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Mocktails and cool drinks

Sharbats, lassis, juices and coolers with no alcohol. (415 recipes)

Spris (layered fruit juice)

Juice houses all over Addis Ababa, with their towers of fruit stacked in the window, are famous for spris: a tall glass of thick purées poured in stripes, usually green avocado, golden mango and orange papaya, with a wedge of lime on the rim. It is closer to a spoonable smoothie than a juice, and people often eat the layers one by one before stirring the rest together. It makes a filling breakfast or an afternoon pick-me-up, and children love the colours. Chef's tip: blend each fruit separately and keep every purée thick enough to hold a spoon; runny purées bleed into each other and the stripes vanish.

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Tabaldi (Sudanese baobab drink)

The great baobab trees of Kordofan and Darfur drop hard pods full of chalky, cream-coloured pulp, and Sudanese cooks soak it in water to make tabaldi, a thick, milky-looking drink with a sherbet-like tang. It is sold from big cool-boxes in Khartoum markets in summer, served at weddings, and appears on the iftar table during Ramadan. Fresh pulp pieces with seeds are sold in African and Middle Eastern shops; baobab powder is a good substitute and needs no straining. Leave the drink to soak for an hour in the fridge before straining (soaking time is not counted in the total). The usual mistake is blending the seeds, which makes the drink bitter; rub the pulp off by hand instead. Chef's tip: a few drops of rose water or a pinch of ground cardamom makes it feel festive.

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Guddaim (Sudanese grewia berry drink)

Small, round guddaim berries, the fruit of a wild grewia shrub that grows across Kordofan and Darfur, are dried and sold by the cupful in Sudanese markets. Soaked in water and rubbed off their stones, they give a cloudy reddish-brown drink that tastes a little like dates and sour cherries, with a pleasantly sharp finish. It is drunk ice-cold in the heat of the day, at iftar and to welcome guests. Look for dried guddaim in Sudanese or East African shops. If you cannot find it, a mix of 150 g pitted dates and 50 g tamarind pulp soaked the same way gives a similar sweet-sour drink, though not the same. Rubbing too hard and breaking the stones is the usual mistake, as it clouds the drink with grit; rub gently. Chef's tip: soak the berries in cool water overnight in the fridge for the fullest flavour.

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Aradeib (Sudanese tamarind drink)

Tamarind trees shade villages throughout Darfur and Kordofan, and their sticky brown pods become aradeib, one of the best-loved Sudanese cold drinks. The pulp is soaked, rubbed and strained, then sweetened to make a deep amber, puckeringly sour drink that cuts through rich food and is much loved at iftar through Ramadan. It is also drunk as a home remedy for upset stomachs and heat. Seedy block tamarind from any Asian or African shop works perfectly. Pouring boiling water straight onto the pulp and leaving it too long draws out a harsh, tannic edge, so use hot rather than boiling water and strain after an hour. Avoid squeezing the soaked tamarind through a cloth too hard; fibres get through and make the drink cloudy and gritty. Chef's tip: make a concentrate and keep it in the fridge for up to a week; dilute with cold water by the glass.

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Madeeda (Sudanese warm millet and milk drink)

Thick enough to sip slowly from a glass but thinner than porridge, madeeda is a warming drink from northern Sudan made by cooking flour, often pearl millet, in milk and sweetening it with sugar or dates. Families make it on cool winter mornings, for anyone feeling under the weather and for new mothers, and it is a gentle way to break the fast in Ramadan. This version uses millet flour with cardamom and a little cinnamon, so it is smooth, nutty and lightly spiced. Lumps are the usual problem: whisk the flour into cold milk before it goes onto the heat. A frequent slip is not stirring enough, so the millet catches and the milk scorches. Chef's tip: for a date version, blitz 6 soft pitted dates with the milk and halve the sugar.

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Hilu-mur (Sudanese spiced sorghum Ramadan drink)

Weeks before Ramadan, households across Sudan fill with the smell of hilu-mur, literally 'sweet-bitter', as sorghum is sprouted, dried, ground and mixed with flour, dates and a heady spice blend, left to sour for a day, then spread paper-thin on a hot griddle into brittle reddish-brown flakes. Each evening during the month a handful is soaked in water, strained and sweetened, giving the dark, tangy, clove-and-ginger-scented drink that breaks the fast. The souring is short, like a sourdough, and the flakes are cooked dry; the drink is non-alcoholic and served to the whole family. The full process takes about 5 days: 3 days to sprout, 1 to dry and a night to sour, so only active and cooking time are in the totals. Many people buy ready-made flakes from Sudanese shops. Discard any grain that smells musty or shows mould while sprouting. The usual mistake is pouring the batter too thick on the griddle; the flakes should be paper-thin to dry crisp. Chef's tip: spread the batter as thinly as you can; thick flakes stay chewy and go mouldy in storage.

