Mocktails and cool drinks

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Bir pletokSpiced ginger drink

Bir pletok was the Betawi answer, in old Batavia, to the beer and wine drunk by the Dutch: a red, warming spice drink with no alcohol at all, served at weddings, at Lebaran open houses and in the evenings at Jakarta's Setu Babakan cultural village. 'Pletok' is said to be the popping sound it made when shaken in a bamboo tube to raise a foam. Ginger, lemongrass, pandan, cloves, cinnamon and cardamom are simmered with chips of secang (sappanwood), which turns the liquid deep ruby. It tastes hot and peppery from the ginger, perfumed from the pandan, sweet and lightly woody, and is drunk warm or with ice. The common mistake is skimping on ginger or slicing it thin and boiling briefly; you need plenty, bruised, and a slow simmer to draw out the heat. It is ready when the liquid is a clear ruby red and the ginger burn catches at the back of your throat. Secang chips are in Indonesian shops; dried hibiscus flowers give a similar red, slightly sourer. Keeps 5 days in the fridge. Chef's tip: shake each serving hard in a closed jar before pouring to get the foamy head.

40 min

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Kopi tubrukBoiled coffee with sugar

From the warung kopi of Yogyakarta and Solo to the night-shift stalls of Surabaya, kopi tubruk is the everyday coffee of Java: powder-fine robusta and sugar spooned into a glass, hit with boiling water, stirred once and left alone while the grounds sink. It comes out black, thick and strong, with a toasty, slightly chocolatey bitterness and often plenty of sugar, drunk early with fried snacks and again late at night over long talk. The grounds sit as a muddy layer at the bottom and stay there. The common mistake is drinking or stirring too soon: the cup is gritty and harsh. Wait four or five minutes, until the crust on top sinks and the surface turns clear and dark, then sip gently and stop before the sludge. It is ready when the foam has collapsed and a thin oily sheen shows on top. This is a strong, high-caffeine coffee; one glass is plenty, and it is not for children. Some sellers add a slice of ginger or a pinch of cardamom. Chef's tip: grind the beans as fine as for espresso or finer; coarse grounds float and never settle.

7 min

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SekotengGinger drink with peanuts

After dark in Semarang, Solo and the towns of Central Java, the sekoteng seller pushes his cart round the kampung, a copper pot of ginger water steaming on a charcoal stove and little jars of toppings lined up beside it. You get a bowl of roasted peanuts, soft mung beans, chewy pink pacar cina pearls and cubes of white bread, drowned in sweet, fiery ginger broth; on rainy nights, people say, it warms you down to the feet. The bread soaks up syrup and turns soft at the edges, the peanuts stay crunchy and the ginger bites. The common mistake is cooking the sago pearls in the ginger water: they release starch and make the broth gluey and cloudy. Boil them separately, rinse, and add to each bowl. The broth is ready when it is pale gold, clear and hot enough to make you cough a little. Pacar cina are small red sago pearls; plain small tapioca pearls coloured with a drop of red food colouring or beet juice work. Some sellers add condensed milk; this version stays dairy-free. Chef's tip: roast the ginger before simmering for a deeper, rounder heat.

60 min

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Wedang rondeRice balls in ginger syrup

Wedang ronde came to Java with Chinese tangyuan, eaten at the winter solstice, and in Yogyakarta it has become an all-year evening treat: sellers set up on the Alun-Alun Kidul and along Malioboro, and families sit on mats eating it as the night cools down. Soft, chewy balls of glutinous rice, some white and some pandan green, are filled with crushed peanuts and palm sugar, and floated in hot ginger syrup scented with pandan and lemongrass, sometimes with roasted peanuts and kolang-kaling on top. Bite one and the filling oozes warm and sticky against the clean burn of the broth. The common mistake is making the dough too dry: it cracks as you shape it and the filling leaks out during boiling. Add water until the dough feels like soft earlobe and smooth any cracks with a wet finger. The balls are done when they float, then stay at the top for two more minutes. Make the broth first so it is ready as soon as the balls are cooked. Chef's tip: chill the filling into little balls before wrapping; firm filling is much easier to seal.

65 min

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Teh talua (egg tea)

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

11 min

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GenmaichaGreen tea with toasted rice

Genmaicha started as a thrifty Japanese blend: toasted rice stretched expensive tea leaves and made the pot go further. It is now loved for itself and turns up everywhere, from office kettles in Tokyo to the free tea at sushi counters and ramen shops, poured all through the meal because its gentle, roasted flavour does not fight with soy or fish. The rice gives a nutty, savoury, almost buttery taste; the green tea adds a light grassy edge. It has about half the caffeine of plain sencha, so many people drink it in the afternoon. The usual mistake is pouring boiling water straight onto it: the green leaves scald and the cup turns bitter while the rice flavour gets lost. Let the kettle sit for a minute or two so the water is around 80–85 °C, and steep for no more than a minute. It is ready when the liquor is pale yellow-green and clear, and the steam smells of popcorn and cut grass. Chef's tip: matcha-iri genmaicha, with powdered matcha dusted over the blend, gives a greener, fuller cup; use it the same way but stir the pot once before pouring.

5 min

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Kuzuyu (hot kudzu drink)

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

8 min

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BusheraSoured sorghum drink

In the hills of Kigezi around Kabale, a calabash of obushera is offered to visitors and carried to the fields in the afternoon; the same drink, left for days, becomes beer, but the everyday family version is drunk young and contains no meaningful alcohol. Sorghum flour is cooked into a thin porridge, cooled, then left overnight with a spoonful of sprouted sorghum flour to sour gently, so it tastes tangy, malty and refreshing, a little like a drinking yoghurt made from grain. Drink it chilled on its own or with roasted groundnuts. The mistake people make is leaving it out too long: after a day it starts to fizz and turn alcoholic, so taste it, then chill it. Chef's tip: sweeten only just before serving, as sugar added early speeds up the ferment.

30 minEast African Drinks

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MalambeBaobab fruit drink

On the hot Lower Shire valley floor around Nsanje and Chikwawa, the hard, velvety baobab pods are cracked open in the dry season and their chalky white pulp is soaked to make malambe, a cooling drink sold by the cup at markets. It is pale and creamy-looking, tart like lemon sherbet with a hint of pear, and thicker than juice. Baobab pulp is sold abroad as dried chunks or fine powder; either works here, and the powder makes it a 15-minute drink. Not soaking the chunks long enough is the usual mistake, leaving the drink thin and gritty. Chef's tip: whisk the drink just before serving, because the pulp settles quickly to the bottom.

15 minSouthern African Drinks

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Ragi ambaliFinger millet porridge drink

Across rural Andhra Pradesh and Telangana, farm workers drink a big glass of ragi ambali in the early morning before the summer heat, and clay pots of it are sold at roadside stalls in April and May. Finger-millet flour is cooked into a thick paste, left overnight to ferment lightly, then thinned with buttermilk and stirred with raw onion, green chilli and curry leaves into a cool, tangy, savoury drink. It is suitable as part of a balanced diet. About 140 kcal and 22 g carbohydrate per portion. The usual mistake is pouring the ragi flour straight into boiling water, which makes lumps; mix it with cold water first. Chef's tip: cook the paste until it turns glossy and darker, about 8 minutes; undercooked ragi tastes raw and floury.

15 min

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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 min

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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.

20 min

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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.

5 min

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Akajiso juice (red shiso cordial)

Bunches of red shiso fill Japanese greengrocers for a few weeks in June and July, mostly bought to colour umeboshi. Gardeners from Kyoto's Ohara valley to Kantō boil the surplus into this cordial and keep it in the fridge for hot afternoons. Simmering pulls a murky purple-brown liquid from the leaves; the magic is the moment the vinegar goes in and the whole pan flushes a brilliant clear magenta. Diluted with ice water or soda water it tastes sweet-sour and herbal, like a cross between blackcurrant, mint and cinnamon. The most common mistake is simmering the leaves too long or with the stems: it turns grassy and bitter. Strip the leaves, boil them for five minutes only, until they have turned green and limp, then lift them out. The cordial is ready when it is jewel-bright and clear. Bottle it in a clean, sterilised bottle and keep it in the fridge for up to three weeks; discard if it fizzes, clouds or grows mould. No fresh red shiso nearby? Japanese and Korean shops sometimes sell it in summer, and it grows easily from seed. Chef's tip: freeze some as ice cubes to drop into sparkling water.

