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Cocido quemadoBurnt sugar mate drink

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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MorochoCracked white corn drink

Morocho is what Quiteños drink on a chilly evening at a market stall, often with a crisp empanada de morocho alongside: cracked white corn simmered for an hour with milk, cinnamon and cloves until it turns into a thick, creamy drink you half sip, half spoon, studded with plump raisins. It tastes like a gently spiced rice pudding made with corn. The usual mistake is adding the milk too early and not stirring, so it catches and scorches on the bottom of the pan. Chef's tip: soak the corn overnight; it cooks faster and more evenly and turns properly creamy.

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Guaguas de panSweet bread babies

Guagua means baby in Kichwa, and in late October Quito's bakeries line their windows with these swaddled bread figures, each with a sugar-iced face and blanket, made to eat with colada morada for the Day of the Dead on 2 November. The bread is soft, buttery and lightly sweet, often hiding a strip of guava paste, and children love decorating them. The common mistake is shaping thin heads and arms, which brown and dry long before the body is baked; keep the shapes plump. Chef's tip: let the shaped figures rise fully before baking, so they puff into round, friendly babies rather than cracking at the seams.

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SomóCold spiced corn drink

Somó is how Santa Cruz cools down: big tubs of chilled, sweet, cinnamon-scented corn water sold in markets and at the door of lowland homes, with soft kernels of white corn floating in every glass to be eaten with a spoon. It is a simple drink, but it needs time, because the dried corn must soak and then simmer until each kernel bursts open. People often serve it before the kernels have fully opened, and then they are hard and chalky. Chef's tip: add a strip of orange peel with the spices for a fresher note, as some cruceño grandmothers do.

100 minAndeanDrinksVeganGluten free
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GuayusaHolly leaf infusion

In Kichwa villages along the Napo river around Tena, families rise before dawn, gather around the fire and share a pot of guayusa: an infusion of the large leaves of an Amazon holly tree, passed round while people talk over dreams and plan the day. It tastes smooth, grassy and faintly sweet, with none of the bitterness of black tea, and it carries a steady lift of caffeine, so it is not one for young children or late evenings. Dried guayusa is sold loose in health-food and tea shops. A common mistake is treating it like delicate green tea and steeping it for just a minute; it needs a gentle simmer to draw out its flavour. Chef's tip: add a strip of lemongrass or a slice of ginger for a fragrant twist, and sweeten, if at all, with a little panela.

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MocochinchiDried peach and cinnamon drink

Walk through any Bolivian plaza on a warm afternoon and someone will be selling mocochinchi from a big glass jar: a cool, amber drink of sun-dried peaches simmered with cinnamon and cloves, served with a whole wrinkled peach at the bottom of the glass to eat at the end. It is the classic drink with lunch from Cochabamba to Tarija. People often skip the overnight soak, and then the peaches stay leathery and the drink tastes thin. Chef's tip: rub the soaked peaches between your hands under water to clean off dust and loosen the skins, which also releases more flavour.

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CancháncharaAguardiente, lime and honey cocktail

In the colonial town of Trinidad, in Sancti Spíritus province, the canchánchara is served in little clay cups to the sound of a son band in the late afternoon. Its roots are in the independence wars of the 1860s and 70s, when the mambí fighters drank cane aguardiente mixed with honey, lime and water, warm or at camp temperature. Today it comes with crushed ice, but it is still a drink for adults only, rustic and honest: floral honey, sharp lime and the raw, sugary heat of young cane spirit, cold and only slightly diluted. The classic mistake is pouring honey straight onto the ice, where it sets into a hard lump at the bottom and the drink tastes of nothing but sour spirit. Stir the honey into the lime and water first until no streaks remain, then add the ice and spirit. It is ready when the honey has disappeared into a cloudy, even mixture and the outside of the cup sweats with cold. Drink it slowly and responsibly. Outside Cuba, use unaged white rum or cachaça for the aguardiente; a short tumbler is fine if you have no clay cup. Chef's tip: soak the clay cup in cold water for ten minutes first; it keeps the drink cold for much longer.

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Jugo surtidoMixed fruit juice

Step up to any juguería in Lima's Mercado de Surquillo or a barrio market at breakfast time and order a surtido: the juicer drops papaya, banana, pineapple and freshly squeezed orange into a tall blender, sometimes a slice of cooked beetroot for colour or a splash of milk, and pours you a big glass with the rest left in the jug for your 'yapa', the free refill. It is thick but still pourable, sweet from ripe fruit with a sharp orange edge, the kind of drink that stands in for breakfast before a long day. The common mistake is adding lots of ice and water, which makes it thin and frothy rather than velvety. Use cold fruit and freshly squeezed orange juice as the liquid. It is ready when it coats the glass and no lumps of banana are left. This version is fruit only; stalls also make it with milk if you prefer. Drink it straight away: papaya and banana go brown and bitter within half an hour. Chef's tip: use very ripe papaya with orange flesh; under-ripe papaya tastes of nothing and gives a faintly bitter aftertaste.

