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Cheese blintzes
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Cheese blintzes

Cheese blintzes are the star of Shavuot breakfasts in Ashkenazi homes across Israel, and Jerusalem dairy cafés have served them for generations with soured cream and berry sauce. Thin crêpes, cooked on one side only, are wrapped around sweetened farmer cheese with lemon and vanilla, then fried in butter until crisp and golden outside and creamy within. Serve two per person with soured cream and a spoon of cherry or blueberry compote. Farmer cheese is usually rennet-free, but check the label and choose a vegetarian one. A common mistake is a wet filling: drain the cheese well or it leaks and the blintzes burst in the pan. Chef's tip: fill on the cooked side, so the pale raw side ends up outside and browns properly in the final fry.

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No plate of egg balls, phulourie or fried channa leaves a Guyanese stall without a spoonful of sour poured over it. This one is made with hard green mangoes boiled down with garlic, hot pepper, a little sugar and vinegar into a thin, tangy, fiery sauce, and families from Essequibo to Corentyne keep a bottle in the fridge through mango season. People often make it too thick, like jam; sour should pour easily and cling, not sit in a blob. Chef's tip: mash the cooked mango against the side of the pan rather than blending it, so you keep little soft threads of fruit through the sauce.

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Sit down at any mamak stall in Kuala Lumpur, Penang or Johor Bahru, from breakfast roti canai to the after-football supper at 1 a.m., and someone at the table will order teh halia. It is teh tarik's spicier cousin: dust-fine black tea is boiled with plenty of crushed ginger, mixed with condensed and evaporated milk, then 'pulled' between two mugs from arm's length until a thick froth forms. The result is sweet, creamy and malty, with a ginger heat that catches your throat, most loved on wet monsoon evenings. The common mistake is adding ginger to tea at the end; it then tastes raw and thin. Boil the ginger in the water first for several minutes so the heat goes into the liquid. It is ready when the tea is the colour of milky caramel and a dense froth a few centimetres high sits on top. This contains caffeine, so it is not for children. Chef's tip: practise pulling with water over the sink first, then start low and raise the mug slowly as you pour.

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Every banana tree in the Philippine countryside gives a heavy purple flower, and in Bicol, Batangas and the Visayas it is shredded and stewed in coconut milk as an everyday ulam for lunch with rice. The banana blossom has a tender, slightly flaky texture and soaks up the ginger, garlic and chilli. The traditional version includes shrimp or fish; this one is vegan. The usual mistake is skipping the salt rub: unrubbed banana blossom stays bitter and turns the sauce grey, so squeeze out its dark sap first. Chef's tip: keep the shredded blossom in water with a spoon of vinegar while you work, so it stays pale.

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Mula ko tarkariRadish curry

In the hills around Kathmandu and Pokhara, long white winter radishes are pulled with their leaves still on, and both go into this simple tarkari served beside dal-bhat. The radish is cut into thin batons and cooked down in mustard oil with a sizzle of fenugreek seed, turmeric and tingly timur pepper until it turns sweet and translucent, while the greens wilt in at the end. The usual mistake is adding too much water: radish releases plenty of its own juice, and extra water turns it into a bland soup. Chef's tip: let the fenugreek seeds turn dark brown, almost black, before the radish goes in; that toasty bitterness is what makes Nepali radish taste right.

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HalvasanMilk and cracked wheat sweet

Khambhat, the old port town at the head of the Gulf, is where halvasan comes from, and its sweet shops still sell the chewy, nutmeg-heavy rounds wrapped in paper to visitors from Ahmedabad and Vadodara. Milk is split so it turns grainy, then cooked down with soaked cracked wheat, ghee, sugar and a little puffed edible gum until it is dark gold and chewy, rather like a cross between a halwa and a barfi. The mistake to avoid is undercooking: if it is taken off while still soft and sticky, the rounds never set and turn greasy. Chef's tip: keep cooking until the mass rolls around the pan as one lump and a drop pressed between two fingers feels tacky but not wet.

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KuloloTaro and coconut pudding

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Kari gros poisButter bean curry

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Hinger kochuriUrad dal stuffed puffed bread

In Kolkata's sweetshops, Sunday breakfast often means hinger kochuri: soft, white-flour puris stuffed with a smear of urad dal paste perfumed strongly with hing, fried puffy and served with aloo dum or a sweet-sour pumpkin chhokka. They are smaller and softer than North Indian kachoris, closer to a stuffed luchi. The hing must be generous; it is the point of the dish. The common mistake is a wet filling, which steams the dough from inside and stops it puffing; cook the dal paste until it leaves the pan dry. Chef's tip: roll gently from the centre outwards so the thin filling layer stays even and the kochuri puffs all over.

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HinkejvuTaro and mustard leaf stew

Hinkejvu is a light Sumi Naga everyday dish from Nagaland's Zunheboto district, where colocasia, cabbage, mustard leaves and beans are simmered together with only ginger, chilli and salt. It is eaten with plain rice and a smoky chutney, often after a heavier meat dish the day before. The common mistake is adding oil or spices, which hides the clean vegetable flavour; Naga home cooking relies on the produce. Chef's tip: cook the colocasia until it starts to break and thicken the broth slightly.

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Gobi matar (cauliflower and peas)

In Punjab and Uttar Pradesh, winter means cauliflower and fresh peas, and gobi matar is what fills countless school and office dabbas between November and February. It is cooked dry, so the florets brown a little at the edges, sweetened by the peas and sharpened by plenty of ginger. The mistake is cooking the cauliflower covered with water until it is soft and smells of cabbage; steam it briefly in its own moisture, then fry it uncovered. Chef's tip: cut the florets so they have one flat side; that face sits on the pan and browns while the rest steams tender.

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Trà sen (lotus tea)

Every June and July, before sunrise, boats slip between the pink lotus on Hanoi's West Lake to gather flowers for trà sen. The finest lotus tea is made by stripping the tiny white rice-like anthers from hundreds of blooms and layering them with green tea, a labour that makes it one of Vietnam's most expensive gifts, kept for Tết. Families do a simpler version at home: a spoon of Thái Nguyên green tea is tucked into the heart of a fresh flower in the evening, the petals closed and tied, and by morning the leaves have taken on a sweet, creamy, slightly vanilla-like perfume. It is brewed in a small clay pot and drunk in tiny cups in the early morning. The common mistake is brewing with boiling water, which flattens the lotus scent and makes the green tea bitter. Rinse the leaves quickly and brew at 80–85 °C. It is ready when the cup is pale gold and the steam smells of flowers before tea. No fresh lotus? Buy ready-made lotus-scented tea from Vietnamese shops and start at the brewing step. Chef's tip: pick a bud that is just about to open; a fully open bloom has already lost its scent.

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Crudités

Crudités are how a French family lunch, a Paris bistro menu or a school canteen meal often begins: a plate of raw vegetables, each prepared on its own: grated carrot with lemon, crunchy radishes, cucumber slices and celery, dressed with a sharp mustardy vinaigrette. Crisp, cold vegetables taste so lively that very little salt is needed; with the small amount of mustard in the dressing this plate has about 0.3 g salt per portion. The usual mistake is dressing everything together in advance, which turns it watery and limp; dress each vegetable just before serving. Chef's tip: grate the carrots on the fine side of the grater and toss them with lemon first; they soften slightly and taste sweeter, the way French grandmothers make carottes râpées.

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Magic coffee

The magic is a Melbourne café insider's order, born in the city's Fitzroy and Collingwood coffee bars: a double ristretto (the short, intense first part of the espresso shot) topped with silky steamed milk in a 160 ml cup. It is stronger and sweeter-tasting than a flat white because there's less milk and only the richest part of the shot. A common mistake is scalding the milk; above about 65 °C it loses its natural sweetness. Chef's tip: stop the shot early, at about 30 ml for a double, to get that syrupy ristretto.

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Ipoh white coffee

Ipoh's old town kopitiams, with their marble tables and morning crowds queueing for kai si hor fun and egg tarts, gave Malaysia its 'white coffee'. The name comes not from milk but from the roast: beans are roasted with palm-oil margarine, lighter than the dark, sugar-roasted kopi of the rest of the country, then brewed and served with condensed milk. It is smoother and less bitter than ordinary kopi, nutty and buttery, pale caramel in the cup, drunk hot at breakfast or iced in the afternoon heat. At home, buy ground Ipoh-style white coffee from an Asian grocer; you cannot easily reproduce the margarine roast in a kitchen. The common mistake is brewing it like espresso: forced extraction makes it bitter and kills the soft, toasty flavour. Steep it in a cloth sock or a coffee filter with water just off the boil. It is ready when the brew is reddish-brown and clear, not inky. This is a strong coffee with real caffeine, not for children. Chef's tip: warm the cups with hot water first; white coffee cools fast and loses its aroma.

