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Vanillekipferl

No Austrian Christmas cookie tin is complete without Vanillekipferl, the pale little crescents that melt on the tongue; Viennese grandmothers bake them by the hundred in early December, and they are just as loved over the border in Bavaria. The dough is short and rich with butter and ground almonds, and the crescents are rolled in vanilla sugar while still warm so it sticks. The common mistake is overbaking: they should stay pale with only the tips turning golden, or they lose their tender, sandy texture. Chef's tip: chill the dough well and shape it with cool hands; warm dough cracks and the crescents spread in the oven.

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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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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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Viennese Gugelhupf

In Vienna the Gugelhupf is the Sunday cake of home bakers, set out on the table for afternoon Jause with coffee, and every family has its own fluted copper or ceramic mould. Unlike the yeasted ring cakes of Alsace and southern Germany, the everyday Viennese one is a Rührgugelhupf, a buttery sponge lifted with whisked egg whites, scented with lemon and studded with plump raisins. It is tender, light and keeps moist for several days under a cake dome. A common mistake is a badly greased mould; every ridge needs butter and flour or the cake tears as it comes out. Chef's tip: soak the raisins in hot water for 15 minutes, dry them and toss them in a spoon of flour so they don't sink.

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Sachertorte

This dense, dark chocolate torte is Vienna's most famous cake, eaten in coffee houses all over the city with a cup of Melange and, always, a cloud of unsweetened whipped cream on the side. The sponge is made with melted chocolate and whisked egg whites, so it is fine-crumbed and slightly dry by design; a thin layer of sharp apricot jam runs through the middle and over the top, under a shiny, snappy chocolate glaze. A common mistake is pouring the glaze too hot or too cold; too hot and it runs off thin, too cold and it sets dull and lumpy. It is a cake for birthdays and Sunday visits, and it keeps well for days. Chef's tip: bake it the day before and let it rest overnight wrapped; it cuts far more neatly and the crumb softens.

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Linzer Torte

Linz, the Danube city in Upper Austria, has baked this tart for centuries, and it still fills bakery windows there all year, with extra demand in Advent. It is closer to a soft, crumbly nut biscuit than a pastry: ground hazelnuts, butter, cinnamon and cloves are pressed into the tin, filled with tart redcurrant jam and topped with a lattice. Serve a thin slice with coffee or tea. A common mistake is eating it on the day it is baked; it is much better after two or three days, when the jam soaks into the crumb. Chef's tip: chill the lattice strips on a tray before lifting them on, and they will not tear.

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Esterházytorte

Named after a Hungarian noble family and claimed by both Budapest and Vienna, this torte is a showpiece of Viennese pastry shops, where it sits in the glass counter beside richer chocolate cakes. Five or six crisp-chewy almond meringue layers are stacked with a vanilla custard buttercream, then topped with white icing and the famous feathered chocolate lines. It has no flour at all, so it suits gluten-free guests. A common mistake is baking the layers too pale; they should be light golden, or they go soft and sticky in the cream. Chef's tip: draw the circles on baking paper first and spread the meringue to the line with a palette knife, so every layer matches.

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Kardinalschnitten

Kardinalschnitten, 'cardinal slices', were created in Vienna with the colours of the Church in mind: white meringue and yellow sponge baked side by side in stripes. In Viennese cafés they are a light, summery choice with an afternoon coffee. Two baked sheets of alternating stripes sandwich a soft coffee cream, and the result is crisp, airy and cool at the same time. A common mistake is overfilling with cream that has not been stabilised; it squeezes out when you cut. Here a little mascarpone keeps the cream firm without gelatine. Chef's tip: pipe the meringue stripes first and the sponge in the gaps after, so the sponge does not spread flat.

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Punschkrapfen

Punschkrapfen are the bright pink cubes that glow from every Viennese Konditorei counter, especially in winter. Traditionally the filling of sponge crumbs, jam and chocolate is soaked in rum punch, which gives the cake its name, so the classic version contains alcohol. This recipe makes the alcohol-free version with orange juice and strong black tea, which keeps the fruity, warming flavour that children can eat too; to make the traditional one, swap 40 ml of the orange juice for dark rum. The sponge is moist and dense, the icing sweet and crackly. A common mistake is skipping the overnight press; the cubes fall apart when cut. Many pink colourings use carmine, made from insects, so choose a plant-based one such as beetroot red. Chef's tip: cut with a knife dipped in hot water and wiped between each cut for clean edges.

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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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