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Mocktails and cool drinks

Sharbats, lassis, juices and coolers with no alcohol. (485 recipes)

Ranawara teaTanner's cassia flower tea

Ranawara, tanner's cassia, is a scrubby shrub with bright golden flowers that grows wild along dry-zone roadsides and in gardens from Kurunegala to Jaffna. The flowers are picked, dried in the shade and sold in packets at every Sri Lankan supermarket and ayurvedic shop, and many households drink a cup each morning instead of plantain tea, traditionally believing it helps balance blood sugar and cool the body during the hot season. It brews into a pale golden-yellow tea with a mild, grassy, slightly beany taste and a gentle bitterness, which is why it is drunk with a piece of jaggery or a spoon of kithul treacle. The common mistake is brewing the flowers with too little water or for too long: the bitterness takes over. A good pinch per cup, a short simmer and a few minutes' steep is enough. It is ready when it is clear and bright yellow and smells like dried hay. Ranawara is a senna-family plant: do not drink it if you are pregnant or breastfeeding, do not give it to young children, and check with a doctor if you take diabetes or other regular medication. Chef's tip: add a few dried flowers to the cup when serving; they float and turn the colour even more golden.

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Atol de plátanoWarm plantain and milk drink

In Guatemalan markets, steaming pots of atol are sold from early morning: thick, sweet, drinkable porridges made from corn, rice, oats or, in this case, very ripe plantain blended with milk and cinnamon. Atol de plátano is creamy and fruity, a filling breakfast in a mug. The common mistake is boiling it hard after the milk goes in, which catches and burns on the bottom; keep it at a gentle bubble and stir. Chef's tip: simmer the plantain with the cinnamon in water first, then blend; this cooks the starch fully and gives a silky drink without any raw-banana taste.

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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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Tisane de tilleul (linden tea)

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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MaślankaChilled buttermilk

Maślanka, the tangy liquid left after churning butter, is sold in cartons all over Poland and drunk ice-cold with breakfast, with boiled new potatoes in summer, or blended with fruit for children. On its own it is thin, sour and refreshing; with strawberries and a spoon of sugar it becomes a light pink breakfast smoothie. The mistake is buying "buttermilk" that is really thickened yoghurt drink with added flavourings; look for plain cultured buttermilk with nothing else on the label. Chef's tip: chill the glasses as well as the buttermilk, and blend for no more than 20 seconds so it stays light and doesn't separate.

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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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Kapeng barakoStrong Liberica coffee

In Lipa and the hill towns of Batangas, mornings start with kapeng barako boiled in a dented aluminium kaldero and poured into enamel mugs, often next to pandesal, a slab of tapang Taal or a plate of suman. Barako is Liberica, a large-beaned coffee that grows on tall trees around Mount Malarayat, and the word itself means a strong, rough-mannered man. The cup is heavy and earthy with notes of jackfruit, dark chocolate and smoke, and it is sweetened with sticky muscovado from Negros or Antique, never with white sugar. It carries plenty of caffeine, so go easy if you are sensitive and keep it away from children. The usual mistake is keeping the pot at a rolling boil once the coffee is in: the grounds stew and the drink turns sour and harsh. Bring the water to the boil, then take it off the heat before adding the coffee. The brew is ready when the crust of grounds sinks after the splash of cold water and the liquid underneath is a clear, deep mahogany. Chef's tip: grind it coarse, like raw sugar, so it settles cleanly in the pot.

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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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Caffè lecceseEspresso with almond milk over ice

In Lecce and the towns of Salento, summer mornings start at the bar with a caffè in ghiaccio, and the local version, a fairly recent invention now poured everywhere from Otranto to Gallipoli, adds a pour of latte di mandorla: the sweet almond-milk syrup Puglian bakers have made for generations from local almonds. A short glass is filled with ice, the almond syrup goes in, and a hot espresso is poured straight over so it cracks the ice and blends into a pale, cold, nutty coffee. It is sweet without being sticky, with a marzipan aroma and a clean bitter finish. The common mistake is letting the espresso cool before pouring: it no longer melts and mixes with the dense syrup, which then sits at the bottom. Pull the shot and pour it at once, then stir. It is ready when the drink is evenly caramel-coloured and the glass feels icy. Lecce bars serve it from about May to late September, often with a pasticciotto. Espresso means a fair hit of caffeine. Chef's tip: if you can only find unsweetened almond drink, stir 1 tsp of sugar into it first, but real Puglian almond syrup gives the true taste.

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Spremuta di arance rosseFresh blood orange juice

From December to April the orchards on the plain below Etna, around Catania, Lentini and Paternò, are heavy with Tarocco, Moro and Sanguinello blood oranges. The cold Etna nights turn their flesh red, and in Catania bars the barista squeezes them to order on a lever press, serving the spremuta beside a cornetto or a granita at breakfast. It is sweet, juicy and tart, tasting of orange with hints of raspberry and cherry, and the colour runs from streaky pink to deep garnet depending on the variety. The common mistake is squeezing the oranges hours ahead or pressing the white pith too hard: the juice turns bitter and the colour goes brown. Squeeze just before drinking, press gently and stop before you grind into the skin. It is ready when the juice is bright and frothy on top and tastes balanced, with no bitter aftertaste. Moro oranges give the darkest juice; Tarocco is sweetest. Outside Sicily, any blood orange works, or mix half ordinary oranges with half blood oranges. Chef's tip: roll each orange firmly on the counter before cutting; it softens the segments so you get more juice with less pressing.

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Laphet yayBurmese milk tea

Burmese teashops, from the busy corners of Yangon to small-town Shan State, run on laphet yay: very strong black tea poured over condensed and evaporated milk, and customers order it by sweetness, from "pan pyar" (less sweet) to "cho seint" (extra sweet and creamy). It comes with samusa, palata or a bowl of mohinga. The mistake is weak tea: it must be brewed long and dark so it stands up to all that milk. Chef's tip: pour the finished tea from one jug to another from a height a few times; it cools slightly and gets the frothy top teashops are proud of.

