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Khajoor ka halwa
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Khajoor ka halwa

Date halwa

The oasis towns of Turbat and Panjgur in Makran grow some of Pakistan's finest dates, the soft, honeyed Begum Jangi and Muzawati among them, and after the late-summer harvest households turn the surplus into this rich, fudgy halwa. Dates are softened in warm milk, mashed and cooked down slowly in ghee until the mixture is dark and glossy and comes away from the pan, then finished with almonds, walnuts and cardamom. It needs little or no added sugar, and it is served in small portions at Eid, to new mothers and to guests with green tea. Using dry, hard dates without soaking is where it goes wrong, leaving the halwa lumpy and leathery. Chef's tip: choose soft, moist dates and blend them only briefly after soaking, so a few small pieces remain for texture.

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Carpentras, at the foot of Mont Ventoux, has been France's linden capital for over a century. In late June the flowering lime trees are harvested by hand, the blossoms and their pale papery bracts dried in the shade, and in July the town's linden market sells them by the sack. In French homes a tisane de tilleul is what you drink after dinner, at the end of a long day or before bed, often with a slice of lemon or a little honey; Proust's famous madeleine was dipped in one. It tastes softly floral and sweet, a little like honey and fresh hay, with a smooth, almost silky feel. The common mistake is using fully boiling water and steeping for fifteen minutes: the tea turns dull brown and slightly astringent. Let the kettle settle to about 90 °C and steep for 5–7 minutes, covered. It is ready when the infusion is pale gold and smells of a summer garden. It is traditionally drunk to unwind; if you take regular medication, have a heart condition, or want to give it to young children, check with a doctor first. Chef's tip: keep the pot covered while it steeps so the scented oils stay in the tea instead of the kitchen.

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Calamansi juice

Every Filipino household seems to have a calamansi bush or a bag of the little green fruit in the fridge, from Manila condos to farmhouses in Mindoro, the island that grows most of them. At lunch in the dry season the juice comes out iced in a big pitcher; in the rainy months, when everyone has a cough, a lola stirs the same juice into hot water with a little sugar or honey and hands it over at bedtime. It tastes like a lime crossed with a mandarin: sharp, floral and slightly bitter at the edges, with a pale green-gold colour. The usual mistake is squeezing the fruit hard and letting the seeds and pith fall in, which turns the juice bitter within minutes; halve each fruit across, squeeze gently over a small strainer and stop before the peel folds. It is ready when the sugar has fully dissolved, the juice tastes bright rather than harsh and a cold glass fogs on the outside. Chef's tip: dissolve the sugar in a little warm water first, as it never melts properly in iced juice.

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Melon juice (cantaloupe drink)

Afternoon merienda across the Philippines means something cold from a plastic cooler at the school gate, a jeepney stop or a carinderia: sago't gulaman, buko juice or this melon drink, with ribbons of orange cantaloupe suspended in sweet water. Vendors scrape the melon with a special spiral shredder, a kayod ng melon, so you get thin strands to chew through a fat straw. It tastes fresh, sweet and gently musky, more refreshing than a smoothie because the water stays clear and light; some stalls add evaporated milk, but the plain version is the classic. The common mistake is using a melon that is not fully ripe, which gives pale, crunchy strands and a flat drink; choose one that smells sweet at the stem end and gives slightly when pressed there. Shred straight into the jug so the juice from the melon is not lost. It is ready when the strands are soft and floating, the water has turned faintly orange and it tastes of melon rather than plain syrup. Chef's tip: a box grater's coarse side or a fork scraped along the flesh both work if you don't own a melon shredder.

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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 zaferan (saffron sherbet)

Big steel urns of golden saffron sherbet are poured for guests at Iranian weddings and engagement parties, and the same drink is handed out on the street as nazri during Muharram and at memorial gatherings, when families offer something sweet and cool in the name of the departed. Saffron from Khorasan is ground with a sugar cube, bloomed in a little water and stirred into syrup with rose water and lemon. The result is honey-sweet and floral, with saffron's faint bitterness and hay-like perfume at the end, and a colour that should be a clear, sunny orange-gold. The usual mistake is dropping whole threads straight into cold water, which gives a pale, patchy drink and wastes expensive saffron; grind it first and let it bloom for at least 10 minutes. You know the bloom is ready when the water is a deep red-orange and smells strongly of saffron. Taste before serving: it should be sweet but finish clean, with the lemon just noticeable. Chef's tip: an ice cube placed on the ground saffron and left to melt slowly gives the deepest colour of all, an old Iranian trick.

