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Sándwich de vacío

Vacío, the flank cut with its layer of fat and membrane, is grilled slowly for a long time at Buenos Aires parrillas, and at the street grills near football grounds and the weekend fairs of Mataderos it ends up sliced into crusty bread for a hearty midday sandwich. Cooked gently, it turns tender and very juicy, with a crisp, salty layer of fat. Chef's tip: grill it membrane side down first for most of the time and do not trim that membrane off; it protects the meat and turns crisp.

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Tereré

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

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Postre Massini

Montevideo's birthday cake of choice since the early twentieth century, the Massini is two thin layers of sponge sandwiching a thick filling of whipped cream folded with egg-yolk custard, crowned with a thin glassy crust of torched yolk and sugar. Bakeries across Uruguay sell it on Sundays. Traditional versions sometimes add a sweet fortified wine to the custard; this one is alcohol-free. The custard is cooked to a safe 71 °C. The common mistake is assembling with warm custard, which melts the cream into a puddle. Chef's tip: if you don't have a blowtorch, put the sugared top under a very hot grill for a minute and watch it closely.

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Buseca

Buseca arrived in Montevideo with Italian immigrants from Lombardy and became a classic winter dish of Uruguayan bodegones and family kitchens, eaten on cold June and July days. Honeycomb tripe is simmered until tender, then stewed with white beans, pork chorizo, bacon, peppers, tomato and paprika into a thick, warming stew served with crusty bread. Buy tripe that is already cleaned and blanched (dressed). The usual mistake is undercooking the tripe: it needs a full 2 hours, until it's soft enough to cut with a spoon. Slow-cooker option: after step 4, cook on low for 8 hours. Chef's tip: a little grated lemon zest and parsley stirred in at the end lifts the rich, gelatinous sauce.

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Tarta de zapallitos

In Buenos Aires every rotisería sells tartas by the slice, and at home a tarta de zapallitos is baked on Sunday evening so that a wedge can go into the vianda (packed lunch) for school and work all week. Zapallitos are round green courgettes; ordinary courgettes work just as well. The common mistake is adding the courgette raw, which floods the pastry; sauté it until the liquid has cooked away. Argentine queso rallado and many hard cheeses are made with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian hard cheese. Chef's tip: bake the tart on a preheated baking tray so the base crisps before the filling soaks in.

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Guiso de fideos

Guiso de fideos is the winter weeknight stew of Argentina, cooked in Buenos Aires flats and on estancias alike, and as loved by children as by grandparents. Beef, potatoes and vegetables simmer in a light tomato and sweet-paprika broth, then short pasta cooks straight in the pot and thickens it into something between a soup and a stew. Serve it in deep plates with crusty bread and grated cheese for those who want it. The usual mistake is adding the pasta too early, so it swells and turns mushy; it goes in only for the last 10–12 minutes. Chef's tip: cut the beef into small cubes, about 2 cm, so it is tender in under an hour.

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Sándwich de bondiola

Along the Costanera Sur riverside in Buenos Aires, beside the Reserva Ecológica, the carritos have grilled for cyclists, walkers and taxi drivers for generations, and the bondiola sandwich is their pride: a thick pork shoulder steak, marbled and juicy, grilled until charred and laid in a crusty roll with chimichurri and salsa criolla. Weekend afternoons are the busiest. Chef's tip: leave the fat on the steak and turn it only once; the fat bastes the meat and the crust is the best part.

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Cocido quemado

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

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Morcilla dulce

No Uruguayan parrilla is complete without morcilla dulce: a soft pork blood sausage sweetened with sugar and scented with orange peel, studded with walnuts and raisins, grilled until the skin crisps and served first, as part of the achuras, while the beef is still cooking. It is pork throughout: pork blood, pork back fat and natural pork casings. Making it at home is a project. Buy fresh pork blood with an anticoagulant added from a butcher who supplies it for sausage making, keep it chilled below 4 °C and use it within a day. The common mistake is poaching at a rolling boil, which bursts the casings. Chef's tip: keep the water at 80–85 °C, just shivering, and prick a sausage after 25 minutes: it is done when brown, not red, juice comes out.

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Pastelitos criollos

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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Trucha a la manteca

Restaurants on the shores of Nahuel Huapi, in Bariloche and Villa La Angostura, put rainbow trout from the cold Andean lakes on almost every menu, and this butter version is the one locals order most. Fillets are fried with crisp skin, then drenched in butter browned with flaked almonds and sharpened with lemon. Serve with boiled new potatoes and a green salad. Any trout or char works. People commonly start the fish in butter, which burns before the skin crisps; fry it in a film of oil and make the brown butter after. Chef's tip: dry the skin really well and dust it with rice flour; it gives a thin, glassy crust without any gluten.

