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Jain recipes: no onion, garlic or root vegetables

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2799 Jain recipes with no onion, garlic, potato, carrot, fresh ginger or other root vegetables, and no mushrooms, eggs or honey. Hing, dry ginger and turmeric powder are fine. Each has photos, step-by-step instructions and cook times. The quickest, Apfelschorle, takes 2 minutes. Most take around 40 minutes.

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MelcochasPulled panela taffy

Pulling melcocha is a spectacle at roadside stalls in panela country, around Villeta in Cundinamarca and the Santander highlands. A syrup of panela is boiled until thick, cooled just enough to handle, then stretched, folded and stretched again until it turns from dark brown to a pale, satiny gold and becomes chewy. It is twisted into ropes and cut into pieces that taste of caramel and molasses. Kids and adults both buy it in little bags, and it makes a fun kitchen project for a group. Getting the timing wrong is the usual mistake: too hot and it burns your hands and sticks, too cold and it snaps instead of stretching. Work when it feels like warm putty. The syrup is dangerously hot, so keep children well back until it has cooled. Chef's tip: a sugar thermometer takes the guesswork out; take the syrup off at 125 °C for a chewy result.

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Cortado de lecheCurdled milk in panela syrup

On farms in Antioquia and Santander, when there was more milk than anyone could drink, it became cortado: milk deliberately split with lime juice, then simmered slowly with panela and spices until the curds turn tender and tan and the whey reduces into a thin, molasses-flavoured syrup. It is a country dessert, served warm or cold in small bowls after Sunday lunch, sometimes with a piece of white cheese on the side. The texture is somewhere between a soft ricotta and baked custard, sweet and lightly spiced with cinnamon and clove. Because lime does the curdling, there is no rennet involved. Stirring hard as soon as the lime goes in is the usual mistake; it breaks the curds into grainy specks, so let them form undisturbed and then move the pan gently. Chef's tip: use full-fat milk that is not ultra-heat-treated; UHT milk gives smaller, softer curds.

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CharamuscasTwisted piloncillo taffy

Around Day of the Dead in Guanajuato city, sweet sellers display charamuscas pulled and shaped into skulls, mummies (a nod to the town's famous museum) and simple twists, glossy amber and wrapped in cellophane. The everyday ones are rope-like spirals of pulled piloncillo, chewy then brittle, with a deep molasses taste. Pulling the hot sugar is a two-person job and great fun with older children; younger ones should watch. Chef's tip: wear clean rubber kitchen gloves rubbed with oil; you can handle the sugar sooner and much more comfortably.

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Mango bicheGreen mango with salt and lime

Paper and plastic cones of mango biche are sold from street carts in Cali, Barranquilla and Bogotá, especially around schools, parks and bus stops. Biche means unripe: the mango is still hard and pale green inside, so it is crunchy and mouth-puckeringly sour, and the vendor cuts it into long strips and shakes on salt, lime and black pepper, sometimes a pinch of chilli. It is a refreshing, almost savoury snack, eaten in the afternoon heat. Choosing a mango that has started to ripen is the slip that spoils it: the flesh should be firm and white-green with no yellow, or it turns soft and sweet. Look for green mangoes in Asian and Latin shops. Chef's tip: chill the mango for 30 minutes before cutting; the strips stay crisp and the salt and lime cling better.

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RaspaoShaved ice with blackberry syrup

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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Cajeta de CelayaGoat milk caramel

Celaya, in the Bajío of Guanajuato, has made cajeta for centuries, once packing it into little wooden boxes (cajetes) that gave it its name. It is caramel cooked from goat's milk, so it is looser and has a gentle tang compared with the cow's-milk dulce de leche of Argentina. Mexicans spread it on crêpes and churros, pour it over ice cream, sandwich it between obleas (wafers) and turn it into glorias. A splash of rum-flavoured 'envinada' cajeta exists, but this one is plain and alcohol-free. Chef's tip: use a pan at least three times the volume of the milk; it foams high when the bicarbonate goes in.

