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Quick desserts

Desserts and sweets ready in 30 minutes or less. (201 recipes)

Kartoshka cake

Soviet cafés and school canteens sold these knobbly brown 'potatoes' for a few kopecks, and they began as a thrifty way to use up sponge and biscuit trimmings at the bakery. Crumbs are bound with butter and sweetened condensed milk, flavoured with cocoa and vanilla, shaped into little potatoes, rolled in cocoa and finished with two dabs of pale butter cream for the sprouts. They are fudgy and dense like a brownie truffle, need no oven, and children love making them. Traditional bakers added a spoonful of rum, an optional extra for adult batches only; this version is alcohol-free with vanilla. The usual slip is coarse crumbs, which make the potatoes crack, so blitz them as fine as sand. Chef's tip: chill the shaped potatoes for at least 20 minutes so they hold their shape and slice cleanly.

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Marquesitas

Evening in Mérida's Plaza Grande means the smell of marquesitas: thin batter pressed in hot hinged irons until crisp, then rolled like a cigar around grated Edam cheese and a sweet filling such as cajeta, chocolate-hazelnut spread or jam. Edam came to the Yucatán through the port trade with the Netherlands and became part of the local cooking, and the salty-sweet combination is the whole point. At home you can cook them in a thin, wide frying pan. Edam is usually made with animal rennet, so check the label or use a vegetarian Gouda-style cheese. Chef's tip: roll while the crêpe is still in the pan and hot; within seconds it hardens and will crack.

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Classic tiramisu

Tiramisù ('pick me up') was created in Treviso, in the Veneto, around the 1960s and 70s; the restaurant Le Beccherie is the best-known claimant. The original is simple: savoiardi biscuits dipped in espresso, layered with a cream of egg yolks, sugar and mascarpone, and dusted with cocoa. No alcohol and no cream in the Treviso version, which is different from this site's Baileys tiramisu. It is best made the morning of, or the day before. Because the eggs are raw, use the freshest you can find, or pasteurised eggs. Chef's tip: beat the yolks and sugar for a full 5 minutes until pale and thick as custard; that is what makes the cream light without whipped cream.

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Nutty dates

A quick, rich sweet of dates melted down in butter, then mixed with milk chocolate, chopped nuts, coconut and rice krispies and pressed into a tray. It's chewy, chocolatey and crisp. Makes about 30 diamonds; keep them in the fridge and serve cold.

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Mela grattugiata (grated apple)

Ask any Italian nonna what a baby has for merenda, the mid-afternoon snack, and she will mime grating an apple: in homes from Turin to Bari, a sweet apple is grated very finely on the small holes of a grater and spooned up at once, before it turns brown. Paediatricians in Italy suggest it from six months, and for the first few times many parents steam the apple briefly so it is softer still. It tastes fresh and naturally sweet; the old habit of crumbling in a biscuit or a spoon of sugar is not for babies under one, and honey never. It is free of the major allergens. Chef's tip: a squeeze of lemon is often added to stop browning, but for babies simply grate it right before serving.

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Nilagang saba mash for babies

Saba, the short, square-edged cooking banana piled in every palengke from Quezon City to Davao, is boiled in its skin for nilagang saging, a merienda (afternoon snack) eaten with a cup of coffee. For babies, the same boiled saba is peeled and mashed into a soft, peachy, honey-sweet purée, and it is one of the most common first foods in Filipino homes. Saba is firmer and starchier than an eating banana, which is why it is always cooked. Nothing is added: no salt, sugar or condensed milk under one. It is free of the major allergens. Chef's tip: pick saba whose skins are yellow with black spots; green ones are too starchy and can upset small tummies.

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Cuchuflí

Cuchuflí are the thin, crisp wafer tubes filled with manjar that vendors sell from baskets on Chilean beaches and outside football stadiums, and that children beg for at the Fiestas Patrias fondas. At home you can bake the wafers yourself and roll them round a wooden spoon handle. The usual mistake is waiting too long to roll them: the wafers set within seconds and crack. Bake only three at a time. Chef's tip: fill them with a piping bag just before serving, or the manjar softens the wafer; dip the ends in melted chocolate if you like.

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Steamed Nendran banana mash

Nendran is the long, golden plantain of Kerala, sold in hands at every market from Palakkad to Thiruvananthapuram, and a steamed ripe Nendran is one of the first fruits a Malayali baby tastes. Raw, it is too firm and starchy for a six-month-old, so it is steamed in its skin until the flesh turns soft and orange-gold, the dark string of seeds in the centre is pulled out, and the rest is mashed smooth. It is naturally sweet, so nothing is added: no sugar, jaggery, honey or salt. It is free of the major allergens. Chef's tip: wait until the skin is fully yellow with black freckles; a green Nendran stays chalky however long you steam it.

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Rajgira no sheero

On Ekadashi, Navratri and other fast days, Gujarati homes make this quick sheero from rajgira (amaranth) flour, which is allowed when grains are not. It is roasted in ghee until nutty, then cooked with milk and sugar into a soft, spoonable pudding with cardamom and a few nuts. It is ready in 20 minutes and is often offered to the Mataji before the family eats. The common mistake is adding cold milk to the roasted flour, which seizes into lumps. Chef's tip: heat the milk and sugar together first and pour it in slowly while you whisk.

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Kesar penda

In Ahmedabad, any good news, from exam results to a new home or a newborn, means a box of kesar penda passed around the office and the street. These are soft, creamy pendas of fresh mawa cooked briefly with sugar and plenty of saffron, so they stay pale gold and fudgy, quite unlike the browned pedas of Mathura or Dharwad. The common mistake is overcooking the mawa once the sugar goes in, which turns the pendas dry and cracked at the edges. Chef's tip: stop cooking as soon as a small piece rolls into a smooth ball between your palms; they firm up as they cool.

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Dalia chikki

For Uttarayan, the January kite festival, every Gujarati kitchen turns out trays of chikki, and dalia (roasted split chana, the yellow dal sold for chutneys) is the one that gets forgotten until someone tastes it. It is lighter and crunchier than peanut chikki, with a toasty, slightly savoury edge from the dal. It is all about the jaggery syrup. The common mistake is pulling the jaggery off too early; underdone syrup gives sticky, chewy chikki that never snaps. Chef's tip: drop a little syrup into cold water: when it sets hard and cracks cleanly (hard-crack stage), tip in the dalia straight away.

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Bombai motai (Sri Lankan candyfloss)

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

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Glaçon râpé

On a hot Sunday at Flic en Flac or Mon Choisy, families queue at the glaçon râpé man, who shaves a block of ice into a cup, then pours over bright red and green syrups and, if you ask, a thick ribbon of sweetened condensed milk. The ice should be fluffy and dry like fresh snow, so the syrup sinks in and streaks the colours together, and the condensed milk turns the bottom of the cup into a sweet, milky slush. A home blender makes a fine version if the ice is very cold; the common mistake is using ice straight from a bag that has half-thawed, which turns to watery slush. Chef's tip: put the cups and the blender jug in the freezer for 20 minutes first, then pulse in short bursts rather than running the motor.

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Khajur pak

Kutch grows some of India's best dates, and in Bhuj and Anjar homes khajur pak is the sweet made for Diwali boxes and for Ekadashi and other fast days, since it needs nothing but dates, ghee, nuts and coconut. The dates melt in warm ghee into a sticky paste, the nuts give crunch, and the log is rolled in poppy seeds and sliced into neat coins. The common mistake is cooking the dates too long, which dries them out so the log cracks when you slice it. Chef's tip: for a harder winter version, swap a third of the soft dates for chopped kharek (dry dates) soaked overnight in a little milk.

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Aate ka halwa

Across Marwar, this simple halwa is the one cooked for temple prasad, for Satyanarayan katha and for women in the weeks after giving birth, when ghee and jaggery are thought to build strength. Wholewheat flour is roasted slowly in plenty of ghee until it turns a deep nutty brown, then cooked with hot water and sugar or jaggery until soft and glossy. The whole thing takes 30 minutes. The common mistake is rushing the roast on high heat, which leaves the flour raw-tasting inside and scorched outside. Chef's tip: roast on low heat until the colour is like milky tea and the ghee starts to separate and bubble around the flour.

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Tameletjie

Children in old Cape Town spent their pocket money on tameletjie from the corner shop: amber slabs of hard toffee set in little folded paper cases, studded with pine nuts and sometimes almonds. It is nothing more than sugar and water boiled to the hard-crack stage, so it snaps cleanly and slowly melts on the tongue into a deep caramel with a faint bitterness, the toasted nuts adding a buttery crunch. Make it for a church bazaar, wrap it as a gift, or keep it in a tin for after-dinner coffee. Stirring once the syrup boils is what ruins most batches, because it makes the sugar crystallise into a cloudy, grainy mass. Hot sugar burns badly, so keep children well away from the pan. Chef's tip: brush the inside of the pan with a wet pastry brush as it boils to wash down any sugar crystals clinging to the sides.

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Melkkos

Ask a Karoo grandmother what supper was on a cold winter night on the farm and melkkos often comes up: a pot of hot milk thickened with little crumbs of flour and butter, ladled into bowls and dusted heavily with cinnamon sugar. It was the cheap, filling meal made when the cow was milking well, eaten as a pudding or as the whole evening meal with a slice of bread. The texture is soft and slightly lumpy, like a loose rice pudding, with tiny tender dumplings scattered through a silky, faintly sweet milk scented with cinnamon stick. Too much heat is the thing to avoid: milk catches quickly on the base of the pot and a scorched taste runs right through it. Chef's tip: rub the butter into the flour until it feels like coarse breadcrumbs with a few pea-sized bits, because those bigger bits become the best little dumplings.

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Chirimoya alegre

Chileans call it 'happy cherimoya': ripe custard-apple pulp dropped into fresh orange juice and served ice-cold. It turns up as the summer dessert after a big lunch in the Central Valley and in the Aconcagua valley, where much of Chile's cherimoya grows. The fruit should be soft like a ripe avocado; a hard one tastes starchy. The most common mistake is preparing the fruit ahead without juice, so it turns brown and loses its perfume: drop each piece straight into the orange juice. Remove every black seed, as the seeds must not be eaten or crushed. Chef's tip: squeeze the oranges yourself and taste before you sweeten; good juice often needs no sugar at all.

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Sing pak

Sing pak is the Gujarati fasting-day fudge: peanuts roasted, skinned and ground coarse, then cooked into a one-string sugar syrup with ghee and cardamom and set in a tray. Because it uses no grain, it is made for Ekadashi, Shravan Mondays and Navratri, and children love it any day. It is soft, rich and a little crumbly. The common mistake is cooking the syrup too far; past one string it sets rock-hard and grainy. Chef's tip: pinch a drop of syrup between finger and thumb (carefully, after cooling it on a spoon): one thin thread should form as you pull them apart.

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Martín Fierro

Ask for dessert in a Montevideo bodegón or a country parador and you may be offered a Martín Fierro: a thick slice of fresh, mild cheese laid with an equal slice of dense quince or sweet-potato paste, named after the gaucho of the epic poem. It's salty against sweet, soft against firm, and takes two minutes to assemble. Uruguayan fresh cheese is usually made with animal rennet, so choose one with vegetarian rennet if that matters to you. The mistake is serving it fridge-cold, which dulls both flavours. Chef's tip: cut the cheese and paste to exactly the same thickness, about 1 cm, so every bite has both.

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Mofo akondro

Wherever bananas pile up on market tables, from Toamasina on the east coast to the roadside stalls near Moramanga, someone is frying mofo akondro to sell warm in twists of paper. Ripe banana is cut into thick slices, dipped in a soft, vanilla-scented batter of flour, egg and milk, and fried until the coating puffs and crisps while the fruit inside turns jammy and sweet. Children love them after school, and they make an easy dessert with a dusting of sugar. Underripe bananas are the common mistake: they stay starchy and sour, so wait until the skins are well freckled with brown. Chef's tip: let the batter rest for 10 minutes before you dip, so the flour hydrates and the coating clings evenly instead of sliding off in the oil.

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Bunelos aga

Bunelos aga are the banana fritters of Guam, sold at fiesta food tables and church fundraisers in Hagåtña and made at home whenever the bananas over-ripen. Mashed sweet bananas are mixed into a soft batter, fried in spoonfuls and rolled in sugar, so they're crisp outside and custardy within. A common mistake is frying at too low a temperature, which makes them greasy. Chef's tip: use the small, sweet local bananas or the ripest regular ones you can find.

