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Caipirinha

Brazil's national drink lives on every boteco counter in São Paulo, but it tastes best on a hot Saturday beside a pot of feijoada, or handed over from a beach vendor's cart. It is a short, rough-cut drink for adults only: a whole lime chopped into wedges, crushed with sugar right in the glass, packed with crushed ice and drowned in cachaça, the sugarcane spirit with a grassy, faintly funky edge that rum does not have. Each sip moves from sharp lime oil to cold sweetness to a warm cane finish, with a little crunchy sugar at the bottom to stir back up. The usual mistake is pounding the lime to a pulp: the white pith and the core turn bitter within minutes. Cut out the central white strip, press each wedge only until the juice runs and the skin smells of lime oil, then stop. It is ready when the sugar has mostly melted into a cloudy syrup and the glass frosts on the outside. Cachaça is strong, so sip slowly and drink responsibly. Chef's tip: roll the lime hard on the board before cutting and choose thin-skinned, heavy limes; a thick-skinned lime makes a bitter caipirinha however gently you muddle.

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Akajiso juice (red shiso cordial)

Bunches of red shiso fill Japanese greengrocers for a few weeks in June and July, mostly bought to colour umeboshi. Gardeners from Kyoto's Ohara valley to Kantō boil the surplus into this cordial and keep it in the fridge for hot afternoons. Simmering pulls a murky purple-brown liquid from the leaves; the magic is the moment the vinegar goes in and the whole pan flushes a brilliant clear magenta. Diluted with ice water or soda water it tastes sweet-sour and herbal, like a cross between blackcurrant, mint and cinnamon. The most common mistake is simmering the leaves too long or with the stems: it turns grassy and bitter. Strip the leaves, boil them for five minutes only, until they have turned green and limp, then lift them out. The cordial is ready when it is jewel-bright and clear. Bottle it in a clean, sterilised bottle and keep it in the fridge for up to three weeks; discard if it fizzes, clouds or grows mould. No fresh red shiso nearby? Japanese and Korean shops sometimes sell it in summer, and it grows easily from seed. Chef's tip: freeze some as ice cubes to drop into sparkling water.

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Masuri tey (rosehip tea)

Each October, Armenian families walk the hillsides around Dilijan, Tavush and Syunik picking the bright red hips of wild dog roses, then string or spread them to dry on balconies. Through the long winter they go into masuri tey, often made in a big pot in the evening and kept warm in a thermos for the next day, and it is the drink grandmothers press on anyone with a cold, alongside a spoon of homemade jam. It is fruity and tart, like hibiscus crossed with apple, with a gentle tea-like body, and a spoon of honey rounds it out. The common mistake is not straining it well enough: crushed rosehips are lined with tiny irritating hairs that scratch the throat. Strain through a fine sieve lined with a cloth or coffee filter. It is ready when the tea is deep orange-red and clearly sour, and the hips have swollen and softened. Simmer gently rather than boiling hard for long. Honey keeps this out of the vegan list; use sugar if you prefer. Not suitable as a sweetened drink for babies under one year because of the honey. Chef's tip: steep it overnight in a thermos after simmering; the flavour doubles.

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Lagmi (fresh palm sap)

In the oases of the Tunisian south, in Gabès, Tozeur, Nefta, Kebili and on Djerba, palm climbers cut a small wound at the crown of an ageing date palm and hang a clay pot under it overnight. By sunrise it holds lagmi: cloudy, ivory-white sap, cool and sweet, with notes of coconut water and fresh dates. It is sold in recycled bottles at the roadside and drunk the same morning, because the wild yeasts in it begin to ferment almost at once. By afternoon it is fizzy and sour, and by the next day it has become an alcoholic palm wine, also called lagmi, which is a different drink altogether. The common mistake is buying more than you can drink by lunchtime or leaving it in the sun: keep it on ice from the moment you get it. Fresh lagmi is ready to drink when it is sweet, smells clean and milky, and only a few tiny bubbles rise; once it tastes sour or prickles on the tongue, it has started to turn. It is raw and unpasteurised, so pregnant people, babies, older people and anyone unwell should skip it. Outside the oases, fresh coconut water is the closest stand-in. Chef's tip: chill the glasses too; lagmi is at its best ice-cold.

