classic. Bakeries in Buenos Aires sell it by the square and it keeps for days in a tin, getting better on the second day. The lattice strips should be thin and slightly wider apart than you think, so the dark filling shows through. A common slip is to spread the quince paste straight from the block: it will not spread, it tears the base and it turns leathery in the oven, so loosen it first with a little hot water. Chef's tip: chill the lined tin and the cut strips for 15 minutes before baking, so the lattice keeps its shape instead of slumping into the filling.

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Butifarra soledeña

Around Barranquilla, the street call of 'butifarra, butifarra' comes from vendors pushing carts out of Soledad, the town that made these little sausages famous; there's even a festival for them every July. They are small, round links of beef and pork seasoned with nothing more than salt and plenty of black pepper, boiled rather than grilled, so they stay tender, juicy and pale. Sellers squeeze lime over them and hand them out with a bollo de yuca, a firm steamed cassava roll. They are simple, peppery and a little sour from the lime. Using lean meat is the usual mistake: without the pork fat they turn dry and grainy. Chef's tip: tie the links into small, round balls about 4 cm across and boil them gently; a rolling boil splits the casings.

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Bolas de fraile

Friars' balls, to translate them literally, are a fixture of the Buenos Aires panadería counter among the facturas that porteños buy by the dozen on Sunday morning: soft, round yeast doughnuts, fried golden, rolled in sugar and split or piped with dulce de leche or crema pastelera. Children dive for them first. Inside they are light and fluffy, outside slightly crisp and sweet, and they are at their best within a few hours, with mate or coffee with milk. Oil that is too hot is the mistake: the outsides brown in seconds and the centres stay raw and doughy, so keep it at 170 °C and fry slowly. A thermometer helps a lot. Pastry cream is the other classic filling if you prefer it. Chef's tip: let the shaped balls rise on individual squares of baking paper and slide them into the oil on the paper; they keep their round shape and the paper peels off after a few seconds.

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Pastelitos criollos

Every 25 May, when Argentina marks the 1810 revolution, bakeries and school kitchens from Buenos Aires to Tucumán turn out trays of pastelitos: two squares of flaky dough stacked into a star, filled with dulce de membrillo or dulce de batata, fried until the layers fan open and then dipped in syrup. They are eaten warm with mate or hot chocolate, shattering crisp outside and sticky in the middle. Lard is the traditional fat in both the dough and the frying pan; this version uses butter or vegetable shortening for laminating and sunflower oil for frying, so it stays vegetarian. Expect a hard but rewarding job: the dough is folded like a quick puff pastry. Oil that is too hot is the classic error, browning the outside before the inner layers have opened, so keep it around 160 °C. Chef's tip: pinch the four corners of the top square down onto the gaps of the bottom one and press with a wet fingertip, or the star unfolds in the oil and the filling leaks.

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Pan dulce

No Argentine Christmas Eve table is complete without a pan dulce, set out at midnight with turrón, nuts and a cold cider for the adults. The bread is the River Plate take on Genoese pandolce and Milanese panettone: a tall, buttery yeast dough scented with orange blossom and lemon, packed with candied fruit, raisins and walnuts. The crumb is closer and moister than panettone, and it keeps for a week wrapped in a cloth. Allow a long day, as the dough has a sponge and two rises. Some bakers soak the fruit in rum or sweet wine; here it is soaked in orange juice, so the bread is alcohol-free. People often add the fruit at the start of kneading, which shreds the gluten and gives a heavy, sunken loaf; work it in only once the dough is silky. Chef's tip: bake it in a tall paper mould or a 16 cm tin lined with a collar of baking paper, and turn it upside down onto a rack for the first 20 minutes of cooling so the top does not sink.

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Rondón

The English-speaking Raizal islanders of San Andrés and Providencia call it rundown, and it is cooked for a crowd on weekends and at beach gatherings: coconut milk boiled down until it 'runs down' and starts to release its oil, with cassava, green plantain, breadfruit or sweet potato, flour dumplings, salted pig tail and, on top, fish and conch steamed in the creamy broth. Pork appears as the salted tail, which seasons the pot. The broth is rich, coconut-sweet and herby with thyme, with a perfume of whole Scotch bonnet that gives aroma rather than fire as long as it doesn't burst. Start the day before: the pig tail needs overnight soaking. A common mistake is stirring once the fish goes in, which breaks it up; layer it and let the steam do the work. Chef's tip: queen conch is protected in much of the Caribbean, so buy only legally sourced frozen conch, or swap in large raw prawns added with the fish.

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Rosca de Pascua

Argentine Easter Sunday breakfast centres on the rosca de Pascua, a ring of soft, orange-scented brioche-like dough laid with stripes of pastry cream, candied cherries and pearl sugar, with whole boiled eggs pressed into the dough as a symbol of new life. Bakeries in every barrio stack them in the window from Holy Thursday, and families share it with coffee or mate after the Easter egg hunt. The crumb is fluffy and pale yellow, and the custard bakes into soft, golden ridges. Because the eggs bake for 30 minutes on top of their boiling, they are fully cooked; many people keep them for decoration and peel them later. The mistake to avoid is piping the pastry cream too thick, which slides off as the ring rises; thin lines give neat ridges. Chef's tip: cook the custard until it is very thick and chill it before piping, and brush the ring with egg before (not after) the cream goes on.

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Encocado de pescado

Fishing towns of the Colombian Pacific, from Buenaventura's Pueblo Nuevo market to the stilt houses of Tumaco, cook their catch in coconut milk scraped from fresh coconuts, with a refrito of onion, peppers and garlic and the coast's wild herbs: chillangua (culantro), poleo and oregano cimarrón. Encocado is lighter and more herbal than many coconut stews, mild rather than hot, with the fish just cooked in a creamy, pale-orange sauce. It is eaten at lunch with white or coconut rice and patacones or boiled green plantain. Boiling the coconut milk hard after the fish goes in is the classic error: the sauce splits and the fillets toughen, so keep it at a gentle bubble. Chef's tip: culantro (sawtooth coriander) is sold in Asian and Caribbean shops; if you can't find it, use twice the amount of ordinary coriander plus a few mint leaves to stand in for poleo.

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Postre de natas

Postre de natas comes from colonial Santa Fe de Bogotá, when farm milk was boiled every day and the thick skins (natas) that formed on top were saved rather than wasted. Today it is a dessert for Christmas and family gatherings: soft, creamy ribbons of milk skin in a pale golden, cinnamon-scented custard dotted with raisins, served cold in small bowls. It takes patience rather than skill. Use full-fat, ideally non-homogenised milk, which forms thicker skins. Stirring the milk while the natas form is the common slip: it breaks them up so nothing can be lifted off. Older recipes add a splash of brandy or sherry; this one leaves it out. Chef's tip: lift each skin with a slotted spoon into a bowl and keep going; the more natas you collect, the more texture the dessert has. Chill for at least 4 hours before serving.

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