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Falsa sherbet

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

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Imli aloo bukhara sharbat

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

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Khajoor shake

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

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Sardai

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

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Tumuro tea

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

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Doodh soda

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

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Kachi lassi

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

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King kong

Named, the story goes, after the giant ape because of its size when the film reached Peru, the king kong is Lambayeque's proudest sweet: thick, crumbly biscuit layers stacked with manjar blanco, a sticky pineapple jam and a peanut fudge, then cut into heavy slabs. Shops in Lambayeque and Chiclayo sell them by the kilo in boxes, and travellers carry them home as gifts. It is very sweet, buttery and dense, so a slice goes a long way with black coffee. This home version makes the manjar blanco from condensed and evaporated milk to save hours, then turns half of it into the peanut layer. The usual mistake is overbaking the biscuit until it is hard; take it out as soon as the edges are pale gold, as it firms up while it cools. It is a project, so make the fillings first and let them cool. Chef's tip: wrap the finished king kong and leave it overnight before cutting; the layers settle and soften into each other.

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Turrón de Doña Pepa

Every October, the month of the Señor de los Milagros processions in Lima, bakeries and street sellers pile their trays with turrón de Doña Pepa: layers of crumbly anise-flavoured sticks drenched in a dark syrup of chancaca cooked with fruit and spices, topped with a storm of coloured sprinkles. Popular lore credits it to Josefa Marmanillo, a woman from the Cañete valley who is said to have made it in thanks after the procession. It is sticky, crunchy and soft at once, with orange and clove in the syrup. Its downfall is usually runny syrup that soaks the sticks into mush; it needs to reach a thick, threading stage before it goes on. Chancaca is sold as cones or blocks in Latin shops; panela or dark muscovado also work. Some coloured sprinkles contain gelatin, so check the label. Chef's tip: make it a day ahead; the syrup sets and the sticks soften just enough to slice neatly.

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Champús

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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Emoliente

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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Quinua con manzana

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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Huatia

After the potato harvest in May and June, families in Puno, Cusco and across the highlands build a huatia in the field: a little dome of dry earth clods heated with dried brush until the clods glow, then knocked down over freshly dug potatoes and oca so they bake slowly underground. Opened an hour later, the potatoes are smoky, floury and so soft their skins split, and the oca turns sweet and tangy. Everyone eats them with their hands, with salt, chilli sauce and fresh cheese. This recipe gives an oven method for home cooks: a lidded pot bedded with coarse salt and herbs, which traps heat and steam much like the earth. If you do try a real huatia outdoors, use a clear patch of ground away from anything that can catch fire and keep water nearby. Don't uncover the pot early to check: the steam escapes and the potatoes turn leathery. Fresh oca is sold in some markets as New Zealand yam; small sweet potatoes will do. Chef's tip: choose potatoes of a similar size so they all finish together, and serve with uchucuta.

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Kispiño

Pressed in a fist so each one carries the marks of the cook's fingers, kispiño are small, dense quinoa cakes from the Puno highlands, steamed and then left to dry so they keep for weeks on journeys, herding trips and pilgrimages. Traditional ones are bound with a little lime water (from cal, the mineral) and fat; this home version uses oil and a pinch of aniseed and sugar, so they're vegan and pleasantly savoury-sweet. They're firm and chewy, a little like a grain cake, and good with hot tea, coca tea or a soup on a cold day. The common mistake is making the dough too wet, so the cakes slump in the steamer; it should feel like damp sand that holds its shape when squeezed. Ground quinoa is quinoa flour; grind your own from rinsed, dried and toasted grain, or buy it ready ground. Chef's tip: toast the ground quinoa in a dry pan first until it smells nutty, which takes away any bitterness.