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Lolly cake

Lolly cake is the no-bake treat every New Zealand child helps make for birthday parties and bake sales, a log of crushed malt biscuits bound with butter and condensed milk, studded with chewy, brightly coloured fruit lollies (fruit puffs) and rolled in coconut. Sliced into rounds, it shows off the colours. A common mistake is crushing the biscuits to dust; leave some small chunks for texture. Many fruit lollies contain gelatine, so choose gelatine-free ones to keep it vegetarian. Chef's tip: wrap the log tightly in cling film and twist the ends so it chills into a neat cylinder.

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Coconut ice

Coconut ice is the pink and white sweet that fills Australian school fete stalls, Christmas hampers and CWA cake tables, a no-cook fudge of desiccated coconut, condensed milk and icing sugar. It is soft, chewy and very sweet, so cut small squares. A common mistake is a mixture that's too wet to hold; add more coconut until it's firm enough to press. Chef's tip: press the white layer first, then the pink, and chill before cutting for sharp stripes.

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Frozen Christmas pudding

In the heat of an Australian December, many families swap the steamed pudding for a frozen one, ice cream packed with fruit, nuts and chocolate and set in a pudding basin so it still looks the part on the Christmas table in Brisbane or Perth. It is made days ahead and turned out just before serving. A common mistake is letting the ice cream melt too much while mixing, which makes it icy when refrozen; soften it only until stirrable. Chef's tip: soak the fruit in orange juice the night before so it stays soft when frozen.

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Chocolate crackles

No Australian child's birthday party is complete without chocolate crackles, served in paper patty cases alongside fairy bread at backyard parties from Adelaide to Cairns. Puffed rice cereal is bound with melted solid coconut fat, icing sugar, cocoa and desiccated coconut, then set in the fridge. Kids can make them almost entirely on their own. A common mistake is using hot fat, which makes the mixture greasy; let it cool a few minutes. Chef's tip: use solid white hydrogenated coconut fat sold in blocks, not jarred coconut oil, which won't set firm at room temperature.

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Rum balls

Rum balls are the grown-ups' Christmas sweet in Australia, rolled by the trayful in December and handed round at end-of-year parties from Sydney to Perth. They are made from chocolate cake crumbs or crushed biscuits, condensed milk, cocoa and dark rum, rolled in coconut. They contain alcohol and are for adults only; for children or anyone avoiding alcohol, use rum essence and a splash of orange juice instead. A common mistake is a mix that's too wet; chill it before rolling. Chef's tip: make them a day ahead so the flavours mellow.

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Dhana ni panjiri

At midnight on Janmashtami, when Gujarati and Rajasthani families sing to baby Krishna, the prasad handed round is this fragrant panjiri of ground coriander seeds roasted in ghee and mixed with powdered sugar, coconut, makhana and dry fruit. Because it contains no grain, it is also eaten by those who keep the Janmashtami fast. It tastes warm, sweet and surprisingly floral. The common mistake is roasting the coriander powder on high heat; it burns in seconds and turns bitter. Chef's tip: grind the seeds yourself just before roasting, and stop when the kitchen smells like warm citrus, not toast.

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White Christmas

White Christmas is an Australian Christmas tradition from the days when a hot December made baking a misery, a no-bake slice of puffed rice, dried fruit, glacé cherries and coconut set in white chocolate or coconut fat. It is cut into squares and kept in the fridge for drop-in visitors through the holidays. A common mistake is overheating the white chocolate, which seizes; melt it gently. Chef's tip: red and green glacé cherries make it look festive.

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Parsi ravo

Ravo is the sweet a Parsi family in Surat or Navsari makes on a birthday morning, on Navroz and after the navjote, served warm in small bowls with a crown of ghee-fried almonds and raisins. Semolina is roasted gently in ghee and then cooked in a lot of milk, so it ends up spoonable and creamy, much looser than a North Indian sheera, scented with nutmeg and a little rose water. Many households beat in an egg for richness; this version leaves it out so it stays vegetarian. The mistake is adding the semolina to boiling milk without roasting it first, which makes a gluey, raw-tasting pudding. Chef's tip: take ravo off the heat while it still looks slightly too loose; it thickens a lot as it sits.

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Gol dhana

In Gujarat, when two families agree on a match, a plate of gol dhana is passed around before anything else, and the engagement itself is often simply called 'gol dhana'. The same mix appears on auspicious days, at a griha pravesh and at the start of a new venture: soft jaggery rubbed together with dhana dal, the split, lightly roasted coriander seeds sold in every Gujarati grocery. It takes five minutes and needs no cooking. The common mistake is using whole coriander seeds, which are hard and bitter; buy dhana dal, or split and toast the seeds yourself. Chef's tip: choose a soft, golden Kolhapuri-style jaggery that crumbles between your fingers, so it coats the seeds instead of staying in lumps.

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Kabok

Kabok are crunchy balls of puffed rice and sesame bound with hot jaggery syrup, made in Meitei homes for Yaoshang, Cheiraoba and temple offerings. Black puffed rice is used in some villages, giving dark, toasty kabok. The key is the syrup: cook it to the hard-ball stage, when a drop in cold water sets into a firm ball, or the balls will fall apart. The common mistake is shaping with dry hands; wet them so the hot mixture doesn't stick or burn. Chef's tip: warm the puffed rice in the oven for a few minutes first so it stays crisp.

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Khoshaf

Bowls of khoshaf sit on the iftar table all through Ramadan in Egyptian homes, and many people break their fast with a few dates and a glass of it before anything else. Dried apricots, prunes, figs and raisins soak overnight in lightly sweetened water until they swell, and the liquid turns into a fruity, amber syrup; toasted almonds and pistachios go on top for crunch. It is cool, gentle on an empty stomach and full of natural sugars. Soaking it on the counter in warm weather is the usual mistake, as it can start to ferment, so always soak it in the fridge. Chef's tip: add a teaspoon of orange blossom water just before serving rather than at the start; it fades overnight.

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Sheer pira

When an Afghan family agrees to a marriage proposal, the shirini-khori, literally the eating of sweets, follows, and trays of sheer pira are cut and handed round to mark that the deal is sealed; it also appears at Eid and Nowruz all over the country. It is a soft, dense milk fudge made in minutes from milk powder and syrup, perfumed with cardamom and rosewater and pressed with green pistachios and walnuts, and it melts slowly on the tongue like a creamy, not too sweet barfi. A syrup boiled too long is what turns it dry, crumbly and grainy, so take it off the heat as soon as it forms a single thread. Chef's tip: sift the milk powder and stir it in all at once, fast, while the syrup is still hot, or it sets in lumps before it is smooth.

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Thala guli

Small boutique shops all over Sri Lanka hang strings of thala guli by the till, each ball wrapped in a twist of coloured paper, and children spend their coins on them on the way home from school. They also have a place on the Avurudu table and at almsgivings, as sesame is considered an auspicious, strengthening food. Toasted sesame seeds are pounded with jaggery and a pinch of salt until the oil comes out and the mixture holds together, then rolled into little balls that are rich, nutty, slightly bitter and sweet. No cooking beyond toasting is needed, so they take barely twenty minutes. Under-toasting the seeds is the trap: pale seeds taste raw and will not release enough oil to bind, so roast until they pop and turn evenly golden. Chef's tip: pound while the seeds are still warm, when they give up their oil easily; a food processor in short pulses works too.

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Rabarbugrautur

Rhubarb is one of the few fruits that thrive in the windswept Faroe Islands, and rabarbugrautur, 'rhubarb porridge', is the summer pudding of Tórshavn and village kitchens alike: rhubarb stewed with sugar and thickened with potato starch into a glossy, tart, ruby-coloured pudding, served warm or chilled with cold cream or milk. A common mistake is boiling it after the starch goes in, which makes it thin and stringy. Chef's tip: take the pan off the heat before stirring in the starch slurry, then return it just until the first bubble, and stop.

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Guilinggao

Herbal tea shops along Hong Kong's busy streets sell black, glossy bowls of guilinggao as a cooling tonic in the humid months, and families keep a few cups in the fridge to eat as an afternoon snack. The jelly is firm yet smooth, deep and woody, and properly bitter, so it's eaten with a generous pour of syrup, or honey for those who aren't vegan, and sometimes a splash of coconut milk. The original is made by boiling turtle plastron with herbs for hours; the commercially sold herbal jelly powder used here is plant-based, so this is the vegetarian version. Lumps are the usual setback, which happen when the powder is added straight to hot water. Chef's tip: whisk the powder into cold water first, then pour it into the boiling water and keep stirring until it turns glossy.

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Mango shaved ice

Every summer, from late May to September, the dessert shops of Taipei's Yongkang Street have queues that stretch round the corner for one thing: a mountain of feathery milk ice buried under cubes of ripe Aiwen mango. The ice is frozen milk shaved so thinly it melts on the tongue like snow, and it's drenched in mango syrup and sweetened condensed milk, often with a scoop of mango sorbet on top. At home, freeze the milk base the night before; the active work then takes about 15 minutes. Shaving the block straight from the freezer is a common mistake, as it splinters into icy shards; let it soften for 5 minutes so it curls into ribbons. Chef's tip: chill the serving bowls in the freezer too, so the snow holds its height while you add the toppings.

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Trini parsad

At Hindu pujas across Trinidad, and on Divali night in Felicity and Debe, parsad is the sweet offering that is shared with everyone afterwards, handed out warm on a piece of leaf. Flour is roasted slowly in ghee until it smells nutty and turns sandy brown, then cooked with milk, sugar, raisins and spice into a soft, glossy pudding. The common mistake is rushing the roasting on high heat: the flour burns outside and tastes raw within. Add the milk carefully, as it spits. Chef's tip: warm the milk and sugar together first; adding hot liquid to the roasted flour keeps the parsad smooth and lump-free.

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Koldskål

On the first warm day of summer, Danes buy cartons of koldskål and packets of kammerjunker, small crunchy rusks, and the season has begun: koldskål is a cold, sweet, tangy buttermilk 'soup' with lemon and vanilla, eaten from bowls as a dessert or a light supper, sometimes with strawberries. Homemade, it is whisked with egg yolks for richness. Raw egg yolk is not suitable for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system, so this recipe uses pasteurised egg yolks. A common mistake is serving it at room temperature; it must be very cold. Chef's tip: whisk the yolks and sugar until thick and pale before the buttermilk goes in, which gives a silky, foamy soup.

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Piraguas

Push-cart piragüeros park by the plazas of Old San Juan and along the beaches on hot afternoons, scraping a block of ice by hand, packing it into a paper cone shaped like a little pyramid and soaking it in bright syrups: tamarindo, parcha (passion fruit), coco or frambuesa. At home, two quick fruit syrups and a blender or ice shaver do the job. The common mistake is using coarsely crushed ice, which lets the syrup run straight through; the ice needs to be fluffy like snow to hold it. Chef's tip: pour a little syrup in the bottom of the cup, pack in ice, then add more syrup, so the last bite is as sweet as the first.

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Vla

Vla is the pourable custard that Dutch children eat by the bowlful after dinner, bought in cartons in every supermarket in vanilla, chocolate and caramel, and often swirled together into 'dubbelvla'. Homemade, it is just milk, egg yolks, sugar, vanilla and a little cornflour, cooked until it coats a spoon, then chilled. It should be thinner than English custard, pouring slowly like double cream. A common mistake is boiling it after the yolks go in, which curdles them. Chef's tip: stir a spoon of cocoa into half and swirl the two together for dubbelvla.

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Pisang goreng

Pisang goreng, fried banana, is the sweet that Dutch toko takeaways and Indonesian festivals like the Tong Tong Fair in The Hague serve hot from the fryer: slices of ripe but firm banana in a light, crisp rice-flour batter, eaten plain or with a dusting of sugar, a drizzle of palm-sugar syrup or a scoop of ice cream. A common mistake is using overripe bananas, which go mushy and leak into the oil. Chef's tip: mix rice flour with a little plain flour and use ice-cold sparkling water, which gives a thin, crackly batter.

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Tablet pistach

Street vendors in Port-au-Prince sell tablet pistach from glass cases and trays balanced on their heads: roasted peanuts (pistach in Kreyòl) set in a dark brown sugar caramel warmed with fresh ginger and cinnamon. It snaps cleanly, is chewier at the edges than a European brittle, and is eaten as an after-school treat or with coffee. The usual mistake is pouring before the syrup is dark enough, which gives a soft, sticky slab. Keep pieces away from very young children, as whole nuts are a choking hazard, and note this contains peanuts. Chef's tip: grate the ginger straight into the syrup and squeeze in a few drops of lime; the acid keeps the caramel from crystallising.

