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Mandi'o chyryryFried cassava with onion and egg

Mandi'o chyryry means 'fried cassava' in Guaraní, and it is what rural Paraguayan families make from yesterday's boiled mandi'o: chunks crushed and fried in a big pan with onion until crisp in places, then scrambled with eggs. It comes out for breakfast with cocido or for a quick supper, and costs next to nothing. Use sweet cassava, the kind sold in supermarkets. The mistake is stirring constantly, which turns it to mush; let the cassava sit and brown. Chef's tip: the best chyryry starts with cold, day-old boiled cassava, which fries crisper than freshly boiled.

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Homemade kashkFermented yogurt whey

Kashk began with Iran's nomadic herders, who churned their yoghurt for butter in goatskin bags, then cooked and dried the sour leftover into hard balls that lasted through winter. In Kerman, Fars and Khorasan it is still made that way, but in Tehran most people buy it liquid in jars. Making your own is worth one slow afternoon. It is the salty, sour, almost cheesy finish swirled over ash reshteh at Nowruz, folded into kashk-e bademjan with fried mint and walnuts, and stirred into kaleh joosh on cold nights. Liquid kashk is thick and creamy like soured cream but sharper and saltier; dried kashk is chalky-hard and grates like aged cheese. Common mistake: heating the churned yoghurt fast; it scorches and the curd turns rubbery. Keep the heat low and stir. The curd is ready when it separates into soft white clumps in a clear, yellow-green whey. Kashk is always cooked again before eating — even the jarred kind — so heat it when you use it. Chef's tip: a goat or sheep's milk yoghurt, or half and half with cow's, gives the most authentic, funky flavour.

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Postre MassiniCustard sponge with burnt sugar top

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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Preserved lemons (l'hamd marked)

No Moroccan pantry is complete without a jar of l'hamd marked, lemons packed in salt and their own juice and left for about a month until the rind softens and takes on a mellow, floral, almost sweet flavour. The rind is what you use: finely chopped into salads, slivered over chicken with olives, added to fish tagines, chermoula and bean dishes. Fez cooks traditionally use small, thin-skinned doqq or beldi lemons, but any unwaxed lemon works. Hands-on work is only 20 minutes; the jar then needs 3–4 weeks in a cool, dark cupboard before it is ready. Chef's tip: press the lemons down hard every day for the first week; as they release juice they shrink, and you can squeeze one more lemon into the jar.

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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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Fekkas (twice-baked almond biscuits)

Before Eid and during Ramadan, Moroccan kitchens fill with the scent of fekkas: logs of a soft, eggy dough studded with almonds, raisins, aniseed and sesame are baked, cooled, sliced thin and baked again until dry, golden and very crunchy. They are offered to guests on trays with ghriba and other biscuits and dunked into mint tea or milky coffee, and they keep for weeks in a tin, so they are perfect to make ahead. The flavour is gently sweet, with liquorice notes from the anise and a little lemon. Avoid slicing the logs while they are still hot from the first bake; they crumble. Let them firm up first. Chef's tip: let the baked logs cool completely, ideally overnight, before slicing; warm logs crumble under the knife.

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Sfenj (Moroccan doughnut rings)

Early in the morning, in medina lanes from Fez to Casablanca, the sfenji pulls handfuls of sticky dough from a bowl, pokes a hole through each with his thumb and drops the rings into a big pan of oil, where they puff into crisp, golden, irregular doughnuts with a chewy, airy inside. Customers carry them away threaded on a strip of palm leaf, to eat hot with mint tea or coffee, plain, dusted with sugar or dipped in honey. The dough is just flour, yeast, salt and water, and deliberately very wet; that is what gives the open, holey crumb. Allow about 1 1/2 hours for it to rise. Where sfenj go wrong is a dough that is too stiff; it should be sticky and slack, or the rings come out bready instead of open and chewy. Chef's tip: keep a bowl of water beside you and wet your hands before every piece, so the sticky dough slides off your fingers instead of clinging to them.

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Krachel (aniseed and sesame brioche buns)

Moroccan bakeries pile their windows with krachel, round, glossy buns of enriched dough perfumed with aniseed, toasted sesame and orange-flower water, and families bake them at home for breakfast, for guests and for feast days. They are soft and pillowy, lightly sweet, with a distinctive liquorice-like scent from the anise and a nutty crunch of sesame on top. Eat them warm with butter and jam, dipped into milky coffee, or with mint tea in the afternoon. The dough needs two rises, about 1 1/2 hours in all. Don't rush the rise: under-proved krachel bake dense and tight instead of soft and fluffy. Chef's tip: lightly toast the aniseed and sesame in a dry pan before adding them to the dough; it doubles their fragrance.