35 min

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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.

45 min

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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.

35 min

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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 min

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Maesil-cha (green plum tea)

In early June the hillsides of Gwangyang are picked clean of hard green maesil, and Korean kitchens across the country fill with jars of plums buried in sugar. Over about a hundred days the sugar draws out the fruit's juice and becomes maesil-cheong, a golden syrup that is both a cooking ingredient and a drink. Iced, it is the summer cooler; hot, it is traditionally drunk after a heavy meal for digestion. It tastes bright and tart, like green apple and apricot, rounded by the sugar. The common mistake is putting damp plums or plums with stalks into the jar: water and stalk ends invite mould and unwanted fermentation. Pick out each stalk with a toothpick and dry the fruit completely. The syrup is ready when the plums have shrivelled and float in clear amber liquid. A little foaming early on is normal, but if it smells strongly of alcohol, grows fuzzy mould or turns slimy, discard it. Remove the plums at 100 days, because their stones contain natural compounds best kept out of a long-stored syrup. Chef's tip: use half white and half light brown sugar for a rounder, toffee-edged syrup.

40 min

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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.

5 min

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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.

20 min

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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.

25 min

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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.

7 min

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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.

5 min

Brazilian Drinks

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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.

30 min

Brazilian Drinks

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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.

130 min

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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.

60 min

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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.

10 min

Peruvian Drinks

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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.

10 min

Peruvian Drinks

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Teh halia (ginger milk tea)

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

11 min

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Ipoh white coffee

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

10 min

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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.

7 min

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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.

10 min

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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.

22 min

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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.

15 min

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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.

8 min

Peruvian Drinks

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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.

13 min

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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.

10 min

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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.

20 min

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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.

23 min

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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.

10 min

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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.

15 min

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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.

70 min

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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.

10 min

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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.

40 min

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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.

50 min

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Kafae boran (old-style Thai coffee)

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

10 min

Thai Drinks

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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 min

Thai Drinks

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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.

5 min

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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.

4 min

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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.

5 min

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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.

6 min

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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.

5 min

French Drinks

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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.

3 min

French Drinks

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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.

10 min

French Drinks

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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.

5 min

Sri Lankan Drinks

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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.

13 min

Sri Lankan Drinks

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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.

12 min

Sri Lankan Drinks

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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.

12 min

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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.

11 min

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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.

15 min

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TahoWarm tofu with syrup and sago

Before eight in the morning in any Philippine barangay you hear the call "Tahooo!" as the magtataho walks past with two aluminium buckets balanced on a shoulder pole: one holds warm, wobbly silken tofu, the other dark arnibal syrup and sago. He scoops paper-thin layers of tofu into a plastic cup with a flat ladle, pours syrup over and adds the pearls, and children eat it standing at the gate with a spoon or slurp it through a wide straw. The taste is caramel and soy milk; the texture is custard-soft tofu against chewy pearls. Baguio has its own pink strawberry version. The common mistake is cooking the sago in too little water or not stirring at the start, so the pearls glue into a lump; use plenty of boiling water and stir for the first two minutes. The sago is ready when the pearls are translucent with only a tiny white dot left in the centre, and the arnibal is right when it coats a spoon like thin maple syrup. Chef's tip: steam the tofu in its box or bowl rather than boiling it, so it stays in one silky piece. Small sago pearls are a choking risk for babies and toddlers, so serve them only to older children.

45 min

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Chai nabat (saffron rock candy tea)

Pilgrims leaving Mashhad carry home boxes of saffron nabat, crystals of rock candy grown on a string and tinted gold with Khorasani saffron. Across Iran a glass of chai nabat is what you are handed when you feel unwell, after a shock, after an exam, or late at night when the evening meal sits heavy; it is traditionally drunk to settle the stomach and warm you up. The tea is brewed strong in a teapot that sits on top of the kettle, then poured clear and amber into small glasses, and the nabat stick is stirred until it softens the tea with a gentle, honeyed sweetness and a faint saffron aroma. Black tea has a moderate amount of caffeine, so give children a weaker glass. A common mistake is boiling the leaves or letting them steep on direct heat, which turns the tea bitter and murky; Persian tea is "dam" — brewed gently on steam. It is ready when the leaves have sunk, the tea is clear and reddish-amber and it smells of bergamot or cardamom. Chef's tip: hold the glass up to the light; if you can't see through it, top it up with hot water, as Iranians do.

15 min

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Sharbat-e bidmeshk (willow blossom sherbet)

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

15 min

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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.

20 min

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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.

40 min

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Prú orientalSpiced root drink

In Santiago de Cuba, Guantánamo and Baracoa, prú is sold from plastic bottles at the kitchen door and poured at every birthday, often next to a slab of cake. The recipe came from Haitian and French-Caribbean coffee planters who settled in the east, and families still keep a "madre", a starter jar from the last batch. Roots of raíz de China and bejuco ubí are boiled with pine, cinnamon and allspice, sweetened and left to ferment for a few days. It tastes like a wild, earthy root beer: woody, spiced, a little bitter, with a soft prickle. Fermentation makes a trace of alcohol, well under 1% if drunk young. Outside Cuba use dried sarsaparilla root, a close relative of China root. The common mistake is sealing bottles too early and leaving them warm, which builds dangerous pressure; use a plastic test bottle and chill once it is firm. It is ready when tiny bubbles rise and it smells sweet-sour, not yeasty. Throw it out if it grows fuzzy mould, turns slimy or smells rotten. Pregnant people should skip the pine needles, and anyone on medication should check with a doctor about herbal roots. Chef's tip: keep 250 ml back as the madre for your next batch.

70 min

Cuban Drinks

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Batido de mameyMamey milkshake

In Havana and all over the island, the cafeteria counter has a blender that never stops, turning out batidos of mango, guanábana, papaya and the favourite of all, mamey. The fruit has a rough brown skin and a soft, salmon-red flesh that tastes like sweet potato, pumpkin pie, almond and apricot at once, and blended with cold milk it makes a shake so thick it is almost a dessert. It is drunk mid-afternoon on hot days, at breakfast with toast, or at a kid's birthday party; Miami's Cuban cafés keep the tradition alive with frozen pulp. The common mistake is using a hard mamey, which tastes starchy and slightly bitter; the fruit must give like a ripe avocado when pressed and show deep red flesh when you scratch the skin with a fingernail. The batido is ready when it is smooth, pumpkin-orange and pours slowly in a thick ribbon. Frozen mamey pulp from Latin American shops is a good substitute; reduce the ice because the pulp is already cold. Chef's tip: a pinch of salt and a drop of vanilla bring out mamey's almond notes.

5 min

Cuban Drinks

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CortaditoEspresso with steamed milk

Havana runs on small cups of coffee: a cafecito standing at a ventanita, a colada shared in tiny plastic cups at work, and in the afternoon or with breakfast, a cortadito, which is Cuban coffee cut (cortado) with roughly as much hot milk. The coffee is brewed in a stovetop cafetera, and the first dark drops are whipped hard with sugar into a pale, thick espumita that floats on top of the cup. The result is rich, very sweet and caramel-like, with a velvety milk body and a strong, bitter edge underneath. It is high in caffeine, so it is not one for children. The common mistake is adding sugar to the pot or stirring it in at the end; without the espumita you get a thin, flat drink. Beat the first concentrated coffee with the sugar until it turns light tan and holds soft folds, then pour in the rest. It is ready when a pale foam floats on the cup and the milk has been heated until steaming, with small bubbles around the edge but not boiling. Chef's tip: catch only the first 2–3 teaspoons of coffee for the foam; later coffee is too thin to whip.

10 min

Cuban Drinks

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Sorbete de curubaBanana passionfruit milk drink

In Colombia a sorbete is not an ice but a fruit milkshake, and around Bogotá and the cold highlands of Boyacá and Cundinamarca the classic is made with curuba, the long, soft-skinned banana passionfruit that grows on vines at 2,500 metres. Bakeries and corrientazo lunch spots serve it with almuerzo or with a slice of cake at onces, the late-afternoon snack. It is pale salmon-pink, creamy and sweet-tart, more delicate than passionfruit, with a fragrance like guava and lemon. The common mistake is blending the pulp with its black seeds on high speed: the seeds break up and the sorbete turns bitter and grey-flecked. Pulse just enough to loosen the pulp from the seeds, strain, and only then blend with milk. Serve it at once, because the acid in curuba thickens the milk the longer it stands. It is ready when it is smooth, frothy and pink with no gritty specks. Outside Colombia look for frozen curuba pulp in Latin shops; passionfruit pulp works too, but use about two thirds of the amount as it is stronger. Chef's tip: dissolve the sugar in the strained juice before the milk goes in, so you can blend for less time.