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Suero costeñoTangy fermented cream

Market stalls in Montería, Sincelejo and Valledupar sell suero costeño from big tubs, ladled into bags: a sour, salty, spoonable cream that goes onto bollos, arepas, boiled cassava, fried plantain and mote de queso. Traditionally it comes from raw milk left to sour in the heat. This home version keeps the flavour but uses pasteurised cream and milk with live yogurt as a starter, which is far safer. Plan for 12–24 hours of fermenting plus chilling. Hygiene matters: wash the jar and spoon in hot soapy water and scald them with boiling water, never use raw milk, and keep the jar at room temperature (20–25 °C, out of direct sun) for no more than 24 hours before it goes into the fridge. Throw it out if you see mould, pink or orange patches, or it smells putrid rather than pleasantly sour. Leaving it out too long is the big mistake: it goes bitter and separates. Chef's tip: salt only after fermenting, as salt slows the cultures.

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Arepa paisaThin white corn arepa

Antioquia eats arepas the way other places eat bread: a thin, pale disc of white corn sits beside the eggs at breakfast, the bandeja paisa at lunch and the hot chocolate at night. The paisa arepa is deliberately plain, with no salt, cheese or butter in the dough, so it frames whatever comes with it; locals spread it with butter or a slice of quesito at the table. It is chewy and soft inside with a toasted, freckled skin. Traditionally it is made from boiled, ground pilado corn; precooked white corn meal (masarepa) makes an excellent home version. The mistake is a dry dough: the edges crack and the arepas turn hard. Chef's tip: knead in warm water until the dough feels like soft play dough, and rest it 5 minutes before shaping.

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GloriasPecan and goat milk caramels

Linares, a small town in Nuevo León, is famous across Mexico for glorias: soft, chewy balls of goat's milk caramel packed with pecans, each wrapped in a twist of red cellophane. They are bought by the box at roadside sweet shops on the way to Monterrey and handed out at weddings and Christmas. Goat's milk gives them a gentle tang; a mix of goat's and cow's milk is milder. Chef's tip: the last ten minutes need constant stirring, as the caramel thickens and catches fast.

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Salame de chocolateNo-bake chocolate biscuit log

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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Empanadas de calabazaSweet pumpkin turnovers

When the cold fronts reach Monterrey in November, panaderías start stacking trays of empanadas de calabaza next to the conchas, and families bake them at home for Day of the Dead and Christmas. A tender, lightly sweet pastry is folded around a thick purée of pumpkin cooked with piloncillo, cinnamon and anise, so each half-moon tastes like a spiced pumpkin pie you can hold. They are eaten with café de olla or a glass of milk. Chef's tip: cook the filling until a spoon leaves a trail across the pan; watery pumpkin turns the pastry soggy.

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CoyotasPiloncillo-filled turnovers

Coyotas were first baked in the Villa de Seris neighbourhood of Hermosillo, and today Sonorans buy them by the dozen in paper bags to eat with morning coffee or take as a gift when they travel. They are flat, round, pale pastries with a crisp, crumbly crust and a thin layer of molten piloncillo inside, like a giant cookie with a toffee middle. Some bakers add guava or cajeta, but brown sugar loaf is the classic. Chef's tip: pinch the edges firmly and prick the tops; otherwise the hot sugar bubbles out and burns on the tray.

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Tortillas de harina sobaquerasGiant flour tortillas

In Sonora, wheat is the grain, and the pride of Hermosillo kitchens is the sobaquera: a flour tortilla stretched over the backs of the hands and arms until it is almost see-through and as wide as a serving tray (the name comes from sobaco, armpit, because it reaches that far). It cooks in seconds on a big comal and is folded around beans, cheese or machaca, or torn and eaten with caldo de queso. Sonoran cooks use lard; vegetable shortening works the same. A 30–35 cm tortilla is a realistic home size. Chef's tip: the long rest is what makes the dough stretch; do not cut it short.