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Meskouta (Moroccan orange cake)

Every Moroccan home cook seems to have a meskouta recipe, the light, fluffy sponge that is baked in a ring tin and set out for afternoon tea, unexpected guests or a children's snack. This one is flavoured with fresh orange juice and zest; many families make a yogurt version instead, using the yogurt pot to measure everything, and that variation is in the steps. The crumb is airy and moist, not too sweet, and it pairs perfectly with mint tea or a glass of milk. No mixer is strictly needed, but it helps. Chef's tip: beat the eggs and sugar for a full 5 minutes until pale and tripled in volume; under-whipped eggs, the usual mistake, make a dense, flat meskouta.

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Abghooreh (verjuice)

In early summer, families across Shiraz and the vineyards of Fars thin their vines and press the hard green grapes into abghooreh, a sharp, clean sour juice stored in bottles for the whole year. It sours khoresh, brightens salad shirazi and is splashed over kebabs and rice in place of lemon. The grapes must be truly unripe, hard and mouth-puckering; once they soften the juice turns sweet. A common mistake is skipping the boil and salt, which lets the juice ferment in the bottle. Chef's tip: let the boiled juice settle overnight and pour it off the sediment for a clear, bright abghooreh.

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Lighvan-style brined cheese

The village of Lighvan, on the slopes of Mount Sahand south of Tabriz, gives its name to Iran's most loved breakfast cheese: a white, holey, tangy sheep's milk cheese matured in brine, traditionally in goatskins or tins in mountain caves. Across Azerbaijan province it is eaten every morning with warm bread, walnuts, fresh herbs and sweet tea. This home version uses pasteurised sheep's milk (or a mix with goat's milk) so it is safe to make in your kitchen. Village Lighvan is set with animal rennet; use a vegetarian (microbial) rennet to keep it vegetarian. The commonest mistake is cutting the curd before it gives a clean break, which loses yield and makes a crumbly cheese. Chef's tip: let the cheese firm in the fridge for a full week in the brine; it develops its classic tang and little holes as it matures.

1500 minPersianBasicsGluten free
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Golab (home-distilled rosewater)

Every May the valleys around Kashan and Qamsar fill with pickers gathering Damask roses at dawn for golabgiri, the rose-water festival, when copper stills bubble in village courtyards. Golab is the backbone of Persian sweets, sharbat and rice, and a small batch can be made at home with a stockpot, an upturned lid and a bowl of ice. You need fragrant roses that have never been sprayed: florist roses are not safe to use in food. A common mistake is boiling hard, which cooks the petals and gives a grassy, dull water; the pot should only simmer. Chef's tip: pick the roses early in the morning, when their scent is strongest, and distil the same day.

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Mahyaveh-style anchovy and spice spread

In Bandar Abbas, Lar and the villages of Hormozgan, mahyaveh is a dark, pungent sauce made by leaving tiny fish with salt, mustard seed and spices to ferment in the sun for weeks; it is smeared on hot flatbread for breakfast or with eggs. That open-air fermentation is hard to control safely at home, so this version gets the same deep, salty flavour from ready-cured anchovy fillets blended with toasted mustard seed, cumin, coriander seed, fennel and a little vinegar, and it lives in the fridge from the start. It is still a cured-fish product: not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. A common mistake is spreading it thickly like a pâté; it is a seasoning, so a thin smear is enough. Chef's tip: toast the spices until the mustard seeds just start to pop, which takes the raw bitterness out and gives the spread its roasted edge.

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Smen (salted, herbed butter)

Atlas households once kept jars of smen for months, even years, until the salted butter developed a pungent, almost blue-cheese aroma; a spoonful stirred into couscous, harira or a chicken tagine gives a depth nothing else can. Long ageing at room temperature is risky at home, so this is a safer fridge version: pasteurised unsalted butter is simmered with dried za'atar or oregano, strained, salted and then matured in the fridge for 2–4 weeks, which gives a mellow, nutty, faintly tangy smen rather than the fiercely strong old kind. For the real long-aged flavour, buy smen from a reputable shop. Use it a teaspoon at a time; it is meant as a seasoning, not a cooking fat. The mistake to avoid is leaving any milk solids or water in the butter, as that is what turns it rancid or mouldy rather than pleasantly aged. Chef's tip: strain it through muslin until perfectly clear; any milky bits left in the jar are what turn butter rancid.

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Haji badamAlmond and cardamom cookies

Haji badam are the small, pale almond cookies of Yazd, crisp at the edge and soft and chewy inside, baked for Nowruz and kept in tins for guests through the new year. They need only ground almonds, sugar, egg yolk and cardamom, so they are naturally gluten-free. Each one is rolled into a ball and pinched or pressed with a pistachio sliver. A common mistake is baking them until golden all over: pull them when only the bottoms colour, or they go hard and dry. Chef's tip: let the dough rest in the fridge for 30 minutes, which makes it much easier to roll without cracking.

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KolompehDate and walnut pastries

Kolompeh is the pride of Kerman, a flat, round pastry stamped with a pattern on top and filled with date paste spiced with cardamom, cinnamon and a little fennel seed. Kermanis bake it for Nowruz and for guests, and it keeps well enough to travel, which is why tins of it go home with every visitor. The pastry is short and tender with a hint of sweetness. A common mistake is making the date filling too wet, which seeps through the pastry; it should be a stiff paste you can roll into a ball. Chef's tip: warm the dates for a few seconds before mashing, and they turn into a smooth paste in moments.

