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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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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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Ají amarillo pasteYellow chilli paste

In Lima's markets ají amarillo is sold fresh all year, and most Peruvian cooks keep a tub of this paste in the fridge the way others keep tomato purée: it is the golden base of causa limeña, ají de gallina, papa a la huancaína, chupe and the sauce for tiraditos. The chillies are seeded, de-veined and blanched in three changes of water, which tames the heat and the raw grassiness, then peeled and blended with oil into a thick, silky, saffron-orange paste. It tastes fruity and sunny, almost like apricot and passion fruit, with a rounded, medium heat. Abroad, buy whole frozen ají amarillo from Latin grocers; dried ají mirasol, soaked, gives a darker, earthier paste. Common mistake: skipping the peeling; the thin skins leave papery flecks and a bitter edge. It is ready when it is completely smooth and holds a soft peak like thick hummus. This is a low-acid paste: keep it in the fridge for a week or freeze it, never on the shelf. Chef's tip: freeze it in an ice-cube tray; one cube is about a tablespoon, just right for a pot of ají de gallina.

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Cremolada (Lima passion fruit slush)

From January to March, when Lima's coast swelters, queues form at the cremolada counters of Barranco and along the Jirón de la Unión downtown for cups of this thick fruit ice. It sits between a granita and a sorbet: frozen fruit pulp scraped again and again until it is slushy and spoonable, with real bits of fruit through it. Passion fruit (maracuyá) gives a sharp, bright flavour; creamy lúcuma, with its maple and sweet potato taste, is the other favourite. Chef's tip: use a shallow metal tray; it freezes faster and evenly, so you get fine crystals rather than chunks.

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KoserevaCandied bitter orange peel

Kosereva is a Paraguayan home preserve from the days when nothing was wasted: thick strips of bitter-orange peel soaked and boiled to soften their bite, then cooked slowly in dark cane molasses until glossy and nearly black. In the countryside it is eaten after lunch with a slice of fresh cheese or simply on its own. Bitter oranges (Seville oranges) are in season in winter. The most common mistake is not changing the boiling water enough, which leaves the peel unpleasantly bitter. Chef's tip: taste a sliver of peel after the third boil; it should be gently bitter like marmalade, not harsh.

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Martín FierroCheese with quince paste

Ask for dessert in a Montevideo bodegón or a country parador and you may be offered a Martín Fierro: a thick slice of fresh, mild cheese laid with an equal slice of dense quince or sweet-potato paste, named after the gaucho of the epic poem. It's salty against sweet, soft against firm, and takes two minutes to assemble. Uruguayan fresh cheese is usually made with animal rennet, so choose one with vegetarian rennet if that matters to you. The mistake is serving it fridge-cold, which dulls both flavours. Chef's tip: cut the cheese and paste to exactly the same thickness, about 1 cm, so every bite has both.

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Ka'i ladrilloPeanut molasses bricks

Ka'i ladrillo — 'monkey brick' in Guaraní — is the sweet sold by vendors on Asunción buses and at country fiestas: roasted peanuts bound in boiled cane molasses and set in brick-shaped blocks, crunchy and dark with a slightly smoky toffee taste. It contains peanuts, so keep it away from anyone with a peanut allergy. The common mistake is taking the syrup off too soon, so the bricks stay sticky and never set. Chef's tip: test the syrup by dropping a little into cold water; it is ready when it sets into a brittle thread that snaps.

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King kongLayered biscuit with manjar blanco

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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Helado de lúcumaLúcuma ice cream

Ask anyone in Lima, Cusco or Trujillo for the national ice-cream flavour and they will say lúcuma, the green-skinned Andean fruit with dry, golden-orange flesh that tastes of butterscotch, maple and sweet potato. Every ice-cream parlour, supermarket freezer and street cart sells it, and it's also folded into cakes and milkshakes. This no-churn version needs no machine: frozen lúcuma pulp (or lúcuma powder, both in Latin shops and health-food stores) is whisked into condensed milk, then folded into whipped cream and frozen. It comes out smooth, rich and naturally caramel-coloured. The mistake is over-whipping the cream to stiff peaks, which makes the ice cream grainy and buttery; stop at soft peaks. It needs at least 6 hours in the freezer, so make it the day before. Serve with a slice of chocolate cake or on its own. Chef's tip: a pinch of salt and a few drops of lime sharpen lúcuma's mellow flavour so it doesn't taste flat when frozen.