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Alani

Every autumn in the Ararat Valley, the orchards below Mount Ararat produce more peaches than can be eaten fresh, so families split them, dry them in the sun and then stuff them with a mixture of crushed walnuts and sugar, pressing them closed again. The finished alani are sold on strings at Yerevan's covered market and given as gifts at New Year, chewy, sweet and nutty. At home, start with good soft dried peaches. A common mistake is using very dry, leathery fruit, which cracks when you open it. Chef's tip: steam the peaches for 2 minutes first, so they turn soft and pliable and close neatly around the filling.

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Pokhindz

Pokhindz is one of the oldest Armenian New Year foods, made in village kitchens across Shirak and Lori and still found in Yerevan's markets in December: wheat, or wheat flour, toasted slowly until it smells like biscuits, then rubbed with melted butter, honey and crushed walnuts into a sweet, crumbly mix eaten by the spoonful or pressed into balls. A common mistake is toasting over a high heat; the flour scorches at the bottom while the top is still raw. Chef's tip: keep stirring in a wide dry pan over a low heat until the flour is the colour of milky tea; that slow toasting is where the nutty flavour comes from.

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Kogel-mogel

Ask anyone who grew up in a Warsaw block of flats about kogel-mogel and they will remember standing in the kitchen beating yolks and sugar in a mug with a teaspoon, waiting for it to turn pale. It is the simplest Polish treat: thick, mousse-like and very sweet, sometimes with cocoa, eaten from a glass with a spoon or dolloped on fruit. Because the yolks are raw, use pasteurised eggs, which most supermarkets sell as cartons of yolks or as pasteurised whole eggs. Even so, raw eggs are not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. The common mistake is stopping too soon; it needs a good 5 minutes of whisking until it doubles and almost all the sugar has dissolved. Chef's tip: use caster sugar, which disappears faster and gives a silkier result.

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Meni-meniyong (Malian sesame honey sticks)

Toasted sesame seeds bound with hot honey and a knob of butter, then pulled into sticks before they harden: meni-meniyong is a little Malian sweet sold at markets and made at home for guests and festive days. The sticks are crisp at the edges, chewy in the middle, and taste deeply of toasted seeds and dark honey. They need only three ingredients but reward careful heat. Children love them, and they keep well in a tin. Chef's tip: cook the honey until a drop in cold water forms a firm ball; pulling it off too early is the usual mistake, and the sticks stay soft and sticky instead of setting.

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Nkate cake

Despite the name, nkate cake is not a cake at all but a brittle: roasted groundnuts bound in golden caramel, rolled thin and cut into squares, then sold wrapped in paper by hawkers in Kumasi lorry stations and at school gates across Ghana. It is crunchy, sweet and nutty, with a hint of bitterness from the caramel, and it keeps well in a tin. Children love it, but hot sugar is dangerous, so keep them away from the pan. Chef's tip: mark and cut the squares while the slab is still warm and pliable; waiting until it is cold is the usual mistake, and it then shatters into shards.

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Mbourake (peanut and date bread crumble)

Yesterday's baguette never goes to waste in a Senegalese kitchen during Ramadan. Mbourake turns it into a rich, crumbly sweet: the bread is dried, rubbed to crumbs and pounded with roasted peanut paste and sugar until it clumps, then mixed with chopped dates and pressed into balls or served loose in a bowl at the ndogu, the evening meal that breaks the fast. Some families use steamed millet instead of bread. It tastes like a cross between peanut cookie dough and a date bar, sweet, nutty and filling, and it is good with a glass of café Touba or milk. Chef's tip: dry the bread fully until it snaps; soft bread gives a gummy paste instead of a light crumble.

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Nigerian coconut candy

Children across Nigeria spend their pocket money on coconut candy, little clusters of fresh coconut set in amber caramel, sold in small bags by school gates and at market stalls. Made at home it takes about half an hour, with a chewy-crunchy bite and a toffee flavour against the clean taste of fresh coconut. Taking the caramel too far is the common mistake, since dark caramel tastes bitter, so stop at a deep golden colour. Children can help shape the cooled candy, but keep them away from the hot sugar. Chef's tip: use freshly grated coconut, not desiccated; its moisture keeps the clusters chewy in the centre.

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Kasar

Kasar is a sweet of good fortune: Bahun and Chhetri families in the hills make it by the basketful to send with a bride to her new home, to hand out at bratabandha thread ceremonies and to fill the Tihar plates. It is the simplest of sweets, puffed rice stirred into bubbling jaggery syrup flavoured with cardamom and pressed into balls while warm, sometimes with sesame, coconut or peanuts added, and it is crunchy, light and caramel-sweet. Children love making it because it is all about quick hands and a bowl of cold water. The pitfall is syrup that is not cooked far enough, which gives soft, sticky balls that collapse in a day. Chef's tip: test the syrup by dropping a little into cold water; when it sets into a firm ball that cracks if you squeeze it, it is ready.

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Benni cake

Benni is the Krio word for sesame, and benni cake is the crunchy sweet sold by hawkers on Freetown's streets and laid out on Christmas and party tables. Toasted seeds are stirred into hot golden caramel, pressed thin and cut into squares that snap cleanly and taste nutty, toasty and not too sweet. With only two main ingredients it comes together in twenty minutes, but caramel waits for nobody, so have everything ready before you start. Keep the pieces in an airtight jar, or humidity will make them sticky. Chef's tip: score the slab while it is still warm and pliable; once fully cold it shatters unevenly.

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Balkaimak

Balkaimak, 'honey cream', is the dessert Kazakh hosts put out for guests with a mountain of baursak dough puffs: thick cream simmered with honey and a little sugar until it turns into a glossy, caramel-flavoured sauce that sets as it cools. It belongs to celebrations like Nauryz and weddings across Kazakhstan, from Almaty to Shymkent. A common mistake is boiling it too hard, which makes the cream split and turn greasy. Chef's tip: thicken it with a teaspoon of flour or cornflour only if your cream is thin; good double cream thickens by itself.

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Grandfathers in maple syrup

Grands-pères are the dessert of the Quebec sugar shack in March and April, when sap is running and the cabane à sucre serves long breakfasts. Soft scone-like dumplings are dropped into simmering maple syrup and cooked under a lid until they puff up and soak in the syrup from below. In Beauce and the Eastern Townships families make them at home with the first syrup of the year. Serve warm in bowls with cold cream poured over. A common mistake is letting the syrup boil hard, which scorches it and makes it bitter. Chef's tip: keep the lid on for the full cooking time; lifting it lets the steam out and the dumplings sink and turn heavy.

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Akutaq

Akutaq, sometimes called Eskimo ice cream, is a festive Inuvialuit and Yup'ik dish of the Western Arctic, served at feasts, potlatches and Christmas gatherings. Traditionally animal fat was whipped by hand with snow and wild berries; today many families in the Mackenzie Delta and Alaska use white vegetable shortening, which is the version here, so it is vegan. Fat and sugar are beaten until white and fluffy, then fresh or frozen berries are folded through. It is eaten cold, by the spoonful, in small portions. A common mistake is using warm shortening, which won't whip. Chef's tip: beat in the cold water a spoonful at a time; that is what makes it light.

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Khabeesa

Khabeesa is made in Emirati and Qatari kitchens for Eid mornings, new babies and Ramadan nights: flour toasted until golden, then cooked with saffron syrup and ghee until it turns into fragrant, crumbly clusters, a bit like a soft, buttery halwa that breaks apart. It is served in a small bowl on the coffee tray, eaten with a spoon or the fingers, and its aroma of saffron, cardamom and rosewater fills the house. The mistake to avoid is pouring in the syrup all at once, which makes lumps that never break up. Chef's tip: keep pressing and turning the mixture against the pan once the ghee goes in; that is what forms the little golden crumbs.

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Kanya

Children in Freetown buy kanya from school-gate sellers and market trays, wrapped in paper, and Sierra Leoneans abroad pack it in suitcases to share. It is a pressed sweet of roasted groundnuts pounded with sugar and toasted rice flour, crumbly yet firm, a little like a rustic peanut fudge. Traditionally everything is pounded in a mortar; a food processor does the job in a minute. Store the bars in an airtight tin for up to a week. Chef's tip: stop blending the moment the crumbs clump when squeezed; a few seconds more and the peanuts release their oil and the mixture turns greasy.

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Tejbegríz

Ask Hungarians what they ate in the nursery or at the school canteen and tejbegríz comes up again and again: semolina cooked slowly in sweet milk until it is thick, smooth and comforting, then dusted with cocoa sugar or cinnamon sugar while it is still steaming. It is a supper for small children, a quick breakfast on a cold morning and the thing grown-ups make when they feel unwell. Some families add a spoon of jam or a knob of butter on top. Where most people go wrong is tipping the semolina in all at once, which makes lumps; rain it in slowly while you whisk. Chef's tip: take it off the heat when it is still slightly looser than you want, because it keeps thickening as it cools in the bowl.

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Pohorska omleta

Up on the Pohorje range above Maribor in north-eastern Slovenia, mountain lodges and ski huts serve this to cold, hungry walkers and skiers: a thick, soufflé-light sweet omelette folded around tart cranberry jam and served with a cloud of whipped cream. The inside is airy and custardy, the base golden, and the sharp berries cut through the richness of the cream. Lingonberry jam is the closest match to the wild berries of the area if you can find it. The common mistake is too much heat; the base burns before the foam has set, so keep the flame low and let the grill finish the top. Make it for a lazy weekend pudding or a sweet brunch for two. Chef's tip: fold the omelette while it is hot, but put the cream on the plate, never inside, or it melts into a puddle.

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Gesztenyepüré

No Budapest cukrászda menu in autumn is complete without a glass of gesztenyepüré: sweet chestnut purée pushed through a potato ricer so it falls in loose brown strands, crowned with a cloud of whipped cream and often a glacé cherry. It is soft, nutty and creamy rather than sugary, and it came to Hungary from Viennese kitchens in the days of the empire. Classic café versions add a splash of rum to the chestnuts; this one leaves it out and uses vanilla and a little cocoa, so it is alcohol-free. A common mistake is pressing the purée into the glass with a spoon, which turns it into a dense paste; let the strands fall loosely straight from the ricer. Chef's tip: chill the purée well before ricing, because cold purée holds its strands and the cream stays on top.

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Gozinaki

Gozinaki is the sweet every Georgian family makes for New Year's Eve, from Tbilisi flats to Kakhetian farmhouses: toasted walnuts stirred into honey boiled until thick, spread on a wet board and cut into diamonds that set glossy and crunchy. Children help shell the walnuts in December, and a plate of gozinaki sits on the table for the midnight toasts. A common mistake is taking the honey off too early; it stays sticky and the pieces never set. Chef's tip: cook the honey until a drop in cold water forms a firm, pliable ball, then work fast, because the mixture sets as it cools.

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Bathith

Bathith is an old Bedouin travel sweet from the United Arab Emirates, made from things that keep in the desert: flour toasted dark, dates and ghee, kneaded together into crumbly bites. Today it is served in Emirati homes with gahwa in the afternoon or put out at Ramadan, and it tastes of caramel, toasted nuts and warm cardamom, with a texture somewhere between shortbread crumble and fudge. It keeps well for a week in a tin. Under-toasting the flour is the mistake most often made: it must go a deep golden brown, or the bites taste pasty. Chef's tip: use the softest dates you can find and warm them with the ghee; they melt into a paste and bind the flour without extra fat.

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Chek k'tis

Ask for something sweet at a Phnom Penh dessert cart on a rainy-season afternoon and you may be handed a warm cup of chek k'tis: chunks of small, tart-sweet bananas bobbing in coconut milk with clear, chewy tapioca pearls. The coconut milk is sweetened with palm sugar and seasoned with a good pinch of salt, which makes it taste rich rather than cloying, and a knot of pandan gives it a grassy vanilla scent. It is also cooked at home as an offering-day treat and eaten warm or at room temperature. The usual error is using very ripe, spotty bananas, which melt into grey sludge; firm, just-yellow fruit holds its shape and blushes pink as it cooks. Chef's tip: let the coconut milk only shiver, never boil hard, or it splits and turns oily.

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Kyauk kyaw

Trays of kyauk kyaw are cut into diamonds for nearly every Burmese celebration, from birthday donation lunches to the water-splashing days of Thingyan in April, when a cold, firm jelly is exactly what the heat calls for. Agar sets far firmer than gelatine, and that clean, snappy bite is the whole point: a translucent sweet layer on the bottom and an opaque, lightly salted coconut cream layer on top, each tasting of fresh coconut and a hint of pandan. It is served chilled, on its own or alongside shwe yin aye and other festival sweets. If the bottom layer sets completely hard before you pour the top, the two layers slide apart when you cut them. Chef's tip: pour the coconut layer while the clear layer has just formed a skin that holds a fingertip but is still warm.