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Aguajina

Aguaje is the scaly, chestnut-red fruit of the moriche palm that grows in the flooded forests around Iquitos, and its orange flesh ends up in ice lollies, ice cream and, above all, aguajina, the cold drink sold in plastic cups at every corner and in Belén market. The taste is unusual and loved locally: tangy, a little like apricot and carrot, with a rich, slightly oily body. Fresh aguaje must be softened in warm water for an hour before its thin layer of pulp can be scraped off; outside Peru, frozen aguaje pulp from Latin American shops is the realistic choice and gives a good result. A common slip is adding all the sugar before tasting: the pulp's sourness varies from pack to pack, so sweeten at the end. Serve very cold with lunch or on a hot afternoon. Chef's tip: blend the pulp with only part of the water first, so it breaks down fully, then stir in the rest.

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Chapo

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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Camu camu

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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Chajá

Chajá was created in 1927 at a bakery in Paysandú, a city on the Uruguay River, and named after a local bird whose feathers look as fluffy as its crumbly meringue coat. Today it's Uruguay's birthday and celebration cake: layers of light sponge soaked in peach syrup, filled with whipped cream, peaches and dulce de leche, then covered in crushed meringue. It's sweet, soft and crunchy at once, best on the day it's assembled. Chef's tip: soak the sponge but not too much; it should feel moist, not wet, or the layers slide.

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Tacacho

Tacacho is the breakfast of the Peruvian Amazon, from Tarapoto to Iquitos: green plantains roasted over coals, mashed with fat and salt and shaped into balls. There it comes with cecina (smoked pork) and is mashed with lard and crackling; this vegan tacacho uses good oil and a pinch of smoked paprika for the same savoury, smoky depth. The balls are dense, chewy and starchy, crisp at the edges where the plantain charred, and they are eaten hot with a fiery chilli sauce or alongside stews. Use plantains that are fully green and firm. Chef's tip: mash the plantains while they are still very hot; as green plantain cools its starch sets and it won't bind into a smooth ball.

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Kashmiri chai

Kashmiri chai, called pink tea or gulabi chai across Pakistan, came down from Kashmir to become the winter drink of Lahore, Karachi and Islamabad: it is ladled out at weddings, sold from steaming pots at tea stalls on cold nights and served with nankhatai biscuits at family gatherings. The colour is real chemistry, not food colouring: green tea leaves are boiled hard with a pinch of baking soda until the brew turns deep red, then whisked and splashed to get air into it, and finally cooked with milk until it blushes pink. It is lightly salted in the old Kashmiri way and sweetened in the city way; add as much sugar as you like. The mistake people make is using black tea; only green tea leaves turn pink. Chef's tip: pour in ice-cold water as soon as the brew is reduced, and beat it hard; the shock and the air are what lock in the bright colour.

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Rooh Afza sherbet

During Ramadan almost every household in Pakistan breaks the fast at sunset with a jug of this bright red sherbet on the table, from Karachi apartments to village courtyards in Punjab. It is made with the herbal rose syrup sold as Rooh Afza (any rose sherbet syrup works), stirred into ice-cold water with a squeeze of lemon and a spoonful of swollen basil seeds (tukh malanga) that are said to cool the body after a long, hot day without water. Some families make it with cold milk instead, which turns it pink and creamy. The mistake people make is adding the basil seeds dry; they clump into hard lumps, so soak them first. Chef's tip: chill the water and syrup well before mixing so you need less ice and the sherbet does not taste watered down.

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Chicha morada

Chicha morada is Peru's favourite soft drink, served by the jug in every restaurant in Lima and drunk across the country with lunch. Andean purple corn is simmered with pineapple peel, apple, cinnamon and cloves, then sweetened and sharpened with lime to make a dark ruby drink that tastes of berries, spice and gentle tannin, a little like a spiced cranberry juice. It has no alcohol, unlike the fermented chicha de jora of the Andes. Dried purple corn (maíz morado) comes from Latin shops; purple corn powder works too. Chef's tip: add the sugar and lime only once the drink has cooled; lime added to the hot liquid turns it bitter.

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