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Colada moradaPurple corn and berry drink

Every year in the days before 2 November, the Día de los Difuntos, Quito's kitchens and bakeries fill with the smell of colada morada: a warm, spoon-thick drink of purple corn flour cooked with blackberries, blueberries, pineapple and a bundle of fragrant herbs and spices. It is deep violet, sweet-tart and full of chopped fruit, and it is always served with guaguas de pan, the bread babies, often shared with family at the cemetery. The most common mistake is stirring the corn flour straight into hot liquid, which makes lumps: whisk it into cold water first. Chef's tip: lemon verbena and lemongrass give the authentic perfume; if you can find naranjilla or a few orange leaves, add them to the spice pot too.

100 minAndeanDrinksVeganGluten free
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Refresco de linazaFlaxseed and pineapple drink

In La Paz, Cochabamba and Sucre the refresqueras at the market stalls ladle linaza from big glass jars alongside mocochinchi and somó, and at home it is a standard jug in the fridge for the midday almuerzo. Flaxseed is simmered with pineapple peel, cinnamon and cloves until the water turns faintly silky, then strained, sweetened and chilled. It is pale gold, smooth and almost slippery on the tongue, tasting of pineapple and spice, with lime to wake it up. It is traditionally drunk to cool down and to settle the stomach. The common mistake is simmering too long or leaving the seeds in as it cools: the liquid turns into a thick, slimy gel. Strain it while still hot, as soon as a spoon dipped in comes out lightly coated, like thin syrup. It is ready when it pours freely but feels smooth, and tastes sweet, spiced and fresh. Using the peel and core of a pineapple is the thrifty Bolivian way and gives more flavour than the flesh. Chef's tip: if it thickens too much in the fridge, whisk in cold water a little at a time until it pours easily again.

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CortaditoEspresso with steamed milk

Havana runs on small cups of coffee: a cafecito standing at a ventanita, a colada shared in tiny plastic cups at work, and in the afternoon or with breakfast, a cortadito, which is Cuban coffee cut (cortado) with roughly as much hot milk. The coffee is brewed in a stovetop cafetera, and the first dark drops are whipped hard with sugar into a pale, thick espumita that floats on top of the cup. The result is rich, very sweet and caramel-like, with a velvety milk body and a strong, bitter edge underneath. It is high in caffeine, so it is not one for children. The common mistake is adding sugar to the pot or stirring it in at the end; without the espumita you get a thin, flat drink. Beat the first concentrated coffee with the sugar until it turns light tan and holds soft folds, then pour in the rest. It is ready when a pale foam floats on the cup and the milk has been heated until steaming, with small bubbles around the edge but not boiling. Chef's tip: catch only the first 2–3 teaspoons of coffee for the foam; later coffee is too thin to whip.

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Chilcano de piscoPisco and ginger ale highball

When Lima's grey winter finally lifts and summer reaches the beaches south of the city, the chilcano takes over from the pisco sour: lighter, longer and made for an afternoon. Peru even gives it a Semana del Chilcano each January, and it is poured at weekend lunches with chifa or fried fish. This is a highball for adults only: pisco poured over a tall glass of ice with fresh lime and ginger ale, finished with a few drops of bitters. It should taste crisp and fizzy, with the ginger and lime lifting the floral grape notes of the pisco rather than hiding them. The common mistake is using too little ice and warm ginger ale, which gives a sweet, diluted drink that goes flat in minutes. Fill the glass to the top with ice and keep the ginger ale in the fridge until the last second. It is ready when the glass is frosty, the bubbles race up the sides and the bitters drift through the top as a pink haze. Light it may be, but drink responsibly. Chef's tip: try a fruit-infused pisco, made by steeping passion fruit or mandarin peel in the bottle for a few days; Limeños love a chilcano de maracuyá.

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Horchata lojanaHerbal flower infusion

In Loja and the valleys of Vilcabamba and Malacatos, horchata has nothing to do with rice: it is a pink herbal infusion of anything up to twenty garden plants, drunk hot at breakfast and after lunch, or cold from the fridge on warm afternoons. Markets sell the herbs in bundles: cedrón, hierbaluisa, toronjil, mint, chamomile, mallow, and the red-leaved escancel and ataco (red amaranth) that give the colour. It tastes lemony, floral and faintly silky, and turns from ruby to bright pink the moment lemon juice goes in. The common mistake is boiling all the herbs hard, which makes it bitter and grassy; only the tough flaxseed and lemongrass simmer, and the soft leaves steep off the heat. It is ready when the liquid is deep red-pink and smells of lemon and flowers. Abroad, Latin shops sell dried mixes; dried hibiscus gives the colour if you lack amaranth. It is traditionally drunk to settle the stomach; if you are pregnant or on medication, check with a doctor before drinking it daily. Chef's tip: add lemon at the table, glass by glass, to watch the colour change.