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Ginger milk curd

Born in the Pearl River Delta town of Shawan in Panyu, Guangdong, ginger milk curd crossed the border to become a favourite of Hong Kong dessert parlours in Jordan and Causeway Bay, ordered hot on a winter night. There's no setting agent: an enzyme in fresh ginger juice curdles hot milk within minutes into a trembling, spoonable custard that's sweet, creamy and warming, with a peppery ginger kick. It is eaten straight from the bowl while still warm, with nothing alongside. Long-life UHT milk is the classic mistake, since its proteins have been changed by the high heat and it simply won't set; use fresh pasteurised whole cow's milk. Chef's tip: use mature, fibrous ginger rather than young pink-tipped ginger, and heat the milk to 70–75 °C, measured with a thermometer.

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Mango pudding

Wobbling out of fish-shaped moulds at the end of a Hong Kong dim sum lunch, mango pudding is just as popular in small cups from dessert chains, which sell it through the sticky summer months when Philippine and Thai mangoes flood the markets. It's smooth, creamy and full of fruit, with pieces of fresh mango through it and a drizzle of cold evaporated milk on top. Restaurants usually set it with gelatine; this version uses agar, which keeps it vegetarian and sets slightly firmer and cleaner. The problem with agar is impatience: it begins to set below about 40 °C, so cold purée added too slowly turns into lumpy strands. Chef's tip: warm the mango purée before you mix it in, then whisk briskly and pour into the moulds right away.

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Black sesame soup

Steaming bowls of inky ji ma wu are a staple of Hong Kong dessert shops on cool evenings, eaten after dinner or as a late-night snack on the way home. The soup is thick enough to coat a spoon, nutty and roasted with a faint bitterness that balances the rock sugar, and so smooth it feels like warm velvet. It's often paired half-and-half in one bowl with almond tea or walnut soup, or served with sweet glutinous rice balls. Over-toasting the sesame is the mistake to avoid; once the seeds scorch, the whole pot tastes acrid. Chef's tip: blend the toasted seeds with water for a full two minutes, until no grit is left between your fingers, before it goes into the pan.

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Serradura

Portuguese for 'sawdust', serradura is the cool, creamy dessert you'll find in every Macanese restaurant and café from Taipa to the Senado Square backstreets, ordered to round off a long Macanese lunch. Alternating layers of sweetened whipped cream and powder-fine tea biscuit crumbs set softly in the fridge, so each spoonful is light, milky and caramel-sweet, with a gentle crumbly texture. It is usually served in small glasses, sometimes semi-frozen like an ice cream cake. Coarse crumbs are where it goes wrong; they stay crunchy and gritty instead of melting into the cream, so grind the biscuits as fine as sand. Chef's tip: whip the cream and condensed milk together only to firm peaks and stop there, or it turns grainy and buttery.

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Durian pengat

When the durian season peaks in Singapore from June to August, Peranakan families in Katong and Joo Chiat turn leftover or slightly overripe fruit into pengat, a thick, golden custard-like dessert of durian flesh cooked down in coconut milk with gula melaka and pandan. It is rich, creamy and boldly fragrant, with a caramel edge from the palm sugar and a little salt to balance it, and it is eaten warm or chilled in small bowls, or spooned over plain steamed glutinous rice or slices of white bread. The usual mistake is boiling the coconut milk hard, which splits it into oily curds; keep it to a lazy simmer. Chef's tip: mash half the durian and keep half in soft chunks, so you get both a smooth base and creamy pieces to bite into.

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Gola ganda

Nothing says summer evening at Clifton beach or Burns Road quite like the clatter of a gola ganda cart, where a block of ice is shaved on a hand plane, packed round a stick into a fist-sized ball and doused in rose-pink, mango-orange and purple kala khatta syrups. It melts fast in the Karachi heat, so children lick it from the bottom as it drips, and the fancier stalls serve it in a plate with condensed milk, desiccated coconut and a pinch of chaat-style salt on the sour syrup. At home a hand ice shaver or a powerful blender makes snow fine enough to press into balls. The most common disappointment is ice crushed too coarsely, which will not hold together and lets the syrup run straight through. Chef's tip: freeze the ice from boiled and cooled drinking water in a shallow tray, and put the glasses or plates in the freezer too, so the gola keeps its shape for longer.

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Peanut ice cream roll

Strolling Jiufen's steep Old Street, or the night markets of Yilan where it was born, you'll find a vendor planing a huge block of peanut candy into fluffy shavings over a thin, soft wrapper, adding two scoops of taro or pineapple ice cream and, to the surprise of every visitor, a pinch of fresh coriander. Rolled up like a burrito, it's cold, crunchy, chewy and sweet all at once, and the herb lifts it with a bright, almost citrus note. The popiah wrapper is the same thin flour skin used for Taiwanese spring rolls. A dried-out wrapper is what usually ruins it: it cracks as you roll, so keep the skins under a damp cloth until the last second. Chef's tip: check that your ice cream is free of gelatine, and try one roll with coriander before deciding you hate it.

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Majarete

Puerto Rican grandmothers cook majarete on the stove in one pan, pour it into a dish and leave it to set while the Sunday dinner is eaten; it shows up again at Christmas beside the tembleque. Rice flour, coconut milk and whole milk are stirred with cinnamon and a little orange zest until they thicken into a silky, spoonable pudding, dusted with more cinnamon. In the Dominican Republic the same name goes to a version made with fresh grated corn. The common mistake is walking away from the pan; rice flour lumps and catches in seconds, so whisk constantly. Chef's tip: whisk the rice flour into the cold milks before the pan goes on the heat, and it will be perfectly smooth.

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Marzan

When snow cuts off the villages of Baltistan around Skardu and Khaplu, marzan is the dish that keeps people going: wholewheat flour stirred into boiling water until it becomes a thick, smooth, heavy pudding, shaped into a mound with a well in the centre filled with melted butter and apricot-kernel oil. It is eaten communally by hand, each person pulling a piece from the edge and dipping it in the fat, and it is made for new mothers, for guests after a cold journey and for winter mornings. Some families eat it plain and savoury, others sweeten it with a little sugar or serve it with dried apricots, which is how it is written here. Lumps are the usual complaint, so add the flour slowly. Chef's tip: whisk the flour into the water a spoonful at a time, then switch to a sturdy wooden spoon and beat hard as it thickens; and use only food-grade culinary apricot-kernel oil, or more butter.

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Rømmegrøt

Rømmegrøt is the porridge of Norwegian celebrations: full-fat sour cream simmered and thickened with flour until the butterfat seeps out, then loosened with milk into a rich, silky pudding and served with cinnamon sugar, melted butter and a side of cured meats or flatbread. It is eaten at midsummer, weddings and on St Olav's day, and in the summer farms of the mountains; in Oslo it is bought in tubs for Saturday treats. A common mistake is using low-fat sour cream, which will not release its butter. Chef's tip: skim off the golden fat that rises and drizzle it back over the porridge in the bowl; that is the traditional 'smørøye' (butter eye).

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Tobago benne balls

Benne is the West African word for sesame that survived in Tobago, and benne balls are the little brown, crunchy candies sold in paper bags at Scarborough market and by vendors on the beach roads. Toasted seeds are stirred into molasses and sugar boiled to the hard stage, then rolled while warm into marble-sized balls. The common mistake is under-boiling the syrup, which gives soft, sticky balls that never set; test it in cold water. Work quickly and carefully, as the syrup is very hot. Chef's tip: toast the seeds only to pale gold; they keep darkening in the hot syrup and turn bitter if they start dark.

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Curd and treacle

Driving the southern coast road past Tangalle towards Hambantota, you pass stall after stall stacked with round clay chatties of meekiri, the firm, slightly sour curd made from buffalo milk, with bottles of dark kithul treacle hanging beside them. Turned out into a bowl and flooded with treacle, it is the South's great dessert: cool, rich and tangy against the smoky, toffee-like sweetness of the palm syrup, eaten after lunch or as a snack in the heat of the day. Setting it at home is easy with pasteurised buffalo milk or creamy whole cow's milk, a spoon of live curd and a warm spot overnight. The mistake that ruins most first batches is adding the starter while the milk is still too hot, which kills the culture and leaves you with warm milk in the morning. Chef's tip: unglazed clay pots draw out a little whey, which is why traditional curd is so thick; soak them in water and dry them well before using.

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Vispipuuro

Vispipuuro, 'whisked porridge', is a Finnish childhood favourite: semolina cooked in lingonberry juice and water with sugar, then cooled and whisked hard until it turns pale pink, light and fluffy like a mousse. It is eaten for breakfast, as a dessert at school, or as a snack, with cold milk poured around it. Cranberries or redcurrants work too. A common mistake is whisking it while still hot, which never lightens it. Chef's tip: cool the porridge in a sink of cold water, then whisk with an electric mixer for 10 minutes; it will double in volume. Serve with oat milk to keep it vegan.

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Talkhan

Around Bamiyan and Daikundi in the central mountains, where mulberry trees line the irrigation channels, families dry the white berries on rooftops in summer and pound them with walnuts into talkhan, a dense, chewy sweet that keeps for months. It was the food shepherds and travellers carried in a cloth for long days on foot, and it is still offered with green tea to guests in Hazara homes in winter. The flavour is honeyed, faintly fig-like and nutty, with no added sugar at all. Grinding it too fine and too long is the usual misstep, as the walnuts turn oily and the cake goes greasy; stop while there is still some texture. Chef's tip: toast the walnuts lightly and let them cool before pounding, which takes away any bitterness from the skins.

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Haft mewa

Haft mewa is the first thing many Afghan families offer visitors on Nowruz, the spring new year on 21 March, and in Mazar-i-Sharif and Kabul it sits in a big glass bowl on every table set for the holiday. Seven kinds of dried fruit and nuts, typically green and red raisins, apricots, walnuts, almonds, pistachios and senjed (dried oleaster berries), are steeped in water for two days until the fruit swells and releases its sugar into a pale amber syrup, while the nuts soften to a fresh, milky crunch. It is ladled into small bowls with plenty of liquid and eaten with a spoon. Skipping the peeling of the almonds is the most common shortcut, and it leaves bitter, papery skins floating in the syrup. Chef's tip: use cooled boiled water for the soak and keep the bowl in the fridge, which keeps the syrup clear and sweet.

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Hangop

Hangop means 'hang up', and that is the method: buttermilk poured into a cloth, hung up over a bowl overnight until it thickens into something like a tangy, creamy fresh cheese. It was a summer dessert on Dutch farms, eaten with rusk crumbs, brown sugar and fresh fruit, and is having a revival in Amsterdam restaurants. A common mistake is straining it at room temperature, which lets it turn too sour. Chef's tip: strain it in the fridge, and use a clean tea towel rather than cheesecloth; the finer weave keeps more of the creamy curd.

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Maleeda

Maleeda is a sweet with a purpose: Afghan women make it as nazr, an offering promised when they pray for something, a recovery, a safe journey or a child's exam, and then share it out among neighbours or at a shrine on a Thursday evening. Thin breads are cooked on a griddle, torn up while still hot and rubbed between the palms with melted ghee, sugar and cardamom until they become soft, fragrant, golden crumbs, a bit like a warm, buttery crumble topping. It is eaten from the hand or with a spoon, sometimes with chopped pistachios. Letting the bread cool before rubbing is where it goes wrong, as cold bread will not soak up the ghee and stays in tough flakes. Chef's tip: a quick pulse in a food processor gives you even crumbs, but finish by rubbing with your fingers so the texture stays soft.

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Tamina (roasted semolina with honey)

Word of a birth in an Algiers household brings a steady flow of visitors, and each is offered a small dish of tamina with coffee: semolina roasted in a dry pan until it smells like toasted hazelnuts, then bound with melted butter and honey and dusted with cinnamon. It is soft, crumbly and sweet, a little like a spoonable halva, and is said to give strength to the new mother. Tamina is also made for Mawlid and served with tea, with the cinnamon often sifted over in a lattice pattern. Chef's tip: toast the semolina slowly over a medium-low heat and stir without stopping; burnt dark specks make the whole batch bitter and cannot be picked out.