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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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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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Mauritian vanilla tea

In Mauritius the kettle goes on for dité at breakfast and again at four, when the heat of the day breaks and someone brings out gato piment, a packet of biscuits or a slice of gato patate. The tea is grown on the island's central plateau, around Curepipe and the Bois Chéri hills, and the local favourite is black tea perfumed with vanilla, the same vanilla that grows on the neighbouring islands. It is drunk strong, very sweet and milky, often with evaporated or condensed milk: a round, creamy cup with a soft caramel-vanilla scent and no bitterness. The common mistake is boiling the tea leaves with the milk until they stew; brew the tea in water first, then add hot milk. It is ready when the tea is the colour of milky caramel and the kitchen smells of vanilla. A cup has about as much caffeine as ordinary black tea. If you cannot find vanilla-scented Mauritian tea, a strong black tea and a split vanilla pod do the job well. Chef's tip: dry the used vanilla pod and bury it in your sugar jar; next time the sugar alone will scent the tea.

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Malai cha (cream tea)

In Bogura, the town famous for its sweet doi, and in the lanes of Old Dhaka around Nazira Bazar, tea stalls keep a wide karai of milk barely simmering all evening. Layers of skin build up on top; the tea-maker lifts them off as malai and lays a thick spoonful on every cup of strong, sweet milk tea, poured into small unglazed clay bhar that give the tea a faint earthy smell. People stand around after maghrib prayers or late at night, sipping through the cream and finally eating it with a finger. The tea is malty and syrupy-sweet; the malai is soft, rich and slightly caramelised. The usual mistake is boiling the milk hard: a rolling boil breaks the skin into flakes and you never get a thick sheet. Keep it at a lazy shiver and lift the skin every 5 minutes. The tea is ready when it is the colour of milky caramel and coats the back of a spoon; the malai is ready when it lifts off as a wrinkled, leathery sheet. Strong CTC tea makes this fairly caffeinated. Chef's tip: soak clay cups in water for ten minutes first, so they don't drink up the tea or smell dusty.

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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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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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Pisco sour

Lima drinks its pisco sour as the aperitif before a long ceviche lunch, and celebrates it every year on the first Saturday of February; the recipe took shape in the city's bars in the 1920s. It is for adults only and stronger than its pillowy look suggests. Underneath a thick white foam you get sharp Peruvian lime, a clean sweetness and the floral, grapey warmth of quebranta pisco, with the bitters adding a spicy smell to every sip. The texture should be silky, almost creamy, never thin. The classic mistake is squeezing the limes too hard or too early: the oil from the pith turns the drink bitter within half an hour. Halve the limes, press each half gently by hand just before mixing and stop when the juice slows. The egg white is raw, so use pasteurised egg white for anyone pregnant, for babies, older people or anyone unwell, or swap in 30 ml aquafaba. It is ready when the foam stands about 1 cm high and is firm enough to hold the drops of bitters on its surface. Sip one slowly and drink responsibly. Chef's tip: shake once without ice first to whip the egg white, then again with ice; the foam will be twice as thick.

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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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Blåbärssoppa (warm bilberry drink)

Every first Sunday of March, the 90-kilometre Vasaloppet ski race from Sälen to Mora is fuelled by blåbärssoppa: volunteers at the feeding stations hand thousands of skiers paper cups of the warm purple drink, and Swedes drink it from thermoses on winter hikes, after skating and on the ski slopes. It is made from wild bilberries, the small dark forest berries with purple flesh, cooked with sugar and thickened with potato starch so it is just thick enough to coat the cup. It is sweet, softly tart and tastes intensely of berries, with a silky, almost glossy body. The common mistake is stirring the starch straight into the hot pot: it forms jelly lumps at once. Always mix potato starch with cold water first, take the pot off the boil, then stir it in and bring back just to a bubble; long boiling thins it again. It is ready when it turns glossy and coats a spoon in a thin film. Bilberries are sold frozen in Nordic shops; cultivated blueberries work too, with a squeeze of lemon for sharpness. Chef's tip: it is just as good cold the next day, or served as a soup with whipped cream and almond biscuits.

