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Prinzregententorte

Prinzregententorte was created in Munich for Prince Regent Luitpold, who ruled Bavaria from 1886, and it is still the cake Munich cafés and families bring out for name days and big birthdays. Seven very thin sponge layers, one for each of the old Bavarian districts, are stacked with chocolate buttercream, brushed with apricot jam and sealed under a shiny dark chocolate glaze. The slices show neat stripes and taste rich but not heavy. A common mistake is baking the sponge as one thick cake and slicing it; it is far easier and neater to spread each layer thinly on a tin base and bake it for a few minutes. Chef's tip: trace a 26 cm circle on seven sheets of baking paper before you start, then bake two layers at once on separate trays.

150 min

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Rhabarberkuchen mit Baiser

From late April until the traditional end of the season on St John's Day in June, German bakeries and garden tables everywhere have rhubarb cake, and the most loved version is crowned with meringue. A buttery sponge is covered with sour pink rhubarb, baked, then piled with a cloud of sweet meringue and returned to the oven until golden and crisp outside, marshmallow-soft within. The sweet topping balances the sharp fruit perfectly. A common mistake is not draining the rhubarb, so its juice pools under the sponge and the base stays wet. Chef's tip: toss the cut rhubarb with a little sugar an hour ahead, then drain it well; it softens slightly and stops weeping into the cake.

120 min

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Versunkener Apfelkuchen

Versunkener Apfelkuchen, the sunken apple cake, is the quickest cake in the German home repertoire, made on autumn weekends when the first Boskoop and Elstar apples come in from the orchards of the Altes Land near Hamburg and Lake Constance. Peeled apple halves are scored like a fan and pressed into a rich lemon sponge, which rises up around them as it bakes until they seem to sink in. Children love it still warm with whipped cream. A common mistake is cutting the scores too deep, so the apples fall apart; cut about two-thirds of the way through. Chef's tip: brush the apples with apricot jam the moment the cake comes out of the oven; it gives a shiny bakery glaze and keeps them from drying.

70 min

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Marmorkuchen

Marmorkuchen is the cake German children grow up with: a tall, buttery ring of vanilla sponge swirled with chocolate, baked for birthdays and kindergarten parties and kept under a glass dome for afternoon coffee all week. It needs nothing but a dusting of icing sugar, though many families pour over a thin chocolate glaze. A common mistake is over-stirring the two batters together, which turns the cake a muddy brown instead of showing clear marbling. Chef's tip: layer the batters in the tin, then pull a fork through just once in a spiral; less is more.

75 min

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Pfeffernüsse

Pfeffernüsse are small domed biscuits baked in German homes through Advent, especially in the north and in Saxony, and sold in bags at Christmas markets everywhere. They are made with honey and a warm spice mix, and in old recipes the 'pepper' in the name meant exotic spices in general, though a pinch of real black pepper adds a lovely bite. A thin white glaze sets crisp over a chewy centre. The mistake many people make is eating them straight away; they are hard at first and need a few days in a tin with a slice of apple to soften. Chef's tip: warm the honey only until runny, never boiling, or the biscuits turn tough.

35 min

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Baumkuchen

Baumkuchen is the king of German cakes, and the little town of Salzwedel in Saxony-Anhalt has baked it on a turning spit over an open flame for two centuries; in December, Baumkuchenspitzen, chocolate-dipped triangles of it, fill the shelves before Christmas. Without a spit you can build it at home in a tin under the grill, one thin layer at a time, and each slice shows the golden rings of a tree. The mistake people make is spreading the batter too thickly, which gives fewer, stodgy layers that cook unevenly; aim for 2 tablespoons at a time. Chef's tip: stand by the oven; each layer turns from pale to burnt within a minute once it browns.

110 min

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Flammlachs

At German Christmas markets, from Nuremberg to Cologne, whole sides of salmon are nailed to wooden boards and stood around an open beech fire until smoky and just cooked, then served in a roll or on a plate with a mustard-dill sauce. At home you get close with a soaked wooden plank on a covered barbecue, or in a hot oven with a little smoked salt. A short dry brine in the fridge seasons the fish right through. Chef's tip: take the salmon off while the very centre is only just opaque; it carries on cooking on the hot plank.

50 min

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Fischbrötchen

Fischbrötchen are what people eat standing up at the Landungsbrücken piers in Hamburg, on the Sunday fish market, or from a kiosk on the dyke at any North Sea harbour. A crusty white roll is filled with sharp marinated herring, raw onion rings, gherkin and a little crisp lettuce, and eaten in a few bites with the wind in your face. The herring is cured, not cooked, so use commercially prepared Bismarck-style marinated herring from the chilled counter, which has been frozen before curing as the law requires; it is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. Chef's tip: slice the onion paper-thin and rinse it in cold water for a minute so it stays crunchy but stops shouting over the fish.

10 min

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Matjes Hausfrauenart

Matjes nach Hausfrauenart, 'housewife's matjes', is the early-summer plate of northern Germany, eaten when the new season's young herring arrives in June, from Glückstadt on the Elbe to the cafés of Emden. Mild, buttery matjes fillets are covered in a cool sauce of sour cream and yoghurt with crisp apple, onion and gherkin, and served with hot boiled new potatoes in their skins and sometimes green beans. Matjes is cured raw herring, so buy commercially prepared, previously frozen fillets from the chilled counter and keep them cold; it is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. Chef's tip: make the sauce first and let it chill for 20 minutes so the apple and onion flavour it before the fish goes in.

30 min

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Rollmops

Rollmops are the pickled herring rolls of the North Sea and Baltic coasts, pinned with a wooden pick around gherkin and onion and kept in a jar of spiced vinegar; in Berlin and Hamburg they are the classic morning-after breakfast and a fixture of New Year's Day tables. Making them at home takes a week of fridge time but very little work. Because the fish is never cooked, use herring that has been frozen at −20 °C for at least 24 hours (most fresh 'sashimi-grade' or commercially frozen fillets qualify; ask your fishmonger), and keep everything chilled. Rollmops are not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. Chef's tip: let the jars rest a full five days; the vinegar needs that long to firm the flesh and soften the tiny bones.

60 min

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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.

45 min

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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.

20 min

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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.

30 min

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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.

55 min

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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.

55 min

Peruvian Baking

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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.

150 min

Peruvian Baking

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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.

120 min

Peruvian Baking

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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.

45 min

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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.

25 min

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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.

30 min

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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.

60 min

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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.

85 min

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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.

90 min