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Bizcochitos de grasa

A paper bag of bizcochitos de grasa sits next to the mate gourd in kitchens, offices and roadside service stations across Argentina, from Buenos Aires to the Andes. These little rounds, a couple of bites each, are layered with beef fat, so they flake and crumble, salty and plain enough to eat by the dozen with bitter mate in the afternoon. The fat is rendered beef fat (grasa vacuna), so they are not vegetarian; ask your butcher for dripping or render suet yourself. A dough worked too warm is the mistake that robs them of their layers; the fat melts into it instead of staying in sheets. Chef's tip: chill the dough for 10 minutes between folds whenever it starts to feel greasy, and prick each round right through so it puffs in flakes rather than domes.

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Centolla gratinada

Centolla, the southern king crab hauled from the cold waters of the Beagle Channel, is Ushuaia's pride, and seafood restaurants along the harbour serve it gratinada: sweet chunks of leg meat in a light white sauce, crowned with cheese and browned under a fierce grill. It is rich, so serve it in small dishes as a starter with lemon and a green salad, plus crusty bread for anyone who can eat gluten. Buy cooked, frozen king crab legs or meat and thaw them in the fridge overnight; if you ever cook crab yourself, it must be alive when it goes into the pot. A frequent mistake is a sauce so thick and cheesy that the delicate crab disappears; keep it pourable and the cheese thin. Chef's tip: fold the crab in gently at the end, in big pieces, and let the oven only heat it; it is already cooked and turns stringy if it boils.

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Cazuela de cabrito

Up in the Calchaquí valleys of Salta, where goats graze between the vineyards and the cardón cactus, cabrito ends up in a heavy clay cazuela on Sunday or feast days. The meat simmers with onion, red pepper, cumin and ají molido until it slides off the bone, and the potatoes and thick rounds of corn on the cob drink up a brick-red, gently spiced broth. Bring it to the table in the pot with bread or a simple tomato and onion salad. Kid goat can be ordered from halal butchers and some farm shops; lamb shoulder works too. People often boil it hard to save time, which squeezes the lean meat dry and stringy; it wants the barest simmer. Chef's tip: brown the pieces in two or three batches so they colour properly instead of stewing in their own juices; that browning is where most of the flavour comes from.

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Cañoncitos de dulce de leche

Look at the tray of facturas in any Argentine panadería and the little cannons are easy to spot: flaky tubes of puff pastry, baked around metal moulds and filled from both ends with dulce de leche, then finished with a snowfall of icing sugar. They come from the Italian cannoncini, but here the filling is almost always dulce de leche. Each bite is crisp, buttery and shattering on the outside with a dense, caramel middle, and they sit on the Sunday table next to medialunas and bolas de fraile. Undercooking is the problem to avoid: pale pastry goes soft as soon as the filling goes in, so bake until it is a deep gold all over. Use all-butter puff pastry, and metal cannoli or cream-horn tubes (or rolls of foil). Chef's tip: wrap the strips without stretching them, overlapping each turn by a third; stretched pastry shrinks in the oven and the tubes split.

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Pasta frola

Pasta frola came to the River Plate with Italian immigrants (it is a cousin of the crostata), and it is now the tart every Argentine kitchen keeps on the counter for afternoon mate. The crust is short and cakey rather than crisp, scented with lemon zest and vanilla, and the filling is dulce de membrillo melted down into a spreadable jam; dulce de batata is the other classic. Bakeries in Buenos Aires sell it by the square and it keeps for days in a tin, getting better on the second day. The lattice strips should be thin and slightly wider apart than you think, so the dark filling shows through. A common slip is to spread the quince paste straight from the block: it will not spread, it tears the base and it turns leathery in the oven, so loosen it first with a little hot water. Chef's tip: chill the lined tin and the cut strips for 15 minutes before baking, so the lattice keeps its shape instead of slumping into the filling.

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Torta galesa

Welsh settlers arrived in the Chubut valley in 1865 and their descendants still serve afternoon tea in Gaiman and Trelew, where the casas de té bring out pots of tea, scones, cream cakes and, always, a slice of torta galesa. It is a dense, almost black fruit cake made with brown sugar and black treacle, studded with raisins, candied peel and walnuts, and it was built to last through long Patagonian winters and journeys across the steppe. The crumb is moist and sticky, rich with spice and caramel. An oven that is too hot is the classic error: the outside chars before the middle is set, so it bakes low and slow under a sheet of paper. There's no alcohol in this version; many cooks brush it with rum after baking, so leave that out or use strong tea. Chef's tip: wrap the cooled cake tightly and wait two or three days before cutting; it turns moister and the flavours deepen.