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MoshOat and milk drink

In Guatemalan homes, mosh is what a mother hands a child on a chilly highland morning in Quetzaltenango or Huehuetenango: rolled oats cooked long and thin with water, milk, cinnamon and sugar, so it's drunk from a mug rather than eaten with a spoon. The common mistake is making it too thick like porridge; it should pour easily, so keep adding hot milk or water as the oats swell. Chef's tip: whisk it hard for a minute at the end; it breaks up the oats and makes the drink smooth and frothy.

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Koffie verkeerdCoffee with extra milk

Order a koffie verkeerd in any Dutch café or bruin café and you get a tall glass that is mostly steamed milk with a strong shot of coffee poured in, the 'wrong' way round compared with a normal black coffee. It is the Dutch morning cup at home and at work, usually with a speculaas biscuit on the saucer. The common mistake is boiling the milk, which makes it taste cooked and kills the foam; heat it only until it steams and small bubbles form at the edge, about 65 °C. Chef's tip: froth the milk by shaking it in a jar with the lid on before warming it in the microwave, and you get café-style foam without a machine.

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MursikSmoky fermented milk

When Kenyan marathon runners land back in Eldoret, relatives greet them with a gourd of mursik, the soured milk of Kalenjin homesteads across the Rift Valley highlands. Traditionally, milk sits for several days in a sotet, a long calabash whose inside has been scraped with a smouldering stick of senetwet (the tree often called the cromwell tree) so a lining of fine charcoal coats it; that charcoal gives mursik its smoky taste, grey flecks and long keeping. At home we skip raw milk and a wild ferment: pasteurised milk is soured with a live cultured buttermilk, and a jar smoked inside with untreated hardwood, or a pinch of food-grade activated charcoal, brings the flavour. Thick, sharp and smoky, it is drunk with ugali, sweet potatoes or after a long run, and the usual mistake is fermenting it somewhere too hot, where it splits into whey and tastes yeasty. Chef's tip: shake the jar hard before pouring, as herders shake the gourd, to make it smooth and drinkable.

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Caffè shakeratoShaken iced espresso

When July heat settles over Italian piazzas, bar regulars from Rome to Bologna switch their morning or after-lunch espresso for a shakerato. The barista pulls a fresh shot, tips it into a cocktail shaker with ice and sugar, shakes hard for fifteen seconds and strains it into a chilled martini or wine glass, where it settles into a dark body under a thick, beige, mousse-like crema. It tastes intense and bittersweet, colder and smoother than iced coffee, with a texture almost like a light cream. The common mistake is using too little ice or shaking half-heartedly: the coffee stays warm and the foam collapses within seconds. Fill the shaker at least half full with ice and shake until the metal is too cold to hold comfortably. It is ready when you hear the ice rattle softly and the shaker frosts over, and the pour has a thick foam on top. One shaker holds one double espresso, so it is fairly strong in caffeine. Chef's tip: dissolve the sugar in the hot espresso before adding ice; granulated sugar barely melts once the coffee is cold.

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Caffè alla nocciolaEspresso with hazelnut cream

Naples takes its espresso seriously, and its bars along Via Toledo and the Lungomare also serve this richer cousin: a small glass cup smeared with hazelnut cream, a hot ristretto poured in, and a cap of cremina, the pale foam Neapolitans make by beating the first drops of coffee with sugar. It is drunk standing at the counter at mid-morning or after lunch as a little treat, and in summer the same flavours come as a cold crema al caffè. It tastes of roasted hazelnut and dark coffee, sweet and nutty, with a soft, airy foam that melts into the cup. The common mistake is whisking the cremina with too much coffee: it stays liquid and never turns pale. Use just a teaspoon of the first, thick drops and beat hard. It is ready when the foam is light beige, thick and falls from the spoon in ribbons. Espresso means a fair amount of caffeine, so keep this one for grown-ups. Chef's tip: warm the glass under hot water first and swirl the hazelnut cream up the sides; the hot coffee melts it into stripes as it goes in.

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ChichemeCold cracked corn drink

Chicheme comes from La Chorrera, just west of Panama City, where it is sold by the glass at the town's fairs alongside bollos and chorizo, and it is now drunk all over the country on hot afternoons. Cracked white corn is cooked until soft and swollen, then mixed with sweetened milk, cinnamon and vanilla and served very cold, so every sip has chewy grains in it. Undercooked corn is the classic mistake; the kernels must be soft right through or the drink feels gritty. Chef's tip: soak the corn overnight, and it cooks in under an hour instead of two.

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Diabolo mentheMint syrup and lemonade

Ask anyone who grew up in France about diabolo menthe and they will remember sitting on a café terrace after school, or on holiday in Brittany or the Vendée, with a tall glass of startling green fizz and a straw. It is simply sirop de menthe, the sweet mint syrup sold in every French supermarket, topped up with limonade, which in France means a clear, lightly sweet, lemony fizzy drink. Grenadine makes a diabolo grenadine, lemon syrup a diabolo citron. It tastes cool, minty and sweet, like a liquid mint sweet, with a sharp sparkle. The common mistake is pouring the syrup on top of the lemonade: it sinks in a dense layer and you drink plain fizz followed by pure syrup. Put the syrup in the glass first and pour the lemonade down the side so it mixes as it rises. It is ready when the glass is an even mint-green from bottom to top and still fizzing hard. Café ratio is about one part syrup to seven parts lemonade. Chef's tip: for a homemade syrup, steep a big handful of fresh mint in hot sugar syrup for 30 minutes and strain; it will be pale gold-green rather than emerald, and tastes fresher.

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Masala doodhSaffron nut milk

Late evening at Ahmedabad's Manek Chowk, milk sellers pour masala doodh from a height between two brass pots to cool and froth it, and on Sharad Purnima families set a pot of it under the full moon before drinking it chilled. It is richer and more fragrant than plain badam milk: a home-ground masala of almonds, pistachios, cardamom, nutmeg and a little black pepper is stirred into milk reduced with saffron and sugar. The common mistake is boiling it hard after the nut masala goes in, which makes it catch and taste scorched. Chef's tip: grind a jar of the masala in one go and keep it in the fridge; two teaspoons turn any glass of milk into a treat.