10 min

Colombian Drinks

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TizanaFruit in orange juice

On Sunday afternoons in Caracas, juice stands along the boulevards of Sabana Grande and the Plaza Altamira, and street carts outside beaches and parks, sell tizana in tall plastic cups with a straw and a long spoon. It is half drink, half fruit salad: papaya, pineapple, melon, watermelon, apple, mango and banana cut into tiny dice and soaked in orange juice tinted ruby with grenadine. At home it is made by the jug for birthday parties and hot holidays. It tastes juicy, sweet and bright, and every sip brings a different fruit up the straw. The common mistake is adding the banana and apple with everything else an hour early: they turn brown and mushy and cloud the juice. Cut them last and stir them in just before serving. The tizana is ready when the fruit has soaked for about 30 minutes in the fridge, the juice has turned a clear coral-pink and the pieces are cold right through. Make the dice no bigger than 1 cm so they pass up a wide straw. Grenadine here means pomegranate syrup; a red fruit syrup works too. Chef's tip: squeeze a little lime over the cut apple and banana to keep them pale and add a tang that lifts the whole jug.

25 min

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MerengadaStrawberry milk shake

Ask for a batido in Venezuela and you get fruit blended with water; ask for a merengada and it comes with milk, frothy and pale. The name is said to come from the old habit of beating in a little egg white like a meringue, which few cooks do now. Every panadería and fuente de soda from Maracaibo to Barcelona has a row of fruits on the counter, and strawberry from the Andes of Mérida, banana and guava are the favourites, ordered with a cachito or a pastelito at breakfast or as an after-school treat. A good merengada is cold, light and foamy, tasting clearly of fruit, not just of sweet milk. The common mistake is too little ice and too much milk, which gives a thin, warm drink with no froth. Blend the fruit with part of the milk first until perfectly smooth, then add the ice and the rest of the milk and blend hard. It is ready when a thick layer of pink foam sits on top and no fruit pieces are left. Banana or guava (strain the guava for seeds) work the same way. Chef's tip: frozen strawberries make it frostier; cut the ice by half if you use them.

5 min

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Café guayoyoLong black coffee

In the coffee villages of the Venezuelan Andes, in Trujillo, Mérida and Táchira, the day starts in the dark with a pot of guayoyo, and it never really stops: a cup at breakfast with arepas, one mid-morning, one after lunch, one at the bodega counter in the afternoon. Guayoyo is the opposite of a short, dark negrito: plenty of water through a modest amount of coffee, poured through a colador de tela, a cotton cloth sock on a wire ring. It is light-bodied, mild and clean, closer to tea in strength, with gentle chocolate notes and almost no bitterness, so it is easy to drink cup after cup. It still has caffeine, so count the cups. The common mistake is pouring boiling water onto the grounds, which pulls out bitter flavours; let the kettle rest off the boil for a minute first. Never wash the cloth with soap either, or every cup tastes soapy. The coffee is ready when it runs through amber-brown, clear enough to see the bottom of a white cup. Sweeten with papelón (raw cane sugar) if you like. Chef's tip: keep the rinsed cloth in a jar of water in the fridge between uses so it never smells stale.

10 min

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Batido de lechosaPapaya and orange shake

Lechosa is what Venezuelans call papaya, and on breakfast tables from Valencia to Puerto La Cruz it turns up as a batido beside arepas or empanadas, often blended with the oranges that are piled cheap in every market. It is thick, smooth and sunset-orange, tasting of honeyed papaya and bright citrus, and it fills you up until lunch. Some families blend it with milk instead of juice, which turns it into a creamy merengada. The common mistake with milk is letting it stand: papaya's natural enzyme starts to turn milk bitter within half an hour, so drink it straight away. Another mistake is scraping the seed cavity too hard; the black seeds and their slippery coating make the batido bitter and peppery. It is ready when there are no fibres left, it pours in a thick stream and the colour is an even orange. Choose papaya that is mostly yellow-orange and gives slightly under your thumb; a green-streaked one tastes flat and a little musky. Chef's tip: a few drops of lime juice cut through papaya's musky note and make it taste fresher.

5 min

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Yansoon (anise tea)

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

12 min

Egyptian Drinks

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Hummus el shamHot chickpeas with tahini

When the cold winds of January blow through Cairo and Alexandria, carts with steaming copper pots appear on street corners, outside universities and along the Corniche. The vendor ladles hummus el sham — Levantine chickpeas — into glasses: soft chickpeas in their own cooking broth, seasoned with lemon, cumin, salt and a fiery spoon of shatta, sometimes with tomato and chopped onion. It is drunk and eaten with a spoon, a warming, peppery, sour-salty cup that is very different from the dip. The common mistake is using undercooked chickpeas or draining away the cooking water: the broth is the drink, and it should be cloudy and slightly thick from chickpeas that are soft enough to crush between your fingers. A pinch of bicarbonate of soda in the pot helps them soften, as Cairo vendors do. It is ready when the broth tastes deeply of chickpeas and lemon, the cumin is fragrant and the chilli leaves a warm burn. Adjust the heat for children. Canned chickpeas with their liquid work in a pinch: simmer them for 10 minutes with fresh water. Chef's tip: squeeze the lemon into each cup at the end; boiled lemon turns bitter.

85 min

Egyptian Drinks

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Helba (fenugreek tea)

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

14 min

Egyptian Drinks

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EiskaffeeIced coffee with ice cream

On a hot July afternoon in any German or Austrian Eiscafé, from a Hamburg promenade to a Viennese Gastgarten, the tall glass with the long spoon is Eiskaffee. It is not iced coffee in the American sense: strong coffee, chilled, is poured over two scoops of vanilla ice cream and crowned with sweetened whipped cream, sometimes a wafer and a dusting of cocoa or grated chocolate. You drink the cold coffee through a straw while the ice cream slowly melts into it, then spoon up the creamy, half-frozen rest, so it is part drink, part dessert, eaten at the café in the afternoon rather than with a meal. The usual mistake is pouring hot or even warm coffee straight onto the ice cream: it melts at once into a thin, lukewarm, milky soup. Brew it earlier and chill it properly. It is ready when the coffee is fridge-cold, the scoops sit just proud of the surface and the cream holds soft peaks on top. It is moderately caffeinated, so keep it for adults and older teens. Chef's tip: freeze leftover coffee in ice-cube trays and add a couple to the glass so nothing gets diluted with water.

15 min

German Drinks

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Wiener MelangeCoffee with milk and foam

In Vienna you never simply order 'a coffee'; you order by name, and the Melange is the one most Viennese ask for. It arrives in a large cup on a small silver tray with a glass of water and often a tiny chocolate, and you may sit over it for an hour with the newspapers at Café Prückel or Hawelka, mid-morning or after lunch. Traditionally it is a mild, longer espresso (a Verlängerter) with roughly equal hot milk and a soft cap of milk foam; it is gentler than a cappuccino and the foam is looser and creamier. Expect a round, nutty, slightly sweet cup with little bitterness. The common mistake is overheating the milk: once it passes about 70 °C it smells cooked and loses its sweetness and the foam turns big-bubbled and dry. Stop when the jug is too hot to hold for more than a second or two. It is ready when the foam sits in a smooth, glossy dome about a finger thick and the coffee shows as a brown ring at the edge. One cup has about the caffeine of a single espresso. Chef's tip: always serve the glass of water alongside, as Vienna does; it is drunk first to clear the palate.

6 min

Austrian Drinks

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EinspännerBlack coffee with whipped cream

The Einspänner is named after the one-horse carriages of old Vienna: coachmen waiting outside in winter supposedly liked their coffee under a lid of cream that kept it hot and stopped it slopping. Today it is served in a handled glass at classic coffee houses, a strong black mocha (a double espresso or Großer Brauner without milk) topped with a thick layer of cold, lightly sweetened whipped cream and a pinch of icing sugar. You do not stir it: you sip the hot, bitter coffee through the cold, sweet cream, so each mouthful is two temperatures and two textures. It is an afternoon or late-morning coffee, often with a slice of Sachertorte. The common mistake is runny cream that sinks and turns the drink into a milky latte; whip it until it just holds a peak and spoon it on gently so it floats. It is ready when the cream stands at least 2 cm above the coffee and slowly sinks at the edges. It is strong: a double shot of caffeine in one glass. Chef's tip: pour the coffee in first and wait ten seconds before adding the cream, so the crema settles and helps support the cap.