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Hongzao guiyuan cha (red date and longan tea)

Across southern China, from Fujian to Guangdong, a pot of red dates and dried longan is what mothers and grandmothers put on the stove when the weather turns cold, and it is the classic drink brought to new mothers during zuo yuezi, the month of rest after childbirth. It is also sipped through the winter in the afternoon, or offered to visitors at Lunar New Year because the red dates promise sweetness ahead. The tea is amber-brown, naturally sweet and fruity, with a caramel, smoky depth from the longan and a gentle warmth if you add ginger. The common mistake is simmering whole dates: their skins stay tight and the tea tastes thin. Slit or tear each date so the flesh can give up its sweetness, then simmer slowly. It is ready when the dates are puffed and soft, the longan has swollen and the liquid is the colour of weak tea and tastes of toffee. It is traditionally drunk for comfort and warmth, not as a medicine; it is high in natural sugar, so go easy if you watch your blood sugar, and goji can interact with blood-thinning medicines, so check with a doctor if you take them. Chef's tip: eat the softened fruit from the bottom of the cup with a spoon; nothing is wasted.

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Agua de tuna (prickly pear drink)

Late summer is tuna season across the central highlands, from Hidalgo and the Estado de México down to Puebla's Teotihuacán valley, and that is when the big vitroleros in markets and taquerías turn shocking pink. Agua de tuna is just the cactus fruit blended with water, lime and a little sugar, strained, and poured over ice with lunch. Red tunas give a vivid colour and a taste between watermelon and pear; green ones make a paler, more herbal drink. It should be light and thirst-quenching, never syrupy. The commonest mistake is blending too long: the hard seeds crack and the agua turns gritty and slightly bitter. Pulse briefly, just enough to free the pulp, then strain well. It is ready when the liquid runs smooth through the sieve and tastes clearly of fruit with only a lift of lime. Handle unpeeled tunas with tongs or gloves: even 'cleaned' ones keep tiny glochids. Chef's tip: chill the peeled fruit before blending; cold pulp keeps its colour bright and needs less ice to dilute it.

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Tarta de zapallitosCourgette and cheese tart

In Buenos Aires every rotisería sells tartas by the slice, and at home a tarta de zapallitos is baked on Sunday evening so that a wedge can go into the vianda (packed lunch) for school and work all week. Zapallitos are round green courgettes; ordinary courgettes work just as well. The common mistake is adding the courgette raw, which floods the pastry; sauté it until the liquid has cooked away. Argentine queso rallado and many hard cheeses are made with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian hard cheese. Chef's tip: bake the tart on a preheated baking tray so the base crisps before the filling soaks in.

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Sugarcane and cogon root drink

Ask a Hong Kong family what they drink at the first hint of a sore throat in autumn, or when the city's spring humidity sets in, and many will say jook je mao gun soi. Lengths of thin green bamboo sugarcane, split open, are simmered with dried cogon grass root and carrots, sometimes with water chestnuts and a few dried corn silks, into a pale amber broth that tastes of sugarcane, sweet carrot and a faint grassiness. It is drunk warm after dinner or chilled from the fridge during the day, and herbal tea shops sell it by the bottle for children who refuse the bitter stuff. The common mistake is skipping the splitting of the cane: whole sticks barely release any sweetness, and you end up adding sugar. Bash each piece with the back of a cleaver until it cracks lengthwise. The drink is ready when the carrots are soft, the liquid is clear and light amber, and it tastes naturally sweet. Bamboo cane and cogon root are sold as soup packs in Chinese grocers; ordinary purple or green sugarcane works too. It is traditionally drunk to 'clear heat', but it is a refreshment, not a cure. Chef's tip: add a few peeled water chestnuts for extra crunch-sweetness.