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Chokladbollar

Chokladbollar are the first thing Swedish children learn to make: oats, butter, sugar and cocoa mashed together by hand, rolled into balls and coated in desiccated coconut or pearl sugar, then chilled. They sit in every café cabinet in Sweden for fika, and grown-ups add a spoon of strong coffee to the mix. This version uses milk, with coffee as an option for adults. A common mistake is using soft, melted butter, which makes a greasy mix that won't roll. Chef's tip: use butter at cool room temperature and chill the mix for 20 minutes before rolling.

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Leipäjuusto with cloudberries

Leipäjuusto, 'bread cheese', comes from Lapland, Ostrobothnia and Kainuu in northern Finland: a flat round of fresh cheese baked or flame-grilled until it is spotted brown, squeaky and mild. In Lapland it is cut into cubes and dropped into hot coffee, or warmed and served with cloudberry jam and cream as a dessert at Christmas and celebrations. Sold as 'Finnish squeaky cheese' outside Finland; it is usually made with animal rennet, so look for a vegetarian version. A common mistake is warming it too long, which turns it rubbery and leaks whey. Chef's tip: warm it in a hot oven for just a few minutes, until soft and steaming, and pour over a little cream for the last minute.

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Rahash

In the souks of Kuwait City and Manama, slabs of rahash appear on the sweet stalls as Ramadan approaches, cut into squares to nibble with tea after iftar or handed round at Eid. It is close to halva: tahini beaten with hot sugar syrup until it sets into a firm, crumbly, fudgy block that melts on the tongue, with a gentle cardamom perfume and pistachios on top. The trick is the syrup temperature. Undercooked syrup leaves a soft, oily paste that never sets; cook it to the soft-ball stage. Stir the tahini well in its jar first, as the oil separates. Chef's tip: stop stirring as soon as the mixture loses its gloss and starts to pull away from the bowl; keep going and it turns sandy.

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Saqo

Saqo is a sweet that Gulf grandmothers in Saudi Arabia, Kuwait and the Emirates make for Ramadan nights and family gatherings: tiny sago pearls cooked with saffron and cardamom until clear, glossy and suspended in a golden, wobbly syrup. It is eaten warm or cold from small bowls, often scattered with pistachios, and is gentle enough after a big iftar. The texture is soft and jelly-like with little pearls that pop. The typical mistake is under-cooking, which leaves white chalky centres in the pearls; cook until every pearl is fully see-through. Stir often, as sago sticks to the pan. Chef's tip: add the rose water off the heat at the very end, or its perfume cooks away.

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Hininy

When the first cold nights reach Najd and Qassim, Saudi families make hininy, a warm sweet of soft dates melted into crumbled brown bread with plenty of ghee and cardamom. It is eaten from a shared plate in the evening or at breakfast with tiny cups of saffron-tinted Arabic coffee, and it is said to keep you warm on desert nights. The texture is soft and fudgy with a little crumb, the flavour like sticky toffee and toasted bread. The mistake to avoid is using hard, dry dates, which never melt; choose soft, moist ones or soak them first. Serve it warm, pressed into a mound. Chef's tip: toast the bread crumbs in a dry pan for two minutes before mixing; it gives a nutty depth that plain crumbs lack.

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Raib (set yogurt with orange-flower water)

Every Moroccan town has a mahlaba, a dairy café, with a fridge full of little glass pots of raib: soft, wobbly set yogurt, lightly sweetened and often scented with orange-flower water or flavoured with strawberry. It is eaten with a spoon as a snack, as a dessert after dinner, or with msemen at breakfast. The texture is delicate and spoonable rather than thick like strained yogurt. The oldest versions were set with rennet; this home version uses live yogurt as a starter (if you try rennet tablets, choose a vegetarian one). It needs 6–8 hours to set and a few hours to chill. Chef's tip: let the milk cool to 43 °C before adding the starter; too hot and the cultures die, so the raib never sets, which is the most common mistake.

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Raspao

On a hot Barranquilla afternoon, the raspao cart is the fastest way to cool down. The vendor scrapes a block of ice with a metal plane, packs the snow into a cup and floods it with bright syrups: kola, tamarind, lime, blackberry. Many add a ribbon of condensed milk on top, but this version stays vegan and lets the fruit carry it. Children love it, and it is a fun one to make at home with a blender and a jug of syrup. The usual misstep is pouring warm syrup over the ice, which melts it to slush in seconds, so chill the syrup completely first. Make the syrup a day ahead if you like; it keeps a week in the fridge. Chef's tip: freeze water in a shallow tray, then blitz the slab in pieces with a few pulses for fluffier, snow-like ice than ice cubes give.

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Salame de chocolate

Every Portuguese child seems to have helped make one: crushed Maria-style tea biscuits folded through rich chocolate, rolled into a log, chilled and dusted with icing sugar until each slice looks like salami. It turns up at birthday parties, in café display cases around Lisbon and on Christmas dessert tables. The traditional mix uses raw eggs; this version leaves them out and sets with melted chocolate and butter instead, so there is nothing raw in it. A splash of port is often added, which contains alcohol; leave it out or use milk. A common mistake is crushing the biscuits to crumbs; leave some larger pieces, or the slices lose their marbled look. Chef's tip: break the biscuits by hand into pieces the size of a fingernail; crumbs turn it into fudge and you lose the salami look.

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Paparajotes

Paparajotes are the sweet of the Murcian huerta's spring festivals, above all the Bando de la Huerta, when the city fills with people in traditional dress and stalls fry them by the hundred. A lemon tree leaf is dipped in a light batter, fried and dusted with cinnamon sugar; you hold it by the stalk, pull off the crisp coating with your teeth and leave the leaf, which flavours the batter but is not food. Newcomers who try to eat the whole thing are a long-standing local joke. Chef's tip: use only leaves from an unsprayed lemon tree, washed and dried.

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Crémet d'Anjou

Angers and the Anjou countryside have served crémets since the 1800s: a mixture of fresh cheese, whipped cream and whisked egg white, drained in muslin until it holds its shape, then unwrapped onto a plate with berries or a red fruit coulis. It is soft, cool and barely sweet, and Angevin cheese shops sell it by the pot in spring and summer. This version swaps raw egg white for a little extra whipped cream, so it is safe for everyone. You need muslin or a clean J-cloth and small sieves or ramekins with holes. Chef's tip: give it a full 12 hours in the fridge; it firms up and turns light and mousse-like as the whey drips away.

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Pasteli

Pasteli is one of the oldest sweets in Greece, and on islands like Sifnos and Andros it is still made in the home kitchen for weddings and feast days, sometimes cut into diamonds and served on lemon leaves. Toasted sesame seeds are bound in hot honey and set into a thin sheet that snaps cleanly but softens slightly as you chew, tasting of nuts and wild thyme. Common mistake: taking the honey off the heat too early, which leaves bars that stay sticky and bend instead of snapping. Chef's tip: test a drop of the honey in cold water; when it sets into a firm ball you can press without it flattening, it's ready.

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Cuajada

In the green valleys of northern Navarre, Ultzama and Roncal above all, sheep's milk is set into cuajada, a wobbly, faintly tangy junket that is eaten as dessert in village restaurants and sold in little clay pots at Pamplona's markets. Shepherds once warmed the milk by dropping a red-hot stone into a wooden pot, which is why some cuajadas taste lightly smoky. It is always eaten cold, with honey and walnuts. Most rennet is made from calves' stomachs; for a vegetarian cuajada use a microbial or vegetable rennet. Chef's tip: once the rennet is in, don't move the pots at all until they have set, or they turn grainy and weep.

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Cholado

On a hot afternoon in Jamundí, just south of Cali, the stalls along the road to the river build cholados in tall plastic cups: a base of shaved ice drenched in bright fruit syrups, layers of chopped mango, papaya, pineapple, banana and strawberries, then a ribbon of condensed milk and a shower of coconut. It is half drink, half dessert, eaten with a long spoon as the ice melts into fruity, creamy slush. Children love it, and it is quick to build at home. The commonest mistake is shaving the ice too early; it melts into water before you finish assembling, so crush it at the last moment. Chef's tip: chill the fruit and glasses well beforehand and squeeze a little lime over the fruit so it stays bright.

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Mel i mató

On the road up to Montserrat, farm women once sat at stalls selling fresh mató, a soft, mild, unsalted curd cheese, and the dessert of mató drizzled with honey became a fixture of Catalan restaurants. It is as simple as dessert gets, and best with the freshest cheese. Shop-bought mató and some ricottas are set with animal rennet; this home version is set with lemon juice instead, so it is vegetarian. If you buy cheese, check the label for a vegetarian or microbial rennet. Chef's tip: heat the milk gently and stop at 90 °C; boiling makes the curds tough and grainy.

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Sakızlı muhallebi

Çeşme looks across the water to Chios, the island where mastic trees weep their resin, and the town's pudding shops have long used it to perfume a simple, wobbly milk pudding. The flavour is hard to describe: piney, a little floral, very fresh against cold creamy milk. It is the dessert to order after a long fish lunch in Alaçatı. Chef's tip: grind the mastic with a teaspoon of sugar in a mortar; on its own it gums up into sticky lumps.

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Bici bici

When Adana's July heat pushes past 40 °C, handcarts on every corner serve bici bici: cubes of wobbly starch jelly piled with shaved ice, splashed with rose syrup and dusted with icing sugar. Children eat it in the shade of the clock tower; grown-ups claim it is the only thing that works in that heat. The jelly is just cornflour, water and a little sugar, set and cut into cubes. The usual mistake is undercooking it, which leaves a cloudy, floury jelly that won't hold a cut. Chef's tip: freeze water in a shallow tray and scrape it with a fork for snowy ice if you have no ice shaver.

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Höşmerim

Höşmerim is a winter dessert of the Erzurum plateau and the Bolu highlands, made from unsalted fresh cheese melted with butter and semolina until it turns golden and gives off its own butter, then soaked with syrup. It's eaten warm in small bowls, chewy and rich, topped with crushed walnuts or pistachios, often after a long cold day. Common mistake: using salty or aged cheese, which turns oily and bitter; you need a soft, unsalted fresh cheese such as lor or ricotta. Chef's tip: keep cooking until the fat starts seeping out at the edges and the mixture is the colour of light toffee; that's where the flavour comes from.

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Supangle

Supangle is the chocolate pudding of Turkish pudding shops and school canteens, a favourite of children from Istanbul to Ankara: a thick, dark cocoa custard set in a bowl, traditionally with a piece of sponge cake or biscuit hidden at the bottom to soak up the edges. Served cold with grated chocolate or pistachios on top, it is rich but not heavy. Use proper dark chocolate as well as cocoa for depth. Common mistake: adding the chocolate before the pudding has thickened; it can seize and turn grainy. Chef's tip: whisk the butter in at the very end, off the heat, for a glossy, almost shiny surface.

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Layali Lubnan

Layali Lubnan — 'Lebanese nights' — is the cool, wobbly pudding Beirut families make for Ramadan evenings and summer gatherings, because it is quick and feeds a crowd from one dish. A base of milk thickened with fine semolina and scented with orange blossom is topped with a thick layer of cream, then finished with pistachios, rose petals and a trickle of sugar syrup at the table. It is gentle and milky rather than very sweet; the syrup lets everyone choose. Common mistake: pouring the cream on while the semolina is still hot; it melts in and the layers blur. Chef's tip: whisk the semolina in slowly and keep whisking for the first minute — that is what keeps it perfectly smooth.

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Bananas Foster

Bananas Foster was invented in the 1950s at a family restaurant in the French Quarter, when New Orleans was the main port for bananas from Central America, and it is still flamed at the table there for birthday dinners. Bananas are cooked in butter, brown sugar and cinnamon, then flambéed with dark rum and banana liqueur and spooned over vanilla ice cream. It contains alcohol; for an alcohol-free version replace the rum and liqueur with 4 tbsp orange juice and a few drops of rum flavouring and skip the flaming. Chef's tip: use bananas that are ripe but still firm, or they turn to mush.

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New Orleans pralines

In New Orleans a praline (say 'praw-leen') is a flat, fudgy disc of pecans set in brown sugar and cream, sold in waxed paper from candy shops along Decatur Street and by street vendors since the 1800s. It melts on the tongue rather than snapping like brittle. Chef's tip: use a sugar thermometer and take the pan off at 114 °C; a few degrees more and they turn grainy and hard.

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Haneeneh

Haneeneh is desert comfort food from the Bedouin tents of the Jordanian Badia: soft dates mashed into hot samneh with crumbs of yesterday's flatbread, scented with cardamom and pressed into a rich, fudgy sweet. It is made for guests, for new mothers and for cold mornings before herding, eaten by hand with black tea or Arabic coffee. It takes ten minutes and uses only store-cupboard things. The mistake to avoid is cooking the dates too long once they meet the ghee; they turn stiff and chewy instead of jammy. Chef's tip: toast the crumbs in the ghee first until nutty, then add the dates off the heat so the mixture stays soft.