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Dulce de batataSweet potato paste

Deep orange and firm enough to slice, dulce de batata is the sweet potato paste Argentines eat with cheese, bake into pastelitos and pasta frola, and pack into school lunch boxes; the classic commercial block often hides a ribbon of chocolate in the centre. Making it at home takes patience at the stove, but the result tastes of real roasted sweet potato and vanilla. Traditional recipes simply cook the purée down for a long time; some factory versions set it with gelatin. This one uses a little agar, a seaweed-based setting agent, so it is reliably firm and stays vegan. Choose pale-fleshed sweet potato (batata) if you can, which gives the classic colour and dense texture; orange-fleshed ones work but set softer. The usual problem is too little cooking, which gives a paste that weeps; it is ready when a spoon drawn through it leaves a clean line. Chef's tip: cover your hand with a tea towel while you stir, because the thick paste spits like lava.

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Budín de panBread pudding

Thrifty Argentine kitchens never throw away stale bread: it becomes budín de pan, soaked in sweet milk and eggs, poured into a caramel-lined ring mould and baked in a water bath until it sets into something between a flan and a pudding. Bodegones in Buenos Aires and neighbourhood bakeries serve it in fat wedges, cold, with a spoonful of dulce de leche or whipped cream, the amber caramel running down the sides. The texture should be smooth and dense with only faint traces of bread, studded with plump raisins. The mistake to avoid is skipping the blending or soaking: chunks of dry bread turn into wet sponges and the pudding splits into layers. Chef's tip: let it cool and chill overnight in the mould before turning it out; a warm budín breaks when unmoulded and the caramel won't have melted into a sauce.

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RanfañoteToasted bread dessert in spiced syrup

Made from leftovers in colonial Lima by Afro-Peruvian cooks, ranfañote is one of the city's oldest sweets and turns up today at criollo food fairs and at old-style dessert stalls in Barrios Altos. Cubes of day-old bread are toasted crisp, then layered with walnuts, coconut, raisins and little cubes of fresh cheese and drenched in a thick chancaca syrup scented with cinnamon, clove and orange peel. The cheese is not a typo: its saltiness cuts the syrup, and the contrast of crunchy bread, chewy fruit and soft cheese is the point. It is eaten warm or at room temperature on its own. The common error is pouring thin syrup over the bread, which drowns it; the syrup should be thick like honey. Queso fresco is generally made with animal rennet, so choose a vegetarian fresh cheese if you need to. Chef's tip: toast the bread in the oven rather than frying it; it stays crisp longer under the syrup and is less greasy.

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TejasPecan and manjar blanco sweets

Ica's sweet shops, along the road into town and around the main square, stack tejas in long rows, each one wrapped in white tissue paper with frilled ends. Inside the thin, crackly sugar shell is a soft centre of manjar blanco with a pecan or a piece of candied fruit; Ica has been making them since the 19th century and they are the city's best-known souvenir. They are intensely sweet, so one or two with coffee is enough. The hard part is the fondant: stir it while it's too hot and it turns grainy and opaque too early, so let the syrup cool before working it. This version makes a quick manjar blanco from condensed and evaporated milk and uses pecans; candied lime or orange peel works the same way. Chef's tip: chill the filled centres until firm before dipping; warm ones melt into the fondant and lose their shape.