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Leung cha (Cantonese herbal tea)

Across Guangdong and Hong Kong, the leung cha shop with its gleaming brass urns is a neighbourhood fixture. People drop in after a run of fried food, late nights or the heavy, humid weather of early summer, when Cantonese tradition says the body has too much 'heat', and down a bowl standing at the counter, then chase it with a dried plum. Brews range from the gentle 'five-flower tea' to fiercely bitter 24-herb mixes. This home version uses dried mesona (sin cho), prunella spike (ha fu cho), chrysanthemum and honeysuckle: dark brown, earthy and grassy, clearly bitter but rounded by the flowers and a little rock sugar. The common mistake is boiling everything together for an hour; the flowers turn harsh and muddy. Simmer the woody herbs first, add the flowers only for the last 10 minutes. It is ready when the liquor is the colour of strong tea and has reduced by about a third. It is traditionally drunk for comfort, not as medicine: skip it in pregnancy and check with a doctor if you take regular medication. Chef's tip: buy herbs pre-weighed as a packet from a Chinese herbalist, who will rinse-check them for grit and freshness.

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Urts tea (wild thyme tea)

Urts, the wild thyme that carpets the summer meadows around Aragats and Lake Sevan, is picked in June and July when it flowers purple, then tied in bunches and hung to dry. Every Armenian market sells it, and it is the tea served in village homes after a heavy khorovats lunch, in the evening before bed, or with a plate of dried fruit and gata on a winter visit. It brews to a pale gold, smells of summer hillsides and tastes softly peppery and herbal, a little like oregano and lemon. The common mistake is boiling the herb: it turns harsh and medicinal and loses its sweet, floral notes. Pour on water just off the boil and cover the pot so the aromatic oils stay in the tea. It is ready after 5–7 minutes, when the colour is light gold and it smells of thyme the moment you lift the lid. Outside Armenia, use dried wild thyme or a mild garden thyme with flowers, about two-thirds the amount. It is traditionally drunk for a tired stomach or a cough; drink it in normal amounts and check with a doctor if you are pregnant or on medication. Chef's tip: add a few dried mint leaves or a sprig of dried rose petals for a village blend.

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Kaffeost (coffee with cheese)

In the far north, across Swedish Norrbotten and Finnish Lapland, coffee comes with cheese in the cup. Leipäjuusto, a mild, squeaky cheese baked or grilled until spotted brown (called kaffeost or 'bread cheese'), is cut into cubes and put in a cup, often a carved wooden kuksa, then hot black coffee is poured over. Sámi reindeer herders and Tornedalen farmers have made it this way for generations; it is a fireside or mid-morning drink on a cold day, and in some families a little sugar or a slice of dried reindeer meat goes in as well. The cheese warms through, softens slightly and soaks up the coffee, so you drink the coffee and then spoon out the warm, chewy, milky cubes. The common mistake is using a soft or melting cheese: it collapses into strings. Use proper leipäjuusto or halloumi, which keep their shape. It is ready when the cubes are hot to the centre, about 2 minutes, and slightly puffed. Strong coffee means real caffeine here, so it is an adult drink. Leipäjuusto is sold in Nordic shops; halloumi is the nearest substitute. Chef's tip: warm the cheese on a dry pan first for extra browned flavour.

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RosinbollerCardamom raisin buns

In Norway, rosinboller are what a parent bakes on Sunday so the week's lunch boxes have something sweet, and what fills the tables at every school dugnad and bake sale. The dough is enriched with milk and butter and scented with freshly ground cardamom, and the buns are pulled apart soft and golden. The common mistake is using hot milk: anything above blood heat kills the yeast and the buns stay flat. Chef's tip: crush the cardamom seeds yourself just before mixing; the pre-ground powder loses most of its perfume.

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KneippbrødWholemeal loaf

Open almost any Norwegian matpakke (the packed lunch wrapped in paper) and you will find slices of kneippbrød, a soft, lightly sweet loaf of sammalt hvete (wholemeal wheat) baked in a tin. Its fine crumb slices thin without crumbling, perfect for brown cheese, jam or cucumber at the school desk. The common mistake is adding too much flour while kneading because wholemeal dough feels sticky; the loaf then bakes dense and dry. Chef's tip: let the dough rest for 20 minutes after mixing, before kneading, so the bran softens and the dough turns smooth on its own.