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Funnel cake

Funnel cake started in Pennsylvania Dutch kitchens and became the smell of every American county fair and boardwalk, from the Kutztown Folk Festival to the Jersey shore. A thin batter is poured through a funnel in loops into hot oil, so it fries into a crisp, lacy, golden nest that you tear apart with your fingers under a snowfall of icing sugar. Chef's tip: keep your finger over the funnel until it is right over the oil, then move in quick overlapping circles from the centre out.

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Hawaiian shave ice

Shave ice came to Hawaii with Japanese plantation workers, and on hot afternoons on Oahu's North Shore families still queue at roadside stands for a towering, soft cone of ice soaked in rainbow syrups. The ice is shaved so fine it is like fresh snow and soaks up the syrup instead of letting it run to the bottom. Without a shaver, freeze ice in a block and scrape it with a fork. Chef's tip: let the ice block sit out for 5 minutes before shaving; slightly tempered ice gives fluffier flakes.

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Eton mess

Eton mess is served at Eton College's cricket match against Harrow each June, and it has become the English summer pudding for picnics and garden parties when strawberries are at their best. Crushed meringue, whipped cream and macerated strawberries are folded together at the last moment, so you get crunch, cream and juice in every spoonful. Chef's tip: fold it together just before serving; if it sits, the meringue dissolves into the cream.

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Summer pudding

Summer pudding is the high-summer pudding of English country gardens, made when redcurrants, raspberries and blackcurrants ripen together in July. Slices of day-old white bread line a basin and soak up the juices of lightly cooked berries overnight, turning a deep crimson and setting into a dome. Serve with cream (or a plant cream for a vegan pudding). Chef's tip: keep back a few spoonfuls of juice to paint over any white patches after turning it out.

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Cranachan

Cranachan began as a harvest-home dessert in the Highlands, made when the raspberries ripened in June and July, and it is now served on Burns Night and at Scottish weddings. Layers of whipped cream sweetened with heather honey, toasted pinhead or rolled oats and fresh raspberries make it crunchy, rich and sharp all at once. The traditional splash of Scotch whisky contains alcohol; for an alcohol-free version use a few drops of vanilla and a squeeze of orange juice instead. Chef's tip: toast the oats until they smell nutty and look golden; raw oats taste floury.

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Ballycastle yellowman

Yellowman is the bright yellow, brittle honeycomb toffee hacked from great slabs at the Ould Lammas Fair in Ballycastle, County Antrim, at the end of every August, often eaten with dulse. Golden syrup, sugar and butter are boiled to the hard-crack stage and then foamed with bicarbonate of soda into a crunchy, airy toffee. Chef's tip: have the tin and the soda ready before you start; once it reaches temperature you have seconds.

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Rote Grütze

Rote Grütze is the summer dessert of Hamburg, Schleswig-Holstein and Lower Saxony, made when the gardens are full of redcurrants, raspberries and sour cherries. The fruit is cooked briefly, thickened with a little cornflour and chilled until it sets to a glossy, spoonable jelly, tart and deep red, with whole berries still in it. Northerners pour cold vanilla sauce or plain cream over it; with a plant-based vanilla sauce it is fully vegan. A common mistake is boiling all the berries: add the soft raspberries last, off the heat, so they keep their shape. Chef's tip: frozen mixed berries work beautifully out of season, and their juice gives an even deeper colour.

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Manjar de coco

Sunday lunch at a grandmother's in Rio, Minas or Pernambuco often ends with a manjar, a snowy ring of coconut blancmange turned out of its mould and drowned in glossy, nearly black prune syrup. It is smooth and cool, with a soft wobble, the mild sweet coconut cream set off by the deep, winey taste of the prunes. The dessert is set with cornflour alone, so it is gluten free, and it has to be made at least 4 hours ahead. Under-cooking the cornflour is what usually goes wrong: the manjar tastes chalky and breaks when turned out. Chef's tip: wet the mould with cold water instead of greasing it, then shake out the drops; the manjar slides out cleanly with a coconut taste unspoilt by oil.

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Poulaki

Poulaki are the paper-thin golden sugar coins sold by weight in Isfahan's sweet shops, meant to be held between the teeth while you sip strong black tea. The name comes from 'poul', the old word for coin, and Isfahanis serve them with tea to guests at any hour, flavoured with saffron, cardamom or sesame. Only sugar, a little vinegar and spice are needed, but timing matters. A common mistake is pouring the drops too big: they should spread no wider than 4 cm or they stay chewy in the middle. Chef's tip: work on a cold, lightly oiled marble or steel tray, which sets the coins in seconds and keeps them glassy.

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Mousse de cupuaçu

Cupuaçu, a cousin of cacao with a velvety white pulp, smells of pineapple, banana and chocolate at once and is one of the great flavours of Pará. Belém's ice-cream parlours and lunch restaurants turn it into this light, sharp-sweet mousse, and home cooks make it the night before a birthday or Sunday lunch because it is just whipped and chilled. Condensed milk and cream soften the fruit's sourness; a spoon of cupuaçu syrup on top adds colour and bite. Outside Brazil, buy frozen unsweetened cupuaçu pulp from Brazilian or Latin shops. Many cooks blend the cream with everything else, which leaves the mousse runny; whip it separately and fold it in. Chef's tip: thaw the pulp in the fridge rather than in hot water, so it keeps its perfume, and chill the mousse for at least 4 hours.

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Mousse de maracujá

Three ingredients, a blender and a fridge: Brazilian home cooks from Recife to Curitiba lean on mousse de maracujá for Sunday lunch dessert because it takes ten minutes and nobody ever refuses it. The acid in passion-fruit juice thickens condensed milk and cream almost instantly, so it sets into a light, tangy, pale yellow mousse without gelatin, topped with the glossy black seeds and pulp. Sharp and sweet at once, it is perfect after a feijoada or a barbecue. Buy wrinkly, heavy passion fruit, which are the ripest and juiciest; frozen unsweetened pulp works too. The trap is diluting the juice: any added water stops the mousse setting, so use pure strained juice. Chef's tip: keep back the pulp of one fruit, warm it for a minute with a spoonful of sugar, and pour it over the mousse just before serving for shine.

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Cuscuz de tapioca

Breakfast stalls in Salvador and the street markets of Recife and Fortaleza sell cuscuz de tapioca by the slice from a big round tray, often with a drizzle of condensed milk on top. It needs no cooking at all: granulated tapioca (tapioca granulada) soaks up hot sweetened milk and coconut milk and swells into a firm, white, bouncy cake with a chewy, pearly texture and a gentle coconut taste. It is eaten cold, at breakfast or as an afternoon sweet with coffee. Granulated tapioca is a Brazilian product made of small irregular crumbs, not pearls; Brazilian shops sell it in bags. Cutting it too early is the usual mistake, and the slices crumble because the granules are still dry at the centre. Chef's tip: pour the liquid in while it is steaming hot and cover the dish straight away; the trapped steam swells the granules evenly.

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Salzburger Nockerl

Salzburger Nockerl is the dessert Salzburg serves to visitors after a concert or a walk through the old town: three golden, sugar-dusted peaks said to stand for the hills around the city. Under the airy egg-white soufflé is a layer of tart lingonberries or redcurrants, warmed with vanilla milk in the baking dish. It is meant to be shared from the dish and eaten the moment it leaves the oven, before it sinks. This version uses cornflour instead of wheat flour, so it is gluten free. A common mistake is over-folding the yolks into the whites; streaks are fine, and too much stirring makes it collapse. Chef's tip: keep the oven door shut until the end; the peaks are ready when they are golden outside but still creamy inside.

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Cartola

Sweet, salty and hot all at once, cartola ('top hat') is a Pernambuco dessert that sounds odd and tastes like it was always meant to be. Bananas are fried in butter until caramel-edged, covered with slices of coalho or queijo manteiga that melt into a blanket, then showered with cinnamon sugar. It turns up on Recife lunch menus, in hotel buffets and in home kitchens after Sunday lunch, and needs nothing else, though a scoop of vanilla ice cream is welcome. Bananas-prata or ripe plantains are used locally; firm, just-ripe bananas are the nearest swap. Coalho is often made with animal rennet, so choose a vegetarian version or a vegetarian halloumi. Avoid overripe fruit; it collapses in the pan and the cheese slides off. Chef's tip: finish under a hot grill for a minute so the cinnamon sugar bubbles into a thin, crackly crust.

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Schokofrüchte

Schokofrüchte stalls glow under strings of lights at almost every German Christmas market, from Stuttgart to Hamburg, with rows of strawberries, grapes and banana chunks on wooden skewers dipped in dark, milk and white chocolate. Children choose with their noses pressed to the glass, and at home they are a fun job for small hands. The usual mistake is dipping wet fruit: even a drop of water makes chocolate seize into a grainy lump and stops it sticking. Chef's tip: melt the chocolate gently and let it cool to just warm before dipping; it then clings in a neat, thin shell and sets glossy. Many chocolates contain milk, so check the label if you need it dairy free.

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Romeu e Julieta

Two ingredients, no cooking, and a name every Brazilian knows: Romeo is the dark red goiabada, Juliet the mild white queijo Minas frescal, and they are always eaten together. Mineiros serve it after lunch on a saucer, at the end of a feast in a roadside restaurant, or as a mid-afternoon snack with coffee; the sweet, dense guava and the cool, milky, lightly salty cheese balance each other perfectly. Variations melt the guava into a warm sauce over the cheese, or bake both inside a pastry. Queijo Minas frescal is often made with animal rennet, so pick one labelled vegetarian, or use a young vegetarian farmer's cheese or paneer-style fresh cheese. The usual fault is cutting the guava thicker than the cheese, which buries Juliet; keep both slices the same size. Chef's tip: take the cheese out of the fridge 15 minutes ahead so it tastes of fresh milk rather than cold rubber.

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Pé de moleque

Lumpy, glossy slabs of peanut set in dark sugar are sold in every rodoviária snack bar and handed round at festa junina, wrapped in cellophane or set in little paper cups. The name, 'street-kid's foot', probably comes from the cobbled look of the top. Piracicaba in São Paulo state is famous for it, and in the Northeast the same name can mean a cassava cake, so expect confusion. This is the crunchy southeastern style: roasted peanuts cooked into rapadura (unrefined cane sugar) until it caramelises and clings. Rapadura or panela is sold in Latin shops; dark muscovado is a fine substitute. People burn it by walking away; once the peanuts go in, the sugar darkens in seconds. Chef's tip: have the oiled tray ready before you start, because the mixture sets almost as soon as it leaves the heat.

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Paçoca

Kids across Brazil grow up on paçoca, the pale peanut sweet that melts into sandy crumbs the moment it is bitten, and no festa junina bag of treats is complete without a few. It started in the countryside of São Paulo and Minas as a way to use the peanut harvest, pounded in a wooden pestle with sugar and cassava flour, and today it is mostly pressed into little discs called rolhas. The flavour is pure toasted peanut, salty-sweet, with a texture between shortbread and fudge. Fine cassava flour (farinha de mandioca fina) is sold in Brazilian shops; you can leave it out for a richer, softer paçoca. Under-roasting the peanuts is the usual pitfall: pale peanuts give a raw, beany taste. Chef's tip: grind the mixture only until it just starts to clump; if it turns to butter, it will not hold a crumbly shape.

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Maçã do amor

A shiny red apple on a stick is the picture of a Brazilian festa junina stall, lined up in rows beside the quentão and pipoca. The 'love apple' is a small, tart apple dipped in hot sugar syrup that hardens into a thin, crackling, ruby-red shell; you bite through glass and hit crisp fruit. It is a good one to make at home for a June party because the syrup takes 15 minutes and the apples are ready as soon as the shell cools. Choose a plant-based red colouring to keep it vegan. Where it tends to fail: any water or wax on the apple skin stops the syrup sticking, so it slides off in a puddle. Chef's tip: dip the apples in boiling water for 10 seconds and dry them thoroughly to remove the wax before you start.