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Gremolata

Gremolata is the Milanese finishing touch spooned over ossobuco on Sunday tables across Lombardy, and it brightens any slow-cooked stew, roast vegetables, beans or grilled fish. Flat-leaf parsley, lemon zest and raw garlic are chopped together so finely that they become a fragrant green confetti; the fresh, sharp flavour wakes up a dish so much that you need far less salt. About 0.0 g salt per portion. The usual mistake is grating the white pith with the zest, which makes it bitter; take only the yellow skin. Make it no more than an hour ahead, as the garlic gets harsh and the parsley darkens. Chef's tip: chop the garlic first with a few parsley leaves, so the juice soaks into the herbs instead of sticking to the knife.

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Limau asam boi (lime with sour plum)

Order 'limau ais asam boi' at a kopitiam in Penang or a hawker centre in Kuala Lumpur at the hottest part of the afternoon and it arrives in a tall, sweating glass: freshly squeezed calamansi or small green limes, a little syrup, ice and one wrinkled, salted dried plum. The plum slowly leaches salt and fruity sourness into the drink, so every sip changes, starting bright and sweet and ending salty and tangy; you squash the plum with your straw halfway through for a stronger hit. It goes with char kway teow, nasi lemak or anything fried. The usual mistake is using bottled lime juice, which tastes flat and bitter against the plum. Squeeze fresh limes, and add the syrup gradually because asam boi is already salty-sweet. It is ready when the glass is frosted and the plum has started to plump up. Asam boi is sold in jars in Chinese and Southeast Asian groceries; Japanese umeboshi is saltier but works if you halve the amount. Chef's tip: make the lime-syrup base ahead and keep it cold, then pour over fresh ice only when you serve.

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Ají de arvejasPeas and potatoes in chilli sauce

Ají de arvejas is a homely Bolivian stew from La Paz and Cochabamba, cooked for weekday lunch or on Fridays and in Lent, when many families eat no meat. Green peas and potatoes simmer in a golden sauce of onion, tomato and ají amarillo (yellow chilli), and cubes of fresh white cheese are stirred in at the end so they soften without melting away. It is served with plain white rice and sometimes a boiled egg. Bolivian queso fresco is often made with animal rennet; for vegetarians, use a paneer or a fresh cheese labelled vegetarian. The usual mistake is boiling the cheese, which turns it rubbery. Chef's tip: cook the ají paste with the onion until it darkens slightly, which takes the raw edge off the chilli.

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Dan hong gaoGriddle egg cakes

On Chengdu's back streets, dan hong gao vendors work a row of tiny copper pans, pouring in a sweet egg batter, adding a spoon of filling and folding each cake in half like a soft taco. Breakfast-goers order a few with brown sugar and sesame, and a few with savoury fillings like pickled mustard greens. The mistake is a lid-less pan: the cakes must be covered so the top steams through while the base turns golden. A small 10–12 cm frying pan works at home. Chef's tip: let the batter rest 10 minutes after adding the raising agent so tiny bubbles form; the cakes come out spongy rather than flat.

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Thabdi pendaCaramelised milk pendas

Rajkot's sweet shops are famous across Gujarat for thabdi, a crumbly, toffee-brown penda that starts as plain milk and sugar and ends, two hours later, as something close to caramel fudge. The milk is boiled down in a wide iron kadai, a spoon of curd splits it slightly to give the trademark grainy texture, and the sugar browns slowly with it until the whole mass is the colour of milky tea. The usual mistake is rushing on high heat: the milk catches and tastes burnt rather than caramelised. Chef's tip: use a wide, heavy pan and a flat wooden spatula, and keep scraping the bottom and sides every minute once the milk is half reduced.

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Neer mor (spiced buttermilk)

From April to June, when Chennai and Madurai bake at forty degrees, temples, shops and political parties set up 'thaneer pandhal' sheds by the roadside, offering free neer mor to every passer-by from great clay pots. At home it comes after a rice meal of sambar and rasam, or in the middle of the afternoon. The curd is churned and thinned with water until barely white, then seasoned with green chilli, ginger, curry leaves, coriander and a pinch of asafoetida, sometimes finished with a tempering of mustard seeds. It should be very thin, salty, tangy and herby, with a little chilli heat and a lingering savoury scent. The common mistake is using too little water: it then drinks like a heavy lassi rather than a thirst-quencher. Aim for about one part curd to four parts water. It is ready when the buttermilk is smooth, cold and pale green-flecked, and smells of curry leaf. It keeps a day in the fridge. Chef's tip: crush the ginger, chilli and curry leaves rather than chopping them; bruising releases far more flavour into the thin liquid.

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Variyali sharbat (fennel cooler)

On May afternoons in Ahmedabad and Surat, when the loo wind blows and nobody wants a hot drink, Gujarati homes keep a bottle of variyali sharbat concentrate in the fridge. Fennel seeds are soaked, ground with rock sugar, strained and mixed with lemon and a little black pepper, then diluted with iced water for guests, after lunch, or to break a fast, since nothing in it is off-limits on upvas days if you use rock salt. It is pale green and cloudy, with a sweet aniseed taste, a sharp lemon finish and a faint peppery tingle. The common mistake is grinding dry fennel straight away: it stays gritty and the flavour is harsh. Soak the seeds for at least two hours so they swell and grind into a smooth paste. It is ready when the strained concentrate is silky, smells clearly of fennel and tastes very sweet, as it will be diluted three or four times. The concentrate keeps 5 days in the fridge in a clean bottle. Chef's tip: add a few mint leaves or a pinch of cardamom when grinding for a more rounded cooler.

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Haldi doodh (turmeric milk)

In homes from Punjab to Kerala, a mother or grandmother hands round haldi doodh on cold winter nights, after a fall in the playground or whenever someone starts sniffling; it is drunk at bedtime, steaming, in a steel tumbler. Milk is simmered with turmeric, a few grinds of black pepper and sometimes ginger or cinnamon, then sweetened with jaggery. It is golden, warming and gently earthy, with a soft peppery heat and a slightly grainy feel if the turmeric is fresh-ground. It is traditionally drunk for colds and aches, as a comfort rather than a cure. The common mistake is adding raw turmeric powder to hot milk at the end: it tastes chalky and bitter. Simmer it in the milk for a few minutes so the raw edge cooks out. It is ready when the milk turns an even deep yellow, smells mellow and has a thin skin forming on top. Add jaggery off the heat, as it can curdle boiling milk. Turmeric stains, so use a steel pan. Chef's tip: a teaspoon of ghee stirred in at the end makes it rounder and is how many families make it.

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Kuzuyu (hot kudzu drink)

Kuzuyu is what Japanese mothers make when someone has a chill or an upset stomach, and what many people sip on a frosty winter evening, especially in Nara, whose Yoshino mountains have produced the finest hon-kuzu starch for centuries. Kudzu root starch is stirred into water with a little sugar and cooked until the milky liquid suddenly turns clear, glossy and gently thick, somewhere between a hot drink and a soft pudding you drink from the cup. Grated ginger warms it; some families add a spoon of matcha or a squeeze of yuzu. It tastes clean, mildly sweet and comforting, and it is traditionally given to people recovering from colds. The mistake almost everyone makes once is sprinkling kudzu into hot water, where it forms rubbery lumps at once. Always crush it and dissolve it completely in cold water first, then heat it while stirring without stopping. It is ready when there are no white streaks left, the drink is translucent and it coats the back of a spoon. Chef's tip: real hon-kuzu comes in chalky lumps; crush them with the back of a spoon in the cold water and they dissolve in seconds.

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Bissy tea (kola nut tea)

Kola trees came to Jamaica with enslaved West Africans, and the nut, called bissy on the island, has stayed in country medicine ever since. Older people in St Mary, St Elizabeth and the hills of Clarendon still keep a dried bissy in the kitchen and grate some into boiling water when the stomach is upset or after eating something that disagreed with them,. Parched in a dry pan first, the grated nut gives a reddish-brown tea that smells faintly of cocoa and tastes bitter and astringent, softened by plenty of sugar. The common mistake is boiling raw, ungrated nut and expecting much flavour: whole pieces give little. Grate it finely, parch it until it darkens and smells like toasted cocoa, then boil. It is ready when the tea is a deep reddish-brown and coats the tongue with bitterness. Kola nut is very high in caffeine, as strong as a big mug of coffee or more, so drink one cup, not late in the day, and keep it away from children, pregnant people and anyone sensitive to caffeine or with heart trouble. Chef's tip: strain it through a fine cloth; the grated nut leaves a gritty sediment that a sieve lets through.