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Brevas con arequipeCandied figs with milk caramel

Bogotá's old sweet shops and the dessert counters of Cundinamarca sell brevas caladas, firm green figs cooked for hours in panela syrup until they turn dark, glossy and tender, then split and filled with arequipe. A slice of salty fresh cheese alongside balances all that sugar. They are a classic Christmas and Sunday treat and keep for a week in the fridge, so make them ahead. Use hard, unripe green figs from Middle Eastern or Latin shops; ripe figs fall apart. Arequipe is Colombian milk caramel, the same as dulce de leche. The fresh cheese is usually animal-rennet, so pick a vegetarian one. Skipping the first boils is the common error: the figs keep a bitter, milky sap that spoils the syrup. Chef's tip: cook the syrup slowly and keep the figs just covered; a hard boil splits the skins.

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Saykouk (couscous in cold buttermilk)

On hot evenings in the villages of the Middle and High Atlas, supper is often nothing more than saykouk: steamed couscous, usually barley, cooled and then drowned in ice-cold lben, the tangy buttermilk left after churning butter. It is eaten with spoons from a big shared bowl and is wonderfully cooling, sour and creamy, with the grains soaking up the milk as you eat. Some families sweeten it with a little sugar, others keep it salty; both are right. This quick version uses instant couscous so it is ready in about 20 minutes. Don't pour the buttermilk over warm couscous: it should be fully cool, or the buttermilk splits and the dish loses its refreshing chill. Chef's tip: let the couscous cool completely before the buttermilk goes in, or it turns the buttermilk warm and slightly grainy.

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Jben (fresh Moroccan cheese)

On the road into Chefchaouen, women from the Rif villages sit with rounds of jben wrapped in palm leaves, a fresh, soft, lightly salted cheese with a clean, milky tang. Breakfast in the north often means a slab of it drizzled with olive oil, sprinkled with dried thyme or za'atar, with olives, honey and warm bread. Traditionally jben is curdled with animal rennet (sometimes with thistle or fig sap), so check if you buy it; this home version uses vegetarian (microbial) rennet and pasteurised milk, and is drained in the fridge. Hands-on time is about an hour; the curd then needs 1–2 hours to set and 4–6 hours to drain. Keep it chilled and eat it within 4 days. Chef's tip: avoid UHT and ultra-pasteurised milk, which will not set into a firm curd; ordinary pasteurised whole milk works well.

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Cuajada con melaoCurd cheese with panela syrup

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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Arepas boyacensesCheese-stuffed sweet arepas

Roadside stalls on the highway from Bogotá to Tunja sell these golden, puffed discs straight off the griddle. Unlike the plain arepas of Antioquia, the boyacense mixes yellow corn with wheat flour, butter and a little sugar, and it hides a layer of fresh cheese that melts as it cooks, so each bite is sweet, salty and buttery at once. Eat them warm with coffee, hot chocolate or a cup of aguapanela. Queso campesino or cuajada is traditionally set with animal rennet; choose a vegetarian mozzarella or other microbial-rennet fresh cheese. The trap is cooking them on a high heat: the sugar browns fast and the middle stays raw and doughy. Chef's tip: keep the griddle at low-medium and give them time; a slow cook gives a thin crisp crust and lets the cheese melt fully.

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Envueltos de mazorcaSteamed corn parcels

When the maize ripens in the fields of Boyacá, families grind the fresh kernels and steam little husk-wrapped parcels that are sold at Sunday markets in Tunja, Paipa and Duitama. Envueltos are soft, moist and gently sweet, somewhere between a tamal and a corn pudding, with pockets of melted cheese, and they are eaten for breakfast or as an onces snack with hot chocolate or coffee. Use fresh corn on the cob; the starchier, less sugary types are closest to Colombian maíz, and frozen kernels work at a pinch. Fresh campesino cheese is usually made with animal rennet, so pick a vegetarian one. The commonest fault is wrapping the parcels loosely, so water gets in and they turn soggy. Chef's tip: grind the corn coarsely, not to a purée; a little texture lets the envueltos set firm and sliceable.

