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Dan huang su (egg yolk pastry)Salted egg yolk pastry

Dan huang su is Taiwan's favourite Mid-Autumn pastry, given in gift boxes across the island in the weeks before the festival. The whole golden yolk hidden in the centre stands for the full moon, and the round, glossy pastries look like little moons themselves when you share them at the family reunion. Under a shell of dozens of flaky layers sits sweet red bean paste and a salty, rich, slightly crumbly duck egg yolk. Bakeries traditionally use lard in the pastry; this version uses butter, so it is vegetarian. Serve with oolong tea under the moon, cut in half to show the yolk. Chef's tip: roast the salted yolks first until they look oily and set, which takes away any eggy smell and gives the best flavour.

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Di gua yeStir-fried sweet potato leaves

Stir-fried sweet potato leaves are on the table at almost every Taiwanese home dinner and at every rechao stir-fry stall from Taipei to Kaohsiung, a cheap, dark-green side that once fed the island in lean years and is now loved for its silky texture. The tender leaves and tips are thrown into a smoking wok with plenty of garlic and a splash of water and cooked in about two minutes. It is vegan and light, with about 3 g of protein per portion. The common mistake is overloading the wok: the leaves stew and turn black-green and slimy, so cook in two batches if your pan is small. If you can't find sweet potato leaves, use water spinach or pea shoots. Chef's tip: add a tablespoon of water with the leaves; the burst of steam wilts them evenly without extra oil.

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Bizcochos de CayambeTwice-baked butter biscuits

Drive north from Quito towards the snow-capped Cayambe volcano and the roadside is lined with bakeries selling paper bags of bizcochos, small finger-shaped biscuits baked twice until they shatter. Families stop there on weekend trips and order them with a slab of soft, salty queso de hoja, a cup of hot chocolate and a spoonful of dulce de leche (manjar) for spreading. The dough is a lightly yeasted butter dough, rolled into thin sticks, baked once until pale gold and then dried slowly until crisp right through, with a flaky, crumbly bite. A sealed jar keeps them for weeks. Chef's tip: the second bake is about drying, not browning, so keep the oven low; a hot second bake is the usual mistake and leaves them dark outside and chewy inside.

130 minAndeanBaking
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TereréIced yerba mate

In Asunción the hottest part of the day stops for tereré: a horn or cup packed with yerba mate, topped up again and again with ice water infused with crushed herbs, and passed round the group through a metal straw. It was recognised by UNESCO as part of Paraguay's cultural heritage, and the herbs (yuyos) change with the season and the drinker's mood. Yerba mate contains caffeine, so it isn't one for small children. The common mistake is pouring water straight into loose yerba, which then clogs the straw; tilt the yerba to one side first. Chef's tip: for tereré ruso, swap the water for cold orange or grapefruit juice.

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Winter melon tea

All over Taiwan, from Tainan's old markets to Taipei's night-market stalls, winter melon tea is sold in plastic cups packed with ice through the steaming summer. Despite the name there is no tea in it: chunks of winter melon are cooked down for hours with brown and white sugar until the melon disappears into a thick, dark, toffee-scented paste, which is set into blocks and later dissolved in hot water and chilled. The drink tastes of caramel and light molasses with a gentle, grassy melon note, and it is often mixed half and half with lemon juice or fresh milk. The common mistake is stopping too early, when the mixture is still runny: it will not set and it tastes boiled rather than caramelised. Keep stirring until a drop on a cold plate sets firm and the paste pulls away from the pan. Ready blocks keep 2 months in the fridge, or 6 months frozen; make the drink whenever you want it. If you cannot find winter melon (ash gourd, available frozen in Asian shops), there is no good substitute. Chef's tip: a final 10 minutes on low heat with constant stirring gives the deep, smoky colour that market versions have.

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Papaya milk

Kaohsiung claims papaya milk as its own: the southern port city's fruit stalls, and the famous old shop on Liuhe night market's doorstep, have been blending it since the 1960s, when sweet red-fleshed papayas from Pingtung became cheap and plentiful. It is now sold all over Taiwan, a thick orange-pink shake in a tall cup, drunk on sticky evenings while walking between food stalls or in the morning with a scallion pancake. It tastes of ripe papaya and cold milk, sweet and mellow, with a smooth, slightly airy body. The classic mistake is making it in advance: papaya contains the enzyme papain, which starts working on milk proteins within about 20 minutes and leaves the drink bitter and curdled-looking. Blend it just before drinking. Your papaya is ripe when the skin is mostly yellow-orange and gives slightly to a thumb, and it smells sweet at the stalk end; it is ready to serve when it is fully smooth, foamy on top and evenly coloured. Children love it, and with little added sugar it is a fine after-school snack. Chef's tip: chill the papaya well beforehand so you need less ice and the shake stays thick.