6 min

Austrian Drinks

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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.

25 min

Bangladeshi Drinks

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Ivan-chai (fireweed tea)

Long before Chinese tea reached ordinary villages, peasants around Koporye near St Petersburg, and on through Karelia and the Arkhangelsk forests, were rolling and fermenting the leaves of fireweed, the tall pink-flowered plant that floods clearings every July. Ivan-chai is having a revival now, sold in paper bags at markets and drunk at the dacha in the evening from the samovar, because it has no caffeine and will not keep anyone awake. It brews to a clear amber with a soft, slightly fruity, honey-and-dried-apple taste and almost no bitterness. Granular kinds taste deeper, leaf kinds more floral. The common mistake is brewing it for two or three minutes like black tea; it needs a full 10 minutes in a warmed pot to open up, and it never turns bitter if you leave it longer. It is ready when the liquid is a deep golden-amber and smells of honey and dried fruit. It is traditionally drunk as a calming evening tea; if you are pregnant or on regular medication, check with a doctor before drinking it daily. Chef's tip: the same leaves give a second, lighter pot; just top up with fresh hot water and wait another 10 minutes.

13 min

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Oblepikha tea (sea buckthorn tea)

Sea buckthorn grows wild along the rivers of Altai and the Baikal shore, and by October its thorny branches are crowded with tiny orange berries. Siberians freeze them by the bucketful, and all winter a glass teapot of oblepikha tea glows on café tables from Irkutsk to Moscow, ordered after skiing or against the dark afternoons. The taste is sharp and tropical, somewhere between passion fruit, pineapple and lemon, with a faint oily richness from the berries, softened by honey and warmed by ginger. The common mistake is pouring boiling water straight onto the honey and berries: it dulls the fruit, makes the honey taste flat and can turn the tea bitter. Let the kettle settle for a couple of minutes first. It is ready when the tea is a cloudy sunset orange, smells of citrus and ginger and the berries have released their juice. Outside Russia, look for frozen sea buckthorn in Eastern European or Nordic shops, or use unsweetened sea buckthorn purée. Chef's tip: crush a big batch of berries with honey, keep it in a jar in the fridge for a week, and spoon it into mugs whenever you want a cup.

13 min

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Berezovy sok (birch sap)

For two or three weeks at the end of March and into April, while there is still snow under the trees and before the buds open, the birches around Moscow, Tver, Vologda and across the north start to run. Families tap a few trees at the dacha and drink the sap straight from the jar: clear, cold, very faintly sweet, tasting of rainwater and fresh wood. Because it spoils within two or three days, villagers bottled the rest with sugar, raisins and lemon zest, letting it ferment slightly into a sparkling drink that kept into early summer; like any ferment it makes a trace of alcohol, well under 1% if drunk young. Only tap with the owner's permission, choose trees thicker than 20 cm, drill one small hole and plug it with a wooden peg afterwards so the tree heals. The common mistake is sealing the bottles tight at warm room temperature, which can make them burst; keep them cool and open the caps daily. The bottled sap is ready when the raisins float, a ring of fine bubbles forms on top and it tastes gently sparkling. Chef's tip: drink the first glass straight from the tree; it is never quite as good again.

15 min

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MabíFermented bark drink

Around Juana Díaz on Puerto Rico's south coast, and in the Dominican countryside, mabí is sold ice-cold from barrels on hot afternoons and at patron-saint fiestas. It is made from the bark of the mabí tree (Colubrina elliptica, the mauby of the English-speaking Caribbean), boiled with spices, sweetened with brown sugar and left a day or so to ferment with a splash from the last batch, the madre. It tastes bittersweet, like a woodier root beer, with a creamy head and light fizz. Fermenting makes a trace of alcohol, well under 1% if drunk within a few days. The common mistake is skipping the beating: mabí should be poured back and forth between two jugs from a height until it is thick with foam, which also airs the yeast. It is ready when a tan foam stays on top, it tastes sweet-bitter with a slight sourness and small bubbles rise. Look for mabí or mauby bark in Caribbean shops; there is no real substitute. Traditionally drunk to cool down; drink it in moderation, and if you are pregnant or on blood-pressure medication, check with a doctor first. Chef's tip: keep a cup of finished mabí in the fridge as the madre for the next batch.

50 min

Puerto Rican Drinks

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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.

11 min

Mauritian Drinks

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Horchata lojanaHerbal flower infusion

In Loja and the valleys of Vilcabamba and Malacatos, horchata has nothing to do with rice: it is a pink herbal infusion of anything up to twenty garden plants, drunk hot at breakfast and after lunch, or cold from the fridge on warm afternoons. Markets sell the herbs in bundles: cedrón, hierbaluisa, toronjil, mint, chamomile, mallow, and the red-leaved escancel and ataco (red amaranth) that give the colour. It tastes lemony, floral and faintly silky, and turns from ruby to bright pink the moment lemon juice goes in. The common mistake is boiling all the herbs hard, which makes it bitter and grassy; only the tough flaxseed and lemongrass simmer, and the soft leaves steep off the heat. It is ready when the liquid is deep red-pink and smells of lemon and flowers. Abroad, Latin shops sell dried mixes; dried hibiscus gives the colour if you lack amaranth. It is traditionally drunk to settle the stomach; if you are pregnant or on medication, check with a doctor before drinking it daily. Chef's tip: add lemon at the table, glass by glass, to watch the colour change.

25 minAndean Drinks

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Refresco de linazaFlaxseed and pineapple drink

In La Paz, Cochabamba and Sucre the refresqueras at the market stalls ladle linaza from big glass jars alongside mocochinchi and somó, and at home it is a standard jug in the fridge for the midday almuerzo. Flaxseed is simmered with pineapple peel, cinnamon and cloves until the water turns faintly silky, then strained, sweetened and chilled. It is pale gold, smooth and almost slippery on the tongue, tasting of pineapple and spice, with lime to wake it up. It is traditionally drunk to cool down and to settle the stomach. The common mistake is simmering too long or leaving the seeds in as it cools: the liquid turns into a thick, slimy gel. Strain it while still hot, as soon as a spoon dipped in comes out lightly coated, like thin syrup. It is ready when it pours freely but feels smooth, and tastes sweet, spiced and fresh. Using the peel and core of a pineapple is the thrifty Bolivian way and gives more flavour than the flesh. Chef's tip: if it thickens too much in the fridge, whisk in cold water a little at a time until it pours easily again.

30 minAndean Drinks

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Cocido quemadoBurnt sugar mate drink

Cocido is how Paraguay starts the day: in Asunción, in the villages of Guairá and Itapúa, and in school kitchens, a pot of burnt yerba is brewed and poured into cups with chipa, the cheesy cassava bread, or with a hard galleta. The old way is to drop a glowing piece of charcoal into a pot with yerba and sugar and stir until the sugar burns. On a home stove you caramelise them together in a dry pan instead, which is safer and gives the same smoky, toffee-like taste. The drink is clear amber-brown, with roasted, slightly bitter mate notes over burnt-sugar sweetness; with milk added it becomes cocido con leche, creamy and coffee-coloured. Yerba mate contains caffeine, so treat it like a cup of coffee. The common mistake is letting the sugar go black: it turns acrid and bitter. Pull it off the heat when the caramel is deep amber and the yerba smells toasted, not burnt. It is ready when the liquid is a clear dark amber and tastes of toffee and smoke. Chef's tip: the water will spit fiercely when it hits the hot caramel, so pour it in from the side, at arm's length.