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Kawa zbożowaRoasted grain coffee

In Polish kindergartens, school canteens and grandmothers' kitchens, kawa zbożowa is the breakfast "coffee" everyone can drink: a blend of roasted rye, barley, chicory and sometimes sugar beet that tastes toasty and malty with no caffeine at all. It is usually drunk milky and a little sweet alongside bread and butter. The common mistake is brewing ground grain coffee like espresso: it needs a few minutes of simmering to give up its flavour, or it tastes like weak tea. Chef's tip: let the pot stand off the heat for 2 minutes after simmering so the grounds sink, then pour gently and you won't need a filter at all.

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Beli mal (bael flower tea)

Beli mal is the herbal tea almost every Sri Lankan grandmother keeps in a tin. The small white flowers of the bael tree, the sacred tree found around temples and village gardens, are dried in the sun and brewed into a fragrant, amber drink that tastes softly floral, slightly fruity and a little bitter, a bit like a lighter chamomile. It is drunk in the morning or in the evening instead of black tea, offered at almsgivings and alongside kevum and kokis at Avurudu, and is traditionally taken after rich food to help digestion. Coriander seeds and a slice of ginger are a common addition at home. The custom is to sip it hot with a small piece of kithul jaggery held in the mouth, or stirred in. The common mistake is boiling the flowers fast for a long time: the tea turns dark and unpleasantly bitter. Simmer gently for a few minutes and then let it steep off the heat. It is ready when the tea is clear amber and smells sweet and flowery. It is caffeine-free, but bael may lower blood sugar, so check with a doctor if you take diabetes medication or are pregnant. Chef's tip: buy flowers that look pale cream; dark brown, crumbly ones are old.

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MocochinchiDried peach and cinnamon drink

Walk through any Bolivian plaza on a warm afternoon and someone will be selling mocochinchi from a big glass jar: a cool, amber drink of sun-dried peaches simmered with cinnamon and cloves, served with a whole wrinkled peach at the bottom of the glass to eat at the end. It is the classic drink with lunch from Cochabamba to Tarija. People often skip the overnight soak, and then the peaches stay leathery and the drink tastes thin. Chef's tip: rub the soaked peaches between your hands under water to clean off dust and loosen the skins, which also releases more flavour.

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Tsestalulu (sea-buckthorn juice)

Sea buckthorn grows wild along the river beds of Ladakh, and in Leh the bright orange berries are pressed into tsestalulu, a sharp, tropical-tasting juice sold in summer cafés and made at home after the autumn harvest. It is drunk chilled, sweetened with sugar or honey and thinned with cold water. The berries are very sour and slightly oily, so the juice is always diluted. The common mistake is boiling the pulp, which dulls both the colour and the fresh taste; just blend and strain. Chef's tip: frozen sea-buckthorn berries or plain unsweetened purée from health shops work very well; strain twice through a fine sieve for a silky drink.

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Beijing douzhiFermented mung bean drink

Douzhi is the most famous acquired taste in Beijing: a hot, grey-green, sour drink made from the liquid left when mung beans are ground for starch, then fermented. Old Beijingers sip it at breakfast with crisp jiaoquan rings and shredded salted mustard pickles, and visitors either love it or never try it twice. At home you make a small batch by blending mung beans, settling out the starch and fermenting the cloudy water for a day. The mistake is letting it boil hard: it separates into watery and thick layers, so keep it at a gentle bubble. It must smell cleanly sour like yogurt; throw it away if it smells rotten, has mould, or turns pink or slimy. Chef's tip: stir it continuously as it heats and add a splash of the thinner liquid at the end, which keeps the classic smooth, slightly thick texture.

1440 minChineseDrinksVeganGluten free
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Mursalski chaiIronwort tea

High in the Rhodope mountains, shepherds and villagers start the day with a pot of mursalski chai, brewed from the dried flowering stems of Sideritis scardica, the Balkan ironwort that grows on the limestone slopes around Mursalitsa peak. It tastes gently floral, lemony and a little like chamomile and mint, and is traditionally sweetened with honey or drunk plain. The common mistake is steeping it for just a couple of minutes like black tea; the woody stems need a short simmer to give their full flavour and golden colour. Chef's tip: break the stems into 5 cm pieces so they fit the pot and release more flavour, and use a slice of lemon to brighten the colour. Vegans can sweeten it with sugar instead of honey.

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Surti cold cocoaThick chilled cocoa milk

Long after dinner, the lanes around Surat's Chowk Bazaar and Athwa Lines fill with families queueing for cold cocoa, a thick, almost milkshake-like chocolate milk poured from big steel cans into tall glasses. The secret is cooking cocoa and a spoon of cornflour into rich milk first, then chilling it for hours so it thickens and the cocoa flavour deepens, before whisking it frothy to order. The common mistake is stirring cocoa powder straight into cold milk, which leaves bitter, dusty lumps floating on top. Chef's tip: make it the night before and whisk with a hand blender for 30 seconds just before pouring for the classic foamy head.

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Jugo de macaWarm maca drink

Before dawn at markets in Huancayo, Cusco and Lima, juice ladies ladle hot jugo de maca from big pots for workers on their way in: maca root, a turnip relative grown above 4,000 metres in the Junín highlands, simmered with milk, cinnamon and cloves and sweetened with honey or sugar. It tastes malty and toasty, a bit like butterscotch. The common mistake is stirring the powder straight into hot milk, which leaves gritty lumps; whisk it into a little cold milk first. Maca is not usually advised in pregnancy, so ask your doctor first if you are pregnant. Chef's tip: use gelatinised (cooked) maca powder if you can find it; it dissolves smoothly and is gentler on the stomach.

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'OtaiWatermelon and coconut drink

'Otai is the drink of the Tongan summer, ladled from big bowls at church feasts, weddings and beach picnics around Tongatapu. Watermelon is grated or mashed into chunky pulp and mixed with coconut milk, a little sugar and lots of ice; some families add grated mango or pineapple. It is drunk and eaten at the same time, with pieces of fruit in every glass. A common mistake is blending it smooth; it should be pulpy. Chef's tip: grate the melon on the coarse side of a box grater straight into the bowl to catch all the juice.