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Mojito

In Old Havana the mojito is the answer to three o'clock heat: made at bar counters along Obispo Street, on the Malecón and at home on the patio, often with a plate of tostones or chicharritas on the side. It is a drink for adults only, though its cool, fresh taste can fool you; sip it slowly and drink responsibly. A real Cuban mojito is fragrant and grassy from hierbabuena, the mild local mint, sharp with lime, gently sweet and lightly sparkling, with the rum giving it backbone rather than burn. The common mistake is shredding the mint with heavy muddling: the leaves turn black, bitter and stick in your teeth. Press the leaves softly against the sugar and lime just until you can smell them strongly, then stop. It is ready when the sugar has dissolved, the glass is fully frosted and the mint leaves are scattered bright green through the ice. Outside Cuba, use spearmint; peppermint tastes like toothpaste here. Chef's tip: slap the garnish sprig between your palms before tucking it in beside the straw; every sip then comes with the smell of fresh mint.

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Charbat (Algerian lemon drink)

During Ramadan, as the afternoon wears on, vendors in Algiers' Bab El Oued, in Blida and Boufarik and in the old streets of Constantine fill plastic bags and jugs with ice-cold charbat for families to carry home before the call to iftar. It is lemonade made with lemon zest rubbed into sugar, a good splash of orange blossom water and a little milk, which turns it pale, opaque and silky and takes the sharp edge off the lemon. Served with zlabia, qalb el louz or straight after the dates and chorba, it tastes like lemon sherbet with a floral finish. The common mistake is adding the milk to strong, undiluted lemon juice, which curdles it into flecks; dilute the lemon fully, chill it, and only then pour in cold milk slowly while stirring. It is ready when it looks like pale lemon cream, smells of orange blossom and tastes sweet first, then tart. Lemon-and-milk drinks do not keep well, so make it the afternoon you serve it. Chef's tip: let the zest sit in the sugar for a good 10 minutes before adding water; the oils give charbat its perfume, far more than the juice alone.

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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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Bombai motai (Sri Lankan candyfloss)

On Galle Face Green at sunset, and at every Vesak fair, the bombai motai seller walks with a glass box of pink candyfloss and a little bell, handing it out in small cones. You can spin a home version without a machine: sugar boiled to the hard-crack stage, then flicked from a fork in thin threads over two spoon handles. Children love to watch, but they must stay well back while the sugar is hot. Contains no major allergens. Chef's tip: make it on a dry day; humidity melts the threads back into sticky sugar.

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French 75

The French 75 took its name from the light field gun of the First World War, because Parisian bartenders of the late 1910s and 1920s said it hit you just as hard. It has stayed a celebration drink in Paris and beyond: raised at weddings, New Year's Eve and long weekend brunches. It is for adults only and stronger than it tastes, so drink responsibly. A good one is bright and lemony with gin botanicals underneath, then a fine, persistent Champagne fizz that makes it feel light and dry. The common mistake is putting the sparkling wine in the shaker, which either blows the lid off or leaves the drink completely flat. Shake only the gin, lemon and syrup with ice, strain them into the glass and top with Champagne there. It is ready when the shaker is frosted, the foam has risen and fallen once, and a steady stream of small bubbles runs up the flute. Any dry traditional-method sparkling wine such as crémant works in place of Champagne; check the label if vegan matters. Chef's tip: twist the lemon peel over the glass, not into the shaker; the oil on the surface is the first thing you smell.

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Margarita

Several towns along Mexico's northern border, from Tijuana and Ensenada to Ciudad Juárez, claim the margarita as their own, born in the 1930s and 40s when visitors crossed over for tequila and tacos. Today it is the Friday-evening drink of norteño restaurants and family parties, poured beside carne asada and guacamole. This version is for adults only and it is simple: good 100% agave blanco tequila, fresh lime and orange liqueur. It should be bright and tart first, then gently sweet, with the salt on the rim making the lime taste even sharper. The usual mistake is reaching for bottled lime juice or ready-made sour mix, which gives a flat, sugary drink with a chemical bite. Squeeze limes just before shaking. A second slip is salting the whole rim inside and out; salt only the outside of half the rim so each sip is your choice. It is ready when the shaker is too cold to hold comfortably and a thin layer of ice crystals floats on top. Enjoy one slowly and drink responsibly. Chef's tip: use coarse sea salt mixed with a little grated lime zest for the rim; it sticks better and smells of lime.