14 min

Paraguayan Drinks

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SwankGuyanese limeade

Swank is the simplest drink in Guyana and the one everybody's grandmother made: fresh limes from the yard squeezed into cold water and sweetened with brown Demerara sugar from the cane fields along the coast; nobody agrees where the odd name comes from. It turns up beside Sunday cook-up rice, at village cricket matches, at Mashramani in February and on any hot afternoon in Georgetown, New Amsterdam or the Essequibo coast, poured from an enamel jug full of ice. It is sharp, refreshing and gently caramel-sweet from the brown sugar, with a warm hint of nutmeg on top. The common mistake is squeezing the limes so hard, or leaving the lime shells in the jug, that bitter peel oil takes over; squeeze firmly but not to the last drop, and take the shells out. It is ready when the sugar has completely dissolved, it tastes bright, tart and sweet in balance, and the nutmeg smells warm on top. Make it fresh: lime juice turns bitter if it sits for more than a few hours. Chef's tip: dissolve the Demerara in a little warm water first; the large crystals take forever to melt in cold water.

10 min

Guyanese Drinks

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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.

12 min

Burmese Drinks

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Herbata z sokiem malinowymTea with raspberry syrup

In Polish homes a bottle of sok malinowy, the raspberry syrup made each July from garden or forest raspberries, waits in the pantry for winter. When someone comes in from the frost, or lies in bed with a cold, it goes into a glass of hot black tea, sometimes with a slice of lemon; grandmothers insist it makes you sweat the chill out, and the drink is traditionally given at the first sign of a sniffle. It also appears simply after a winter walk or with a slice of cake. The tea turns ruby, tastes of summer berries with a light tannic edge, and is sweet enough without sugar. The usual mistake is pouring syrup into boiling tea straight from the kettle: the fresh raspberry aroma cooks off and only sweetness is left. Let the tea cool for a minute or two first. It is ready when the tea is deep amber, the syrup has fully swirled through and it smells clearly of raspberries. No homemade syrup? Use a good shop-bought raspberry syrup, or make the quick one in the optional steps. Chef's tip: brew the tea weaker than usual, about two minutes, so the fruit stays in front.

7 min

Polish Drinks

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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.

120 min

Taiwanese Drinks

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Papaya milk

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

5 min

Taiwanese Drinks

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Leung cha (Cantonese herbal tea)

Across Guangdong and Hong Kong, the leung cha shop with its gleaming brass urns is a neighbourhood fixture. People drop in after a run of fried food, late nights or the heavy, humid weather of early summer, when Cantonese tradition says the body has too much 'heat', and down a bowl standing at the counter, then chase it with a dried plum. Brews range from the gentle 'five-flower tea' to fiercely bitter 24-herb mixes. This home version uses dried mesona (sin cho), prunella spike (ha fu cho), chrysanthemum and honeysuckle: dark brown, earthy and grassy, clearly bitter but rounded by the flowers and a little rock sugar. The common mistake is boiling everything together for an hour; the flowers turn harsh and muddy. Simmer the woody herbs first, add the flowers only for the last 10 minutes. It is ready when the liquor is the colour of strong tea and has reduced by about a third. It is traditionally drunk for comfort, not as medicine: skip it in pregnancy and check with a doctor if you take regular medication. Chef's tip: buy herbs pre-weighed as a packet from a Chinese herbalist, who will rinse-check them for grit and freshness.

85 min

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Sugarcane and cogon root drink

Ask a Hong Kong family what they drink at the first hint of a sore throat in autumn, or when the city's spring humidity sets in, and many will say jook je mao gun soi. Lengths of thin green bamboo sugarcane, split open, are simmered with dried cogon grass root and carrots, sometimes with water chestnuts and a few dried corn silks, into a pale amber broth that tastes of sugarcane, sweet carrot and a faint grassiness. It is drunk warm after dinner or chilled from the fridge during the day, and herbal tea shops sell it by the bottle for children who refuse the bitter stuff. The common mistake is skipping the splitting of the cane: whole sticks barely release any sweetness, and you end up adding sugar. Bash each piece with the back of a cleaver until it cracks lengthwise. The drink is ready when the carrots are soft, the liquid is clear and light amber, and it tastes naturally sweet. Bamboo cane and cogon root are sold as soup packs in Chinese grocers; ordinary purple or green sugarcane works too. It is traditionally drunk to 'clear heat', but it is a refreshment, not a cure. Chef's tip: add a few peeled water chestnuts for extra crunch-sweetness.

80 min

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Urts tea (wild thyme tea)

Urts, the wild thyme that carpets the summer meadows around Aragats and Lake Sevan, is picked in June and July when it flowers purple, then tied in bunches and hung to dry. Every Armenian market sells it, and it is the tea served in village homes after a heavy khorovats lunch, in the evening before bed, or with a plate of dried fruit and gata on a winter visit. It brews to a pale gold, smells of summer hillsides and tastes softly peppery and herbal, a little like oregano and lemon. The common mistake is boiling the herb: it turns harsh and medicinal and loses its sweet, floral notes. Pour on water just off the boil and cover the pot so the aromatic oils stay in the tea. It is ready after 5–7 minutes, when the colour is light gold and it smells of thyme the moment you lift the lid. Outside Armenia, use dried wild thyme or a mild garden thyme with flowers, about two-thirds the amount. It is traditionally drunk for a tired stomach or a cough; drink it in normal amounts and check with a doctor if you are pregnant or on medication. Chef's tip: add a few dried mint leaves or a sprig of dried rose petals for a village blend.

10 min

Armenian Drinks

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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.

95 min

Kyrgyz Drinks

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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.

30 minScandinavian Drinks

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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.

20 minScandinavian Drinks

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Kaffeost (coffee with cheese)

In the far north, across Swedish Norrbotten and Finnish Lapland, coffee comes with cheese in the cup. Leipäjuusto, a mild, squeaky cheese baked or grilled until spotted brown (called kaffeost or 'bread cheese'), is cut into cubes and put in a cup, often a carved wooden kuksa, then hot black coffee is poured over. Sámi reindeer herders and Tornedalen farmers have made it this way for generations; it is a fireside or mid-morning drink on a cold day, and in some families a little sugar or a slice of dried reindeer meat goes in as well. The cheese warms through, softens slightly and soaks up the coffee, so you drink the coffee and then spoon out the warm, chewy, milky cubes. The common mistake is using a soft or melting cheese: it collapses into strings. Use proper leipäjuusto or halloumi, which keep their shape. It is ready when the cubes are hot to the centre, about 2 minutes, and slightly puffed. Strong coffee means real caffeine here, so it is an adult drink. Leipäjuusto is sold in Nordic shops; halloumi is the nearest substitute. Chef's tip: warm the cheese on a dry pan first for extra browned flavour.

6 minScandinavian Drinks

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Anijsmelk (aniseed milk)

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

10 min

Dutch Drinks

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SlempSpiced saffron milk

Slemp is the Dutch holiday drink of earlier centuries: on Sinterklaas evening, around New Year and on skating days in the 18th and 19th centuries, a big kettle of milk was simmered with saffron, mace, cinnamon, cloves, lemon peel and a handful of tea leaves, and ladled into cups for family and visitors. Slemp evenings came back into fashion in Amsterdam museums and village fairs, and you can still buy dried 'slempkruiden' spice mixes in old-fashioned shops. The drink is golden, faintly floral from the saffron, warmly spiced and only lightly sweet, with a soft tea background; a spoon of cornflour gives it a slight body. The common mistake is throwing all the spices straight into boiling milk: cloves turn harsh and the milk catches. Steep the spices in the hot milk below the boil instead, then strain. It is ready when it has turned saffron-gold and smells of cinnamon and mace. The tea adds a small amount of caffeine. Chef's tip: soak the saffron in a spoon of warm milk for ten minutes first; the colour spreads more evenly and you need fewer threads.

25 min

Dutch Drinks

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Socată (elderflower fizz)

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

20 min

Romanian Drinks

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BozaFermented millet drink

In Bulgaria boza is a breakfast habit: a plastic bottle of it from the corner pastry shop and a slice of hot, flaky banitsa, bought on the way to work or school, especially from autumn through to spring. Towns such as Radomir, Plovdiv and Sofia argue over whose is best. It is the colour of milky coffee, thick enough to coat the glass, sweet up front with a sour, bready finish and a faint prickle. Like every fermented grain drink it makes a trace of alcohol, well under 1% when drunk young. The base is millet flour, toasted for flavour, cooked into a thin porridge, then fermented for about a day before being strained and sweetened. The common mistake is adding the yeast while the porridge is still hot, which kills it and leaves you with sweet gruel; wait until it feels only just warm on your wrist. It is ready when the surface is covered in small bubbles, it smells like fresh bread with a sour edge and tastes pleasantly tangy. Chef's tip: keep back a glass of each batch in the fridge and use it instead of yeast next time; boza made from an old starter is rounder and more sour.