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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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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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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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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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Mandi'o chyryryFried cassava with onion and egg

Mandi'o chyryry means 'fried cassava' in Guaraní, and it is what rural Paraguayan families make from yesterday's boiled mandi'o: chunks crushed and fried in a big pan with onion until crisp in places, then scrambled with eggs. It comes out for breakfast with cocido or for a quick supper, and costs next to nothing. Use sweet cassava, the kind sold in supermarkets. The mistake is stirring constantly, which turns it to mush; let the cassava sit and brown. Chef's tip: the best chyryry starts with cold, day-old boiled cassava, which fries crisper than freshly boiled.

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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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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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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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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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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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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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Masaco de plátanoPounded plantain with cheese

Breakfast in Santa Cruz and the Bolivian lowlands often means a mound of masaco with a cup of strong coffee: green plantain fried and then pounded with butter and grated cheese into a dense, savoury mash. Many cruceños mix in shredded dried beef; this vegetarian version uses only cheese, which is how plenty of families make it too. Bolivian lowland cheese is usually set with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian Cheddar-style cheese if that matters to you. The usual mistake is frying the plantain until crisp: it must stay soft inside or it won't mash. Chef's tip: pound the plantain while it is still very hot; once it cools it turns hard and rubbery.

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Lukang ox tongue cakesSesame maltose flat pastries

Their name comes from the shape, long and flat like a tongue, not from any meat: in the old port town of Lukang, Changhua, these pastries are pressed on hot griddles along the lanes near Tianhou Temple and handed out warm in paper bags. Lukang's style is thicker and chewier than the cracker-crisp Yilan version, with a crisp, blistered shell and a sticky brown-sugar centre that pulls like soft toffee. Bakeries there use lard, so this vegetarian recipe uses vegetable shortening in the pastry and a little butter in the filling. A frequent mishap is rolling the filled dough with heavy hands, which bursts the skin and lets the syrup scorch in the pan. Chef's tip: cook them over a low heat and be patient; slow griddling lets the centre turn molten before the outside darkens.

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Taichung sun cakesFlaky maltose pastries

Walk down Ziyou Road in Taichung and almost every second shopfront sells boxes of these round, pale pastries, the gift every visitor is expected to bring home. Paper-thin layers shatter at the first bite onto a soft, chewy, honey-like centre of maltose and butter; they're eaten with oolong tea, and older locals break them into a bowl of hot water to make a sweet, milky porridge. Traditional bakeries use lard in the pastry, so this vegetarian version swaps in vegetable shortening, with butter in the filling. Overbaking is the classic error: sun cakes should stay creamy white with only a faint gold tinge, not brown. Chef's tip: keep the dough covered at every stage, because the thin skin dries quickly and then cracks instead of flaking.

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Taiwanese braised bamboo shootsBraised bamboo shoot shreds

Spoon a heap of these amber shreds beside a bowl of rice at almost any Taipei braised-pork-rice counter and you have the side dish locals reach for without thinking; it also turns up on Lunar New Year tables and in railway bento boxes. Fermented bamboo shoots are tangy and faintly funky straight from the packet, but a long, gentle braise in soy sauce, sugar and plenty of oil turns them silky, sweet-savoury and slightly chewy. Restaurants often cook them in pork fat; this version uses vegetable oil and dried shiitake for the same rich depth. The usual mistake is skipping the blanching: unrinsed shoots keep a sharp, sour smell that no amount of sauce can hide. Chef's tip: make it a day ahead, because the shreds drink up the braising liquid overnight and taste even better reheated.

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Taiwanese peanut rice milkWarm rice and peanut drink

Beside the steel urns of soy milk at a Taiwanese breakfast shop stands a second urn of something beige, thicker and nuttier, and regulars know exactly what goes with it: a fat sticky-rice roll, fan tuan, eaten on the way to the MRT. Rice is toasted, blended with roasted peanuts and water, then simmered into a smooth, lightly sweet drink with a nutty, almost popcorn aroma, served hot in winter and chilled in summer. It's naturally dairy-free and very filling. Walking away from the pot is the usual mistake, because the starch settles and scorches in a minute, giving the whole batch a burnt taste. Chef's tip: toast the raw rice in a dry pan until it's golden; that step gives the drink its unmistakable breakfast-shop flavour.

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Aiyu jelly with lemonAiyu fig jelly with lemon

Squeezing a little cloth bag of seeds in a bowl of water until it turns into jelly sounds like a magic trick, yet that's how aiyu has been made for well over a century in Chiayi, at the foot of the Alishan hills where the climbing fig grows wild. The pectin in the dried seeds sets the water into a soft, glassy, pale-gold jelly with almost no taste of its own, so it's cut into cubes and served icy cold with tart lemon juice and honey syrup, the most refreshing thing on a sticky Taipei summer afternoon. The classic failure is a bowl that won't set, usually because the bowl was oily or the water was distilled or very soft; it needs ordinary tap or mineral water. Chef's tip: rub the bag steadily for 8–10 minutes and stop as soon as it feels slippery and nothing more comes out, or the jelly turns cloudy and bitter.

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ChajáSponge, peach and cream cake

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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