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Submarino

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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Chivito al asador

Malargüe, in the dry south of Mendoza, holds a goat festival every summer, and the star is the chivito: a milk-fed kid opened flat, wired to an iron cross and planted at an angle beside a fire of jarilla or other hardwood. It cooks from the side, never over the flames, basted with a garlicky salmuera until the skin turns glassy and crackling and the meat pulls apart. Serve it straight from the cross with salad, bread and chimichurri. Order a whole kid of 5–7 kg dressed weight from a specialist or halal butcher, and check the cross fits it before the day. Most failures come from setting it too close to the fire, which burns the outside while the thick legs stay raw. Kid is lean, so cook it right through, as in Mendoza: the thickest part of the leg should reach at least 70 °C. Chef's tip: cook bone side to the fire for two-thirds of the time; the ribs protect the meat, and the skin goes on last so it crisps instead of scorching.

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Chinchulines

No proper Sunday asado in Buenos Aires province or the interior is complete without a round of achuras, and chinchulines are the boldest of them: beef small intestine, coiled on the grill and cooked slowly until the outside crackles like pork scratchings and the inside stays soft and rich with its own fat. Pass them round on a board with lemon and bread as a starter while the bigger cuts cook. Buy them already cleaned from a butcher or a Latin American meat counter, and rinse them again well at home. The usual mistake is too much heat: the outside burns long before the inside cooks. Offal must be cooked right through, with no soft, raw-looking parts. Chef's tip: simmer them briefly before grilling; it cleans them further, shortens the time on the coals and gives you a much more even crunch.

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Matambre arrollado

Christmas and New Year in Argentina fall in high summer, so the festive table is crowded with cold dishes, and matambre arrollado is the one that draws a crowd: a thin sheet of beef from between the ribs and skin (matambre, the rose or flank cut), spread with garlic and parsley, layered with hard-boiled egg, carrot and red pepper, rolled into a fat sausage, poached and pressed. Rotiserías in the Buenos Aires suburbs sell it by the slice, and each round shows a mosaic of colours. Served cold with Russian salad and a sharp chimichurri, it is tender and savoury. Because the outside of the meat ends up rolled inside, cook it to a core temperature of 71 °C, as for minced meat. The usual mistake is slicing it warm: it falls apart, so press it under a weight in the fridge overnight. If you can't find matambre, ask the butcher for a thin flank steak butterflied to 1 cm. Chef's tip: lay the meat with the grain running along the roll, so each slice cuts across the fibres and stays tender.

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Pastel de papas

Midweek family dinners in Buenos Aires often come out of the oven in a deep dish: pastel de papas, the Argentine answer to cottage pie. The beef picadillo is cooked the way it is for empanadas, with onion, red pepper, paprika and cumin, then studded with green olives, chopped boiled egg and sometimes raisins for a sweet-salty bite, all under a thick, creamy mash browned with cheese or sugar on top. It is a dish of school lunches and Sunday leftovers, served with a green salad. Mince must reach 71 °C, which it will long before the potato crust browns; just make sure no pink remains when you cook the filling. A runny filling is the usual letdown, as it seeps into the mash, so cook it until the pan is almost dry. Chef's tip: sprinkle a teaspoon of sugar over the mash before baking, as many Argentine cooks do; it caramelises into a thin, crackly golden crust.

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Tortitas mendocinas

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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Alfajor cordobés

Córdoba's version of the alfajor is the soft one: two tender, slightly spongy honey-scented rounds sandwiched with fruit jam, usually quince or mixed fruit, and coated in a thin sugar glaze that dries to a crackly white shell. They are sold by the dozen in the sierras towns of Villa General Belgrano, La Falda and Capilla del Monte, where tourists buy boxes on the way home from holidays. Expect a gentle crunch, a cakey bite and a tart-sweet centre, best with a cup of coffee or mate. Overworking the dough is where they usually go wrong: knead it like bread and the rounds bake tough and flat, so mix only until it comes together. Quince paste (dulce de membrillo) loosened with water works well if you can't find a soft quince jam. Chef's tip: dry the glazed alfajores for 5 minutes in a barely warm oven; the glaze sets glassy and crackles when you bite.

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