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Papas criollas fritasFried small yellow potatoes

Little golden papas criollas are the potato Bogotá loves best: thin-skinned, buttery-yellow and so creamy they almost melt. At the asaderos along the roads out of the capital, and next to every plate of ajiaco or fritanga, they come fried whole, skin on, crackling outside and soft in the middle, with nothing but salt and a bowl of ají. Frozen papas criollas are sold in Latin American shops; otherwise use the smallest waxy yellow potatoes you can find. Frying them raw is the usual mistake: the skins brown before the insides are cooked. A quick boil first fixes that. Chef's tip: let the boiled potatoes steam dry for a few minutes and squash a few slightly with your palm before frying, so the split skins catch extra crunch.

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Licuado de bananaBanana milk shake

Order a licuado in any Argentine café or bar and you will get a tall glass of fruit blended with milk (con leche) or water (con agua), and banana with milk is the one nearly everyone grows up on. It is breakfast for teenagers in a hurry, a merienda with tostados, and the drink parents in Buenos Aires make when the fruit bowl has spotty bananas. It should be thick, cold and smooth, with a light froth, sweet mainly from ripe fruit. Using under-ripe bananas is the mistake: they taste chalky and need lots of sugar, so wait for brown freckles. Chef's tip: slice and freeze the bananas the night before and you can skip the ice; the shake comes out colder and thicker without being watered down.

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SubmarinoHot milk with chocolate bar

Café tables in Buenos Aires have their own way with hot chocolate: the waiter brings a tall glass of frothy, steaming milk on a saucer with a slim bar of dark chocolate, and you drop the bar in yourself and watch it sink like a submarine. Stirred with a long spoon, it melts into a rich, not-too-sweet drink, and it is the classic order with medialunas on a cold winter afternoon or after school. At home it takes five minutes, and children love the moment of dropping the bar in. The common letdown is milk that is only warm: the chocolate sits in a lump at the bottom. Heat it until it is steaming and just starting to rise, but not boiling. Chef's tip: froth the hot milk with a whisk or milk frother before pouring; the foam on top is part of the café ritual and keeps the drink hot while the chocolate melts.

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GarrapiñadaCaramelised peanuts

On Florida street, in the plazas of San Telmo and outside every football ground in Buenos Aires, vendors stir copper pans of peanuts over little burners, and the smell of hot caramel reaches you half a block away. Garrapiñada comes in a paper cone, still warm, each peanut wrapped in a rough, sandy, crunchy sugar shell. It takes 20 minutes and three ingredients at home, and it is vegan. The process looks wrong halfway: the syrup turns cloudy and grainy, and that is exactly what you want, because the crystallised sugar is what gives the crunchy coating. The mistake is to stop stirring once it turns sandy; keep going until some of the sugar melts again and glazes the nuts. Chef's tip: use raw, skinned peanuts and a heavy pan, and add a pinch of salt at the end; it lifts the sweetness the way the street carts' slightly smoky pans do.

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Postre vigilanteCheese with quince paste

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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ChocotortaNo-bake chocolate biscuit cake

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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Pastelitos criollosFried quince pastries

Every 25 May, when Argentina marks the 1810 revolution, bakeries and school kitchens from Buenos Aires to Tucumán turn out trays of pastelitos: two squares of flaky dough stacked into a star, filled with dulce de membrillo or dulce de batata, fried until the layers fan open and then dipped in syrup. They are eaten warm with mate or hot chocolate, shattering crisp outside and sticky in the middle. Lard is the traditional fat in both the dough and the frying pan; this version uses butter or vegetable shortening for laminating and sunflower oil for frying, so it stays vegetarian. Expect a hard but rewarding job: the dough is folded like a quick puff pastry. Oil that is too hot is the classic error, browning the outside before the inner layers have opened, so keep it around 160 °C. Chef's tip: pinch the four corners of the top square down onto the gaps of the bottom one and press with a wet fingertip, or the star unfolds in the oil and the filling leaks.