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Misutgaru (multigrain powder drink)

Misutgaru began as travellers' food, a powder of roasted grains that kept for weeks and could be stirred into water on the road. Today it is the drink of Korean summer: mothers shake it with cold milk for breakfast before school, office workers buy it as misutgaru latte from cafés, and farmers drink it at midday in the fields of July. The powder is a mix of roasted barley, glutinous and brown rice, black and yellow soybeans, and sesame, and it tastes of toasted cereal and peanut, lightly sweet, with a thick, creamy body that fills you up like a light meal. The common mistake is tipping the powder into a full glass of milk and stirring: it floats, clumps into dry balls and never fully mixes. Shake it in a jar with a little liquid first, or blend it, then add the rest. It is ready when the drink is smooth, beige and frothy with no dry flecks, and slightly thickened after a minute's rest. Use water or soy milk for a dairy-free version, and note that the barley means it is not gluten free. Chef's tip: a pinch of salt makes the grain flavour taste rounder and less flat.

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Daging masak hitamBlack braised beef

Daging masak hitam, 'black-cooked beef', is a centrepiece of Hari Raya open houses and kenduri feasts across Malaysia, and it is just as good on an ordinary weekday with rice and cucumber. Beef is braised slowly with blended shallots, garlic, ginger and dried chillies, whole spices, tamarind and both sweet and dark soy sauce until the gravy reduces to a sticky, almost black glaze. It tastes better the next day, which is why cooks make it ahead for festivals. The usual mistake is reducing too fast over a high heat: the sugar in the sweet soy scorches and turns bitter. Chef's tip: once the gravy starts to thicken, stir from the bottom every few minutes and lower the heat.

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DhansakMutton and lentil curry

Dhansak is the Parsi Sunday lunch in Mumbai and the old Gujarat towns of Navsari and Surat, traditionally the first meat dish cooked when the meatless days after a death are over, and a weekend favourite the rest of the time, always with brown rice (rice browned in caramelised sugar and onion) and kachumber. Mutton is cooked together with toor, masoor, moong and chana dal, pumpkin, aubergine, tomato and fenugreek leaves, then the dal and vegetables are pureed into a thick, gently spiced sauce with dhansak masala. Veg version: leave out the mutton and cook the same dal and vegetables with vegetable stock. The usual mistake is not pureeing the dal finely; it should be smooth and velvety around the meat. Slow-cooker option: everything except the tempering on low for 8 hours, then blend. Chef's tip: fry the dhansak masala in ghee at the end and pour it over; it gives the dish its aroma.

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Sev tameta nu shaakSev and tomato curry

Sev tameta nu shaak is roadside-dhaba and home food from Kathiyawad in Saurashtra, cooked when the vegetable basket is nearly empty but there are tomatoes and a tin of sev. Ripe tomatoes simmer with garlic, red chilli and a little jaggery into a thin, sweet-sour-hot gravy, and a handful of crisp gram-flour sev goes on top at the very last moment, so it is half-crunchy, half-soft when you eat it with bajra rotla, thepla or rotli. The usual mistake is stirring the sev in too early, which turns the curry into a paste. Most sev is made from gram flour, but check the packet if you avoid gluten. Chef's tip: use thick sev (ratlami or bhavnagari), which holds its crunch far longer than nylon sev.

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Králík na smetaněRabbit in cream sauce

Králík na smetaně is a Sunday lunch in the Czech countryside, especially in Moravia and South Bohemia, where many families once kept rabbits in the yard. Rabbit pieces are braised with carrot, celeriac, parsley root and onion, then the vegetables are blended into a velvety cream sauce brightened with lemon and a pinch of sugar, much like the famous svíčková. It is served with sliced bread dumplings (houskové knedlíky) and a spoon of cranberry sauce. The usual mistake is boiling the sauce after the cream goes in, which can split it; keep it at a bare simmer. Rabbit is lean, so cook it gently and check that the meat comes easily off the bone. Chef's tip: blend the vegetables until completely smooth and pass them through a sieve for the silky sauce Czech cooks are proud of.

120 minCzechMeat
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Teh talua (egg tea)

In the lapau coffee shops of Bukittinggi, Payakumbuh and Padang, the sound of a spoon or a small whisk clattering against a glass means someone has ordered teh talua. A raw egg yolk, traditionally from a free-range kampung hen or a duck, is whisked with sugar until thick and almost white, strong hot tea is poured on from a height, and a wedge of lime goes on the side. Minangkabau men drink it in the late afternoon or evening as a pick-me-up after work in the fields. It comes out with a creamy, caramel-coloured body under a deep layer of foam, rich like a light custard, with the lime cutting any eggy edge. The common mistake is whisking too little: the yolk stays yellow, the tea curdles it in strings and it smells of egg. Beat until the yolk has doubled in volume and falls in a thick ribbon. Use pasteurised eggs for anyone pregnant, babies and small children, older people or anyone unwell, as the yolk is only lightly warmed. Some lapau add condensed milk; this one is dairy-free. It contains caffeine. Chef's tip: pour the tea in a thin stream from high up while still stirring, to build the tallest foam.

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Kadha (spiced herbal decoction)

When the fog settles over Delhi, Lucknow and the plains of Uttar Pradesh in December, or whenever the monsoon brings coughs round the house, someone puts a pan of kadha on the stove. Tulsi leaves, ginger, black pepper, cinnamon, cloves and sometimes a little ajwain are boiled hard until the water reduces by half, then sweetened with jaggery and sipped in small cups, morning or night. It is not a gentle tea: it is hot, peppery, clove-numbing and earthy, with a dark amber colour and a sweet edge. It is traditionally drunk for coughs and colds; it does not replace medical care, and anyone who is pregnant, on medication or giving it to small children should keep it mild and check with a doctor. The common mistake is simmering it gently like tea: kadha needs a steady boil so the spices give up their strength and the liquid reduces. It is ready when the volume has halved and the brew is deep amber and pungent. Chef's tip: crush the pepper and cloves just before they go in; whole spices hardly flavour the water in this short time.

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Douzhi (fermented mung bean drink)

Douzhi is the breakfast that divides Beijing. It is the sour liquid left over when mung beans are ground and their starch settles out to make noodles and jelly; left to ferment for a day or two, the grey-green whey turns tangy, a little cheesy and sulphurous. Old Beijingers drink it piping hot at dawn in hutong shops around Qianmen and Huguosi, with a dish of finely shredded salty pickle dressed in chilli oil and crisp fried dough rings (jiaoquan) from the bakery. First-timers often say it smells like stale socks; regulars say it tastes like home. The texture is thin and slightly creamy, the flavour sour, a little bitter and savoury. The common mistake is boiling the soured starch hard: it separates into grey water and sludge. Bring it up slowly, stirring, and take it off as soon as it froths. The ferment makes only a trace of alcohol, well under 1%. Ferment at 20–25 °C; normal signs are fine bubbles, a sour, yogurt-like smell and a grey colour. Discard it if you see fuzzy mould, pink or black patches, a slimy texture or a putrid smell. Chef's tip: save 100 ml of a good batch to start the next one, as Beijing workshops do.

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Kafae boran (old-style Thai coffee)

Before espresso bars reached Bangkok, coffee in Thailand meant kafae boran from Hainanese-Chinese shophouses and market carts: a dark robusta roast mixed with toasted grains, poured through a long cotton sock called a tung tom and stirred into thick sweetened condensed milk. Uncles still order it hot at 6 am with patongko dough sticks, and in the afternoon heat the same brew is poured over crushed ice and topped with evaporated milk as oliang or kafae yen. The taste is strong, roasty and slightly smoky, sweet and creamy, with a faint caramel-cereal edge from the grains; the iced version is silky and cold. The common mistake is brewing it like filter coffee with too little grounds: once milk and ice go in, it tastes thin. Use plenty, steep it in the sock and pour it through twice. The brew is ready when it is opaque, nearly black and leaves a brown film on a white spoon. It is high in caffeine, so not one for children or late evenings. Chef's tip: rinse the cloth sock in hot water only, never soap, and keep it in a jar of clean water in the fridge between uses so the coffee oils season it.