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Abreh (Sudanese white sorghum flake drink)

Where hilu-mur is dark and spiced, abreh abyad, white abreh, is its pale, gentle partner: a batter of white sorghum flour is left to sour lightly, then baked into thin cream-coloured flakes that are soaked in cold, sweetened water and served at iftar across northern Sudan. The drink is cloudy, refreshing and faintly tangy, a good way to rehydrate after a long day of fasting; some families add a splash of lime or a little cardamom. The overnight souring takes 12–18 hours and is not counted in the totals; it is non-alcoholic, and the flakes are dried hard on the griddle. Spreading the batter too thickly is the classic mistake, so work fast and thin. Chef's tip: make a big batch in one session; the dry flakes keep for months in a tin, so a jug of abreh is only an hour away.

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Tarragon lemonade

Tarkhuna is the emerald-green soda that every Tbilisi child knows, sold from street fountains since the early 1900s and still poured in tall glasses at cafés on Rustaveli Avenue. The bottled kind is coloured; the home version gets its green from blitzing fresh tarragon with lemon and syrup, giving an aniseedy, sweet-sour fizz. A common mistake is boiling the tarragon, which dulls the colour and turns the flavour stewed. Chef's tip: blitz the herb into cool syrup and strain it straight away; the drink stays vivid green for a day in the fridge.

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Tumuro teaWild thyme tea

Tumuro is the small-leaved wild thyme that grows on the rocky slopes above Hunza and Gilgit, and in late summer families pick and dry bundles of it to brew through the year. The tea is pale gold and intensely aromatic, more resinous and floral than garden thyme, and it is drunk after heavy meals, by anyone with a cold and simply as a warming cup on a mountain evening; cafés in Karimabad serve it to visitors. Boiling it hard for a long time is the misstep that turns it bitter and medicinal. Chef's tip: if you cannot find tumuro, which is sometimes sold in Pakistani grocers and online as Hunza thyme, use dried garden thyme with a few fresh sprigs, steep it gently, and sweeten with a little sugar only if you like.

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Seven-layer tea

Visitors to the tea gardens of Srimangal, in Sylhet's Moulvibazar district, queue at small tea cabins to see a glass of tea striped in seven distinct bands, from creamy white at the bottom to pale green-gold at the top. The original recipe is a closely guarded secret of the tea-maker who made it famous, but the principle is simple physics: each layer carries a different amount of sugar, so the heaviest sits at the bottom and the lightest floats on top. This home version uses condensed milk, green tea, strong black tea, milk tea, lemon tea, spiced tea and plain tea, and it is drunk slowly, layer by layer, with a long spoon. Pouring too fast is what ruins it; each layer should trickle down the inside of the glass over the back of a spoon. Chef's tip: let all the brews cool to warm, about 50 °C, so temperature differences don't stir the layers.

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Doodh sodaMilk with lemon-lime soda

It sounds odd until you are standing in a crowd at a Lahore milk shop on a 45 °C June night, when a tall glass of doodh soda, foamy and sweet with a sharp citrus fizz, is the most refreshing thing in the city. The doodh-walas of Gawalmandi and Mozang chill milk in steel drums over ice, then pour it from a height into a glass with lemon-lime soda so that it froths like a milkshake, and people drink it straight after dinner or after a late plate of fried fish or chana. It tastes like a lighter, bubbly lassi, and children love it. What usually goes wrong is warm milk or flat soda, which makes it taste curdled rather than crisp. Chef's tip: chill both the milk and the soda until very cold, pour the milk first and add the soda in one go, then serve at once while the foam is high.

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Kachi lassiMilk and water lassi

Harvest time in the Punjab is thirsty work: when the wheat is being cut in the April heat, a steel jug of kachi lassi is carried out to the workers: fresh milk thinned with cold water, stirred with sugar and poured over chunks of ice. Unlike yogurt lassi there is no tang, just a light, clean, milky sweetness that quenches thirst better than plain water, and in many villages it is the drink offered to any guest who arrives on a hot afternoon. Some people add a pinch of salt instead of sugar, or a few drops of rose water. The traditional kind uses raw milk straight from the buffalo; use pasteurised milk instead to be safe. The usual mistake is making it with too little water, which turns it heavy instead of refreshing. Chef's tip: whisk it hard or shake it in a jar so it turns frothy, which makes it feel even cooler.