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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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Café de higoFig and grain coffee

In the farmhouses of central Chile, in the Maule and O'Higgins valleys, people have long drunk café de higo: a dark, caffeine-free "coffee" made from dried figs roasted with grains such as barley and wheat, then ground. It's mellow, fruity and slightly caramel-like, and many Chileans still prefer it with milk at breakfast. The fig granules are sold in Chilean and Latin grocers. The common mistake is brewing it like instant coffee, with a quick stir; it's a ground blend, so simmer it briefly and strain. It contains grains, so it is not gluten free. Chef's tip: a strip of orange peel in the pan brings out the fig flavour.

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Koko SamoaHot cocoa drink

Koko Samoa is the morning drink of Samoa, made from the island's own cocoa beans, roasted over a fire, pounded into a dark paste and dried into blocks sold at Apia's Fugalei market. Dissolved in hot water and sweetened, it is earthy, slightly bitter and rich, with a little oil floating on top, and is drunk with panikeke or buttered bread. If you can't find koko Samoa, use 100% cocoa chocolate. A common mistake is expecting it to be like milky hot chocolate; it is darker and thinner. Chef's tip: simmer it for a few minutes rather than just stirring it in, which brings out the roasted flavour.

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SalabatHot ginger tea

Salabat is the Filipino early-morning cup, simmered in homes from Luzon to Mindanao when the weather turns cool or a sore throat threatens, and drunk with bibingka and puto bumbong outside churches during the Christmas dawn masses. It is just ginger, water and dark sugar, but the ginger has to be bashed to release its heat. The mistake is slicing the ginger thinly and boiling briefly; you get a pale, weak tea. Crush it and simmer it properly. Chef's tip: leave the skin on young ginger, scrub it well and smash it with the flat of a cleaver, which gives a stronger, rounder heat.

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PinoleToasted corn drink

In the canyons of the Sierra Tarahumara in Chihuahua, Rarámuri runners set off at dawn carrying a pouch of pinole, corn kernels toasted on a clay comal and ground fine, to stir into cold water along the trail. Across northern Mexico it is still a breakfast drink, sweetened with piloncillo and cinnamon and stirred into water or warm milk. This version toasts coarse cornmeal at home for the same nutty, popcorn-like flavour. The common mistake is toasting over a high heat: the outside burns and turns bitter before the inside goes golden. Chef's tip: toast a big batch and keep it in a jar, so a morning cup is just two spoonfuls stirred into water.

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Nam lamyai (longan drink)

Longan orchards cover the valleys of Chiang Mai and Lamphun, and every August the harvest is smoked and dried in big brick ovens so the fruit lasts all year. That dried lamyai is the base of nam lamyai, sold in plastic bags with a straw at Warorot Market, at roadside stalls on the way to Doi Suthep and in school canteens across the north, especially in the hot season from March to May. It tastes like toffee and smoked honey with a light floral note, and each glass comes with a few plump, chewy longans at the bottom to fish out. The common mistake is boiling the fruit too long with all the sugar at the start: the drink turns syrupy and the longans go mushy. Simmer the fruit first, sweeten at the end and taste before adding everything. It is ready when the liquid is clear amber-brown, the longans have swollen back to roughly their fresh size and the kitchen smells of caramel. It keeps 4 days in a closed jug in the fridge. Chef's tip: a tiny pinch of salt is the street-vendor trick that makes the sweetness taste rounder and brings out the smoky edge.

30 minThaiDrinksVeganGluten free
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Citron presséFresh lemon drink

Order a citron pressé on a Paris terrace in July, or at a café in Nice after the beach, and the waiter brings a tall glass with an inch of freshly squeezed lemon juice, a carafe of iced water, a sugar bowl or a little jug of syrup and a long spoon. You build the drink yourself, as sharp or as sweet as you like, which is half the pleasure; French children learn to drink it with plenty of sugar, grown-ups often with almost none. It is bright, sour and cleansing, nothing like bottled lemonade, and best in the late afternoon heat. The common mistake is stirring granulated sugar straight into cold lemon water: it sinks and never dissolves, so the first sips are sour and the last a sludge. Dissolve the sugar in the juice first, or use a quick syrup. It is ready when the sugar has vanished, the drink tastes balanced to you and the glass is beaded with cold. Unwaxed lemons matter if you add a twist of peel. Chef's tip: pour the water over ice slowly and taste after half the carafe; most people find they need less water than they expect.

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Makhaniya lassiSaffron lassi with butter

Around the clock tower and old city of Jodhpur, lassi shops churn this rich drink all day in summer: chilled set curd whisked with sugar, saffron and cardamom, poured into tall glasses and crowned with a spoon of fresh white butter (makhan) and a layer of malai. You drink the cool lassi and eat the butter and cream with a spoon. It is a meal in itself. The common mistake is thinning it with too much water or ice, which loses the thick, almost spoonable texture that makes it Jodhpuri. Chef's tip: use curd set from full-fat milk the night before and whisk it by hand or with a few pulses only.

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Juhua cha (chrysanthemum tea)

The small white hangbaiju flowers grown around Tongxiang, near Hangzhou, are picked in November, steamed and dried, and they end up in teapots all over China. Families brew them after a rich dinner, through the dry autumn, and iced in summer; dim sum houses in the south offer them as a caffeine-free choice, often mixed with pu-erh. The tea is pale gold, lightly floral with a faint bitterness like chamomile, softened by a little rock sugar and a few goji berries that turn plump and red in the pot. The common mistake is pouring boiling water straight onto the flowers and leaving them for twenty minutes; the tea turns brownish and bitter. Water just off the boil, around 90 °C, and a short steep keep it clear and sweet. It is ready when the flowers have opened like little daisies, the colour is light amber and the smell is honey-like. You can top up the pot two or three times. If you are allergic to ragweed, daisies or marigolds, try a small cup first or skip it, as chrysanthemum belongs to the same family. Chef's tip: for iced juhua cha, brew it double strength and pour it straight over a glass full of ice so it does not taste watery.

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Suanmeitang (sour plum drink)

Old Beijing sold suanmeitang from brass bowls at street corners in summer, chilled with blocks of river ice, and the Qing court drank a version as a cooler. Today it comes in big jugs at copper-pot hotpot restaurants, where its sourness cuts through mutton and sesame sauce; families brew a pot every few days all summer. Smoked wumei plums give a deep, almost bacon-like smokiness, hawthorn adds fruity acid, licorice softens the edges and rock sugar rounds everything off, with dried osmanthus on top for a honeyed scent. It should be dark ruby, clear and refreshing, tart first and sweet after. The common mistake is boiling it hard for hours: the plum stones and hawthorn seeds release bitterness and the brew turns muddy. Simmer gently, strain early and chill fast. It is ready when the plums have collapsed and the liquid tastes clearly sour-sweet with a smoky finish. Licorice root is traditionally used in small amounts; people with high blood pressure, heart or kidney problems, or who are pregnant should keep the licorice out or check with a doctor. Chef's tip: add the osmanthus only after the heat is off, or its perfume vanishes.