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Helado de lúcuma

Ask anyone in Lima, Cusco or Trujillo for the national ice-cream flavour and they will say lúcuma, the green-skinned Andean fruit with dry, golden-orange flesh that tastes of butterscotch, maple and sweet potato. Every ice-cream parlour, supermarket freezer and street cart sells it, and it's also folded into cakes and milkshakes. This no-churn version needs no machine: frozen lúcuma pulp (or lúcuma powder, both in Latin shops and health-food stores) is whisked into condensed milk, then folded into whipped cream and frozen. It comes out smooth, rich and naturally caramel-coloured. The mistake is over-whipping the cream to stiff peaks, which makes the ice cream grainy and buttery; stop at soft peaks. It needs at least 6 hours in the freezer, so make it the day before. Serve with a slice of chocolate cake or on its own. Chef's tip: a pinch of salt and a few drops of lime sharpen lúcuma's mellow flavour so it doesn't taste flat when frozen.

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Anchi

Sold in plastic cups from coolers at Salta's Mercado San Miguel and on village plazas at the end of a hot afternoon, anchi is a thin, sweet pudding of fine maize semolina cooked with water, sugar and plenty of lemon. It sets only softly, so it is half eaten and half drunk, cold and refreshing, often with slices of poached peach or a few rehydrated orejones (dried peaches) on top, and sometimes a dusting of cinnamon. There's no milk or egg in it, which is what keeps it light. Too much semolina is the easy error: anchi should pour slowly from the spoon when cold, not slice like polenta, so stick to the ratio and remember it thickens as it cools. Fine maize semolina is the Salta choice; fine wheat semolina works too. Chef's tip: add the lemon juice off the heat at the end; boiled lemon loses its fresh sharpness.

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Quesillo con miel de caña

In the Tafí del Valle hills above San Miguel de Tucumán, quesillo is made by stretching hot curd into long, thin, elastic sheets and folding them into flat rounds; along the road up from the city, stalls sell it beside jars of miel de caña, the dark syrup boiled from the juice of Tucumán's sugarcane. Put the two together and you have the province's simplest dessert: mild, milky, slightly squeaky cheese with a pour of syrup that tastes of molasses and caramel, plus walnuts for crunch. It is eaten after lunch or as a merienda with mate. Drowning the cheese is the usual misstep; the syrup is intense, so pour a ribbon, not a puddle. Real quesillo is hard to find abroad: fresh mozzarella, Oaxaca cheese or another fresh stretched-curd cheese is closest, and light cane syrup or a 2:1 mix of golden syrup and black treacle stands in for miel de caña. Most of these cheeses use animal rennet; choose a vegetarian one if needed. Chef's tip: warm the syrup slightly so it runs into the folds of the cheese.

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Chocotorta

Born in 1980s Buenos Aires as an advertising idea and adopted by the whole country, chocotorta is the cake children ask for at every birthday and the easiest dessert in the Argentine repertoire. Chocolate biscuits are dipped briefly in milk (adults often use coffee), layered with a cream of dulce de leche beaten with cream cheese, and left overnight until the biscuits turn soft and cake-like. It is rich, sweet and a little tangy, and slices cleanly straight from the fridge. Any plain crisp chocolate biscuit works; rectangular ones make the neatest layers. The mistake to avoid is soaking the biscuits too long: a one-second dip is plenty, or they collapse into mush before you can lay them down. Chef's tip: assemble it a day ahead in a loaf tin lined with cling film; overnight chilling is what turns it from biscuits and cream into cake.

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Postre vigilante

Ask for dessert in an old Buenos Aires bodegón and the waiter will rattle off flan, budín and, inevitably, vigilante: a thick slab of soft, mild cheese laid beside an equal slab of dulce de membrillo or dulce de batata. The name, "policeman", is said to come from the beat officers who ordered it as a cheap sweet in early twentieth-century cafés; Uruguayans call the same plate Martín Fierro. It is salty against sweet, creamy against firm, and takes five minutes. The traditional cheese is fresh queso cremoso or cuartirolo, or a firmer port salut; a young Havarti or mild Gouda is the best stand-in abroad. Like many soft cheeses, these are often made with animal rennet, so check the label for a vegetarian (microbial-rennet) cheese. The usual error is cutting the slabs thin like a cheese board; vigilante is about generous, equal bricks. Chef's tip: take the cheese out of the fridge 20 minutes ahead; cold cheese tastes of nothing next to the paste.

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Cuajada con melao

Simplicity is the charm of this Andean dessert: a slab of fresh, milky cuajada, barely salted, with a dark syrup of panela poured over it, still warm. Highland fondas between Bogotá and Boyacá serve it after a lunch of ajiaco or sancocho, and the contrast of cool, squeaky curd with molasses-deep, spiced syrup is the point. Cuajada is set with rennet, traditionally animal; buy a vegetarian curd or fresh ricotta-style cheese, or make cuajada at home with microbial rennet. Panela is unrefined cane sugar; dark muscovado is the closest swap. The mistake is boiling the syrup too long: it turns to toffee as soon as it meets the cold cheese. Take it off when it coats a spoon thinly. Chef's tip: a strip of lime zest in the syrup cuts the sweetness beautifully.

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Postre de guanábana

Soursop has a perfume all its own, somewhere between pineapple, banana and citrus, with a creamy white flesh, and Colombians turn it into this no-bake fridge dessert for birthdays, Sunday lunches and Christmas tables. Soursop pulp is blended with condensed milk and lime, then folded through whipped cream and chilled until it sets into a light, mousse-like cream that is sweet, tangy and fragrant. It is served in glasses or one big dish, sometimes with crumbled biscuits on top; leave them out to keep it gluten free. Frozen soursop pulp is sold in Latin American shops and is easier than fresh fruit. If you start from a whole fruit, the error people make is blending the seeds, which are inedible and add bitterness; pick every one out by hand. Plan for at least 4 hours of chilling. Chef's tip: keep back a few spoonfuls of pulp and swirl them over the top just before serving for a sharper finish.

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Esponjado de curuba

Grandmothers' kitchens and old cafés of Bogotá and Boyacá have kept the esponjado alive: a pale, airy, sweet-sour mousse made with curuba, the long, soft-skinned banana passionfruit of the cold Andes, set with gelatin and sweetened with condensed milk. It is served chilled in glasses after Sunday lunch, light and tangy, perfumed like passionfruit but softer. Because it contains gelatin, it is not vegetarian; for a vegetarian version, set it with 2 tsp agar powder boiled for 2 minutes in the curuba juice. Older recipes fold in raw whipped egg whites; this one uses whipped cream instead, so there is no raw egg. The common problem is folding cream into gelatin that's too warm or too set: it should be cool and just thickening, like unbeaten egg white. Chef's tip: frozen curuba pulp is sold in Latin shops; if you can't find it, use passionfruit pulp with a squeeze of lime. Allow at least 4 hours for it to set.

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Mouhalabieh

Mouhalabieh is the pudding a Lebanese grandmother makes when guests drop by unannounced: milk set softly with cornflour and a little rice flour, perfumed with orange-blossom water and topped with chopped pistachios. It appears after Ramadan iftar meals, at Christmas in Beirut and on ordinary weeknights in Damascus, always cold and wobbling in small glasses or a shallow dish. No gelatine is used; the starch alone gives a spoonable, silky set. Chef's tip: mix the cornflour into cold milk before it meets the heat; added to hot milk it forms lumps that no amount of whisking removes.

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Tire d'érable

Tire d'érable (maple taffy, or 'tire sur la neige') is the highlight of a spring visit to a Québec or eastern Ontario sugar shack: hot boiled maple syrup is poured in ribbons over clean packed snow, where it firms into a chewy, amber toffee that you roll up onto a wooden stick. It's sold at winter carnivals in Québec City and made at home on a tray of snow or crushed ice. Chef's tip: use a sugar thermometer and stop at 112–114 °C; a few degrees under and it stays runny, a few over and it turns hard as candy.

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Haupia

Haupia is the dessert of every Hawaiian lūʻau and family party: coconut milk thickened and set into smooth, wobbly-firm squares that you can pick up with your fingers. It was once set with arrowroot from the pia plant; today cornflour does the job. It tastes clean, cool and gently sweet, and is also layered on chocolate pies and spread on cakes in Honolulu bakeries. Chef's tip: keep whisking until it's as thick as mayonnaise and big bubbles plop slowly; underdone haupia won't set firm enough to slice.

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Hokey pokey ice cream

Hokey pokey is what New Zealanders call honeycomb toffee, and vanilla ice cream full of crunchy little nuggets of it has been the country's best-loved flavour since the mid-twentieth century; it's scooped into cones at dairies and beaches from Auckland to Invercargill. The honeycomb is a bubbling golden syrup toffee that foams up when bicarbonate of soda goes in and sets glassy and light. Folded through a rich no-churn vanilla base, it stays crunchy at first and slowly turns chewy and toffee-like. Chef's tip: don't stir the sugar once it starts to melt; swirl the pan instead, or it will crystallise and turn grainy.

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Tembleque

Tembleque gets its name from the way it shivers (tiembla) when you set it on the table, and in Puerto Rico it is the dessert of the Christmas season, from the parrandas of December through to the Three Kings in January. It's nothing more than coconut milk, sugar and cornflour cooked into a silky custard, poured into a mould and chilled until it holds its shape. It is cool, pure white, lightly sweet and tastes completely of coconut, with a blush of cinnamon on top. Chef's tip: use full-fat tinned coconut milk; light coconut milk sets thin and tastes watery.

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Pisang rai

Pisang rai is a Balinese market sweet, wrapped in banana leaf and sold alongside klepon and lak-lak in the early morning. Small ripe bananas are coated in a thick rice-flour batter and dropped into boiling water rather than oil, so they come out soft, chewy and pale, ready to be rolled in salted grated coconut and drizzled with palm-sugar syrup. Some cooks colour the batter green with pandan. Chef's tip: the bananas are done when they float and the batter turns translucent at the edges; another minute firms the coating without making it gluey.

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Pisang epe

Along Losari Beach in Makassar, South Sulawesi, evening stalls grill firm bananas over coals, press them flat between two boards, grill them again and drown them in palm-sugar syrup. Epe means pressed. The bananas turn smoky and dense, almost like baked plantain, and the syrup is often flavoured with pandan, durian or chocolate; this is the pandan version. Chef's tip: use bananas that are just ripe and still firm, or plantains just turning yellow; soft bananas fall apart when you press them.

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Kluay tod (Thai fried bananas)

In the afternoons, Bangkok's street-corner woks switch from noodles to snacks, and kluay tod is the one you smell from down the soi: wedges of small, firm bananas in a coconut and sesame batter, fried until bronze and sold in paper bags. The batter is made with rice flour and a little lime water, so it shatters rather than turning bready, while the banana inside goes soft and jammy. Thais use kluay nam wa, a short, tart banana; firm, just-ripe ordinary bananas work too. Eat them warm, on their own or with a scoop of coconut ice cream. Chef's tip: overripe bananas fall apart and soak up oil; choose ones that are yellow with no brown spots.

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Zhent

Zhent is one of the oldest Kazakh sweets: toasted millet (tary) pounded with dried kurt, dates or raisins, and bound with butter and honey into a crumbly, rich square. Herders made it to carry on long rides, and today it appears on the dastarkhan at Nauryz and weddings in southern Kazakhstan, beside baursak and dried fruit. It tastes nutty, salty-sour from the kurt and sweet, a bit like shortbread with a sharp edge. Chef's tip: toast the millet in a dry pan until it pops and smells like popcorn; under-toasted millet tastes raw and grassy.

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Turon

Turon is the afternoon snack sold by vendors on every Filipino street corner, school gate and jeepney stop around three o'clock, often next to banana cue on bamboo skewers. A slice of saba banana and a strip of ripe jackfruit are rolled in a thin spring roll wrapper with brown sugar, then fried in oil that has more brown sugar sprinkled in it, so each roll comes out wrapped in a crackly, glassy caramel shell. It is eaten hot with your fingers, when the banana inside has turned soft and sticky. Saba is a short, firm cooking banana; ripe plantain is the closest substitute. Chef's tip: roll them tightly with no air pockets, or the caramel blows holes in the wrapper.

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Halo-halo

Halo-halo ('mix-mix') is what the Philippines eats through the hot dry months of March to May, bought from roadside stalls and snack shops and eaten slowly with a long spoon in a tall glass. Sweetened beans and chickpeas, banana cooked in brown sugar, jackfruit, nata de coco and sugar-palm fruit go in first, then a mountain of finely shaved ice, a splash of evaporated milk and a crown of ube halaya, a slice of leche flan or a scoop of ube ice cream, with crunchy pinipig (toasted pounded rice) on top. Unlike Malaysian ais kacang, there's no syrup over the ice: the sweetness comes from the layers and the milk. You stir everything together before eating. Chef's tip: chill the glasses and the toppings first so the ice doesn't melt before you have finished building.