70 min

Bulgarian Drinks

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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.

15 min

Algerian Drinks

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TogwaSweet fermented maize drink

In Tanzania's Dodoma, Singida and Iringa regions, togwa is drunk through the hot, dry months and carried to workers in the fields at midday. It starts as a thin porridge of maize or sorghum flour. Once it cools a little, a handful of kimea, sprouted and dried finger millet ground to a malt, is stirred in, and its enzymes turn the starch to sugar so the thick gruel thins almost before your eyes and tastes sweet. Left overnight, it sours lightly. Good togwa is sweet-sour, smooth and drinkable, like a thin, tangy grain milk. Any alcohol is only a trace, well under 1%, if drunk within a day or two. The common mistake is stirring the kimea into gruel that is still boiling, which kills the enzymes and leaves it stodgy; wait until it is hot but bearable to touch, about 60 °C. It is ready when it has thinned to a pourable drink, tastes pleasantly sour and smells clean and slightly yeasty. If you cannot buy kimea, soak finger millet for 12 hours, sprout it for 2 days, dry it in the sun or a cool oven and grind it. Chef's tip: stir in the malt in two goes, half while warm to sweeten and half when cool to start the souring.

50 minEast African Drinks

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TisteMaize and cacao drink

In Nicaragua tiste belongs to the hot season and to the countryside around León, Chinandega and Masaya, where it is served in a jícara, a polished half-gourd, at fiestas patronales, at markets and to anyone arriving tired from the fields. Dried maize and cacao beans are toasted until fragrant, ground with cinnamon to a fine flour, then stirred into cold water with sugar. It is grainy in a pleasant way, with the taste of toasted corn, a deep cocoa bitterness and warm cinnamon; in the north they add a little achiote for colour. The common mistake is under-toasting the maize: it needs to go a deep golden-brown, with a few kernels popping, or the drink tastes raw and floury. It is ready when the powder smells like popcorn and chocolate, and the mixed drink is a cloudy cocoa brown that needs stirring as it settles. Traditionally the grinding was done on a stone; a high-powered blender or grain mill works well. If you cannot get dried maize, toast 150 g masa harina in a dry pan until golden instead. Chef's tip: make a double batch of the powder and keep it in a jar; it lasts a month and a glass takes one minute.

45 minCentral American Drinks

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Café chorreadoCloth-filtered coffee

Every Costa Rican grandmother has a chorreador: a small wooden stand holding a cloth bag, the bolsita, over a cup or jug. Hot water is poured through the grounds by hand, a little at a time, and the result is the coffee drunk at breakfast with gallo pinto and again at the afternoon cafecito around three, with a tamal, a slice of pan casero or a rosquilla. The cloth catches the oils and fine grounds, so the cup is clean, bright and smooth, with the soft acidity and caramel sweetness of Tarrazú and Central Valley beans. In the countryside the water is sometimes sweetened with tapa de dulce before it goes through. It is strong coffee, so mind the caffeine late in the day. The common mistake is pouring all the water in at once, which floods the bag and leaves weak, uneven coffee; pour in slow circles, in four or five goes. It is ready when the drips slow to a trickle and the coffee is dark reddish-brown and smells of toasted caramel. Never wash the bag with soap; rinse it in hot water and hang it to dry. Chef's tip: boil a new bag once with a spoonful of coffee before using it, to season the cloth.

10 minCentral American Drinks

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ResbaladeraBarley and rice milk drink

Resbaladera comes from Guanacaste, the dry, sunny cattle province of northwest Costa Rica, and is sold by the cup at the Fiestas de Santa Cruz in January, at the July celebrations of the Anexión in Liberia, and from carts at rodeos and turnos all through the hot months. Pearl barley and a little rice are cooked with cinnamon and cloves until bursting, then blended with milk and sweetened, giving a cold, slightly thick, creamy drink, smooth and milky like rice pudding in a glass, with warm spice and vanilla. The name hints at how easily it slips down. The common mistake is undercooking the barley: if the grains still have bite, the drink is gritty and thin however long you blend. Cook until they are swollen, split and very soft. It is ready when it is pale cream, completely smooth after straining and tastes of vanilla, cinnamon and nutmeg. Barley means it is not gluten free. Chef's tip: chill it properly before serving and stir in a splash of cold milk if it thickens in the fridge overnight; it should pour easily.

65 minCentral American Drinks

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Lagmi (fresh palm sap)

In the oases of the Tunisian south, in Gabès, Tozeur, Nefta, Kebili and on Djerba, palm climbers cut a small wound at the crown of an ageing date palm and hang a clay pot under it overnight. By sunrise it holds lagmi: cloudy, ivory-white sap, cool and sweet, with notes of coconut water and fresh dates. It is sold in recycled bottles at the roadside and drunk the same morning, because the wild yeasts in it begin to ferment almost at once. By afternoon it is fizzy and sour, and by the next day it has become an alcoholic palm wine, also called lagmi, which is a different drink altogether. The common mistake is buying more than you can drink by lunchtime or leaving it in the sun: keep it on ice from the moment you get it. Fresh lagmi is ready to drink when it is sweet, smells clean and milky, and only a few tiny bubbles rise; once it tastes sour or prickles on the tongue, it has started to turn. It is raw and unpasteurised, so pregnant people, babies, older people and anyone unwell should skip it. Outside the oases, fresh coconut water is the closest stand-in. Chef's tip: chill the glasses too; lagmi is at its best ice-cold.

5 min

Tunisian Drinks

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Horchata de morroMorro seed and rice drink

In El Salvador horchata means horchata de morro, made with the seeds of the morro or jícaro tree, whose round gourds also become cups and bowls. It is poured from big glass jars at pupuserías every evening, sold in plastic bags with a straw outside schools, and drunk at home with Sunday lunch. Markets in San Salvador and Santa Ana sell a ready-ground mix, but toasting your own is easy: rice, morro seeds, sesame, pumpkin seeds and cacao, with cinnamon and allspice. The drink is light brown, cool and creamy, with a nutty, toasted taste, a hint of chocolate and warm spice; quite different from the white Mexican rice horchata. The common mistake is skipping the soak and blending the powder straight with water; it stays gritty and tastes thin. Let it soak at least 30 minutes, or overnight in the fridge. It is ready when it is smooth, beige-brown, coats the glass faintly and smells of toasted seeds and cinnamon. Outside Central America, look for semilla de morro or horchata mix in Latin shops; if you cannot find it, use extra pumpkin seeds and sesame. Chef's tip: toast each seed separately, because they brown at different speeds.

35 minCentral American Drinks

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Hong Kong red bean iceRed bean shaved ice

Red bean ice is a cha chaan teng drink and dessert in one: tall glasses of sweet stewed adzuki beans, sugar syrup and crushed ice, topped with a layer of evaporated milk, served all summer at the old-school cafés of Sham Shui Po and Mong Kok and at the dai pai dong on Stanley Street. You stir with a long spoon, sip the cold milky liquid through a straw and spoon up the soft beans. The beans can be cooked a day ahead. Contains milk. Chef's tip: add the sugar only once the beans are completely soft; sugar added early keeps the skins tough.

90 min

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HyldeblomstsaftElderflower cordial

In Denmark the elder hedges flower from late May to the end of June, and picking the creamy umbels on a dry, sunny morning is one of the first rituals of summer. The flowers steep for a few days with sliced lemon, sugar syrup and citric acid, then are strained into bottles of hyldeblomstsaft, a non-alcoholic cordial that is diluted with cold still or sparkling water and poured at garden lunches, children's birthday parties and around the bonfire on Sankt Hans aften, 23 June. It tastes floral and honeyed, a little like muscat grapes, with a fresh lemony edge that keeps it from cloying. The mistake most people make is picking flowers that are already browning, damp or growing by a busy road; they give a musty, catty smell. Choose freshly opened heads that smell sweet, and shake out the insects instead of washing them, which rinses away the pollen and the flavour. The cordial is ready when it tastes clearly of elderflower and the lemon slices have softened. Chef's tip: snip the florets off with scissors right under the flowers, as green stalk makes it bitter.