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Dulce de calafateCalafate berry jam

Legend says whoever eats calafate will come back to Patagonia, and in El Calafate, the town on Lake Argentino named after the thorny bush, the small blue-black berries turn up in ice cream, sauces, and above all this jam. The fruit ripens in midsummer across Santa Cruz and Tierra del Fuego; it is tart and seedy, somewhere between a blueberry and a blackcurrant, and the jam is dark purple, glossy and gently spiced by the fruit itself. It goes on bread at breakfast, with a slab of cheese after dinner, or with pancakes. Outside Patagonia, frozen calafate is hard to find; blueberries with a handful of blackcurrants or barberries give a similar balance of sweet and sharp. Overcooking is the slip that turns it into a stiff, dull paste, because the berries are naturally high in pectin, so test early. Chef's tip: crush a third of the berries before cooking; you get a jam with body and some whole fruit to bite on.

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Dulce de rosa mosquetaRosehip jam

Every autumn, from March to May, families along the lakes around Bariloche and El Bolsón and up into Neuquén go out with buckets to strip the wild rose bushes that cover the hillsides, and the shops of the Andean towns fill with jars of this jam. Rosa mosqueta (rosehip) makes a smooth, coral-red preserve with a sharp, fruity, slightly floral flavour and a lot of vitamin C. It is spread on toast with butter, served with fresh cheese, or spooned into yoghurt. Rosehips are full of seeds wrapped in tiny irritating hairs, and not sieving them out properly is the error you will feel in your throat: pass the pulp through a fine sieve or food mill, and then once more. Buy rosehips from a foraging supplier or pick them away from roads, and only if you are sure of the plant. Chef's tip: pick after the first frosts, or freeze the hips overnight; the cold softens them and makes the pulp much easier to sieve.

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Mamón en almíbarCandied green papaya

Along the subtropical northeast, papaya (mamón) trees grow in backyards from Corrientes to Formosa, and the unripe fruit is turned into this old-fashioned dessert: strips of firm green papaya poached slowly in syrup with cloves and cinnamon until they turn amber and translucent, chewy at the edges and tender inside. It is served cold in little bowls, traditionally next to a slice of fresh cheese for that sweet-and-salty contrast (choose a plant-based cheese to keep it vegan). Rushing the syrup is the misstep that turns the papaya hard and sugary on the outside and raw within, so the heat stays low for well over an hour. Green papaya is sold in Asian and Latin grocers. Wear gloves when peeling; the milky sap can irritate the skin. Chef's tip: soak the strips in water with a teaspoon of bicarbonate of soda for an hour before cooking; it firms the outside so the pieces hold their shape in the syrup.

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Dulce de alcayotaFig-leaf gourd preserve

Late autumn in San Juan and Mendoza, the huge striped alcayotas (fig-leaf gourds, Cucurbita ficifolia) are left to cure in the sun, then split open for this preserve: the white flesh separates into long strands like angel hair, which cook in syrup until golden, glossy and translucent, with walnuts and a hint of cinnamon and clove. It is spooned onto bread, eaten with fresh cheese, and used to fill empanadas and pastries. Look for alcayota at Latin American grocers (sometimes sold as chilacayote or cidra); spaghetti squash makes a respectable stand-in. Cooking the syrup too hard is the trap: it caramelises and turns the preserve dark and bitter, so keep it at a gentle bubble. For safe storage, jars must be sterilised and sealed hot. Chef's tip: rinse the cooked strands in cold water before they go into the syrup; it washes off the starch and keeps the threads separate and clear.

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Tortitas mendocinasFlaky round breakfast breads

Every panadería in Mendoza fills a tray with tortitas in the early morning, and they go out in paper bags to be eaten warm with mate, split and spread with butter, quince paste or a slice of cheese. They are flat, round, slightly salty breads, soft and layered in the middle and crisp at the edges, with the fork marks that give them away. The traditional fat is beef lard (grasa), which makes them very short; here butter or vegetable shortening takes its place to keep them vegetarian, and both give a good flaky result. The mistake to avoid is rolling them thin like crackers: they should be a generous centimetre thick, or they bake hard and dry. Chef's tip: fold the dough in three twice before the final roll, like a quick puff pastry; those folds give tortitas their layers.

