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Patarashca

Wrapping fish in leaves and cooking it over embers is how the riverside towns of Loreto and San Martín have always cooked their catch, and in Iquitos patarashca is sold on Belén market grills and in the restaurants along the Malecón. A whole fish or thick fillet is smeared with garlic, ají dulce, tomato, onion, cumin and sacha culantro, folded in large bijao leaves and grilled until the parcel chars and the fish steams in its own juices. When you open it, the flesh is soft and fragrant with herbs. Banana leaves from Asian shops are the best swap for bijao; foil works at a pinch. Too thin a parcel is the usual mistake: the leaves burn through and the fish dries out, so use two layers. Chef's tip: serve it in the opened leaf with boiled plantain or cassava and spoon up every drop of the juices.

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Paiche a la parrilla

Paiche (arapaima), one of the largest freshwater fish on earth, has thick, white, almost boneless flesh, and in Iquitos it is farmed and cut into meaty steaks that sizzle on the grills of riverside restaurants. Marinated briefly in garlic, lime, cumin and achiote, it chars on the outside and stays juicy and mild inside, a little like cod but firmer. Serve it with a tomato and onion salad, rice, or tacacho (mashed fried plantain balls). Frozen farmed paiche is sold in some fishmongers; thick cod, halibut or hake loin are good stand-ins. Leaving it in lime too long is the big mistake: the acid starts to 'cook' the surface and it sticks and tears on the grill, so 15 minutes is plenty. Chef's tip: oil the fish, not the grill, and don't move it for the first 3 minutes so it forms a crust and releases cleanly.

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Trucha frita

Rainbow trout farmed in the cold, clear water of Lake Titicaca is what you eat in Puno, at lakeside restaurants and on the floating islands: a whole fish, dusted in flour and fried until the skin crackles, with boiled Andean potatoes, rice, a simple salad and lime. The flesh is pink-white, sweet and moist; nothing else is needed. Ask your fishmonger to gut and scale the trout. The most common mistake is moving the fish too early, which tears the skin; leave it until it releases from the pan by itself. Chef's tip: slash the thick part of each side twice before flouring, so the fish cooks evenly and the skin crisps right up to the head.

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Thimpu de carachi

Around the shores of Lake Titicaca, thimpu is weekday food and Lent food alike: carachi, a small native lake fish, laid over potatoes and chuño (freeze-dried Andean potato) and gently poached, then drenched at the table with a hot sauce of onion fried with ají. The fish is soft and delicate, the chuño earthy and pleasantly chewy, and the sauce brings colour and fire. Outside Puno, small whole trout, tilapia or perch, or thick trout fillets, work well. Chuño needs an overnight soak (plan for it) and is sold in Andean and Latin shops; swap in extra waxy potatoes if you can't find it. The trap here is boiling the fish hard so it falls apart; keep the water at a bare shiver. Chef's tip: make the sauce while the fish poaches and spoon it on boiling hot, so it sizzles over the plate.

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Maki acevichado

Lima's Nikkei sushi bars invented the acevichado and it has become the roll every Peruvian orders: prawn tempura and avocado rolled in rice, topped with thin slices of fish and drenched in a creamy, lime-sharp sauce built from leche de tigre, ají amarillo and mayonnaise. Crisp, warm, cold and tangy in one bite, it is party food and Friday-night takeaway alike. For a safer topping, use sashimi-grade fish frozen at −20 °C for 24 hours first, keep it cold and eat the rolls at once; you can also sear the slices with a blowtorch or use cooked prawns instead. Even so, the raw-fish topping is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. Overfilling is the usual mistake: the roll won't close and the rice splits. Chef's tip: use a pasteurised-egg mayonnaise and wet your hands with vinegared water so the rice doesn't stick.

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Pulpo al olivo

Created in Lima in the 1950s by a Japanese-Peruvian chef, pulpo al olivo is now a fixture of Nikkei restaurants and smart cevicherías: paper-thin rounds of tender, cold octopus covered with a smooth violet mayonnaise of Botija olives, the big, dark, fruity olives of the southern coast. It is cool, rich and briny, eaten as a starter with lime and a drizzle of olive oil. Allow 1 hour for chilling after cooking. Tough octopus is the usual let-down, and the fix is simple: use frozen octopus (freezing tenderises it) and simmer gently, never at a rolling boil. Because the sauce is an egg emulsion, make it with a pasteurised egg, or use a good ready-made mayonnaise. Chef's tip: slice the octopus while it's cold and firm; warm octopus slices raggedly.

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Jalea mixta

Ordered to share at a Lima cevichería on a Sunday, jalea mixta arrives as a tall golden pile: chunks of white fish, squid rings and prawns, all in a light, crackly coat, on top of fried cassava and buried under a fresh tangle of salsa criolla. The contrast is the point, hot and crunchy underneath, cold, sour and sharp on top, with tartar sauce or ají on the side and cold drinks all round. A frequent mistake is crowding the oil, which drops its temperature and gives you a soggy, greasy coat; fry in small batches and let the oil come back up between them. Chef's tip: boil the cassava first and let it steam dry before frying; it turns fluffy inside and shatteringly crisp outside.