40 minScandinavian Drinks

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Masato de arroz (Bogotá spiced rice drink)

In the old bakeries of La Candelaria and at the juice stands of the Paloquemao market in Bogotá, masato is poured from big jugs to go with warm almojábanas and pandebono at mid-morning or with the afternoon onces. It is cooked rice blended with spiced syrup and left to rest until it turns gently tangy, so it tastes like a cross between rice pudding and a cool, creamy lemonade. Any natural fermentation produces a trace of alcohol the longer it goes on; this version rests only overnight and is then chilled, and for a completely alcohol-free drink skip the rest and add lime juice for the tang. Chef's tip: keep the rest short and taste it; it should be lightly sour and sweet, never fizzy or boozy.

60 min

Colombian Drinks

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Trà chanhIced lime tea

On warm evenings the pavement beside St Joseph's Cathedral in Hanoi fills with rows of tiny plastic stools, and nearly everyone is holding a tall glass of trà chanh, cheap green tea poured over ice with a squeeze of lime and plenty of sugar, sipped with a saucer of sunflower seeds while the city's scooters roar past. It is sharp, sweet and very refreshing. Chef's tip: brew the tea in water just off the boil, around 80 °C; boiling water makes green tea bitter.

10 min

Vietnamese Drinks

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Lebu chaBlack tea with lime

Along College Street and around Esplanade, the tea sellers who pour lebu cha into little unglazed clay cups (bhaar) are the fuel of Kolkata's famous evening adda, the long arguments over books and football. It is weak black tea, sweetened, sharpened with fresh lime and finished with a pinch of sulphurous black salt and roasted cumin, so it tastes sweet, sour and faintly savoury. It is drunk hot in every season and the cup is thrown away. Chef's tip: steep the tea briefly; long-brewed tea plus lime turns harsh and astringent.

7 min

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Nutmeg juice

Penang is one of the few places in the world where nutmeg trees grow in back gardens, and its hawkers turn the pale, tart flesh around the nutmeg seed into jus buah pala, a frosty pale drink served at Gurney Drive and the coffee shops of Chulia Street to cool you down after spicy noodles. It tastes sweet and sour with a soft, woody spice. Outside Malaysia, look for preserved or candied nutmeg fruit strips in Asian grocers. Chef's tip: use only the fruit flesh; the seed (the nutmeg spice) and its red lace of mace are far too strong to blend into a drink and can make you unwell.

10 min

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Trinidad cocoa teaSpiced cocoa milk

In the cocoa-growing hills of Trinidad and Tobago, breakfast often starts with a mug of cocoa tea, made from home-rolled cocoa sticks or balls of ground roasted beans grated straight into the pot. Simmered with cinnamon, nutmeg and a bay leaf, then softened with milk and sugar, it tastes deeper and less sweet than shop hot chocolate, with a film of cocoa butter on top that everyone stirs back in. It is drunk with coconut bake, fry bake or hops bread. The mistake to avoid is a fast boil once the milk goes in, which scorches the bottom and makes it bitter. Chef's tip: whisk in a teaspoon of cornflour slaked in cold milk for the slightly thicker cocoa tea of Tobago grandmothers.

20 min

Trinidadian Drinks

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Jamaican soursop juice

Soursop punch is a Sunday-dinner drink in Jamaica, made when a ripe, soft soursop comes from the market or a yard tree, and it is also sold in bottles at roadside juice stands. The white, custardy pulp tastes of pineapple, banana and strawberry all at once, and blended with milk, nutmeg and vanilla it becomes thick and creamy. The common mistake is blending the black seeds, which taste bitter and should not be eaten; always pick them out by hand. Chef's tip: use a fruit that gives softly all over when pressed, like a ripe avocado.

20 min

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Atmit (warm barley gruel with spiced butter and honey)

When a baby is born in an Amhara household, visiting women bring or cook atmit for the new mother, and the same soft, sippable gruel is made for anyone recovering from illness. Roasted barley flour (or oat flour) is whisked into water and simmered until it thickens to the texture of a thin custard, then enriched with a spoon of niter kibbeh, honey and a pinch of korerima. It tastes nutty, sweet and buttery, and is drunk warm from a cup rather than eaten with a spoon. Some homes add a little milk for extra richness. A common mistake is tipping the flour straight into hot water, which makes lumps; slake it in cold water first. Chef's tip: keep it thinner than you think; atmit thickens as it cools, and it should still pour easily from the cup.

20 min

Ethiopian Drinks

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Kuti (Harari coffee-leaf tea)

Harar sits in old coffee country, and its households drink not only the beans but the leaves: kuti is made by toasting dried coffee leaves and brewing them into a light, amber tea. It tastes soft and grassy with a hint of roasted coffee and far less caffeine than a cup of buna, so it is sipped through the afternoon, during long chats and after the fast is broken in Ramadan. Many Harari homes add milk and sugar; leave the milk out or use a plant milk to keep it vegan. Dried coffee leaves are sold as coffee leaf tea by some coffee and tea merchants. Do not swap in cascara, which is the dried coffee cherry husk and makes a different, fruitier drink. Chef's tip: toast the leaves only until they darken a shade and smell like toasted hay; overdone, they taste of ash.

14 min

Ethiopian Drinks

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SbitenHot honey and spice drink

Long before tea reached Russia, street sellers wrapped in shawls carried copper urns of sbiten through winter markets, pouring steaming glasses of spiced honey water for traders and coachmen. It comes back every Maslenitsa at fairs in Moscow and Suzdal, drunk beside blini. The taste is warming and sweet, with the bite of ginger, a bitter edge of bay and clove, and a resinous note from St John's wort or mint. Where most people go wrong is boiling the honey hard, which dulls its perfume; simmer the spices first and dissolve the honey off the boil. Honey should not be given to babies under one year old. Chef's tip: make the spiced base ahead and keep it in the fridge, then reheat a glass at a time and finish with a squeeze of lemon.

25 min

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Kissel

Kissel is the drink of Russian childhoods: a glass of silky, ruby-red berry juice, just thick enough to coat the tongue, poured warm at kindergarten lunch or cold in summer from a jug on the dacha veranda. It is also the old Maslenitsa and wake-table drink, and frozen berries make it possible all year. The flavour is sweet-sharp and fresh, the texture smooth and slightly jelly-like. A common mistake is adding the starch mixture to boiling liquid and letting it bubble for minutes; bring it just back to a simmer, then take it off, or it thins out again and can turn gluey. More starch makes a spoonable dessert kissel. Chef's tip: lay cling film or sprinkle a little sugar on the surface as it cools to stop a skin forming.

20 min

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Mors

Northern Russia picks cranberries and lingonberries from the bogs in autumn, and many of them end up as mors, a tart, crimson drink served from a jug at family dinners and offered in cafes and canteens from Arkhangelsk to Siberia. Unlike kissel it is thin and refreshing, made by pressing out the raw berry juice, cooking the skins in water and then combining the two so the fresh vitamin-rich juice is never boiled. Honey goes in last, once the liquid has cooled a little, to keep its flavour. Where most people go wrong is boiling the pressed juice along with the pulp; keep it aside until the end. Honey is not for babies under one year old. Chef's tip: serve it cold with ice in summer or warmed gently in winter; it is good both ways.

20 min

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Lao iced coffee

High on the Bolaven Plateau above Pakse, the coffee towns around Paksong grow most of Laos's beans, and roadside stalls there brew them dark and strong through a long cloth sock, all day long. Ordered cold, it arrives as a glass of ice with a thick layer of sweetened condensed milk at the bottom, the black coffee poured over and stirred to a caramel brown, often with a free cup of weak tea to sip afterwards. It is bitter-sweet, chocolatey and much richer than a café latte, made for hot afternoons on the plateau or a morning stop in Pakse. A French press or a fine sieve lined with a paper filter stands in for the cloth sock. Pouring hot coffee straight onto ice before adding the milk is where it goes flat: the condensed milk won't dissolve in cold coffee and sinks in a gluey lump. Chef's tip: stir the condensed milk into the hot coffee first, then pour over the ice.

10 min

Lao Drinks

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Bahamian switchaKey lime drink

On Bahamian porches and at Fish Fry stalls in Nassau, switcha is the everyday cooler: fresh key limes squeezed with sugar and cold water, stirred up in a big jug with plenty of ice. It's sharper and more fragrant than lemonade, and you'll see the lime halves floating in the jug. The usual mistake is putting sugar straight into cold water, where it sinks undissolved: make a quick syrup first. Chef's tip: drop a few squeezed lime halves into the jug for 10 minutes for extra aroma, then take them out before the pith turns it bitter.