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Hongzao guiyuan cha (red date and longan tea)

Across southern China, from Fujian to Guangdong, a pot of red dates and dried longan is what mothers and grandmothers put on the stove when the weather turns cold, and it is the classic drink brought to new mothers during zuo yuezi, the month of rest after childbirth. It is also sipped through the winter in the afternoon, or offered to visitors at Lunar New Year because the red dates promise sweetness ahead. The tea is amber-brown, naturally sweet and fruity, with a caramel, smoky depth from the longan and a gentle warmth if you add ginger. The common mistake is simmering whole dates: their skins stay tight and the tea tastes thin. Slit or tear each date so the flesh can give up its sweetness, then simmer slowly. It is ready when the dates are puffed and soft, the longan has swollen and the liquid is the colour of weak tea and tastes of toffee. It is traditionally drunk for comfort and warmth, not as a medicine; it is high in natural sugar, so go easy if you watch your blood sugar, and goji can interact with blood-thinning medicines, so check with a doctor if you take them. Chef's tip: eat the softened fruit from the bottom of the cup with a spoon; nothing is wasted.

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Bajre ki raabdiFermented pearl millet buttermilk porridge

In the villages of Haryana and the Rajasthan border, raabdi is drunk at midday in May and June to keep cool in the fields. Pearl-millet flour is stirred into buttermilk and left to ferment for a few hours, then cooked slowly until thick, cooled in a clay pot and thinned with more buttermilk and salt. It tastes tangy and earthy, a little like a savoury porridge you can drink. Ferment at warm room temperature (25–32 °C) for 4–6 hours: it should smell pleasantly sour with a few bubbles. Throw it away if you see pink, black or furry mould or it smells rotten or of nail varnish. The common mistake is cooking on high heat, which scorches the millet and leaves raw lumps. Chef's tip: keep the cooked raabdi in the fridge and drink it within 2 days, thinning each glass to taste.

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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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Gondhoraj gholLime-scented yogurt drink

In Kolkata the gondhoraj lime arrives with the monsoon heat, a knobbly green fruit whose peel smells of flowers and pine more than of sour citrus. Bengali households use it to lift dal and fish, but in the sticky months from Boishakh into Srabon it goes into ghol: dahi churned with cold water until frothy, sweetened lightly and scented with the zest, a squeeze of juice and a torn leaf. Cafés along Gariahat and old sweet shops serve it in clay bhaar cups after lunch, and it is just as good mid-afternoon with a plate of muri. It drinks thin, cool and silky, with a soft tang and a perfume that hits the nose before the first sip. The usual mistake is grating too deep or leaving the zest to sit for an hour: the white pith and the oils turn bitter. Take only the green outer layer, add it just before serving, and stop when the ghol smells floral rather than sharp. It is ready when the top is covered in fine foam and a spoon comes out lightly coated. Chef's tip: for the salted version, swap the sugar for black salt and a pinch of roasted cumin, as many Kolkata homes do on the hottest days.

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Ragi maltFinger millet malt drink

Across Karnataka, from Bengaluru flats to farmhouses round Mandya and Mysuru, a mug of ragi malt is how many mornings start, especially for schoolchildren, older relatives and anyone heading out to work in the fields. Finger millet powder is whisked into water and cooked until it thickens, then loosened with hot milk and sweetened with jaggery and cardamom; the savoury version, beaten into buttermilk with salt, is drunk cold at lunch in summer. The sweet version is smooth, malty and nutty, mauve-brown, thicker than milk but still drinkable. The commonest mistake is tipping ragi powder straight into hot liquid: it seizes into stubborn lumps. Always whisk it into cold water first. It is ready when the raw, grassy smell has gone, the mixture turns glossy and darker, and it coats the back of a spoon. Add jaggery only off the heat, or the milk can split. For babies, skip the jaggery and ask your health visitor about introducing ragi. Chef's tip: sprouted ragi powder (the true 'malt') tastes sweeter and cooks faster; look for it in Indian shops.

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Mate de muñaAndean mint tea

Muña is the minty shrub that grows wild on the slopes around Cusco, Puno and the Sacred Valley, and highland cooks reach for it after a heavy meal of chicharrón or when visitors are struggling with the altitude. Market herb sellers sell it in fresh bunches, and hotels and homes leave it in a flask for anyone coming in from the cold evenings. Steeped simply in hot water, it smells somewhere between spearmint, oregano and pennyroyal, with a cooling, slightly peppery taste and a pale green-gold colour. It is traditionally drunk to settle the stomach. The usual mistake is boiling the leaves hard for a long time, which turns the tea brown and bitter. Pour water just off the boil over the sprigs, cover, and let it steep. It is ready when the cup is pale gold and the aroma rises as soon as you lift the lid. Outside Peru, look for dried muña in Latin shops; failing that, use mostly spearmint with a little fresh oregano. Muña is strong: avoid large amounts in pregnancy, and check with a doctor if you take regular medication. Chef's tip: cover the cup while it steeps so the scented oils stay in the tea.

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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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SobachaRoasted buckwheat tea

Sobacha is roasted buckwheat tea, drunk all over Japan and especially in the soba country of Nagano and Hokkaido, where it is poured free in noodle shops and kept in jugs in the fridge through summer. Toasted buckwheat groats are steeped in hot water to make a golden, caffeine-free tea with a nutty, almost popcorn aroma, and the softened groats can be eaten too, stirred into rice or salads. Nothing is added: no salt, no sugar, so about 0.0 g salt per cup. The usual mistake is burning the groats when roasting your own; keep the heat at medium and keep the pan moving. Use Tartary buckwheat (dattan soba) for a deeper yellow tea. Anyone with a buckwheat allergy should avoid it, as reactions can be serious. Chef's tip: steep a second time with slightly hotter water; the second cup is often the sweetest.