10 minThaiDrinksGluten free
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TsagaaSweet rice with raisins and curd

Tsagaa is a sweet, buttery rice dish served during Tsagaan Sar, the Mongolian Lunar New Year, when white foods (tsagaan idee) stand for purity and a good year ahead. Rice is cooked soft, then mixed with butter, sugar, raisins and crumbled aaruul or fresh curd, and served in small bowls to guests during the round of family visits. A common mistake is using long-grain rice, which won't turn creamy; use short-grain. Chef's tip: soak the raisins in hot water first so they're plump and juicy.

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Thambili (king coconut water)

All along Sri Lanka's roads, from Galle Road in Colombo to the highways into Kandy and the beaches of the south coast, vendors stack bright orange king coconuts in pyramids under umbrellas. The thambili is a variety grown on the island for drinking: smaller than a green coconut and sweeter, with a faint saltiness that makes it more refreshing than any bottled drink. It is drunk any time of day in the heat, after a long bus ride, after a cricket match, and given to people recovering from a fever because it is gentle on the stomach. The water is clear, lightly sweet and nutty, and the soft jelly inside is eaten with a spoon made from a slice of the husk. The common mistake is hacking at the side of the nut; the blade glances off and the water spills. Trim the pointed top with downward strokes until a pale circle shows, then pierce it. It is ready to drink when a small hole opens straight into the water without husk fibres. Outside Sri Lanka, young green or Thai coconuts are the nearest substitute. Chef's tip: chill the coconuts for a few hours before opening; the water tastes sweeter cold, and use a heavy knife and a towel, keeping fingers well clear.

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Bò khoLemongrass beef stew

Bò kho is a southern Vietnamese breakfast: in Saigon street stalls ladle this red, gently spiced beef stew over bánh mì torn for dunking, or over rice noodles, from first light. Chunks of beef shin marinate with lemongrass, ginger, garlic, five-spice and fish sauce, are browned in annatto oil, then simmered in coconut water with star anise and cinnamon until tender, with carrots added near the end. The broth should be glossy and aromatic, not thick. The usual mistake is adding the carrots at the start, so they turn to mush; they go in for the last 25 minutes. Slow-cooker option: brown the beef, then cook everything except the carrots on low for 8 hours, adding the carrots for the last hour. Chef's tip: bruise the lemongrass stalks with the back of a knife so they release oil without falling apart.

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Divul kiri (wood apple drink)

In Sri Lanka's dry zone, around Anuradhapura, Polonnaruwa and down towards Hambantota, wood apple trees fruit through the hot months, and roadside sellers crack the hard grey shells open for you. Divul kiri, wood apple with coconut milk, is what families blend at home in the afternoon heat or offer guests during the Sinhala and Tamil New Year season in April. The pulp is brown, sticky and full of seeds, with a sour, funky smell that turns fruity once it meets creamy coconut milk and dark jaggery. The drink is thick and smooth, tangy-sweet and a little smoky. The common mistake is blending the seeds in: they break and make the drink gritty and bitter. Squeeze the pulp by hand and strain out every seed before blending. It is ready when it is thick enough to coat a glass, pale caramel-brown and tastes clearly sour under the sweetness. Outside Sri Lanka, look for frozen or tinned wood apple pulp in South Asian shops; there is no true substitute, though tamarind pulp with a few soft dates gives a similar sweet-sour idea. Chef's tip: pick a fruit that sounds hollow when tapped and smells strongly when cracked; it is fully ripe.

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Lahpet yay (Burmese milk tea)

Yangon runs on lahpet yay. From before dawn, crowded teashops set out tiny plastic stools on the pavement, and the tea comes with mohinga, palata or a plate of samusa; people linger again at four in the afternoon to talk. The tea is a dark, very strong brew of cheap black leaf that has been boiled and kept hot in a kettle, mixed in the cup with condensed milk and evaporated milk. Regulars order in code: cho seint is sweet and creamy, kya seint is strong and less sweet, pawsein is the standard. It should be thick, silky, sweet, faintly smoky and bitter underneath. The common mistake is brewing it like ordinary tea: it ends up thin and the condensed milk just tastes of sugar. Boil the leaves hard and then let them stand so the liquor is almost black; the bitterness is needed to stand up to the milk. It is ready when the tea poured from height into the cup has a light froth and the colour of milk chocolate. It is strongly caffeinated, so not one for children or late evenings. Chef's tip: pour the finished tea between two jugs a few times to cool it slightly and give it the teashop froth.

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Sharbat-e bidmeshk (willow blossom sherbet)

Kashan and the villages of Qamsar and Niasar are famous for distilling flowers in spring: rose water in May, and before that araq-e bidmeshk, the distillate of the fuzzy catkins of the musk willow. In summer, when the desert heat settles over the old houses, the same bottles go into sharbat-e bidmeshk, a pale syrup diluted with icy water and served to guests in tall glasses, sometimes with swollen basil seeds. It is traditionally drunk to calm the nerves and cool the body. The taste is delicate, sweet and haunting, somewhere between honeysuckle, musk and fresh hay. The common mistake is adding the distillate to hot syrup; the heat drives the scent away within minutes, so cool the syrup completely first. The syrup is ready when it is clear and pours like thin honey, and the finished sherbet should smell floral the moment you lift the glass. Look for the distillate in Iranian shops; there is no true substitute, though rose water with a few drops of orange-blossom water makes a pleasant but different drink. Chef's tip: a squeeze of lemon in the syrup stops it crystallising in the fridge, where it keeps for a month.

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Sharbat-e rivas (rhubarb sherbet)

For a few weeks in spring, after Nowruz, sellers come down from the Alborz foothills, the mountains of Khorasan and Kurdistan with bundles of rivas, the thick-stalked wild rhubarb. People peel and eat the stalks raw with salt, cook them into khoresh, and boil the rest into syrup to keep the taste of the season into summer. Sharbat-e rivas is pink, sharp and refreshing, like sour cherry and green apple together, softened by sugar and lifted by mint. The common mistake is boiling the rhubarb hard and pressing it through the sieve, which makes the syrup cloudy, brownish and stringy; simmer gently and let it drip on its own. Use only the stalks, never the leaves, which are poisonous. The syrup is ready when it is clear, rose-coloured and coats a spoon in a thin film; it keeps for two weeks in a clean bottle in the fridge, and should be thrown away if it fizzes, smells of alcohol or grows mould. Garden rhubarb is a good substitute for rivas; the reddest stalks give the prettiest colour. Chef's tip: a strip of lemon peel in the pot brightens the colour and stops the syrup tasting flat.

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Yansoon (anise tea)

Every Cairo ahwa has yansoon on its menu, chalked up next to tea and helba, and in Egyptian homes it is the drink of evenings, colds and upset stomachs. It is made with green aniseed, often from Upper Egypt, simmered briefly and sweetened. People reach for it after a feast at Eid, during winter coughs, or simply at night because it is caffeine-free and traditionally drunk to calm and help sleep. It is pale gold and sweet, with a soft liquorice scent and a slightly peppery warmth at the end. Many Egyptian mothers give a weak version to infants, but herbal teas are not suitable for babies under six months; ask your doctor first. The common mistake is boiling the seeds for too long, which makes the tea cloudy and bitter: crush them lightly, boil for only a few minutes, then let them steep off the heat. Also do not swap in star anise, a different plant with a harsher taste. It is ready when the liquid is light golden and smells strongly of anise when you lift the lid. Chef's tip: a thin slice of lemon or a few drops of lemon juice brightens the cup without hiding the anise.

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Moreton Bay bugsSlipper lobster with garlic butter

Moreton Bay bugs are the flat, shovel-nosed slipper lobsters caught off the Queensland coast around Brisbane and the Sunshine Coast, and for Queenslanders they are a summer treat, split and grilled at the beach house. The tail meat is sweet and rich, somewhere between lobster and prawn. Buy them raw, frozen or fresh, from a fishmonger and ask them to halve them if you like. A common mistake is overcooking, which makes the meat rubbery; it is ready the moment it turns white. Chef's tip: grill flesh side down first to mark it, then turn and baste in the shell.