10 minCaribbean Drinks

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KossamFresh or soured Fulani milk

Fulani herders of the Adamawa plateau measure hospitality in kossam: a calabash of cool milk offered to a guest after a long ride, or sold in Ngaoundéré's markets fresh in the morning and pleasantly soured by afternoon. Fresh kossam is simply creamy whole milk, sometimes sweetened, drunk cold with couscous or on its own as a light meal in the heat of the day. For the tangy soured style, stir two spoonfuls of live plain yoghurt into the milk, leave it somewhere warm for 8–12 hours until thickened, then chill. Traditionally it is made with raw milk; at home, always use pasteurised. Chef's tip: chill the milk for several hours and whisk the sugar in hard just before serving, which gives the light froth you see on calabash-served kossam.

5 min

Cameroonian Drinks

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Barley water

Ask for 'barley' at any drinks stall in a Singapore kopitiam and you get a tall glass of cloudy, faintly sweet barley water, the drink older relatives swear by on the hottest afternoons because it is said to cool the body. Home cooks simmer pearl barley for an hour with knotted pandan leaves, and in Teochew and Cantonese households chunks of winter melon go in as well for a gentle, cucumber-like sweetness. The result is light and clean, ideal beside a plate of chicken rice, char kway teow or anything greasy and salty. The usual mistake is boiling it hard, which turns the liquid starchy and slimy instead of smooth and pale; keep it at a gentle simmer. Chef's tip: don't throw away the softened barley grains; spoon some into each glass, as the stalls do, or eat them warm with a little rock sugar as a light dessert.

65 min

Singaporean Drinks

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BandungRose syrup milk drink

Pink as a sweet in a glass, bandung turns up at almost every Malay drinks stall in Singapore, sipped through a straw at Geylang Serai, at kampung-style weddings and through the evenings of Ramadan when stalls sell it in tied plastic bags at the bazaars. Rose syrup is stirred into water and evaporated milk, then poured over plenty of ice, giving a drink that is floral, sweet and creamy without being heavy. It pairs well with spicy food such as mee rebus, satay or nasi lemak, cooling the chilli. The usual mistake is adding the evaporated milk to hot syrup, which can make it look curdled and dull; let the syrup cool, and mix with cold milk. Chef's tip: make the syrup in advance and keep it in the fridge for up to two weeks, so a glass takes a minute; a few drops of rose water at the end lift the scent if your syrup is mild.

10 min

Singaporean Drinks

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Morir soñandoOrange and milk drink

Its name means "to die dreaming", and on a hot afternoon in Santo Domingo a tall glass of it from a colmado or juice stand feels exactly like that: fresh orange juice and ice-cold evaporated milk, sweetened and stirred over lots of ice into something like a creamsicle. Many Dominican families make it with dinner on Sundays. The common mistake is pouring the milk into the juice, or using warm ingredients, which curdles it; the juice goes slowly into very cold milk. Chef's tip: squeeze sweet, low-acid oranges and chill the juice and milk for an hour first, and it will stay smooth.

10 min

Puerto Rican Drinks

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Barbadine punchGranadilla milk drink

Barbadine, the giant granadilla, grows on vines over backyard fences across Trinidad and turns up at Sunday lunch blended into a pale, creamy punch. The fruit's soft white flesh and the perfumed seed pulp inside are both used, giving a gentle passion-fruit flavour that milk, nutmeg and a little sugar round out. It is alcohol-free and made for the whole family. A frequent mistake is blending the seeds hard, which cracks them and turns the drink gritty and bitter: pulse the pulp briefly and strain it. Chef's tip: if you can't find barbadine, use the pulp of 6 passion fruit plus 200 g peeled honeydew melon for a similar taste.

15 min

Trinidadian Drinks

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Hong Kong iced lemon tea

Ask for 'ling cha, dung' at any Hong Kong cha chaan teng and a tall glass arrives crammed with ice, a heap of thin lemon slices and a long spoon for pounding them, the default thirst-quencher with set lunches all year round. The tea is brewed almost bitter, so it holds its own against the ice, and the sharp lemon and simple syrup turn it bright, tangy and refreshing. It is drunk with everything from macaroni soup breakfasts to afternoon pineapple buns. The common slip is brewing tea at normal strength, which tastes thin and watery once the ice melts; double the tea. Chef's tip: press the lemon slices with the back of the spoon only a few times to release juice and oil from the zest; grinding them to a pulp brings out bitterness from the pith.

10 min

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Saudi champagneSparkling apple and mint punch

Despite the name, Saudi champagne is completely alcohol-free: a jug of chilled apple juice topped up with sparkling water and loaded with sliced apple, orange, lemon and fresh mint. It is the drink of weddings, Eid gatherings and summer afternoons in Jeddah and Riyadh, poured over plenty of ice into tall glasses. It is light, fizzy and fruity, a little like a cider-free punch, and children love it. The most common mistake is adding the sparkling water hours ahead, so the bubbles are gone by the time guests arrive; mix the fruit and juice early, and add the fizz at the last moment. Chef's tip: bruise the mint lightly between your palms before it goes in so it releases its scent without turning bitter.

10 minGulf Arabian Drinks

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LimonanaFrozen mint lemonade

The name joins limon and nana, lemon and mint, and this slushy green lemonade is what beach cafés from Herzliya to Eilat hand over the counter on blazing summer days. Lemon juice, sugar syrup, a big handful of mint and ice are blended until smooth and frosty, so the drink is sour, sweet and cooling at once. It is alcohol-free and children love it. The mistake is blending the mint so long that it turns bitter and brownish; a short, hard blitz keeps it bright. Chef's tip: make the syrup ahead and chill it, then use plenty of ice so the drink stays thick rather than watery.

13 min

Israeli Drinks

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Labrador tea

Labrador tea grows in the bogs and boreal forests right across northern Canada, and Cree, Dene and Inuit families have long dried its leathery, rust-backed leaves for a hot drink on the land and at home. It tastes resinous and piney, a bit like rosemary and eucalyptus, and is often sweetened with a little sugar. The leaves contain natural compounds that are harmful in large amounts, so brew it weak, drink a cup or two, and don't steep it for hours. It is not for pregnant or breastfeeding women. Only pick it if you know the plant well: the poisonous bog laurel grows alongside it; dried leaves from a trusted seller are safest. A common mistake is using a big handful of leaves; one tablespoon makes two cups. Chef's tip: steep below boiling and briefly; a long boil makes it bitter and stronger than you want.

10 min

Canadian Drinks

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Aiyu jelly with lemonAiyu fig jelly with lemon

Squeezing a little cloth bag of seeds in a bowl of water until it turns into jelly sounds like a magic trick, yet that's how aiyu has been made for well over a century in Chiayi, at the foot of the Alishan hills where the climbing fig grows wild. The pectin in the dried seeds sets the water into a soft, glassy, pale-gold jelly with almost no taste of its own, so it's cut into cubes and served icy cold with tart lemon juice and honey syrup, the most refreshing thing on a sticky Taipei summer afternoon. The classic failure is a bowl that won't set, usually because the bowl was oily or the water was distilled or very soft; it needs ordinary tap or mineral water. Chef's tip: rub the bag steadily for 8–10 minutes and stop as soon as it feels slippery and nothing more comes out, or the jelly turns cloudy and bitter.

30 min

Taiwanese Drinks

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Fever grass teaLemongrass and ginger tea

In Jamaican country yards a clump of fever grass, the local name for lemongrass, grows by the kitchen door, and a handful steeped in boiling water is the old remedy for colds, aches and restless nights. Brewed with fresh ginger, it is lemony, gently peppery and soothing, and is drunk hot, sweetened with a little brown sugar. The mistake people make is using the stalks whole, which gives a weak tea; bruise and cut them to release the oils. Chef's tip: tie long leaves in a knot before you add them, as country cooks do, so they are easy to lift out.

15 min

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June plum juice

When June plums (ambarella) fall from backyard trees across Jamaica, families blend the sour green-gold fruit into a sharp, refreshing juice with fresh ginger and lime. It is tangy like green apple, with a faintly mango-like perfume, and is drunk ice-cold with Sunday lunch. The big mistake is blending the spiny stone in with the flesh; cut the flesh away first or the juice turns bitter and fibrous. Chef's tip: use slightly underripe, firm plums for the brightest, sharpest flavour.

15 min