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Limonata a cosce aperteFizzy lemonade

On hot afternoons along the Lungomare and in Piazza Sannazaro, the old acquafrescai kiosks squeeze half a lemon into a glass of sparkling water, then add a pinch of bicarbonate of soda. The drink foams up and over the rim, so you have to lean forward with your legs apart to drink it without soaking your shoes, which is where the cheeky name comes from. It tastes sharp, salty-fresh and very fizzy, and Neapolitans swear by it after a heavy lunch. Chef's tip: have the glass at your lips before you stir in the bicarbonate; the foam rises in seconds.

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Oksusu-chaRoasted corn tea

Oksusu-cha is the tea Korean households boil by the kettleful and keep in the fridge in old glass bottles, drunk instead of water with meals from Seoul apartments to Gangwon farmhouses, chilled in summer and hot in winter. Dried corn kernels are roasted until dark golden, then simmered to make a pale amber tea that tastes gently sweet and toasty, though nothing is added at all. About 0.0 g salt per glass. The usual mistake is boiling the kernels too long, which makes the tea cloudy and starchy; 15 minutes is plenty. Ready-roasted corn kernels are sold in Korean shops; if roasting your own, use dried corn, not fresh or tinned. Chef's tip: mix in a spoon of roasted barley for the classic boricha blend, rounder and more nutty, though no longer gluten free.

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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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Paneer soda (rose soda)

Every Tamil town once had a soda shop with crates of Codd-neck bottles sealed by a glass marble, and the pop of the marble being pushed down was the sound of a hot afternoon. Paneer here means rose water, not cheese, and paneer soda is rose syrup topped with that sharp local fizz, sold in Madurai, Tiruchi and Coimbatore by the bus stand and at temple festival stalls in Chithirai and Vaikasi, the hottest months. It is sweet and floral at first, then the bubbles and a touch of lime cut through and leave the mouth clean. The mistake most people make is boiling the rose water with the sugar: the scent cooks away and you are left with plain syrup. Make the syrup first, let it cool, and only then stir in the rose water. The syrup is ready when it is clear and slightly thickened, like thin honey, and the finished drink should be rosy pink and still foaming as you hand it over. Chef's tip: chill the syrup, the soda and the glasses well; warm soda loses its fizz the moment it meets the syrup.

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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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Agua de chilacayoteFig-leaf squash drink

When the big, mottled chilacayote squashes ripen at the end of the rains, cooks in Oaxaca's valleys and the Mixteca of Puebla turn them into a drink you eat with a spoon. The flesh is cooked with dark piloncillo and cinnamon until it falls into translucent threads, then cooled and loosened with water; in Oaxaca it is ladled out of clay jars at fairs, weddings and the Day of the Dead, often with a little pineapple. It tastes like cinnamon-scented panela, with soft, slightly crunchy strands that slide up the straw. The usual mistake is boiling it to mush; overcooked flesh goes cloudy and the strands disappear. Simmer gently and stop when the threads separate easily with a fork but still have a little bite. It is ready when the syrup is amber and the strands look glassy. Chilacayote is hard to find outside Mexico; spaghetti squash is the best substitute and gives the same threads. Keeps 3 days in the fridge. Chef's tip: grate a little orange zest into the pot in the last minute to brighten the piloncillo.

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TejateMaize and cacao drink

In the markets of Oaxaca city and San Andrés Huayápam, women sit behind wide painted gourds of tejate, scooping it into jícaras for anyone who needs cooling down in the hot middle of the day; it turns up at Guelaguetza in July, at village fiestas and at every Sunday tianguis. The base is maize, cooked with wood ash, ground on a metate with toasted cacao beans, the roasted kernel of the mamey seed (pixtle) and dried rosita de cacao flowers. That paste is worked by hand into cold water until a thick, beige foam rises and floats. Each sip is cool, earthy and faintly bitter, like cocoa without milk, with grainy body below and the airy flor on top; you sweeten it to taste with a thin sugar syrup. The usual mistake is mixing too fast with lots of water at once: the paste never emulsifies and no foam forms. Add water a little at a time and keep lifting and dropping the paste with your hand. It is ready when a firm, creamy foam a finger thick sits on the surface. Pixtle must be thoroughly roasted and only used in the small amount given, as raw mamey seed is not safe to eat. Chef's tip: grind everything twice; the finer the paste, the taller and longer-lasting the flor.

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Jugo surtidoMixed fruit juice

Step up to any juguería in Lima's Mercado de Surquillo or a barrio market at breakfast time and order a surtido: the juicer drops papaya, banana, pineapple and freshly squeezed orange into a tall blender, sometimes a slice of cooked beetroot for colour or a splash of milk, and pours you a big glass with the rest left in the jug for your 'yapa', the free refill. It is thick but still pourable, sweet from ripe fruit with a sharp orange edge, the kind of drink that stands in for breakfast before a long day. The common mistake is adding lots of ice and water, which makes it thin and frothy rather than velvety. Use cold fruit and freshly squeezed orange juice as the liquid. It is ready when it coats the glass and no lumps of banana are left. This version is fruit only; stalls also make it with milk if you prefer. Drink it straight away: papaya and banana go brown and bitter within half an hour. Chef's tip: use very ripe papaya with orange flesh; under-ripe papaya tastes of nothing and gives a faintly bitter aftertaste.

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Ju hua chaChrysanthemum tea

Ju hua cha is chrysanthemum tea, a summer staple in Hangzhou, where the famous small white Hang bai ju flowers grow, and across Guangdong and Hong Kong, where it is poured at dim sum and sold chilled in street-side stalls. Dried flowers open in hot water into a pale golden, honey-scented infusion with a gentle bitterness. It is drunk plain here: no salt and no sugar, so about 0.0 g salt per cup. The usual mistake is using boiling water, which turns it harsh; let the kettle rest for a minute first. A few goji berries add colour and a little natural sweetness. Chef's tip: rinse the dried flowers quickly in warm water first to wash off dust and wake up their fragrance.