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BozaFermented millet drink

In Bulgaria boza is a breakfast habit: a plastic bottle of it from the corner pastry shop and a slice of hot, flaky banitsa, bought on the way to work or school, especially from autumn through to spring. Towns such as Radomir, Plovdiv and Sofia argue over whose is best. It is the colour of milky coffee, thick enough to coat the glass, sweet up front with a sour, bready finish and a faint prickle. Like every fermented grain drink it makes a trace of alcohol, well under 1% when drunk young. The base is millet flour, toasted for flavour, cooked into a thin porridge, then fermented for about a day before being strained and sweetened. The common mistake is adding the yeast while the porridge is still hot, which kills it and leaves you with sweet gruel; wait until it feels only just warm on your wrist. It is ready when the surface is covered in small bubbles, it smells like fresh bread with a sour edge and tastes pleasantly tangy. Chef's tip: keep back a glass of each batch in the fridge and use it instead of yeast next time; boza made from an old starter is rounder and more sour.

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MoshOat and milk drink

In Guatemalan homes, mosh is what a mother hands a child on a chilly highland morning in Quetzaltenango or Huehuetenango: rolled oats cooked long and thin with water, milk, cinnamon and sugar, so it's drunk from a mug rather than eaten with a spoon. The common mistake is making it too thick like porridge; it should pour easily, so keep adding hot milk or water as the oats swell. Chef's tip: whisk it hard for a minute at the end; it breaks up the oats and makes the drink smooth and frothy.

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Dousha bao (red bean buns)

All over China, from Beijing breakfast stalls to Shanghai school bags, dousha bao are the sweet buns people grab in the morning and tuck into a lunch box for later: fluffy white yeasted dough wrapped around smooth red bean paste and steamed until springy. They freeze beautifully, so families make a big batch on Sunday. The mistake is opening the steamer lid as soon as the timer goes; the sudden cold makes the buns wrinkle and collapse. Turn off the heat and wait five minutes before lifting the lid. Chef's tip: chill the bean paste and roll it into balls before wrapping; a firm filling is much easier to seal neatly.

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Beijing douzhiFermented mung bean drink

Douzhi is the most famous acquired taste in Beijing: a hot, grey-green, sour drink made from the liquid left when mung beans are ground for starch, then fermented. Old Beijingers sip it at breakfast with crisp jiaoquan rings and shredded salted mustard pickles, and visitors either love it or never try it twice. At home you make a small batch by blending mung beans, settling out the starch and fermenting the cloudy water for a day. The mistake is letting it boil hard: it separates into watery and thick layers, so keep it at a gentle bubble. It must smell cleanly sour like yogurt; throw it away if it smells rotten, has mould, or turns pink or slimy. Chef's tip: stir it continuously as it heats and add a splash of the thinner liquid at the end, which keeps the classic smooth, slightly thick texture.

1440 minChineseDrinksVeganGluten free
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Gevulde koekAlmond-filled cookie

A gevulde koek is two discs of short, buttery dough sandwiching a thick layer of almond paste (spijs), glazed with egg and crowned with half an almond. Every Amsterdam bakery has a stack of them, and they are the classic koffie snack at about eleven in the morning, or something to eat on the bike home from the Noordermarkt. The pastry is crumbly and the middle soft, fragrant and lemony. It contains wheat, egg, milk and almonds. Chef's tip: make the almond paste a day ahead; it firms up and is much easier to shape into neat discs.

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Brazo de reinaSponge roll with dulce de leche

The 'queen's arm' sits in the glass cabinet of every Chilean bakery: a light sponge rolled around a thick layer of manjar (Chilean dulce de leche) and dusted with icing sugar. At home it is the cake for a birthday tea or an unexpected visitor, because it bakes in 10 minutes. The common mistake is overbaking: a dry sponge cracks as you roll it. Take it out the moment it springs back. Chef's tip: roll the sponge up in a sugared tea towel while it is still hot and let it cool that way; it remembers the shape and won't crack when you fill it.