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Quesillo con miel de cañaFresh cheese with cane syrup

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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PatayAlgarroba pod cake

Long before sugar reached the dry northwest, the pods of the algarrobo tree were the region's sweetness, and patay is the oldest way of keeping them: the pods are ground, the flour is moistened and pressed into a cake that dries into something dense, fudgy and naturally sweet, with notes of cocoa, coffee and caramel. In Santiago del Estero you still buy it in round slabs at markets and roadside stalls, to eat with mate or to crumble into milk. Harina de algarroba comes from the South American Prosopis tree; look for it in health-food shops or online, and mesquite flour is the same family and works well. Mediterranean carob flour is different and tastes more bitter. Too much water is the way most first attempts go wrong: the cake should be pressed from a damp, crumbly mix, not a batter, or it bakes up gummy. Chef's tip: sieve the flour twice; algarroba flour clumps, and lumps stay as hard grains.

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AnchiCorn semolina pudding with peaches

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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Quinua con manzanaQuinoa and apple drink

Morning market stalls and street carts from Lima to Huancayo ladle quinua con manzana into glasses alongside emoliente and maca, and many people drink it as breakfast on its own, with a bread roll or a sandwich beside it. Quinoa and chunks of apple are simmered with cinnamon and cloves until the grains burst and the liquid thickens, then sweetened and served warm or cold. Some stalls blend it smooth; others leave the grains and soft apple pieces to spoon up. It is mild, fruity and filling, and children usually like it. The mistake that ruins it is skipping the rinse: quinoa's natural coating, saponin, makes the drink bitter and soapy, so rub it under running water until the foam stops. Chef's tip: add a few drops of lime at the end; it lifts the apple and keeps the drink from tasting flat.

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EmolienteBarley and flaxseed herbal drink

Before dawn, all over Peru, emolienteros set up their carts with a row of steaming kettles and jars of herbs, and commuters stop for a glass of emoliente on the way to work. It's a hot infusion of toasted barley, flaxseed and herbs, with lime juice and sugar added to order, and it is drunk for comfort and digestion, especially in Lima's damp winter. The flaxseed gives it a slippery, soothing body; the barley a toasty, almost coffee-like note. Street versions use horsetail, alfalfa, boldo and other herbs; this home version keeps it simple, with horsetail as an option (leave it out if you are pregnant or have kidney problems). The usual error is boiling the flax too long, which makes the drink gloopy; add it for the last 10 minutes only. Serve very hot in glasses, with pan con queso or a sandwich. Barley contains gluten. Chef's tip: toast the barley yourself until it is deep brown; it's what gives emoliente its colour and its roasted flavour.

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ChampúsMote corn and pineapple drink

When Lima's grey winter sets in, from June to September, champús sellers set up on street corners with big pots of this thick, fruity drink, ladled warm into glasses and eaten as much as drunk. It's made from mote (hulled white corn), simmered with pineapple, quince or apple, soursop, chancaca and warm spices, then thickened lightly with corn flour, so every spoonful has soft fruit and chewy corn in a spiced, molasses-sweet base. It is close in spirit to mazamorra morada but paler and tangier. The mistake people make is adding the thickener straight into the hot pot, where it forms lumps; always slake it in cold water first and pour it in while stirring. Canned or jarred hominy saves hours; frozen soursop (guanábana) pulp is in Latin shops and can be left out. Serve warm in glasses with spoons. Chef's tip: simmer the pineapple peel and core with the spices for the first 20 minutes, then strain them out; they give much of the flavour.

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Arroz zambitoRice pudding with chancaca and raisins

Lima's Afro-Peruvian kitchens gave the city arroz zambito, the dark cousin of arroz con leche: rice simmered with cloves and cinnamon, sweetened with chancaca instead of white sugar, and enriched with milk, coconut and raisins. The name refers to its deep brown colour, and it is sold in cups at markets and from carts alongside mazamorra morada, often half and half in the same cup. It tastes of molasses and spice, soft and creamy with chewy raisins and nuggets of coconut. The way it usually goes wrong is adding the chancaca too soon, before the rice is tender; the sugar firms the grains and they never soften. Serve warm or at room temperature, dusted with cinnamon. Chancaca can be swapped for panela or dark muscovado. Chef's tip: melt the chancaca in a little water first and strain it, as the blocks often contain bits of cane fibre.