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TepacheFermented pineapple drink

In Guadalajara and markets across central Mexico, tepacheros sell this drink from big clay jars, ladled over ice into bags with a straw on hot afternoons. It is the thrifty drink of the house: the peel and core left after eating a pineapple are fermented for two or three days with piloncillo, cinnamon and cloves until the liquid turns golden, faintly fizzy and pleasantly sour, like a spiced pineapple cider. Wild yeasts from the peel do the work, so it makes a trace of alcohol, well under 1% when drunk young; the longer it sits, the sourer and more alcoholic it gets. The common mistake is leaving it too long in a warm kitchen, when it turns vinegary and cloudy; in hot weather check after 36 hours. It is ready when it has a layer of fine bubbles, smells sweet-sour and fruity, and tastes tart rather than syrupy. White, flat foam can be skimmed; fuzzy, coloured mould, a slimy texture or a rotten smell mean throw it away. Keep it in the fridge 3–5 days, and if you bottle it for fizz, burp the bottles daily so pressure cannot build. Chef's tip: use an organic pineapple and do not scrub the peel, as the yeasts live on its skin.

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Suco de cajáHog plum juice

Walk along the beach barracas of Salvador or into any lanchonete in Recife and the juice board will list cajá near the top. The small yellow fruit, from tall trees that grow wild across Bahia and the Northeast, is too sour to eat out of hand but makes a juice with a scent that people there treat as a taste of home: floral, sharp and tropical, a little like passion fruit and mango crossed with lime. It is drunk ice-cold with lunch, with a plate of moqueca, or after an afternoon in the sun. Most Brazilians use frozen pulp, which keeps the fragrance well. The common mistake is drowning it in sugar or blending it with too much water so the perfume disappears; cajá should taste lively and tart, so sweeten lightly and taste as you go. It is ready when it is a bright golden-yellow, lightly frothy, and smells floral as soon as you lift the jug. Outside Brazil, look for frozen cajá pulp in Latin American shops; the same fruit is sold as jobo or yellow mombin, or ciruela in Mexico. Chef's tip: blend with half ice and half water instead of all water for a frothier, colder juice.

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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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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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UmbuzadaUmbu and milk drink

The umbu tree is the pride of the sertão, the dry interior of Bahia, Pernambuco and Piauí: its swollen roots store water through the drought, and when the rains come between January and March it covers itself in small green-gold fruit. Families gather them by the sackful, and umbuzada, the fruit cooked and blended with milk and sugar, is drunk cold in the afternoon heat or eaten thick as a light supper. It tastes sharply sour and sweet at the same time, creamy and fruity, a little like a gooseberry milkshake. The common mistake is blending hot, acidic pulp with milk, which makes it curdle into grainy flecks. Cool the pulp completely, mix the sugar into the pulp before the milk goes in, and serve soon after blending. It is ready when it is smooth, pale yellow-green and coats the glass. Outside Brazil, look for frozen umbu pulp in Brazilian shops; failing that, use cajá (yellow mombin) pulp or tart green plums cooked the same way. Keep any leftovers in the fridge and drink within a day. Chef's tip: for the thick version eaten with a spoon, halve the milk and serve it in a bowl with a sprinkle of farinha or crushed cuscuz.

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SomóCold spiced corn drink

Somó is how Santa Cruz cools down: big tubs of chilled, sweet, cinnamon-scented corn water sold in markets and at the door of lowland homes, with soft kernels of white corn floating in every glass to be eaten with a spoon. It is a simple drink, but it needs time, because the dried corn must soak and then simmer until each kernel bursts open. People often serve it before the kernels have fully opened, and then they are hard and chalky. Chef's tip: add a strip of orange peel with the spices for a fresher note, as some cruceño grandmothers do.

100 minAndeanDrinksVeganGluten free
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Refresco de coconaCocona cooler

In Iquitos, Pucallpa and the river towns of Loreto, heat and humidity make a cold refresco part of every lunch, and cocona is one of the favourites sold from plastic jugs at the Belén market. The fruit looks like a fuzzy orange tomato and tastes between tomato, lemon and apricot: very sour, aromatic and juicy. Blended with water and sugar it makes a tangy, golden drink with a light pulp, served with juane or tacacho con cecina. The usual mistake is skipping the fuzz: cocona skin is covered in fine hairs that make the drink scratchy, so rub them off under running water before you start. Blend only briefly, too, so the many seeds do not crack. It is ready when the refresco is opaque orange, sour first and sweet after, with no grit. Outside the Amazon, look for frozen cocona pulp in Latin American shops; naranjilla (lulo) pulp is the closest substitute. Chef's tip: a pinch of salt makes the fruit taste sweeter and fruitier without more sugar.

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Sungnyung (scorched rice tea)

Before electric rice cookers, every Korean pot of rice left a golden crust, nurungji, stuck to the bottom. Rather than waste it, cooks poured in water and simmered it while the family ate, and the warm, cloudy sungnyung was drunk at the end of the meal in place of tea. Older Koreans still describe it as the taste of home, and many Seoul restaurants that cook rice in stone pots finish by pouring water over the crust at the table. It tastes of toasted grain and has a faint natural sweetness, with soft pieces of crust to spoon up at the bottom. Without a stone pot you can make the crust from leftover rice in a frying pan. The common mistake is rushing the crust over high heat: it blackens on the outside and turns the drink bitter while the middle stays soft. Keep the heat low and patient, and aim for even golden-brown. The crust is ready when it lifts away from the pan in one sheet and smells like popcorn; the sungnyung is ready when the water is milky and pale gold. Chef's tip: make extra crust, dry it completely and keep it in a jar, so you can make sungnyung in ten minutes any evening.

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Carato de maízChilled corn drink

Out on the hot plains of the Llanos, a jug of carato is kept cold for the afternoon: white corn cooked until soft, blended with its water, strained and sweetened with panela, cinnamon and clove. It is thick, creamy and filling enough to be a snack in a glass. Keep it in the fridge, because left out it starts to ferment. The common mistake is skipping the straining, which leaves it gritty. Chef's tip: strain through a fine sieve and then once more through a clean cloth for the silkiest drink.