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Helba (fenugreek tea)

Helba is the other hot drink chalked on the board of every Egyptian coffee house, ordered in winter by students and old men playing dominoes alike. At home it is brewed when someone has a cold, after childbirth, or simply on chilly nights in the Delta, and is traditionally drunk to soothe the chest and the stomach. Fenugreek seeds are boiled until the water turns amber-yellow; the cup tastes nutty and toasty, like maple and celery, with a pleasant bitterness that sugar softens. Some people add a splash of milk at the end. Fenugreek is not advised during pregnancy, can lower blood sugar and may interact with blood thinners, so check with your doctor if you take medication; it can also make your sweat smell faintly of maple, which is harmless. The common mistake is boiling unrinsed seeds hard for a long time, which gives a slimy, very bitter tea. Rinse them, toast them briefly and boil only 8–10 minutes. It is ready when the liquid is clear golden-amber and smells of warm maple. Chef's tip: soak the seeds overnight first for a milder, rounder brew, and eat the softened seeds with a spoon as Egyptians do.

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Winter melon tea

All over Taiwan, from Tainan's old markets to Taipei's night-market stalls, winter melon tea is sold in plastic cups packed with ice through the steaming summer. Despite the name there is no tea in it: chunks of winter melon are cooked down for hours with brown and white sugar until the melon disappears into a thick, dark, toffee-scented paste, which is set into blocks and later dissolved in hot water and chilled. The drink tastes of caramel and light molasses with a gentle, grassy melon note, and it is often mixed half and half with lemon juice or fresh milk. The common mistake is stopping too early, when the mixture is still runny: it will not set and it tastes boiled rather than caramelised. Keep stirring until a drop on a cold plate sets firm and the paste pulls away from the pan. Ready blocks keep 2 months in the fridge, or 6 months frozen; make the drink whenever you want it. If you cannot find winter melon (ash gourd, available frozen in Asian shops), there is no good substitute. Chef's tip: a final 10 minutes on low heat with constant stirring gives the deep, smoky colour that market versions have.

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Papaya milk

Kaohsiung claims papaya milk as its own: the southern port city's fruit stalls, and the famous old shop on Liuhe night market's doorstep, have been blending it since the 1960s, when sweet red-fleshed papayas from Pingtung became cheap and plentiful. It is now sold all over Taiwan, a thick orange-pink shake in a tall cup, drunk on sticky evenings while walking between food stalls or in the morning with a scallion pancake. It tastes of ripe papaya and cold milk, sweet and mellow, with a smooth, slightly airy body. The classic mistake is making it in advance: papaya contains the enzyme papain, which starts working on milk proteins within about 20 minutes and leaves the drink bitter and curdled-looking. Blend it just before drinking. Your papaya is ripe when the skin is mostly yellow-orange and gives slightly to a thumb, and it smells sweet at the stalk end; it is ready to serve when it is fully smooth, foamy on top and evenly coloured. Children love it, and with little added sugar it is a fine after-school snack. Chef's tip: chill the papaya well beforehand so you need less ice and the shake stays thick.

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Maksym (Kyrgyz grain drink)

On summer days in Bishkek and Osh, blue and yellow street barrels sell maksym by the glass, next to chalap and kymyz. It is a sour grain drink of Kyrgyz herders: barley (or millet or corn) is toasted, ground and cooked with fried wheat flour into a thin gruel, then left overnight with a little of yesterday's batch until it turns pleasantly sour and slightly sparkling. It is drunk cold with plov, samsa or simply to cool down in July heat. It tastes nutty, like toast and rye bread, with a yogurt-like tang and a gentle salty edge; the texture is thicker than kvass, about like thin buttermilk. Like all ferments it develops a trace of alcohol, well under 1% when drunk young. The classic mistake is adding the starter while the gruel is still hot, which kills it; wait until it feels just warm, about 30 °C. It is ready when small bubbles rise, it smells pleasantly sour and a foamy cap forms. Keep it in the fridge in a loosely capped jug for 3–4 days; it gets sourer and more alcoholic as it sits. Discard if you see coloured mould, slime or smell anything rotten. Contains gluten. Chef's tip: toast the barley until it smells like coffee for the deepest flavour.

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Lingondricka (lingonberry cordial)

In Sweden the jug of red lingondricka sits on the table at weekday dinners, in school canteens and at the julbord, poured beside meatballs, pyttipanna or a Saturday pea soup. Lingonberries grow wild in the forests of Norrland and Dalarna, and in late August families pick them by the bucket with a wooden berry rake. Cooked with sugar and strained, they become a cordial that is both sweet and sharp, with a slight bitter-almond edge from the skins, bright enough to cut through rich, creamy food. The common mistake is boiling the berries hard for a long time: the cordial turns jammy and brownish, and the pectin can make it set in the bottle. Bring it just to the boil, crush, then simmer only briefly. The syrup is ready when it is clear ruby, flows like a thin syrup and tastes tart then sweet. Lingonberries are sold frozen in Nordic and Eastern European shops; cranberries work as a substitute, with a little more sugar. Bottled hot into sterilised bottles it keeps 2 months in the fridge, or 6 months frozen. Throw it out if you see mould or it fizzes. Chef's tip: mix one part cordial to five of chilled sparkling water for a party version.

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Anijsmelk (aniseed milk)

When the canals of Friesland freeze hard and the whole of the Netherlands goes out on skates, koek-en-zopie stalls appear on the ice selling erwtensoep, warm sausage and steaming cups of anijsmelk. At home it is a winter bedtime drink for children and grandparents alike, made either by crushing aniseed into simmering milk or, as many Dutch families do, by stirring in anijsblokjes, sugar cubes flavoured with aniseed. It tastes softly sweet and liquorice-like without being sharp, and it is smooth and warming, with a faint warmth on the tongue. The common mistake is boiling the milk: it rises over the pan, scorches on the base and forms a thick skin. Heat it slowly and stop when tiny bubbles appear around the edge. It is ready when the milk smells clearly of anise after steeping and has turned faintly ivory. Anise seeds are sold in spice shops; in a pinch use one star anise, though it tastes stronger and less sweet. There is no caffeine, which is why Dutch parents serve it at bedtime. Chef's tip: crush the seeds just before using, the oils fade quickly once ground.

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Socată (elderflower fizz)

In late May and early June, when elder bushes bloom white along every Romanian village lane and riverbank, grandmothers fill big glass jars with water, sugar, lemon slices and elderflower heads and set them on a sunny windowsill or balcony. Three or four days later the jar is fizzing gently and socată, the most beloved summer drink of rural Romania, is bottled and chilled for haymaking days, family lunches and long evenings in the courtyard. It is sweet and floral, like honeyed lemonade with the scent of muscat grapes, with a light natural sparkle. Like all young ferments it makes a trace of alcohol, well under 1% if drunk within a week. The common mistake is washing the flowers or picking them after rain: the pollen and wild yeast that start the fermentation are rinsed away and nothing happens. Pick dry, fully open heads on a sunny morning and just shake off insects. It is ready to strain when fine bubbles rise steadily and it smells floral and slightly tangy. Use only the flowers: elder stems, leaves and unripe berries are toxic. Chef's tip: a few raisins in the jar give the yeast a boost if your flowers are slow.

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Golden syrup dumplings

Golden syrup dumplings are a winter pudding from Australian country kitchens, made during the Depression and still cooked by grandmothers in the Riverina and the Victorian high country when the nights turn cold. Soft scone-dough balls simmer in a sauce of golden syrup, butter and brown sugar until they swell and turn sticky. Serve with vanilla ice cream or custard. A common mistake is a pan that's too small; the dumplings double in size and need space. Chef's tip: keep the lid on and resist peeking, so the tops steam light and fluffy.

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Daiquiri

The daiquirí is named after a beach and the old iron mines east of Santiago de Cuba, where engineers and miners at the turn of the twentieth century mixed the local white rum with lime and sugar to cut the heat. Later Havana's bars turned it into a frozen blended drink, but in eastern Cuba it is still drunk the plain way, shaken, in the late afternoon or before a dinner of congrí and roast pork. It is a cocktail for adults only, short and clean: tart lime, a light touch of sugar and the soft, dry vanilla notes of light rum, served so cold it almost stings. The common mistake is a lazy shake, which leaves the drink warm, harsh and too strong. Fill the shaker with ice and shake hard for a full 12–15 seconds. It is ready when the tin is too cold to hold, there are tiny shards of ice on the surface and the drink has a fine foam at the rim. Have one and drink responsibly. Balance matters more than amounts: taste your limes, and add a little more syrup if they are very sour. Chef's tip: chill the coupe in the freezer first; a daiquirí loses its magic within minutes in a warm glass.

