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Mocktails and cool drinks

Sharbats, lassis, juices and coolers with no alcohol. (481 recipes)

Colada moradaPurple corn and berry drink

Every year in the days before 2 November, the Día de los Difuntos, Quito's kitchens and bakeries fill with the smell of colada morada: a warm, spoon-thick drink of purple corn flour cooked with blackberries, blueberries, pineapple and a bundle of fragrant herbs and spices. It is deep violet, sweet-tart and full of chopped fruit, and it is always served with guaguas de pan, the bread babies, often shared with family at the cemetery. The most common mistake is stirring the corn flour straight into hot liquid, which makes lumps: whisk it into cold water first. Chef's tip: lemon verbena and lemongrass give the authentic perfume; if you can find naranjilla or a few orange leaves, add them to the spice pot too.

100 minAndeanDrinksVeganGluten free
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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.

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MursikSmoky fermented milk

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

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Gondhoraj gholLime-scented yogurt drink

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

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Variyali sharbat (fennel cooler)

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

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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.

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MoshOat and milk drink

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

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Atol de plátanoWarm plantain and milk drink

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

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Koko SamoaHot cocoa drink

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

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Juhua cha (chrysanthemum tea)

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

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Kawa zbożowaRoasted grain coffee

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

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Suanmeitang (sour plum drink)

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

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MaślankaChilled buttermilk

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

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Charbat (Algerian lemon drink)

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

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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.

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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.

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Teh talua (egg tea)

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

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Spremuta di arance rosseFresh blood orange juice

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

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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.

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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.

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Kuzuyu (hot kudzu drink)

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

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Yansoon (anise tea)

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

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MorochoCracked white corn drink

Morocho is what Quiteños drink on a chilly evening at a market stall, often with a crisp empanada de morocho alongside: cracked white corn simmered for an hour with milk, cinnamon and cloves until it turns into a thick, creamy drink you half sip, half spoon, studded with plump raisins. It tastes like a gently spiced rice pudding made with corn. The usual mistake is adding the milk too early and not stirring, so it catches and scorches on the bottom of the pan. Chef's tip: soak the corn overnight; it cooks faster and more evenly and turns properly creamy.

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Carato de maízChilled corn drink

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

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Mongolian salty milk tea

Süütei tsai is the first thing offered to anyone who steps into a ger on the Mongolian steppe, from Arkhangai to the Gobi, and families drink it all day long from wide bowls. Green brick tea is boiled in water, then milk and a pinch of salt go in, and the tea is ladled high and poured back again and again to aerate it. Some households add a knob of butter or a spoon of toasted millet for a richer, more filling bowl. It is savoury, not sweet, which surprises first-time visitors. A common mistake is using black tea leaves, which go bitter; use green brick tea or a mild green tea. Chef's tip: the ladling is not just ritual, it gives the tea a smooth, rounded taste.

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Limonata a cosce aperteFizzy lemonade

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

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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.

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Yuja-cha (citron tea)

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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Surinamese dawetCoconut milk and lemongrass drink

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

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TereréIced yerba mate

In Asunción the hottest part of the day stops for tereré: a horn or cup packed with yerba mate, topped up again and again with ice water infused with crushed herbs, and passed round the group through a metal straw. It was recognised by UNESCO as part of Paraguay's cultural heritage, and the herbs (yuyos) change with the season and the drinker's mood. Yerba mate contains caffeine, so it isn't one for small children. The common mistake is pouring water straight into loose yerba, which then clogs the straw; tilt the yerba to one side first. Chef's tip: for tereré ruso, swap the water for cold orange or grapefruit juice.

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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.

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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.

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Sharbat-e rivas (rhubarb sherbet)

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

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GuayusaHolly leaf infusion

In Kichwa villages along the Napo river around Tena, families rise before dawn, gather around the fire and share a pot of guayusa: an infusion of the large leaves of an Amazon holly tree, passed round while people talk over dreams and plan the day. It tastes smooth, grassy and faintly sweet, with none of the bitterness of black tea, and it carries a steady lift of caffeine, so it is not one for young children or late evenings. Dried guayusa is sold loose in health-food and tea shops. A common mistake is treating it like delicate green tea and steeping it for just a minute; it needs a gentle simmer to draw out its flavour. Chef's tip: add a strip of lemongrass or a slice of ginger for a fragrant twist, and sweeten, if at all, with a little panela.

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Sharbat-e zaferan (saffron sherbet)

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

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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.

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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.

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Sungnyung (scorched rice tea)

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

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Tsestalulu (sea-buckthorn juice)

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

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Atol shucoSour black corn drink

In San Salvador's Plaza Libertad and outside churches on cool mornings, atol shuco is ladled from steaming clay pots into gourd bowls. Shuco means 'dirty', for its dusky purple-grey colour: it is made from fermented black corn, so it tastes slightly sour and earthy, topped with ground toasted pumpkin seeds, a few whole black beans and a pinch of chilli salt. It is savoury and filling rather than sweet. The usual mistake is leaving the masa to ferment too long in a hot kitchen; check it after a day and use it as soon as it smells pleasantly tangy. Throw it away if you see mould or it smells unpleasant. Chef's tip: if you can't wait for fermentation, a squeeze of lime at the end gives a similar tang.

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Masala doodhSaffron nut milk

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

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Cerasee teaBitter melon vine tea

Cerasee grows wild on fences and roadsides all over Jamaica, a thin vine with lacy leaves, yellow flowers and small warty orange fruit. It is the best known of the island's bush teas: generations of Jamaican children were given a cup at the end of the summer holidays, before going back to school, as a wash-out, and adults still drink it now and then as a cleansing and cooling tonic, or for the skin. The tea is pale green-gold and seriously bitter, with a grassy, slightly vegetal taste; some add sugar or lime. The common mistake is boiling the vine hard for a long time, which makes the tea far harsher than it needs to be. Pour boiling water over it and let it steep instead, and leave out any ripe fruit and seeds. It is ready when the water is light green-gold and smells green and herbal. Do not drink it if you are pregnant, breastfeeding or trying to conceive, do not give it to young children, and check with a doctor if you have diabetes or take medication, as it may lower blood sugar. Chef's tip: dried cerasee from Caribbean shops works well; use a little less.

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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.

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