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Yuja-cha (citron tea)

Goheung, on the southern coast of South Jeolla, is Korea's yuja country: in November the groves turn gold and families slice the knobbly citrons for yuja-cheong, the honeyed preserve that becomes tea all winter. From December to March a spoonful in hot water is offered to guests, to students cramming late and to anyone with a scratchy throat, as it is traditionally drunk for colds. The tea is sweet, floral and sharp, with soft, chewy strands of peel that you eat at the end with a spoon. The common mistake is leaving the fruit damp or the pith too thick: wet fruit lets mould in, and thick white pith makes the preserve bitter. Scrub, dry completely and pare away any pith thicker than a few millimetres. The cheong is ready after a day or two, when the sugar has dissolved into a clear, glossy syrup around the peel. Keep it in the fridge for up to three months, always with a dry spoon; throw it away if you see fuzzy mould, smell alcohol or it bubbles. No yuja? Japanese yuzu is the same fruit; otherwise use 2 lemons and 2 mandarins. Chef's tip: soak the seeds in a little of the honey and add that liquid back for a silkier syrup.

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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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Daechu-cha (jujube tea)

Boeun county in North Chungcheong is famous for its large, sweet jujubes, harvested each October and sold at a lively autumn festival. Once dried, they become daechu-cha, the deep amber tea Korean traditional teahouses in Insadong and Jeonju serve from late autumn to early spring, topped with pine nuts. Long, slow simmering with ginger and a stick of cinnamon draws out a flavour like dates, caramel and baked apple; pressing the softened flesh through a sieve gives the tea its velvety, almost soup-thick body. It is traditionally drunk to warm up on cold nights. The common mistake is simply boiling whole jujubes and straining: the skins stay sealed, the tea comes out thin and pale, and most of the sweetness is thrown away. Slit each jujube, simmer until the flesh slides off the stone, then mash the pulp through the sieve. It is ready when the liquid has reduced by about half, is dark amber and lightly coats a spoon. Keep it covered in the fridge for up to 5 days and reheat gently. Chef's tip: a few slices of fresh ginger added in the last 20 minutes give a brighter heat than ginger boiled for the whole time.

110 minKoreanDrinksGluten free
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Agua de tuna (prickly pear drink)

Late summer is tuna season across the central highlands, from Hidalgo and the Estado de México down to Puebla's Teotihuacán valley, and that is when the big vitroleros in markets and taquerías turn shocking pink. Agua de tuna is just the cactus fruit blended with water, lime and a little sugar, strained, and poured over ice with lunch. Red tunas give a vivid colour and a taste between watermelon and pear; green ones make a paler, more herbal drink. It should be light and thirst-quenching, never syrupy. The commonest mistake is blending too long: the hard seeds crack and the agua turns gritty and slightly bitter. Pulse briefly, just enough to free the pulp, then strain well. It is ready when the liquid runs smooth through the sieve and tastes clearly of fruit with only a lift of lime. Handle unpeeled tunas with tongs or gloves: even 'cleaned' ones keep tiny glochids. Chef's tip: chill the peeled fruit before blending; cold pulp keeps its colour bright and needs less ice to dilute it.

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Mugicha (roasted barley tea)

From the rainy season in June until the cicadas fall quiet in September, almost every Japanese household keeps a tall jug of mugicha in the fridge. It is poured for children coming in from summer club practice, for grandparents after an afternoon nap, and alongside cold sōmen at lunch, because it carries no caffeine and can be drunk all day. Whole barley grains roasted until deep brown give a cup that tastes of toast, a little of coffee and a little of popcorn, with a clean, dry finish and no sweetness at all. Supermarkets sell it in tea bags, but loose roasted grains simmered in a pan make a rounder, darker brew. The usual mistake is leaving the grains in the jug or letting the hot tea sit out on the counter for hours: it turns bitter and, being a grain infusion, it sours quickly in summer heat. Strain it, cool it fast in a sink of cold water, and drink it within two days. It is ready when the liquid is a clear amber-brown and smells like freshly toasted bread. Chef's tip: dry-toast the grains for two minutes before brewing to wake up a bag that has been open a while.

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Kefir

Kefir is the sour, lightly fizzy fermented milk that families across Russia, Georgia and the North Caucasus drink plain from a glass at breakfast, as an evening snack or alongside a meal, and also use in pancakes and cold soups. It is made by leaving milk with kefir grains, a living culture of yeasts and bacteria, at room temperature for a day until it thickens. Nothing is added: no salt and no sugar. About 0.25 g salt per 250 ml glass, all from the milk itself. Always use pasteurised milk. The usual mistake is leaving it too long, until it separates into curds and whey; check after 18 hours and stop when it is just thick and pourable. Chef's tip: a second ferment of 6 hours in the fridge in a closed bottle makes it smoother and a little fizzier.

1445 minRussianDrinksGluten free
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HojichaRoasted green tea

Hojicha was born in Kyoto in the 1920s, when tea merchants started roasting the coarse late-season bancha leaves and stems over charcoal to sell what would not keep. Today the smell of tea roasting in a shop doorway is part of walking down Teramachi or past the Nishiki market. Roasting drives off much of the caffeine and all the grassy bitterness, so hojicha is the pot that comes out after an evening meal, with rice crackers, or for children and older relatives who avoid stronger tea. The cup is reddish brown, smells of caramel and roasted nuts, and tastes soft and slightly sweet with almost no astringency. Unlike sencha, it likes really hot water and a very short steep. The common mistake is treating it like black tea and leaving the leaves in for several minutes, which makes it flat and woody; 30 seconds is enough for the first pour, and the leaves give a good second pot. It is ready when the liquor is clear russet and the steam smells of toasted sugar. Chef's tip: if your packet has lost its perfume, warm the leaves in a dry pan for 30 seconds until they smoke very faintly before brewing.

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Surinamese dawetCoconut milk and lemongrass drink

Javanese Surinamers brought dawet from Java, and today it is sold cold from big jars at warungs in Lelydorp and the Paramaribo district of Blauwgrond, especially on hot Sunday afternoons. In Suriname it has become its own drink, quite different from the Malaysian cendol with its green noodles: chilled coconut milk sweetened with a lemongrass and pandan syrup, often tinted pale pink and studded with soaked basil seeds or soft jelly strips. The common mistake is boiling the coconut milk, which makes it split and taste flat; it should only be warmed. Chef's tip: bruise the lemongrass hard with a rolling pin before simmering it, so the syrup tastes bright and lemony.

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