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Falsa sherbetFalsa berry drink

For a few short weeks in May and June, Punjabi fruit sellers from Multan to Lahore pile their carts with falsa, tiny purple-black berries with a big seed and a sweet-sour, grape-like flavour, and roadside stalls crush them in big jugs of iced water with sugar and a pinch of black salt. The sherbet is a striking magenta, tart and salty-sweet, and people swear by it as a cooler against the loo, the scorching summer wind; it is also a favourite at iftar when Ramadan falls in summer. Outside Pakistan look for frozen falsa in South Asian grocers, or use blackcurrants, which give a similar colour and sharpness. A common slip is blending the berries hard, which cracks the seeds and turns the drink bitter. Chef's tip: just rub the berries with the sugar and a little water by hand or pulse very briefly, then strain, so you get all the juice and colour and none of the bitterness.

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Imli aloo bukhara sharbatTamarind and plum cooler

Pakistani grandmothers prescribe this deep brown drink for heatstroke, an upset stomach and the sluggish days of Ramadan fasting in June, and it is sold in tall glasses at sehri and iftar stalls in Karachi, Hyderabad and Lahore. Tamarind and dried aloo bukhara plums are soaked, simmered, mashed and strained into a concentrate, which is then sweetened, seasoned with black salt and roasted cumin and served poured over ice. The flavour is fruity, tart and slightly smoky from the plums, with the savoury lift of the salt. The concentrate keeps for a week in the fridge, so a big batch lasts through a heatwave. The usual problem is skipping the straining step and serving it thick with fibres and seeds, which makes it more like a chutney than a drink. Chef's tip: let the plums soak in the hot liquid for an hour after simmering, so they give up all their sourness and colour before you strain them.

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Khajoor shakeDate and almond milkshake

Dates are the first thing on the table when the azan sounds for iftar in Pakistan, and in many homes in Karachi and Islamabad the dates go straight into the blender with cold milk and a handful of soaked almonds, making a thick, caramel-sweet shake that restores energy quickly after a long summer fast. Soft, moist dates such as the Aseel from Khairpur in Sindh give the smoothest result, and the drink needs no added sugar at all. It is also a popular breakfast for children and a quick snack after school. The typical mistake is blending dry, hard dates straight from the packet, which leaves chewy fragments and a gritty shake. Chef's tip: soak the stoned dates and almonds in a little warm milk for 10 minutes first, and blend them to a smooth paste before adding the rest of the cold milk.

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SardaiAlmond and fennel milk drink

Old Lahoris remember the sardai-wala in the lanes of the Walled City, sitting cross-legged with a huge stone mortar and a wooden pestle, grinding soaked almonds, melon seeds, fennel, poppy seeds and black pepper into a pale paste and whisking it into chilled sweet milk. It is creamy, nutty and floral, with the gentle aniseed cool of fennel and a little warmth from pepper, and it was drunk through the hot months as protection against heat. Today it is easier to make with a blender, but the principle is the same: soak, grind fine, strain, chill. Many people forget to soak the seeds long enough, and the drink ends up gritty with a chalky aftertaste. Chef's tip: soak everything for at least 2 hours, or overnight, and strain through a muslin cloth, squeezing hard, so the sardai is silky and full of flavour.

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Kandahari pomegranate juice

Kandahar's pomegranates, heavy fruits with dark ruby seeds and soft pips, are the pride of southern Afghanistan, and in October and November juice stalls in the city's bazaars press them to order in big iron hand presses. The juice is deep red, sweet with a clean sour finish and a faint tannic grip, drunk on its own in a tall glass, often with a pinch of salt. At home you can get almost the same thing with a citrus press or a blender. The bitterness that ruins many homemade glasses comes from crushing the white pith and hard pips, so blend the seeds only for a few seconds, or press the halves gently. Chef's tip: roll each whole pomegranate firmly on the worktop before cutting it, which bursts many of the seeds inside and makes juicing faster.

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ŽinčicaSoured whey drink

Hikers walking past a salaš, a Slovak shepherds' hut, are often offered a mug of žinčica, the cool, sour whey left over from making bryndza and hrudka cheese. Shepherds heat the whey until fine flakes of cheese float up, then leave it to sour, and drink it with boiled potatoes or on its own on a hot afternoon. It is thin, refreshing and tangy, a little like a light buttermilk. At the salaš it is often made from raw sheep's milk, so at home make it only from the whey of cheese made with pasteurised milk (the korbáčiky recipe gives you plenty) and vegetarian rennet. The common slip is leaving it to sour somewhere warm for too long, where it turns cheesy and harsh; a cool room and 12 hours is enough. Chef's tip: a spoonful of cultured buttermilk gives a clean, reliable sourness every time.