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ChiflesPlantain chips

Bags of chifles hang from every shop door in Piura and Sullana, and on the northern coast they come alongside almost everything: ceviche, seco, a cold drink at the beach. They are green plantains sliced paper-thin, lengthwise or in rounds, fried until glassy and crisp, then salted. The flavour is starchy and lightly nutty, the crunch is louder than a potato crisp, and they keep for days in a tin. Getting the slices even is what matters most: thick and thin slices fry at different speeds, and the thick ones end up leathery while the thin ones burn, so use a mandoline set to 1–2 mm. Use firm, fully green plantains; any yellow means sugar, which browns too fast. Chef's tip: soak the slices in salted water for 10 minutes, then dry them completely before frying; they crisp more evenly and stay pale gold.

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Camu camuCamu camu berry juice

Camu camu are small purple-red berries that grow on bushes along the flooded riverbanks of the Peruvian Amazon, and in Iquitos and Pucallpa they are sold as frozen pulp and blended into a sharp, pink refresco at juice bars and lunch places. The flavour is intensely sour, more than lime, with a faint cherry note, and the berries are famous for containing far more vitamin C than oranges. It is the drink people order with a heavy plate of tacacho or rice. Never boil camu camu or make the juice hours ahead: heat and air quickly fade its colour and much of the vitamin C, so blend it cold and drink it soon. Frozen pulp or freeze-dried powder from health-food and Latin shops are the forms you'll find abroad. Chef's tip: start with half the pulp and add more to taste; it's strong enough that a little goes a long way.

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ChapoPlantain and milk drink

Breakfast stalls in Iquitos and the riverside towns of Loreto pour chapo into glasses from big steaming pots before the heat of the day sets in, and by afternoon the same drink is sold chilled. It is made from plantains left until their skins are black, simmered with cinnamon and cloves until soft, then blended smooth and loosened with milk. The result is thick, naturally sweet and gently spiced, somewhere between a smoothie and a thin custard, and children love it. Some families make it with water only; evaporated milk is the common addition in town. The mistake is using plantains that are still yellow-green: they taste starchy and the drink turns grey and gluey, so wait until the skins are mostly black and the fruit gives when pressed. Serve hot with bread or a tamal, or cold over ice. Chef's tip: strain it through a sieve after blending for a silky drink, and thin it with water if it thickens as it cools.

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CachangaThin fried bread

On cold mornings at markets in Puno, Juliaca and Arequipa, women stretch rounds of dough over their knuckles and drop them into big pans of hot oil, and cachangas come out puffed, blistered and golden, to be dusted with sugar and eaten with a cup of coffee, hot chocolate or api. The bread is thin, chewy in the middle and crisp at the edges, a cousin of the sopaipilla. Some cooks leave them plain and eat them with cheese. The commonest problem is oil that isn't hot enough: the dough soaks up fat and turns heavy instead of puffing. Keep it at 180 °C and fry one at a time. The dough uses butter and milk, so it is vegetarian but not vegan; swap both for oil and water if needed. Chef's tip: rest the dough for 20 minutes before rolling so it stretches thin without springing back.

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Habas tostadasFried dried broad beans

Paper cones of habas tostadas are sold by the scoop at markets from Huancayo to Puno, piled next to cancha and roasted peanuts, and they disappear by the handful at football matches, on long bus rides and with a cold drink in the evening. Dried broad beans are soaked, dried and fried until they crack open, turning golden and crisp outside with a slightly mealy, nutty centre. Most sellers leave the skins on, which gives them their bite. The beans need an overnight soak before you start, so plan a day ahead. The mistake to avoid is frying them still wet from the soak: the oil spits dangerously and the beans steam instead of crisping, so dry them thoroughly on a towel. Eat them on their own or put a bowl out with olives and pickled onions. Chef's tip: fry them twice, first at a lower heat to cook the centre, then hotter for the crunch, and salt them the moment they come out of the oil.