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Turrón de Doña PepaAnise biscuit sticks in spiced syrup

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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Queso heladoCinnamon coconut milk ice

Despite the name, there's no cheese in it: queso helado is Arequipa's old-fashioned frozen milk dessert, cut into thick rounds that look like a slice of fresh cheese and dusted with ground cinnamon. Vendors in white aprons sell it around the Plaza de Armas and at the Yanahuara viewpoint, traditionally churned in a metal pail spun over ice and salt, and every Arequipeño has a favourite stall. It is creamy, mildly milky and fragrant with cinnamon, clove and grated coconut, less rich than ice cream and slightly icy in a pleasant way. Many recipes thicken it with egg yolks; this one uses evaporated and condensed milk with a little cornflour so it stays egg free. The common error is freezing it untouched, which gives one hard block of ice: stir it every 45 minutes for the first few hours. Allow at least 4 hours of freezing on top of the cooking time, or make it a day ahead. Chef's tip: freeze it in a loaf tin lined with cling film, then lift it out and slice it into rounds for that true street look.

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Arroz zambitoRice pudding with chancaca and raisins

Lima's Afro-Peruvian kitchens gave the city arroz zambito, the dark cousin of arroz con leche: rice simmered with cloves and cinnamon, sweetened with chancaca instead of white sugar, and enriched with milk, coconut and raisins. The name refers to its deep brown colour, and it is sold in cups at markets and from carts alongside mazamorra morada, often half and half in the same cup. It tastes of molasses and spice, soft and creamy with chewy raisins and nuggets of coconut. The way it usually goes wrong is adding the chancaca too soon, before the rice is tender; the sugar firms the grains and they never soften. Serve warm or at room temperature, dusted with cinnamon. Chancaca can be swapped for panela or dark muscovado. Chef's tip: melt the chancaca in a little water first and strain it, as the blocks often contain bits of cane fibre.

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ChocotortaNo-bake chocolate biscuit cake

Born in 1980s Buenos Aires as an advertising idea and adopted by the whole country, chocotorta is the cake children ask for at every birthday and the easiest dessert in the Argentine repertoire. Chocolate biscuits are dipped briefly in milk (adults often use coffee), layered with a cream of dulce de leche beaten with cream cheese, and left overnight until the biscuits turn soft and cake-like. It is rich, sweet and a little tangy, and slices cleanly straight from the fridge. Any plain crisp chocolate biscuit works; rectangular ones make the neatest layers. The mistake to avoid is soaking the biscuits too long: a one-second dip is plenty, or they collapse into mush before you can lay them down. Chef's tip: assemble it a day ahead in a loaf tin lined with cling film; overnight chilling is what turns it from biscuits and cream into cake.

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Alfajor santafesinoPastry discs with dulce de leche

Santa Fe's alfajor is a different animal from the soft cornflour kind sold everywhere else: three wafer-thin, crackly discs of yolk-rich pastry, stacked with dulce de leche, then dipped in a cooked sugar glaze that sets hard, white and shiny. Bakeries in Santa Fe city and along the Paraná river ship them all over the country in boxes, and travellers bring them home as the regional present. Bite through and the glaze shatters, the pastry flakes and the dulce de leche holds it all together. Thick pastry is the mistake that ruins the texture; it has to be rolled until you can almost see the worktop through it, or the alfajor turns bready. Some old recipes add a splash of cane spirit to the dough; this version uses only water and is alcohol-free. Use a thick, pastry-chef's dulce de leche (repostero) so it doesn't ooze. Chef's tip: bake the discs in batches and keep the rest of the dough covered; it dries out fast and then cracks when rolled.

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Frejol coladoSweet black bean paste

Chincha, south of Lima, is the heart of Afro-Peruvian culture, and its signature sweet is frejol colado: black beans cooked, pushed through a sieve (colado means strained) and then stirred for a long time with sugar and spices until the paste is dark, glossy and thick enough to stand a spoon in. It is traditionally served in little gourd bowls called potos, sprinkled with toasted sesame, and sold in Chincha's square and at festivals in El Carmen. The taste is deep and molasses-like, with clove and cinnamon, and nobody guesses it's beans. The beans need an overnight soak, which isn't counted in the time. Most people give up stirring too early; under-cooked frejol colado is runny and tastes of beans, so keep going until it pulls away from the pan in one mass. Some cooks add milk; this version is dairy free. Chef's tip: use a wide, heavy pan and a long wooden spoon, and wear an oven glove, because the thick paste spits as it reduces.