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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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Bajan rum punch

Every Barbadian knows the rhyme: one of sour, two of sweet, three of strong, four of weak. It is how rum punch is mixed for Sunday lunch, at beach limes, at the Friday night fish fry in Oistins and through the Crop Over festival in July and August. The punch is for adults only and it is strong, so pour it over plenty of ice and drink responsibly. Made right, it tastes bright and tangy from lime, rounded by brown-sugar syrup, warm with golden Barbados rum and finished by aromatic bitters and the woody smell of fresh nutmeg on top. The usual mistake is reading 'weak' as fruit juice or adding extra rum: the four of weak is water (and melting ice), and swapping in sweet juices makes the punch cloying. Make the syrup properly, measure by volume and taste before you add the last of the water. It is ready when the sweet and sour are in balance, nothing catches your throat and the jug is beaded with cold. It also keeps 2 days in the fridge, so it can be made ahead. Chef's tip: grate the nutmeg over each glass at the table; ready-ground nutmeg has lost the smell that makes Bajan punch what it is.

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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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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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Fermented bean curd

Fu ru is made all over China, from Guilin's chilli-red cubes to Shaoxing's pale ones, and is usually prepared in the cool months between late autumn and early spring, when the moulds grow slowly and cleanly. Firm tofu cubes sit on rice straw or a rack until a soft white fuzz covers them; they are then rolled in salt and chilli and aged in brine until the centre turns custard-soft and the flavour becomes deep, cheesy and savoury. A quarter of a cube is mashed over plain rice congee for breakfast, or stirred into a sauce for stir-fried water spinach. Common mistake: making it in a warm kitchen; above about 20 °C the wrong moulds and bacteria take over. The bloom must be white or greyish-white and fluffy, smelling mildly of mushrooms; throw away any cube with green, black, pink, orange or yellow spots, sliminess or an ammonia or rotten smell, and if many are affected discard the whole batch. Do not reduce the salt: it is what keeps this low-acid soy ferment safe, and the whole ageing happens in the fridge. It is ready after 6–8 weeks, when a cube is soft right through. Chef's tip: press the tofu overnight first, drier cubes grow a cleaner bloom.

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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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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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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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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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Chinese plum sauce

In Hong Kong and Guangzhou roast-meat shops, a small saucer of plum sauce comes with crisp roast goose and siu mei, and at home it is the dip for spring rolls at New Year and the glaze for vegetarian fried tofu or cha siu-style mushrooms. Cantonese suan mei jiang is fruitier and more sour than the gloopy bottled kind: ripe plums are simmered with sugar, rice vinegar, ginger and a little chilli until thick and glossy. Make it in late summer when dark plums are cheap. Common mistake: boiling it too thick; it sets further as it cools, so stop when it coats the back of a spoon and a drip on a cold plate wrinkles only slightly. Readiness cues: the plum skins have melted into the sauce, the colour is deep ruby and the taste balances sweet and sharp. This is a high-acid preserve: in the fridge it keeps 2 months, or water-bath process sealed jars for 20 minutes to keep them in a cupboard for a year (refrigerate once opened). Discard if you see mould, it fizzes, the lid bulges or leaks, or it smells fermented. Chef's tip: add 2 Chinese salted preserved plums, mashed, for the authentic salty-sour depth.