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Choclo con quesoCorn on the cob with cheese

Ride the train or the bus through the Sacred Valley of Cusco and at every stop someone will hold up choclo con queso: a steaming cob of Urubamba's huge white-kernelled corn with a slab of fresh cheese tucked into a corn husk. The kernels are big, chewy and starchy rather than sweet, and the salty, milky cheese is eaten in alternating bites, sometimes with a dab of uchucuta or ají. It's snack food, a market lunch and something to keep children going on a long day. Fresh choclo is sold frozen in Latin American shops; sweet corn works but is sweeter and softer. Adding salt to the cooking water is the usual misstep, as it can toughen the kernels: season the cheese, not the corn. Andean fresh cheese is generally made with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian fresh cheese if needed. Chef's tip: drop a few of the inner husks and a small spoon of sugar into the pot; it brings back some of the sweetness lost after picking.

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Queso heladoCinnamon coconut milk ice

Despite the name, there's no cheese in it: queso helado is Arequipa's old-fashioned frozen milk dessert, cut into thick rounds that look like a slice of fresh cheese and dusted with ground cinnamon. Vendors in white aprons sell it around the Plaza de Armas and at the Yanahuara viewpoint, traditionally churned in a metal pail spun over ice and salt, and every Arequipeño has a favourite stall. It is creamy, mildly milky and fragrant with cinnamon, clove and grated coconut, less rich than ice cream and slightly icy in a pleasant way. Many recipes thicken it with egg yolks; this one uses evaporated and condensed milk with a little cornflour so it stays egg free. The common error is freezing it untouched, which gives one hard block of ice: stir it every 45 minutes for the first few hours. Allow at least 4 hours of freezing on top of the cooking time, or make it a day ahead. Chef's tip: freeze it in a loaf tin lined with cling film, then lift it out and slice it into rounds for that true street look.

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Insalata capreseTomato and mozzarella salad

On the island of Capri this simple plate of red tomatoes, white buffalo mozzarella and green basil is the lunch of hot afternoons, served in beach clubs and piazza cafés. With so few ingredients, everything rests on quality: tomatoes ripe enough to smell sweet, mozzarella made that day so it weeps milk when cut, and fruity olive oil. It needs no vinegar; a pinch of salt and oregano is enough. Chef's tip: take the mozzarella out of the fridge 30 minutes ahead; cold mozzarella tastes of very little and feels rubbery.

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FrustingoFig, nut and cocoa cake

In the Marche, from Ancona down to Ascoli Piceno, frustingo is the dark, dense Christmas cake every family makes its own way, born as a thrifty sweet of dried figs, nuts and stale bread. Chopped figs are soaked and simmered, then mixed with walnuts, almonds, raisins, candied peel, cocoa and coffee, and bound with sapa, the thick cooked grape must of the region. Many recipes also add mistrà, a local aniseed liqueur; this one uses ground anise seed for an alcohol-free cake. It bakes into a fudgy, almost black slab, rich with spice and not too sweet. Chef's tip: let it mature for two days in foil before cutting; it slices cleanly and the flavours come together.

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CastagnaccioChestnut flour cake

When the new season's chestnut flour comes down from the Garfagnana, the Casentino and Monte Amiata in late October, Tuscan kitchens bake castagnaccio. It is a thin, dense, unleavened cake with no eggs, butter or sugar: just sweet chestnut flour, water and olive oil, studded with raisins, pine nuts and walnuts and scented with rosemary needles. The top cracks as it bakes, the middle stays moist and fudgy, and the flavour is earthy and gently sweet. Older Tuscans eat it with a glass of something; a spoon of ricotta alongside is lovely too. Chef's tip: sift the chestnut flour; it clumps easily, and lumps stay floury after baking.

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