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Melting momentsLemon buttercream sandwich biscuits

Melting moments are the soft, crumbly biscuits found in Australian and New Zealand bakery jars and grandmother's tins, two rounds made with custard powder and icing sugar sandwiched with a lemon butter icing. The custard powder gives them their yellow colour and tender, short texture that melts in the mouth, hence the name. A common mistake is overbaking; they should be pale, not golden. Chef's tip: press each ball with a floured fork for the classic stripes.

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Cà phê cốt dừa (coconut coffee)

Hanoi takes its coffee seriously, and in the last fifteen years coconut coffee has become one of the city's signatures, sold from Old Quarter cafés, lakeside balconies around Hoàn Kiếm and tiny stools on the pavement. It is a hot-weather drink, at its best on a sticky afternoon between May and September, eaten half with a spoon. Strong Vietnamese robusta drips slowly through an aluminium phin, then is poured over a pale slush of thick coconut cream, sweetened condensed milk and crushed ice, so you get bitter, dark coffee against something rich and cold that tastes like coconut ice cream. The common mistake is blending the slush too long or with too much ice, which leaves it thin and watery, and pouring the coffee in boiling hot so the slush collapses. Blend just until it looks like soft snow, and let the coffee cool for a minute or two. It is ready when the slush holds a spoon upright and the coffee sits in a dark layer on top. Robusta is high in caffeine and this is a strong drink, so it is not for children and one glass is plenty. Chef's tip: chill the coconut cream overnight; cold, thick cream gives a fluffier slush.

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Ssanghwa-cha (herbal tonic tea)

Ssanghwa-cha is the strongest thing on the menu of an old Korean dabang. From the 1960s these smoky tea rooms served it in thick ceramic cups, dark as coffee, with pine nuts, slivered jujube and walnut floating on top; in winter some still slide a raw egg yolk in, which this recipe leaves out. The brew comes from Korean herbal tradition, where ssanghwa-tang is drunk to warm up and recover from tiredness after hard work or a cold. It tastes earthy and bitter at first, then sweet from licorice and jujube, with warmth from cinnamon and ginger and a celery-like perfume from angelica. Herbal shops sell the roots in pre-measured packs. The common mistake is boiling it hard: the liquid reduces too fast and turns harsh. Keep a gentle simmer with the lid ajar for two hours. It is ready when it is very dark brown, reduced to about a third and smells of cinnamon and roots. Because it contains licorice and angelica, skip it if you are pregnant or breastfeeding, have high blood pressure, or take blood thinners or other medicines unless your doctor agrees. Chef's tip: a second, lighter brew from the same roots is good with honey.

135 minKoreanDrinksVeganGluten free
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Carato de maízChilled corn drink

Out on the hot plains of the Llanos, a jug of carato is kept cold for the afternoon: white corn cooked until soft, blended with its water, strained and sweetened with panela, cinnamon and clove. It is thick, creamy and filling enough to be a snack in a glass. Keep it in the fridge, because left out it starts to ferment. The common mistake is skipping the straining, which leaves it gritty. Chef's tip: strain through a fine sieve and then once more through a clean cloth for the silkiest drink.

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Yuja-cha (citron tea)

Goheung, on the southern coast of South Jeolla, is Korea's yuja country: in November the groves turn gold and families slice the knobbly citrons for yuja-cheong, the honeyed preserve that becomes tea all winter. From December to March a spoonful in hot water is offered to guests, to students cramming late and to anyone with a scratchy throat, as it is traditionally drunk for colds. The tea is sweet, floral and sharp, with soft, chewy strands of peel that you eat at the end with a spoon. The common mistake is leaving the fruit damp or the pith too thick: wet fruit lets mould in, and thick white pith makes the preserve bitter. Scrub, dry completely and pare away any pith thicker than a few millimetres. The cheong is ready after a day or two, when the sugar has dissolved into a clear, glossy syrup around the peel. Keep it in the fridge for up to three months, always with a dry spoon; throw it away if you see fuzzy mould, smell alcohol or it bubbles. No yuja? Japanese yuzu is the same fruit; otherwise use 2 lemons and 2 mandarins. Chef's tip: soak the seeds in a little of the honey and add that liquid back for a silkier syrup.

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