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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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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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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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Wiri wiri pepper sauce

Every Guyanese household, from Georgetown to the villages of Berbice, has its own bottle of pepper sauce, and the most prized is made with wiri wiri: tiny, round peppers no bigger than a currant, red, orange or yellow, with a fruity, almost tomato-like heat that hits fast and fades clean. They are ground with plenty of garlic, a little onion, prepared mustard, salt and vinegar, and often a few slices of green mango or five-finger (carambola) for sourness. A dab goes on cook-up rice, dhal and rice, roti and curry, fried fish and bake, and on the pepperpot at Christmas. The sauce is coarse, bright orange-red and loose, sour first, then fiercely hot and garlicky. A common mistake is thinning it with water, which makes it spoil quickly; use vinegar alone for any loosening. It is ready after a day in the fridge, when the garlic has softened into the heat and the colour has deepened. Outside Guyana, wiri wiri is hard to find; Scotch bonnets or red bird's-eye chillies work, though the flavour is a little different. Chef's tip: grate in a few slices of green mango for the true sour, fruity Guyanese edge.

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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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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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Bhel puri

On Girgaum and Juhu Chowpatty the bhelwalas set up as the sun drops into the Arabian Sea, and bhel puri is what Mumbai eats while it walks along the sand. Puffed rice, crushed flat puris and boiled potato are tossed in a steel bowl with sweet tamarind and fiery green chutneys, then buried under fine sev and handed over in a folded paper cone with a puri for a spoon. It is crunchy, sweet, sour and hot all at once, and it has to be eaten within minutes. Chef's tip: lay out every component before you start, because the mixing takes thirty seconds and the crunch only lasts about five minutes.

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Velpuri (Dhaka style)

Dhaka's velpuri is a cousin of Mumbai's bhel but a very different plate: crisp puris are crushed and topped with a hot, spiced mash of chickpeas and potato, finely grated boiled egg, raw onion and green chilli, then soaked in sour tamarind water at the last second. Vendors sell it from glass-topped carts around Dhanmondi Lake and outside the TSC at Dhaka University on long afternoons. Contains wheat and egg. Chef's tip: grate the egg over at the very end with the fine side of a grater, so it falls in a soft yellow snow over the top.

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Dongbei suan caiFermented napa cabbage

In Harbin, Changchun and Shenyang, late October is when families buy napa cabbage by the cartload, scald it, and pack it head to tail into big glazed crocks on the balcony, weighed down with a smooth river stone. A month later, as winter sets in, it has become suan cai: pale, almost translucent leaves with a clean, lactic sourness and a soft crunch at the rib. It is shredded into suan cai bai rou (sour cabbage with pork belly), stuffed into dumplings for Spring Festival and simmered in hot pots through the long winter. Common mistake: fermenting somewhere warm; above about 20 °C the cabbage softens and can go slimy, so use the coolest spot you have. Normal signs are fine bubbles, a cloudy brine and a sharp sour smell; a flat white film (kahm yeast) can be skimmed off. Fuzzy coloured mould, pink or black patches, or a putrid smell mean discard the lot. Do not eat it before 3 weeks: it is ready when the leaves are uniformly pale yellow-green and taste fully sour. Then keep it in the brine in the fridge for 2 months. Chef's tip: rinse and squeeze the shreds before cooking to soften the sourness.

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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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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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Cremolada (Lima passion fruit slush)

From January to March, when Lima's coast swelters, queues form at the cremolada counters of Barranco and along the Jirón de la Unión downtown for cups of this thick fruit ice. It sits between a granita and a sorbet: frozen fruit pulp scraped again and again until it is slushy and spoonable, with real bits of fruit through it. Passion fruit (maracuyá) gives a sharp, bright flavour; creamy lúcuma, with its maple and sweet potato taste, is the other favourite. Chef's tip: use a shallow metal tray; it freezes faster and evenly, so you get fine crystals rather than chunks.

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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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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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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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FarrottoFarro cooked like risotto

In the hills of the Garfagnana and around Spoleto, where farro has been grown since Roman times, cooks make farrotto in autumn and winter as a heartier cousin of risotto. Semi-pearled farro is toasted in olive oil with onion and celery, then cooked slowly with hot vegetable stock, ladle by ladle, until the grains are tender but still bouncy and wrapped in a light, creamy sauce. Finish with pecorino and serve as a main with a green salad. The usual mistake is stirring as constantly as for risotto; farro releases less starch, so stir every few minutes and beat in the cheese at the end for creaminess. Chef's tip: toast the dry grains until they smell like popcorn before adding any liquid; it deepens the nutty flavour.

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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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