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Bellini

Venice invented the Bellini in the late 1940s, when a bar owner near San Marco mixed puréed white peaches with Prosecco and named the pale pink result after the Renaissance painter Giovanni Bellini. It is still a seasonal pleasure, best from July to September when white peaches are ripe and scented, and drunk late in the morning, at weddings or before lunch on the lagoon. This is a drink for adults only, though a gentle one. It should taste of fresh peach first, soft and perfumed, with the Prosecco adding light fizz and dryness, and the texture should be smooth and lightly velvety, never pulpy. The usual mistake is pouring the Prosecco fast onto the purée: it foams over and the peach stays sunk at the bottom. Tilt the glass, pour slowly in two goes and give a single gentle stir. It is ready when the drink is an even blush pink from top to bottom with a fine, slow bead. Enjoy it with food and drink responsibly. Out of season, use frozen white peach purée or ripe yellow peaches with a little more lemon. Chef's tip: a single raspberry blended into the purée gives the classic pink colour without changing the taste.

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Kir

Dijon's own aperitif carries the name of Canon Félix Kir, the priest who became the city's mayor after the war and poured blanc-cassis at every reception to show off two Burgundy products at once: the sharp white Aligoté grape and the blackcurrant liqueur made around the city. It is still what you are offered before a family Sunday lunch in Burgundy, with a warm plate of gougères. It is a drink for adults only, low-key and refreshing: tart, mineral white wine with a dark, jammy blackcurrant note, deep ruby-violet in the glass, served cold with no ice. The usual mistake is too much cassis, which makes a sticky, syrupy drink that hides the wine. Keep to about one part cassis to five or six parts wine. It is ready when the colour is a clear, deep pink-purple you can still see light through and the glass mists with cold. Enjoy one before the meal and drink responsibly. If you cannot find Aligoté, use any dry, unoaked, high-acid white. Swap the wine for Champagne or crémant and you have a kir royal. Chef's tip: pour the cassis in first and the wine on top; it mixes itself and you need not stir.

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Negroni

The story goes that around 1919, in a café on Florence's Via de' Tornabuoni, Count Camillo Negroni asked for his usual Americano with gin in place of the soda water. A century later the Negroni is the backbone of Italian aperitivo: drunk between six and eight in the evening, with olives, salted crisps or little crostini, before dinner rather than with it. It is a drink for adults only and a strong one, so one is plenty; drink responsibly. Taste it and you get bitterness first, then dark herbal sweetness from the vermouth and a dry juniper finish, all lifted by the smell of fresh orange oil. The texture should be silky and weighty. The common mistake is shaking it: shaken, a Negroni turns cloudy, foamy and watery. Stir it over ice instead for 20–30 seconds. It is ready when the outside of the mixing glass is frosted, the drink has softened slightly in colour and it pours like glossy syrup. Choose a bitter aperitivo coloured without carmine, and check the vermouth label if vegan matters. Chef's tip: serve it over one large clear ice cube; it melts slowly and keeps the last sip as good as the first.

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Piña colada

Two bars in 1950s San Juan claim to have created the piña colada, and Puerto Rico made it the island's official drink in 1978. It is the drink of hot afternoons on the beaches of Condado and Isla Verde, of hotel pools and of family parties where the blender runs all day. The rum version is for adults only, and because it tastes like a dessert it is easy to drink too fast, so keep to one or two and drink responsibly. A good piña colada is thick, frosty and smooth, coconut-sweet but kept fresh by the sharp acidity of pineapple, with the rum warming the finish. The common mistake is using coconut milk or unsweetened coconut cream instead of cream of coconut, the thick sweetened coconut syrup sold in tins and squeeze bottles: the drink comes out bland and splits into icy water and fat. If you only have coconut cream, blend in 2 tbsp sugar. It is ready when the drink is thick enough to hold a straw upright for a moment, has no crunchy ice and has turned a pale, creamy yellow. Chef's tip: freeze half of the pineapple juice into ice cubes the day before; you will need less ice and the colada stays thick to the last sip.

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Scotch bonnet pepper sauce

On a Jamaican Sunday dinner table the bottle of pepper sauce sits next to the salt, shaken over rice and peas, brown stew chicken, escovitch fish and the beef patty from the corner shop. Home versions differ from yard to yard, but most cook scotch bonnets briefly in vinegar with onion, carrot, garlic and the island's own pimento (allspice) berries, then blend them smooth. The result is a pourable, bright orange sauce: fruity, floral heat first, then the sweetness of carrot and the warm clove note of pimento, with a clean vinegar finish. A few drops are plenty. Wear gloves, open a window and never lean over the pot or blender; the fumes sting. Common mistake: blending raw peppers with too little vinegar and leaving the bottle on the counter; keep the full amount of vinegar (at least 5% acidity) and store it in the fridge. It is ready when the carrot is soft and the sauce is smooth and pourable; the flavour mellows and rounds after two days. Chef's tip: for a milder sauce, cut out the seeds and white ribs from half the peppers before cooking.

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Caesar

The Caesar was created in Calgary in 1969, when a hotel bartender was asked to invent a drink for a new Italian restaurant and thought of spaghetti alle vongole: clams, tomato, garlic, a squeeze of lemon. It has become Canada's own cocktail, ordered at weekend brunch, poured at the cottage on long weekends and raised on Canada Day, often with a celery stick or a spicy green bean standing in the glass. It is for adults only. Note that it is not vegetarian: the clam-tomato juice is made with clam broth, and Worcestershire sauce contains anchovy. A Caesar tastes savoury before anything else, briny and tomatoey, with heat from the hot sauce, tang from lime and a salty, herbal crunch from the celery-salt rim. The common mistake is shaking it hard like a sour: the tomato juice turns frothy, pale and watery. Roll it instead, pouring it back and forth between two glasses a few times. It is ready when the drink is evenly red, ice-cold and the rim is still neatly coated. Drink responsibly; it goes down easily. No clam-tomato juice? Mix 120 ml tomato juice with 30 ml bottled clam broth. Chef's tip: add a little grated horseradish for a sharper, more peppery Caesar.

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NakatiBitter eggplant leaves with tomato

Nakati are the leaves of the African eggplant, and in Kampala and the Buganda countryside they are cooked as an everyday green beside matooke, posho or rice. The leaves are simmered down with onion and tomato until soft, then often enriched with a spoonful of groundnut paste that softens their pleasant bitterness and makes a creamy sauce. Look for nakati at African grocers; young spinach with a handful of kale is a good stand-in. The usual mistake is adding the groundnut paste too early, which lets it catch and burn. Chef's tip: loosen the groundnut paste with a little hot water before stirring it in, so it melts smoothly into the greens.

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Indio viejoShredded beef in corn masa sauce

Masaya and Granada both claim indio viejo, a thick, tangy stew of shredded beef cooked into a sauce of corn masa, tomato, sweet pepper and achiote, sharpened with sour orange and scented with mint. It has the texture of a savoury porridge and is eaten for lunch with white rice and fried ripe plantain. The mistake that ruins it is tipping masa straight into the hot pot, where it forms lumps; whisk it into broth first. Chef's tip: add the sour orange juice only in the last few minutes, so it stays bright and fresh rather than flat.

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Feijoa jam

Feijoa bushes grow in almost every garden along Georgia's Black Sea coast, in Batumi, Kobuleti and the hills of Guria, and in late October and November the egg-shaped green fruit drop faster than anyone can eat them. The local answer is a raw jam: the whole fruit, skin and all, minced with sugar and kept cold, so it keeps the fresh, heady taste of pineapple, guava and mint. It is spooned into small glass dishes beside a cup of black tea, spread on bread for breakfast, stirred into yoghurt and eaten by the teaspoon through the winter cold season. The texture is a loose, pale-green pulp with a little grit from the seeds and skin; the flavour is sweet, tart and very aromatic. Common mistake: leaving the cut fruit to stand before mixing with sugar; it browns within minutes, so mince straight into the sugar and stir. The jam is ready when the sugar has fully dissolved and the colour is an even jade green. Because it is never cooked it must live in the fridge or freezer. Chef's tip: use fruit that gives slightly when pressed and smells strongly; hard feijoas taste of skin, overripe ones have brown jelly inside and turn the jam muddy.

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Pineapple soybean paste

Hakka households in Miaoli, Hsinchu and Pingtung are frugal and patient, and pineapple soybean paste (ong lai dau jiong) shows both. In early summer, when Taiwan's pineapples are plentiful, the fruit is cut into wedges and layered in jars with salted soybean koji and sugar, then left in a cool corner for months. The pineapple softens and goes golden-brown, the beans melt into a thick sauce, and the whole jar turns sweet, salty and tangy with a soft funk like miso. Spooned over steamed fish with ginger and scallion, stirred into braised bitter melon or tossed through stir-fried greens and wood ear, it is a back-pocket seasoning for everyday Hakka meals and bento. Common mistake: using very ripe, juicy pineapple; the fruit breaks into mush and the extra water dilutes the salt. Choose firm, just-ripe fruit and dry it after cutting. It is ready when the pineapple has turned amber and translucent and the beans are soft, after 1–3 months. Chef's tip: read the koji label — many brands are dusted with wheat flour, so it is not reliably gluten free.