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Koloocheh FumanWalnut-filled cookies

On the road from Rasht up to the hill village of Masuleh, the little town of Fuman is lined with bakeries selling koloocheh: thick round cookies, crisp outside and cake-like inside, filled with ground walnut, sugar and cardamom and stamped with a pattern on top. Travellers buy them by the box for tea, and they are a favourite gift at Nowruz. A common mistake is overworking the dough, which makes them tough rather than tender and crumbly. Chef's tip: chill the filled discs for 15 minutes before stamping and baking, so the pattern stays sharp and the walnut filling does not burst through.

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Moraba-ye bahar narenjBitter orange blossom jam

When the bitter orange trees lining Shiraz's streets bloom in April, the whole city smells of blossom, and households gather the fallen petals to make this pale golden jam for the year ahead. It is spooned onto bread with fresh cheese at breakfast, or stirred into tea. The petals are bitter, so they are blanched and soaked several times before they meet the syrup. A common mistake is cutting the soaking short, which leaves the jam harsh. Chef's tip: add the lemon juice only at the end; it keeps the petals bright and stops the syrup from crystallising.

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Moraba-ye haveejCarrot jam with cardamom and almonds

Moraba-ye havij is the bright orange jam on Iranian breakfast tables, spread on warm barbari or sangak with butter or a slice of white cheese, especially in winter when carrots are at their sweetest. Thin shreds of carrot are candied in a light syrup with cardamom and orange peel, then finished with rosewater and slivered almonds, so every spoonful is chewy, glossy and fragrant. It is made in every region, and families argue over how thick the syrup should be. Chef's tip: cut the carrots into fine matchsticks rather than grating them; grated carrot turns to mush and clouds the syrup.

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NabatSaffron rock sugar crystals

Golden saffron nabat on a stick is the souvenir pilgrims bring back from Mashhad, and across Iran a stick of it is stirred into hot tea for an upset stomach, after a fright or simply instead of a sugar cube. The crystals grow slowly on cotton strings in a saturated syrup over two or three days, and making it at home is a pleasant, slow kitchen project. A common mistake is moving or knocking the jar: every jolt sets off fine sugar grit instead of big crystals. Chef's tip: roll the wet strings in a little sugar and let them dry before hanging them; the seed crystals give the new ones something to grow on.

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Nan-e berenjiRice-flour cookies

Kermanshah in western Iran is famous for its nan-e berenji, and in the weeks before Nowruz bakeries there pack them by the boxful for guests who come visiting through the holiday. Made with rice flour, they are pale, crumbly and melt on the tongue, scented with cardamom and rosewater and sprinkled with a few poppy seeds. Many families make the dough a day ahead. The common mistake is letting them colour in the oven; they should come out white with only the faintest gold underneath. Chef's tip: rest the dough in the fridge for at least an hour so the rice flour hydrates; otherwise the cookies crack and spread.

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Nan-e gerdooyiWalnut cookies

In the run-up to Nowruz, when Tabriz, Tehran and Qazvin families are spring-cleaning and baking for the round of holiday visits, nan-e gerdooyi are among the first cookies to go into the tin. They are made with chopped walnuts held together by egg yolks and sugar, no flour at all, so they bake crisp at the edge and soft and chewy in the middle. A common mistake is grinding the walnuts to a paste; they should be chopped into small pieces so the cookies have texture and don't turn oily. Chef's tip: leave a good gap between them on the tray; they spread to about twice their size.

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Nan-e nokhodchiChickpea flour cookies

No Nowruz tea tray in Tehran or Qazvin looks complete without a pile of tiny four-leafed nan-e nokhodchi, each topped with a sliver of pistachio. They are made from flour of roasted chickpeas, so they taste nutty and slightly savoury under the sugar, and they dissolve almost instantly on the tongue. Bakers make them by the thousand in March, but they are simple at home with a small clover cutter. The common mistake is using raw gram flour, which tastes beany and bitter; the flour must be from roasted chickpeas, or toasted first. Chef's tip: knead the dough longer than you think, 8–10 minutes, until it turns smooth and pale; that is what gives the melting texture.

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Nan-e YazdiCardamom and rosewater cupcakes

Nan-e Yazdi, often called Yazdi cakes, are the small domed cupcakes every Iranian bakery sells for breakfast and afternoon tea, first made in Yazd and now loved in Tehran and far beyond. The crumb is soft and a little dense, perfumed with cardamom and rosewater, and the tops are scattered with pistachio or sesame before baking. Children eat them dunked in milk. A common mistake is overbeating after the flour goes in, which makes the cakes tough and peaked; fold just until smooth. Chef's tip: rest the batter in the fridge for an hour before baking for a taller, crackled dome.

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