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Pelamushi

Pelamushi is the spoonable cousin of churchkhela: the same thickened grape must, tatara, poured into bowls instead of over walnuts and left to set into a soft, wobbly pudding. In Kakheti it is made in harvest season with fresh must straight from the press, and in Imereti it is often thickened with cornmeal instead of wheat flour. It is served chilled with chopped walnuts, and it is a favourite Lenten dessert because it needs no egg or dairy. A common mistake is adding the flour straight to hot juice, which makes lumps that never cook out; always mix it with cold juice first. Chef's tip: stop cooking when the pudding plops thickly from the spoon; it firms up a lot as it cools.

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Mousse au chocolat

Mousse au chocolat is the dessert French children learn to make with their grandmothers and the one every bistro keeps in a big bowl in the fridge. The classic recipe is only dark chocolate, eggs, a little butter and sugar: the yolks make it rich, the whisked whites make it light and airy. It's made a few hours ahead and served in small glasses or scooped from a shared bowl. This version contains raw eggs, so use very fresh ones and avoid serving it to pregnant women, small babies or anyone unwell. For an egg-free version, see our eggless chocolate mousse. Chef's tip: let the melted chocolate cool until just warm before adding the yolks; adding them to hot chocolate is the common mistake and they scramble.

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Koat pitha

Koat pitha is Mizoram's favourite tea-time snack, sold in Aizawl's bakeries and street stalls and fried at home whenever bananas go soft: mashed ripe banana is mixed with rice flour and jaggery into a thick batter and fried in spoonfuls until crisp, brown and puffed. Inside they are soft and sticky-sweet. They are served at church gatherings and with red tea on wet afternoons. Chef's tip: the riper the bananas the better; spotted, almost black ones give the most flavour and sweetness.

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Greek yogurt with honey and walnuts

This is the dessert Greek tavernas bring out on the house at the end of a meal, and a common breakfast in homes and hotels from Crete to Corfu. Thick strained yogurt, ideally the sheep's-milk kind with a skin on top, is drizzled with dark thyme honey and scattered with walnuts. Simple as it is, the details matter: rich yogurt, good honey and nuts toasted just before serving. Add fresh figs or a spoon of quince preserve if you have them. Chef's tip: warm the honey for a few seconds so it runs in ribbons; cold honey is the common mistake and just sits in a blob.

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Crêpes

Sweet crêpes made from wheat flour, milk and eggs are Brittany's gift to the rest of France, and on 2 February, Chandeleur, French families make piles of them at home, flipping the first with a coin in hand for luck. They are thin and tender with golden, lacy spots, and the classic filling is simplest: a smear of salted butter and a sprinkle of sugar, or sugar and lemon. Children love them with chocolate spread, jam or sliced banana. Chef's tip: make the batter thinner than you expect, like single cream; thick batter is the common mistake and gives heavy pancakes, not crêpes.

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Obleas con arequipe

Obleas are the giant, paper-thin round wafers sold from street carts in Bogotá's parks and around Floridablanca in Santander, where they began. The vendor spreads two wafers with arequipe, Colombia's dulce de leche, and adds whatever you choose: blackberry jam, grated cheese, condensed milk or sprinkles, then presses them together. They are crisp, sticky and fun to make with children. Look for oblea wafers in Latin American shops. Chef's tip: assemble them right before eating; the wafers soften within an hour.

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Affogato

Affogato means 'drowned': a scoop of vanilla or fior di latte gelato with a shot of hot espresso poured over it at the table. It is served in bars and gelaterie all over Italy as the simplest after-dinner dessert, half drink and half ice cream, eaten quickly with a spoon while the coffee melts into the gelato. It takes five minutes and needs good ice cream and strong coffee. Chef's tip: chill the glasses in the freezer for 10 minutes first, so the gelato melts slowly and you get both hot and cold in each spoonful.

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Panna cotta

Panna cotta means 'cooked cream' and comes from the dairy country of the Langhe in Piedmont, where it is served after Sunday lunch, often with caramel or a few berries. Classic recipes set it with gelatine, which is made from animals; this version uses agar, a seaweed setting agent, so it is properly vegetarian. Agar sets firmer and faster, so the amount is small and it must be boiled to work. The result is creamy, just set and wobbles when you shake the plate. Chef's tip: boil the agar in the milk for a full 2 minutes before adding the cream; if it only warms, it will not set.

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Ais kacang

Ais kacang ('bean ice'), also called ABC for air batu campur ('mixed ice'), is the towering, rainbow-coloured treat Malaysian kids beg for at food courts and hawker centres on hot afternoons. Underneath a snowy dome of shaved ice hide red beans, sweetcorn, cubes of black grass jelly and chopped peanuts; on top go streaks of pink rose syrup, dark palm-sugar syrup and a drizzle of condensed milk. Everyone digs in from the top and mixes it into a sweet, icy slush. Chef's tip: chill the bowls in the freezer for 15 minutes first, so the ice holds its peak long enough to get it to the table.

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Mishti doi

Mishti doi, 'sweet yogurt', is the classic end to a Bengali meal, sold in Kolkata sweet shops in unglazed clay pots. Milk is simmered until it thickens, sweetened with sugar cooked to a deep caramel, then set overnight with a little live yogurt. The result is thick, creamy and smooth, with a toffee-like sweetness and a gentle tang. Clay pots absorb excess whey, which makes it extra thick, but small glass or ceramic bowls work too. Chef's tip: cool the milk to just warm (about 40°C, comfortable on your little finger) before adding the starter; too hot kills the culture and too cool leaves it runny.

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Ehime mikan jelly

Ehime, on the sunny north coast of Shikoku, is Japan's mandarin country. Terraced orchards climb its hillsides above the Seto Inland Sea, and the local mikan is so central to life there that some towns joke their taps run with juice. Mikan jelly is the prefecture's everyday treat, sold in cups at service stations and made at home when the fruit glut comes in winter. Ours is set with kanten (agar) instead of gelatine, which also means it holds firm at room temperature and doesn't melt on a hot day. Serve chilled after dinner. Chef's tip: boil the agar properly for 2 minutes. Agar only sets once fully dissolved, and undercooked agar leaves a grainy, weak jelly.

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Warabimochi

Warabimochi is Kyoto's summer sweet. Made from the starch of bracken fern roots, it is not really mochi at all but a clear, wobbly jelly that melts on the tongue, and on hot afternoons teahouses around Gion and Arashiyama serve it chilled on ice. It is dusted with kinako, a nutty roasted soybean flour, and finished with kuromitsu, a dark syrup of Okinawan brown sugar. Real warabi starch is costly and greyish-brown, so most home cooks buy warabimochi-ko, a blend with sweet potato or tapioca starch, which gives a clearer jelly. Chef's tip: keep stirring hard once it turns clear. Two more minutes of beating over the heat is what makes it springy rather than gluey.

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Orange salad with cinnamon

After a heavy tagine or couscous, Moroccan families in the orange-growing Souss valley and around Marrakech often skip pastries and bring out a plate of sliced oranges instead, splashed with orange blossom water and dusted with cinnamon. It is the simplest dessert there is, but when the oranges are cold and juicy it tastes like a perfume of spice and flowers. Scatter over toasted almonds or chopped dates to make it more filling. Chef's tip: cut off every bit of white pith; even a thin ring of it makes the slices bitter.

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Baked bananas (ndizi ya kuoka)

Ndizi ya kuoka: small bananas halved and baked with lemon juice, brown sugar and cinnamon until soft and syrupy, then served with lightly sweetened cream and a grating of nutmeg. It's a quick, warm pudding. The book's Handy Hints say bananas are good for the heart.

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Vermicelli in coconut (tambi ya nazi)

Tambi ya nazi: soft vermicelli stirred into sweetened coconut milk with crushed cardamom, then baked briefly so it sets lightly. It's creamy, gently sweet and fragrant, and is often made for Eid. Serve hot, sprinkled with more cardamom.

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Fruity barbeque serve

Chunky skewers of pineapple, banana, strawberry, peach and nectarine drizzled with balsamic vinegar and dark muscovado sugar, then grilled over charcoal until the sugar caramelises. Warm, sticky and a little tangy. Serve hot as a barbecue dessert, with ice cream if you like.

23 minDessertsVeganGluten free
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Roasted bananas in chocolate

Whole bananas roasted on the barbecue until soft and sweet, cut into quarters, put on skewers, half-dipped in melted dark chocolate and rolled in chopped almonds, pistachios and cashews. It's a quick barbecue dessert that children love to help make. Serve them straight away while the chocolate is still soft.

20 minDessertsGluten free
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Thiakry

Thiakry, called dégué in Mali and Burkina Faso, is the creamy dessert of Senegalese weddings, naming ceremonies and Tabaski: pellets of steamed millet stirred into sweetened yoghurt and soft fromage frais, scented with vanilla and nutmeg and served cold. Ready-made millet granules (arraw or sankhal) are sold in African grocers, which makes it a 15-minute job. Raisins and a little coconut are common in Dakar. Chef's tip: steam or soak the millet fully before it meets the yoghurt; undercooked grains stay hard and gritty in the cold.

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Kaiserschmarrn

Kaiserschmarrn, the 'emperor's mess', is Austria's favourite sweet meal, said to have been made for Emperor Franz Joseph, and today it's served from huge pans in every ski hut in Tyrol and Salzburg and in Viennese restaurants. It is a thick, fluffy pancake made with whisked egg whites, torn into rough pieces in the pan with two forks, then caramelised with butter and sugar and heaped with icing sugar. Eat it with Zwetschkenröster (plum compote) or apple sauce. Chef's tip: let the pancake set and brown properly underneath before tearing it up; tear it too early and you get scrambled batter instead of soft, golden pieces.

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Panqueques con dulce de leche

In Argentina and Uruguay, panqueques are not fluffy American pancakes but thin crêpes, and the classic way to eat them is rolled around dulce de leche, often as the dessert at a neighbourhood parrilla or on a rainy Sunday afternoon at home. Some restaurants sprinkle them with sugar and caramelise the top with a hot iron; at home a dusting of sugar is enough. Chef's tip: rest the batter for 20 minutes so the flour relaxes and the crêpes come out thin and tender rather than rubbery.

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Crema catalana

Crema catalana is the classic dessert of Catalonia, served in shallow round earthenware dishes with a glassy layer of burnt sugar on top. Traditionally it was made for Saint Joseph's Day on 19 March, which is why it is also called crema de Sant Josep. It is older than French crème brûlée and different in style: made with milk rather than cream, lightly thickened with cornflour and flavoured with lemon zest and cinnamon, so it is lighter and fresher. Catalans caramelise the top with a hot iron disc called a 'cremador'; a cook's blowtorch does the same job. Chef's tip: burn the sugar just before serving, not earlier; the crust stays crisp only for about 20–30 minutes before the moisture of the custard softens it.

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Torrijas

Torrijas are the Easter sweet of Spain, eaten all over the country during Semana Santa and especially in Madrid and Andalusia, where bakeries pile them in their windows. Thick slices of day-old bread are soaked in milk infused with cinnamon and lemon peel, dipped in beaten egg, fried in olive oil and rolled in cinnamon sugar. They were born as a way to use up stale bread during Lent, and they are crisp outside and soft and custardy inside, like a richer, crunchier French toast. Eat them warm or cold, the next day they are even more set and sweet. Chef's tip: use a dense day-old loaf (a Spanish 'pan de torrijas' or a firm baguette) cut 2–3 cm thick, and soak just until saturated; fresh, airy bread falls apart and fries greasy.

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Matcha mochi

Mochi (もち) are soft, chewy rice cakes made from glutinous rice flour, and Kyoto's confectioners have long flavoured them with matcha from nearby Uji. This quick home version cooks the dough in the microwave rather than pounding steamed rice. Each little green ball is wrapped around a centre of sweet red bean paste and dusted with cornflour. They are best eaten the day they are made, while still soft. Chef's tip: work while the dough is still warm, and keep your hands and the tray well dusted with starch. Warm mochi stretches easily around the filling; once it cools it tears and won't seal.

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Thai fresh fruit dessert

A bowl of colourful fresh fruit (kiwi, strawberries, pineapple, cherries and orange) covered with a smooth coconut cream sauce, lightly thickened with cornflour, enriched with fresh cream and scented with rose. Serve well chilled.

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Lychee pudding

A light, no-cook party pudding: chopped lychees mixed with grated crystallised ginger, covered with whipped cream sweetened with icing sugar and more ginger, and decorated with mandarin segments. Fresh, cool and fragrant; chill before serving. Fresh de-seeded lychees work as well as tinned.

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