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Patacón maracuchoPlantain sandwich

In Maracaibo, the patacón is a sandwich where the bread is a whole green plantain, sliced lengthwise, fried, smashed flat and fried again until crisp. It's stacked with grilled meat, salty white cheese, lettuce, tomato and a flood of sauces, and sold from busy street stands late into the night. This version fills it with garlicky chicken. The common mistake is flattening the plantain after it has cooled, so it cracks. Chef's tip: press it between two sheets of baking paper with a heavy board while it is still hot from the first fry.

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Sinamak

Iloilo is the home of La Paz batchoy and chicken inasal, and on every table there sits a tall bottle of sinamak, cane or coconut vinegar crowded with chillies, garlic and ginger. Visayan families keep a bottle going all year, and the dip turns up with grilled pork belly, crisp lechon kawali, fried fish and longganisa at breakfast. After a few days of steeping it is clean and sour, hot from siling labuyo, warm with ginger and peppery, with a faint sweetness from the cane vinegar. Common mistake: making a huge bottle and leaving it in a warm kitchen for months; fresh garlic and ginger are low-acid, so use full-strength vinegar, keep it in the fridge and make a fresh batch every couple of months. Toasting the garlic is not traditional and is not needed. It is ready when the vinegar has turned faintly golden and smells strongly of chilli and garlic, usually after 3 days. Chef's tip: bruise the chillies with the flat of a knife instead of slicing them; the heat comes out slowly and the vinegar stays clear. Cider vinegar can stand in for cane or coconut vinegar.

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Coconut icePink and white coconut fudge

Coconut ice is the pink and white sweet that fills Australian school fete stalls, Christmas hampers and CWA cake tables, a no-cook fudge of desiccated coconut, condensed milk and icing sugar. It is soft, chewy and very sweet, so cut small squares. A common mistake is a mixture that's too wet to hold; add more coconut until it's firm enough to press. Chef's tip: press the white layer first, then the pink, and chill before cutting for sharp stripes.

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Cowheel soup

In Trinidad and Tobago, cowheel soup is Saturday soup: the big pot people make at home or buy from roadside soup vendors after a fete, believed to set you right again. Cow heel is simmered for hours until gelatinous, then yellow split peas, pumpkin and 'provisions' such as dasheen, cassava, eddoes and green bananas go in, with green seasoning, a whole scotch bonnet for perfume and soft flour dumplings dropped in at the end. The broth turns thick and silky from the collagen and split peas. The usual mistake is bursting the scotch bonnet, which makes the pot fiercely hot; leave it whole and lift it out. A pressure cooker gets the cow heel tender in 50 minutes. Chef's tip: buy cow heel already cut and scraped by the butcher, then scrub it with lime before cooking.

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Ndizi na maharageGreen bananas and red beans

Across Tanzania, from Dar es Salaam to the banana farms around Kilimanjaro, ndizi na maharage is a filling weekday lunch: green cooking bananas and red beans simmered in one pot with tomato, onion and coconut milk until the bananas are soft and the sauce creamy. It needs nothing more than a few slices of avocado or a fresh kachumbari salad on the side. The usual mistake is cooking dried red kidney beans gently from the start: they must boil hard for 10 minutes first to be safe. Peel green bananas with oiled hands, as the sap stains and sticks. Chef's tip: add the bananas only once the beans are tender, then let them simmer until they just break at the edges and thicken the sauce.

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FororoToasted corn porridge

Fororo is the name for finely ground toasted corn, and for the smooth porridge made from it that grandmothers in Lara, Barinas and the rest of the Llanos give to children before school or to anyone feeling under the weather. It tastes gently nutty, like warm popcorn in a cup, sweetened with panela and scented with cinnamon. If you can't find fororo flour, toasting fine cornmeal in a dry pan gives the same result. The common mistake is tipping the flour straight into hot milk, which makes lumps. Chef's tip: whisk the flour into a little cold milk first, then pour it into the pot.

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Nutmeg jelly

Grenada, the Spice Isle, grows nutmeg all over the green hills of St Andrew and St John, and the pale yellow, apricot-sized fruit that wraps the seed and its red lace of mace was long thrown away at the processing stations. Grenadian cooks turned that tart, slightly astringent flesh into nutmeg jelly, a clear amber spread that is eaten on hops bread or coconut bake at breakfast, sold in small jars in the St George's market and carried home by visitors at Christmas. The fruit is loaded with pectin, so it sets easily, and it tastes sweet-sharp and fragrant, faintly of apple, with a soft warm hint of the spice itself. Outside the Caribbean the fresh fruit is hard to get; tart cooking apples or quinces with a little freshly grated nutmeg make a close copy (see the notes). The common slip is boiling on long after the set point, which turns the jelly dark, gummy and dull, so start testing early. It is ready when a drop wrinkles on a cold saucer or the thermometer reads 104–105 °C. Chef's tip: drop a strand of the red mace into each jar for colour and a little extra perfume.

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Adrak ka acharGinger pickle

Walk into a Punjabi dhaba in winter and there is often a steel bowl of ginger matchsticks soaking in lemon juice beside the onion rings. Adrak ka achar is the simplest pickle of all: tender ginger, green chilli, salt and lemon, nothing cooked. Young ginger with thin, pinkish skin reacts with the acid and turns a pretty pale pink within a day; older ginger stays yellow but tastes just as good. The flavour is clean, hot and sour, with crunch, and a forkful cuts the richness of sarson ka saag, makki ki roti, chole bhature or a heavy dal makhani. Common mistake: cutting the ginger thick or using fibrous old roots, which stay woody and harsh; slice thin enough to see light through. It is ready when the ginger has softened slightly, the juice tastes less sharp and the slices have taken colour. Fresh ginger in lemon juice keeps in the fridge for up to 2 weeks; discard it if mould appears, the juice turns slimy or the smell turns from fresh-sour to musty. Chef's tip: a pinch of black salt (kala namak) added at the end gives it that dhaba-style sulphurous edge.

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MsetoRice and green grams

Mseto, meaning 'mixture', is a staple of the Swahili coast from Mombasa to Lamu and Zanzibar, often eaten at lunch or for breaking the fast in Ramadan. Rice and green grams (whole mung beans) cook together in coconut milk with onion and a little turmeric until soft, fluffy and gently creamy. It is served beside a vegetable or bean curry, a kachumbari salad and a squeeze of lime. The usual mistake is adding the rice before the green grams are tender, so the rice turns mushy while the beans stay hard. Chef's tip: once the rice is in, cover the pot tightly and leave it on the lowest heat without lifting the lid, so the rice steams evenly.

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Kawal

Kawal is one of the most distinctive pantry foods of western Sudan, made in Darfur and Kordofan at the height of the rains in August and September, when wild senna (Senna obtusifolia, called kawal or fedo) springs up thickly around villages. Women strip the young leaves, pound them to a dark green pulp and pack it into a clay pot sealed with sorghum leaves, then leave it in a cool, shaded spot for about two weeks, remixing it every few days. The fermented paste is rolled into small balls and dried in the sun, and these keep through the dry months. Crumbled into mullah stews with okra, onions and dried meat and eaten with kisra or aseeda, kawal gives a deep, meaty, pungent savour much like West African dawadawa; the smell straight from the pot is strong and ammonia-like but mellows completely in cooking. The usual mistake is leaving the pot somewhere warm and forgetting to remix it, so the paste rots instead of fermenting. It is ready when the paste is dark, sticky and strongly savoury but not putrid. Chef's tip: if you cannot be certain of the plant, buy dried kawal from a Sudanese grocer.

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Chanko nabeChicken meatball hot pot

Chanko nabe is the daily meal of the sumo stables around Ryōgoku in east Tokyo, where young wrestlers cook a huge pot after morning practice and the senior ranks eat first. At home it is a winter supper cooked on a tabletop burner or on the hob: a clear chicken and kombu dashi seasoned lightly with soy, then loaded with ginger-scented chicken meatballs, tofu, napa cabbage, leek, carrot and mushrooms. Everything cooks in the one pot, and the last of the broth is often finished with udon or rice. The usual mistake is boiling the pot hard once the meatballs go in, which turns the broth cloudy and the tofu ragged; keep it at a lazy simmer. Chef's tip: shape the meatballs with two wet spoons and drop them in before the vegetables, so they flavour the broth while the cabbage softens.