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MathaSalted buttermilk

Thinner than lassi and salty rather than sweet, matha is what Old Dhaka drinks after a plate of kacchi biryani or a heavy afternoon of tehari and rezala. Vendors around Nazimuddin Road and Bangshal carry it in tall clay pots, churned so long that tiny flecks of butter float on top, and pour it into glasses with a pinch of roasted cumin and black salt. It tastes tangy, cool and faintly smoky, and it cuts through rich, oily food like nothing else. People often make it with thick Greek-style yoghurt and no extra water, which gives a heavy drink that sits in the stomach; matha should be pourable and light. Chef's tip: churn with plenty of ice in the jug so the butter firms into flecks you can skim off or leave floating, as the street sellers do.

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Beet kvass

Before lemons and vinegar were easy to buy, Ukrainian cooks soured their borscht with beet kvass, a ruby-red brine made by leaving sliced raw beetroot in salted water for a few days. It is lightly fermented, so it contains no more than a negligible trace of alcohol, and it tastes earthy, salty and pleasantly sharp. In Poltava and Chernihiv villages a jar always stood by the stove; a splash went into the soup pot and a small glass was drunk in the morning as a tonic. Some families add a crust of rye bread to speed things up, which makes it no longer gluten-free. The mistake most people make is leaving the beetroot floating: anything above the brine can grow mould, so keep it weighed down. Discard any batch with fuzzy or coloured mould, a slimy texture or a rotten smell. Chef's tip: a few slices left in the jar from the previous batch start the next one in half the time.

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SobiaRice and coconut milk drink

Before the sunset call to prayer in Ramadan, juice shops in Cairo's old quarters fill plastic bags and jugs with sobia for families to carry home, and it is one of the classic drinks for breaking the fast. It is milky white, sweet and smooth, with a gentle coconut flavour and a light body from the rice that makes it filling after a long day without food. This version simmers the rice-coconut milk briefly so it is safe to keep for a day or two in the fridge. Allow an hour for soaking the rice. The common mistake is not straining well, which leaves the drink gritty; push it through muslin. Chef's tip: chill it for at least 3 hours, because sobia tastes flat unless it is ice-cold.

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KoththamalliCoriander and ginger brew

At the first sniffle, many Sri Lankan mothers put a pot of koththamalli on the stove, and in Colombo offices and up in the damp hill towns during the monsoon you will see people sipping it from steel tumblers instead of tea. Coriander seeds are toasted, cracked and boiled with plenty of ginger until the water turns amber, giving a warm, earthy, slightly citrusy drink with a gentle ginger burn. It is traditionally drunk unsweetened with a piece of kithul or palm jaggery held in the other hand and nibbled between sips, though you can dissolve the jaggery in if you prefer. Grinding the seeds to powder is a mistake, because the drink turns muddy and gritty; they should only be cracked. Chef's tip: toast the coriander just until it darkens a shade and smells like orange peel; that is when the oils are at their best.

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Bedouin sage tea

Visitors to a Bedouin camp in the Sinai mountains are handed small glasses of this tea almost before they sit down, brewed in a blackened kettle over the fire and sweetened generously. Wild maramiya, the local sage, is dropped in at the end, giving the strong black tea a soft, herbal, slightly camphor scent that is soothing after a long walk or a heavy meal. Garden sage works well, and dried sage is fine in a pinch. Boiling the sage is the mistake to avoid, because it turns the tea bitter. Sage is best taken in moderation and avoided in large amounts during pregnancy. Chef's tip: pour from a height into the glasses; the froth that forms is how Bedouin hosts like it served.

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HalabessaHot spiced chickpeas in broth

Halabessa carts appear on Cairo and Alexandria corners once the winter evenings get cold, with a steaming pot of chickpeas and a stack of cups. The vendor ladles out tender chickpeas with plenty of their cooking broth, then adds salt, cumin, lemon and chilli, and sometimes a spoonful of tomato sauce, so it is half drink, half snack. It warms the hands as much as the stomach. The chickpeas need soaking overnight before cooking. The cardinal mistake is draining the chickpeas: the starchy cooking water is the whole point, so keep every drop. Chef's tip: simmer them very gently with the lid ajar so the broth turns cloudy and silky without the skins breaking.

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