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AnchiCorn semolina pudding with peaches

Sold in plastic cups from coolers at Salta's Mercado San Miguel and on village plazas at the end of a hot afternoon, anchi is a thin, sweet pudding of fine maize semolina cooked with water, sugar and plenty of lemon. It sets only softly, so it is half eaten and half drunk, cold and refreshing, often with slices of poached peach or a few rehydrated orejones (dried peaches) on top, and sometimes a dusting of cinnamon. There's no milk or egg in it, which is what keeps it light. Too much semolina is the easy error: anchi should pour slowly from the spoon when cold, not slice like polenta, so stick to the ratio and remember it thickens as it cools. Fine maize semolina is the Salta choice; fine wheat semolina works too. Chef's tip: add the lemon juice off the heat at the end; boiled lemon loses its fresh sharpness.

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Bizcochitos de grasaSavoury beef fat biscuits

A paper bag of bizcochitos de grasa sits next to the mate gourd in kitchens, offices and roadside service stations across Argentina, from Buenos Aires to the Andes. These little rounds, a couple of bites each, are layered with beef fat, so they flake and crumble, salty and plain enough to eat by the dozen with bitter mate in the afternoon. The fat is rendered beef fat (grasa vacuna), so they are not vegetarian; ask your butcher for dripping or render suet yourself. A dough worked too warm is the mistake that robs them of their layers; the fat melts into it instead of staying in sheets. Chef's tip: chill the dough for 10 minutes between folds whenever it starts to feel greasy, and prick each round right through so it puffs in flakes rather than domes.

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Bolas de fraileDulce de leche doughnuts

Friars' balls, to translate them literally, are a fixture of the Buenos Aires panadería counter among the facturas that porteños buy by the dozen on Sunday morning: soft, round yeast doughnuts, fried golden, rolled in sugar and split or piped with dulce de leche or crema pastelera. Children dive for them first. Inside they are light and fluffy, outside slightly crisp and sweet, and they are at their best within a few hours, with mate or coffee with milk. Oil that is too hot is the mistake: the outsides brown in seconds and the centres stay raw and doughy, so keep it at 170 °C and fry slowly. A thermometer helps a lot. Pastry cream is the other classic filling if you prefer it. Chef's tip: let the shaped balls rise on individual squares of baking paper and slide them into the oil on the paper; they keep their round shape and the paper peels off after a few seconds.

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Alfajor cordobésJam sandwich cakes with sugar glaze

Córdoba's version of the alfajor is the soft one: two tender, slightly spongy honey-scented rounds sandwiched with fruit jam, usually quince or mixed fruit, and coated in a thin sugar glaze that dries to a crackly white shell. They are sold by the dozen in the sierras towns of Villa General Belgrano, La Falda and Capilla del Monte, where tourists buy boxes on the way home from holidays. Expect a gentle crunch, a cakey bite and a tart-sweet centre, best with a cup of coffee or mate. Overworking the dough is where they usually go wrong: knead it like bread and the rounds bake tough and flat, so mix only until it comes together. Quince paste (dulce de membrillo) loosened with water works well if you can't find a soft quince jam. Chef's tip: dry the glazed alfajores for 5 minutes in a barely warm oven; the glaze sets glassy and crackles when you bite.

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Leche asadaBaked milk custard

A fixture of Lima's set-lunch menus and school canteens, leche asada is the plainer sibling of flan: milk, eggs, sugar and vanilla baked in a dish until set, with no caramel layer, so the top browns into a freckled skin that's the best part. It is lighter and a little less smooth than crème caramel, faintly scented with cinnamon and lemon zest, and served cold in squares or straight from little ramekins. Many cooks rush it in a hot oven, which makes the custard bubble and weep watery holes; bake it low and in a water bath, and only brown the top at the end. It makes a gentle end to a heavy meal and keeps for three days in the fridge. Chef's tip: strain the custard and skim off the foam before baking for a smooth, even set.

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