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Chuño

On the Altiplano around Lake Titicaca, in June and July when the nights drop to -10 °C and the days are bright and dry, Aymara and Quechua families spread small, bitter potatoes on the grass to make chuño, a technique far older than the Inca. The potatoes freeze at night and thaw in the sun for several days, then are trodden barefoot to squeeze out the water and rub off the skins, and dried for a couple of weeks more. The result is light, wrinkled, grey-black chuño negro that keeps for years; soaked in running stream water instead, the same potatoes become white tunta. Rehydrated and boiled, chuño is firm, slightly chewy and spongy, with an earthy, faintly mineral, almost fermented taste; it goes into chairo soup, into chuño phuti, or beside grilled meat with spicy llajwa. Skipping the long soak is the big mistake: it stays bitter and gritty, so soak it for at least 12 hours, changing the water. Dried chuño is ready when it is rock hard, very light and rattles in a bag. Chef's tip: without Andean frosts, a freezer and a low oven make a fair version; the method is below.

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Tagine bil khorchefLamb tagine with cardoons

In late winter and spring, when wild cardoons (khorchef) appear in the markets of Fez, Meknes and Rabat, Moroccan families cook them into this lamb tagine for a family lunch, eaten with bread to mop up the sauce. Lamb shoulder is simmered slowly with onion, ginger, saffron and turmeric until tender, then the peeled cardoon stalks are added and finished with preserved lemon and green olives, giving a tangy, faintly bitter, artichoke-like sauce. The usual mistake is not peeling and soaking the cardoons properly: the stringy outside must come off and the stalks must sit in lemon water, or they go brown and taste harsh. Artichoke hearts are a good stand-in. Chef's tip: reduce the sauce uncovered at the end until it is thick and oily, the sign of a well-made tagine.

155 minMoroccanMeatGluten free
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Kue apePandan pancakes with crisp edges

Kue ape (also called kue tetek for its shape) is a Betawi snack sold from pushcarts outside schools and along the lanes of Kebon Kacang in the late afternoon, when children come out hungry. The vendor swirls pandan batter around a small domed pan so the edges fry paper-thin and lacy while the centre puffs into a soft, slightly chewy bump. They are sweet, fragrant and best eaten within minutes. A small non-stick pan or a Chinese wok-shaped crêpe pan works at home. The batter contains wheat and egg. Chef's tip: the swirl must happen the second the batter hits the pan; hesitate and the edge sets thick instead of lacy.

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DakbaeksukPoached whole chicken

Dakbaeksuk is a whole chicken simmered plain in a big pot, a dish Koreans eat on the boknal 'dog days' of midsummer and at valley restaurants in the mountains, where families sit on platforms by the stream. Unlike samgyetang it is not stuffed; the bird simmers with a fistful of garlic, a few jujubes and dried roots such as astragalus until it falls apart, and you eat the meat with salt and pepper and drink the milky broth. Suitable as part of a balanced diet: high in protein, with no flour or added sugar. About 420 kcal and 8 g carbohydrate per portion; restaurants finish with rice porridge in the broth, so keep that portion small or use brown rice. The usual mistake is boiling it fiercely, which makes the meat stringy; it should simmer gently. Chef's tip: skim the fat off the broth before serving; it tastes cleaner and lighter.

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Taiwanese grilled corn

At Raohe and Shilin night markets the grilled-corn stalls are easy to find: look for the queue and the smoky, sweet smell. Cobs are par-cooked, then turned slowly over charcoal while the cook brushes them with a dark glaze of sacha sauce, thick soy paste, garlic and chilli, layer after layer, until the kernels are sticky, slightly charred and deeply savoury. It is eaten hot from a paper sleeve while walking the market. Sacha (shacha) sauce, a Taiwanese barbecue paste, usually contains dried fish and shrimp; vegetarian sacha is sold in Asian shops. Contains soy, wheat and fish. Chef's tip: brush thin coats and turn often; one thick coat burns before the corn chars.

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Sop konroBeef rib soup

Sop konro is the pride of Makassar in South Sulawesi, where warung near the harbour serve big bowls of beef ribs in an almost black broth from lunchtime into the night, often with burasa (rice cooked in coconut milk) or plain rice. The colour and earthy, chocolatey depth come from keluak (kluwek) nuts, simmered with a paste of shallots, garlic, ginger, galangal, toasted coriander seed and candlenut until the rib meat slides off the bone. The usual mistake is using raw keluak: the nuts are only safe after long fermentation, so buy them ready-prepared from an Indonesian shop, and discard any that smell sour or are dry inside. A pressure cooker gets the ribs tender in 50 minutes. Chef's tip: toast the coriander seeds until they crackle before grinding; they carry the whole soup.

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Cà phê cốt dừa (coconut coffee)

Hanoi takes its coffee seriously, and in the last fifteen years coconut coffee has become one of the city's signatures, sold from Old Quarter cafés, lakeside balconies around Hoàn Kiếm and tiny stools on the pavement. It is a hot-weather drink, at its best on a sticky afternoon between May and September, eaten half with a spoon. Strong Vietnamese robusta drips slowly through an aluminium phin, then is poured over a pale slush of thick coconut cream, sweetened condensed milk and crushed ice, so you get bitter, dark coffee against something rich and cold that tastes like coconut ice cream. The common mistake is blending the slush too long or with too much ice, which leaves it thin and watery, and pouring the coffee in boiling hot so the slush collapses. Blend just until it looks like soft snow, and let the coffee cool for a minute or two. It is ready when the slush holds a spoon upright and the coffee sits in a dark layer on top. Robusta is high in caffeine and this is a strong drink, so it is not for children and one glass is plenty. Chef's tip: chill the coconut cream overnight; cold, thick cream gives a fluffier slush.

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Dongbei luan dunMixed vegetable stew

Luan dun, the 'chaotic stew', is everyday harvest cooking from Heilongjiang, Jilin and Liaoning, made in autumn when the garden gives everything at once and a big pot feeds the whole household through the cold evenings. Potato, aubergine, green beans, corn on the cob, peppers and tomato are cooked together in a soy-scented broth until soft and saucy, with the potato thickening it naturally. Serve it with steamed rice or mantou buns. The usual mistake is putting everything in together, so the beans stay squeaky while the aubergine turns to mush; add the vegetables in order of how long they take. A pressure cooker works too: 4 minutes on high after the beans and potato go in. Chef's tip: crush the potato pieces lightly against the pot near the end to give the stew body.

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Ssanghwa-cha (herbal tonic tea)

Ssanghwa-cha is the strongest thing on the menu of an old Korean dabang. From the 1960s these smoky tea rooms served it in thick ceramic cups, dark as coffee, with pine nuts, slivered jujube and walnut floating on top; in winter some still slide a raw egg yolk in, which this recipe leaves out. The brew comes from Korean herbal tradition, where ssanghwa-tang is drunk to warm up and recover from tiredness after hard work or a cold. It tastes earthy and bitter at first, then sweet from licorice and jujube, with warmth from cinnamon and ginger and a celery-like perfume from angelica. Herbal shops sell the roots in pre-measured packs. The common mistake is boiling it hard: the liquid reduces too fast and turns harsh. Keep a gentle simmer with the lid ajar for two hours. It is ready when it is very dark brown, reduced to about a third and smells of cinnamon and roots. Because it contains licorice and angelica, skip it if you are pregnant or breastfeeding, have high blood pressure, or take blood thinners or other medicines unless your doctor agrees. Chef's tip: a second, lighter brew from the same roots is good with honey.

135 minKoreanDrinksVeganGluten free
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KabichiFried cabbage and carrot

Hardly a weekday supper in a Nairobi flat goes by without a pan of kabichi next to the ugali: it costs little, uses one cabbage from the corner duka and is on the table in twenty minutes. Thin ribbons of cabbage meet onion, grated carrot, tomato and green pepper in a hot pan, staying sweet with a little bite and soaking up just enough tomato to turn rosy. Pair it with ugali and ndengu or beans, or roll it into a chapati. Most cooks go wrong by covering the pan and letting the cabbage steam to a grey, sulphurous heap; keep the lid off and the heat up. Chef's tip: salt the cabbage only at the very end, because salt pulls out water and stops it frying.

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