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Tiradito

Lima's Japanese-Peruvian cooks turned ceviche on its head with tiradito: instead of cubes soaked in lime, the fish is cut thin like sashimi, laid flat and dressed at the last minute, so it stays silky with only the surface turning white. The sauce here is the classic golden one, ají amarillo blended with lime, garlic and ginger, fruity and medium hot. It is served as a starter in cevicherías and upmarket Miraflores restaurants with boiled sweet potato and corn. Because the fish is eaten almost raw, this version uses sashimi-grade fish frozen at −20 °C for 24 hours first (allow for that), kept cold and eaten the moment it is dressed; it is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. The mistake people make is dressing it ahead: after ten minutes the lime cooks it through and it turns chalky. Chef's tip: chill the plates in the freezer for 10 minutes before you lay out the fish; it keeps the slices firm while you work.

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Choros a la chalaca

Named for the people of Callao, Lima's port, choros a la chalaca are what you order with friends at a seafront cevichería on a hot afternoon: steamed mussels, chilled, each on its half shell under a bright, wet salsa of red onion, tomato, Andean corn, rocoto and lime. Cool, sweet, briny and sharp, they are eaten with your fingers in two bites, often before a ceviche or a jalea. Here the mussels are fully steamed open first, so nothing is served raw. People often overcook them while waiting for the last stubborn shells, which leaves the rest rubbery; lift them out as soon as each one opens. Chef's tip: dress the salsa no more than 15 minutes ahead, and spoon a little of the juice onto every mussel; that juice is the whole point of the dish.

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Seco de chabelo

Piura's picanterías, near the dry northern border, serve this rough, savoury mash at lunch: green plantains, roasted or boiled and pounded, mixed with fried strips of carne seca (salted dried beef) and a quick sofrito of onion, tomato and ají amarillo. It is dense, salty and smoky, with the plantain's starchy sweetness, and is eaten with salsa criolla and fried ripe plantain or chifles (plantain crisps). The legend says it was invented for a soldier called Chabelo in the War of the Pacific. Use carne seca or cecina from Latin shops, or unseasoned beef jerky. Pounding the plantains smooth is the classic mistake: chabelo should be lumpy and rustic. Chef's tip: soak the dried beef in warm water for 30 minutes and taste a piece; if it's still very salty, change the water and soak again.

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Majarisco

Its name blends 'majado' (mashed plantain) and 'marisco' (seafood), and along the coast of Piura and Tumbes, near the Ecuadorian border, it's what cevicherías and beach restaurants serve when you want something hot and filling. Mashed green plantain is folded into a sauce of garlic, onion, ají and seafood juices, with prawns, squid and mussels running through it, so every forkful is creamy, garlicky and briny. Serve it with lime and salsa criolla. Mussels must be alive: tap any open ones and discard those that don't close, and discard any that stay shut after cooking. Overcooking the seafood is the most frequent mistake; it goes in at the end, just until pink and opaque. Chef's tip: keep the mussel cooking liquid and use it to loosen the mash; it's pure seafood flavour.

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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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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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Asado uruguayo

Sunday in Uruguay means asado: in Montevideo backyards and the cattle towns of the interior, beef ribs (asado de tira), chorizo and morcilla cook slowly over the embers of a wood fire, with only coarse salt, while the family waits. The parrillero rakes coals under the grill and keeps the heat low and even. This recipe includes pork chorizo. The mistake is cooking over flames; the fire should burn down to embers you can hold your hand above for 6–8 seconds. Chef's tip: salt the meat only when it goes on the grill, with coarse salt, never fine.

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Anticuchos de corazón

As night falls in Lima, anticucheras set up charcoal grills on street corners and fan the smoke towards passers-by; the October processions of the Señor de los Milagros are lined with them. The skewers are traditionally beef heart, a lean, firm and surprisingly mild meat, soaked in a dark-red marinade of ají panca, vinegar, cumin and garlic. They come with a boiled potato, a piece of choclo (large-kernel corn) and a spicy green ají sauce. If you can't get heart, sirloin steak works well. Chef's tip: baste the skewers with the leftover marinade and oil using a few coriander stalks tied together as a brush, the way the street cooks do.

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Pachamanca a la olla

In the highlands around Huancayo and Ayacucho, families mark harvests and saints' days by burying marinated meats, potatoes, sweet potatoes, broad beans and humitas under hot stones and earth for a pachamanca, an 'earth pot'. City cooks get close to it with a heavy pot: the same green marinade of huacatay (black mint), chincho, ají and garlic, layered with meats and roots and steamed in their own juices under banana or corn leaves. Chef's tip: layer the hardest things lowest, potatoes on the bottom and chicken nearest the lid, just as the stones are packed in the field.

135 minPeruvianMeatGluten free
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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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Arabian date pinwheels

Crumbly, buttery biscuit dough is rolled out, spread with a soft date filling flavoured with cinnamon and lemon, rolled into logs, sliced and baked into pretty pinwheels. They make a big batch of 50 and keep well in an airtight tin. Serve with tea, or with ice cream as a dessert.

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Lebanese date cake

A soft, moist cake made without eggs: self-raising flour and brown sugar are rubbed with butter, then mixed with milk and sour cream and studded with chopped dates, raisins and pistachios, with a warm hint of nutmeg and vanilla. Lovely with tea or served warm with cream.

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Ma'amoul

Ma'amoul are delicate shortbread-like pastries made for Eid and Easter across the Middle East. A soft, rose-scented butter dough is wrapped around a filling of dates, walnuts, almonds and pistachios cooked with cinnamon, marked with a fork, baked pale and dusted with icing sugar. Makes 35; they keep well in a tin.

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Semolina cake

A moist eggless cake made with semolina, coconut and yogurt, baked with slivered almonds on the bottom and top and moistened with orange juice. Serve with coconut ice cream or custard sauce.

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