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Refresco de coconaCocona cooler

In Iquitos, Pucallpa and the river towns of Loreto, heat and humidity make a cold refresco part of every lunch, and cocona is one of the favourites sold from plastic jugs at the Belén market. The fruit looks like a fuzzy orange tomato and tastes between tomato, lemon and apricot: very sour, aromatic and juicy. Blended with water and sugar it makes a tangy, golden drink with a light pulp, served with juane or tacacho con cecina. The usual mistake is skipping the fuzz: cocona skin is covered in fine hairs that make the drink scratchy, so rub them off under running water before you start. Blend only briefly, too, so the many seeds do not crack. It is ready when the refresco is opaque orange, sour first and sweet after, with no grit. Outside the Amazon, look for frozen cocona pulp in Latin American shops; naranjilla (lulo) pulp is the closest substitute. Chef's tip: a pinch of salt makes the fruit taste sweeter and fruitier without more sugar.

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Jugo de macaWarm maca drink

Before dawn at markets in Huancayo, Cusco and Lima, juice ladies ladle hot jugo de maca from big pots for workers on their way in: maca root, a turnip relative grown above 4,000 metres in the Junín highlands, simmered with milk, cinnamon and cloves and sweetened with honey or sugar. It tastes malty and toasty, a bit like butterscotch. The common mistake is stirring the powder straight into hot milk, which leaves gritty lumps; whisk it into a little cold milk first. Maca is not usually advised in pregnancy, so ask your doctor first if you are pregnant. Chef's tip: use gelatinised (cooked) maca powder if you can find it; it dissolves smoothly and is gentler on the stomach.

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Pisco sour

Lima drinks its pisco sour as the aperitif before a long ceviche lunch, and celebrates it every year on the first Saturday of February; the recipe took shape in the city's bars in the 1920s. It is for adults only and stronger than its pillowy look suggests. Underneath a thick white foam you get sharp Peruvian lime, a clean sweetness and the floral, grapey warmth of quebranta pisco, with the bitters adding a spicy smell to every sip. The texture should be silky, almost creamy, never thin. The classic mistake is squeezing the limes too hard or too early: the oil from the pith turns the drink bitter within half an hour. Halve the limes, press each half gently by hand just before mixing and stop when the juice slows. The egg white is raw, so use pasteurised egg white for anyone pregnant, for babies, older people or anyone unwell, or swap in 30 ml aquafaba. It is ready when the foam stands about 1 cm high and is firm enough to hold the drops of bitters on its surface. Sip one slowly and drink responsibly. Chef's tip: shake once without ice first to whip the egg white, then again with ice; the foam will be twice as thick.

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Mojito

In Old Havana the mojito is the answer to three o'clock heat: made at bar counters along Obispo Street, on the Malecón and at home on the patio, often with a plate of tostones or chicharritas on the side. It is a drink for adults only, though its cool, fresh taste can fool you; sip it slowly and drink responsibly. A real Cuban mojito is fragrant and grassy from hierbabuena, the mild local mint, sharp with lime, gently sweet and lightly sparkling, with the rum giving it backbone rather than burn. The common mistake is shredding the mint with heavy muddling: the leaves turn black, bitter and stick in your teeth. Press the leaves softly against the sugar and lime just until you can smell them strongly, then stop. It is ready when the sugar has dissolved, the glass is fully frosted and the mint leaves are scattered bright green through the ice. Outside Cuba, use spearmint; peppermint tastes like toothpaste here. Chef's tip: slap the garnish sprig between your palms before tucking it in beside the straw; every sip then comes with the smell of fresh mint.

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Daiquiri

The daiquirí is named after a beach and the old iron mines east of Santiago de Cuba, where engineers and miners at the turn of the twentieth century mixed the local white rum with lime and sugar to cut the heat. Later Havana's bars turned it into a frozen blended drink, but in eastern Cuba it is still drunk the plain way, shaken, in the late afternoon or before a dinner of congrí and roast pork. It is a cocktail for adults only, short and clean: tart lime, a light touch of sugar and the soft, dry vanilla notes of light rum, served so cold it almost stings. The common mistake is a lazy shake, which leaves the drink warm, harsh and too strong. Fill the shaker with ice and shake hard for a full 12–15 seconds. It is ready when the tin is too cold to hold, there are tiny shards of ice on the surface and the drink has a fine foam at the rim. Have one and drink responsibly. Balance matters more than amounts: taste your limes, and add a little more syrup if they are very sour. Chef's tip: chill the coupe in the freezer first; a daiquirí loses its magic within minutes in a warm glass.

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Batido de mameyMamey milkshake

In Havana and all over the island, the cafeteria counter has a blender that never stops, turning out batidos of mango, guanábana, papaya and the favourite of all, mamey. The fruit has a rough brown skin and a soft, salmon-red flesh that tastes like sweet potato, pumpkin pie, almond and apricot at once, and blended with cold milk it makes a shake so thick it is almost a dessert. It is drunk mid-afternoon on hot days, at breakfast with toast, or at a kid's birthday party; Miami's Cuban cafés keep the tradition alive with frozen pulp. The common mistake is using a hard mamey, which tastes starchy and slightly bitter; the fruit must give like a ripe avocado when pressed and show deep red flesh when you scratch the skin with a fingernail. The batido is ready when it is smooth, pumpkin-orange and pours slowly in a thick ribbon. Frozen mamey pulp from Latin American shops is a good substitute; reduce the ice because the pulp is already cold. Chef's tip: a pinch of salt and a drop of vanilla bring out mamey's almond notes.

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Prú orientalSpiced root drink

In Santiago de Cuba, Guantánamo and Baracoa, prú is sold from plastic bottles at the kitchen door and poured at every birthday, often next to a slab of cake. The recipe came from Haitian and French-Caribbean coffee planters who settled in the east, and families still keep a "madre", a starter jar from the last batch. Roots of raíz de China and bejuco ubí are boiled with pine, cinnamon and allspice, sweetened and left to ferment for a few days. It tastes like a wild, earthy root beer: woody, spiced, a little bitter, with a soft prickle. Fermentation makes a trace of alcohol, well under 1% if drunk young. Outside Cuba use dried sarsaparilla root, a close relative of China root. The common mistake is sealing bottles too early and leaving them warm, which builds dangerous pressure; use a plastic test bottle and chill once it is firm. It is ready when tiny bubbles rise and it smells sweet-sour, not yeasty. Throw it out if it grows fuzzy mould, turns slimy or smells rotten. Pregnant people should skip the pine needles, and anyone on medication should check with a doctor about herbal roots. Chef's tip: keep 250 ml back as the madre for your next batch.

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Batido de trigoPuffed wheat shake

Havana cafeterías and Miami ventanitas blend this for breakfast on the run: puffed wheat, cold milk, sugar and ice whizzed into a thick, frothy shake that tastes like a malted milk with toasted cereal. It is one of the most loved Cuban batidos, and quick to make at home. The common mistake is using sweetened, honey-coated cereal, which makes it cloying; plain puffed wheat lets the toasty grain flavour come through. Chef's tip: blend the puffed wheat with half the milk first until completely smooth, then add the ice, so you don't get soggy flecks of cereal.

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Café con lecheCoffee with hot milk

Every morning from Havana to Miami's Little Havana, breakfast is a big cup of café con leche with a length of buttered, pressed Cuban bread (tostada) to dunk in it. A moka pot of dark espresso-style coffee is whipped with sugar into a pale foam, the espumita, and poured into a mug of hot, lightly salted milk. The usual mistake is boiling the milk, which gives it a skin and a cooked taste; heat it only until it steams. Coffee contains caffeine, so this is a grown-up drink; children traditionally get a cup that is mostly milk. Chef's tip: whisk the first few drops of coffee hard with the sugar to a thick paste before adding the rest; that is what makes the creamy espumita on top.

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Mate de muñaAndean mint tea

Muña is the minty shrub that grows wild on the slopes around Cusco, Puno and the Sacred Valley, and highland cooks reach for it after a heavy meal of chicharrón or when visitors are struggling with the altitude. Market herb sellers sell it in fresh bunches, and hotels and homes leave it in a flask for anyone coming in from the cold evenings. Steeped simply in hot water, it smells somewhere between spearmint, oregano and pennyroyal, with a cooling, slightly peppery taste and a pale green-gold colour. It is traditionally drunk to settle the stomach. The usual mistake is boiling the leaves hard for a long time, which turns the tea brown and bitter. Pour water just off the boil over the sprigs, cover, and let it steep. It is ready when the cup is pale gold and the aroma rises as soon as you lift the lid. Outside Peru, look for dried muña in Latin shops; failing that, use mostly spearmint with a little fresh oregano. Muña is strong: avoid large amounts in pregnancy, and check with a doctor if you take regular medication. Chef's tip: cover the cup while it steeps so the scented oils stay in the tea.

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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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