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Kibbeh safarjalieh

Aleppo is known as the city of a hundred kibbehs, and kibbeh safarjalieh is its autumn showpiece, made when quinces turn golden in the markets. Stuffed kibbeh are simmered with chunks of quince and a little lamb in a sauce sharpened with pomegranate molasses and lemon and scented with dried mint. The fruit softens and blushes pink, and the sauce is sweet, sour and fragrant all at once. Serve with plain rice or bread. Common mistake: cutting the quince too early; it browns fast, so drop each piece into lemon water as you go. Chef's tip: leave the quince skin on — it holds the pieces together and helps colour the sauce.

110 minSyrianMeat
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Kebab karaz

Kebab karaz is Aleppo's most celebrated dish, cooked in early summer when the small, sour cherries (wild mahaleb cherries in the old days) come into season. Little grilled or fried lamb meatballs are simmered briefly in a deep red, sweet-sour cherry sauce, then served on pieces of flatbread that soak up the juices, scattered with parsley and pine nuts. It is rich, fruity and quite unlike anything else in the Levant. Common mistake: using sweet cherries alone — the sauce turns jammy; you need sour cherries, or sweet ones sharpened with lemon and pomegranate molasses. Chef's tip: frozen pitted sour cherries work perfectly all year round.

60 minSyrianMeat
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Tabakh roho

Tabakh roho means 'it cooks itself', and this Damascus summer stew does just that: chunks of lamb, aubergine, courgette, potatoes, peppers and tomatoes are layered in a pot with garlic and dried mint and left to simmer quietly until everything is soft and the juices have mingled. Home cooks make it in July and August when the vegetables are cheapest, and it is eaten with rice or bread. Common mistake: stirring it — the layers should stay intact so each vegetable keeps its shape. Chef's tip: put the potatoes at the bottom where the heat is strongest and the tomatoes on top so their juices baste everything below.

115 minSyrianMeatGluten free
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Dawood basha

Named, so the story goes, after an Ottoman governor who loved it, dawood basha is a homely Damascus and Beirut supper of small spiced meatballs simmered with baby onions in tomato sauce, finished with pine nuts. Families serve it ladled over vermicelli rice, and it is one of the first dishes Syrian children learn to love. The sauce is lightly tangy from pomegranate molasses and fragrant with allspice and cinnamon. Common mistake: crowding the meatballs when browning — they steam instead of colouring; fry in batches. Chef's tip: grate a little onion into the meat and squeeze out the juice first; the meatballs stay tender without falling apart.

65 minSyrianMeatGluten free
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Kebab khashkhash

In Aleppo's grill houses, kebab khashkhash comes to the table sizzling: long, juicy skewers of lamb mince with pepper paste and chilli, laid over flatbread and covered with a hot, chunky sauce of tomatoes, garlic, chilli and parsley that soaks into the bread. It is bold and fiery, eaten with grilled tomatoes and green chillies and a cold glass of ayran. Common mistake: using lean mince — kebabs need around 20% fat to stay juicy on the grill. Chef's tip: chill the shaped skewers for 30 minutes before grilling so the meat clings and doesn't slip off.

45 minSyrianMeatSpicy
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Aguajina

Aguaje is the scaly, chestnut-red fruit of the moriche palm that grows in the flooded forests around Iquitos, and its orange flesh ends up in ice lollies, ice cream and, above all, aguajina, the cold drink sold in plastic cups at every corner and in Belén market. The taste is unusual and loved locally: tangy, a little like apricot and carrot, with a rich, slightly oily body. Fresh aguaje must be softened in warm water for an hour before its thin layer of pulp can be scraped off; outside Peru, frozen aguaje pulp from Latin American shops is the realistic choice and gives a good result. A common slip is adding all the sugar before tasting: the pulp's sourness varies from pack to pack, so sweeten at the end. Serve very cold with lunch or on a hot afternoon. Chef's tip: blend the pulp with only part of the water first, so it breaks down fully, then stir in the rest.

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Chapo

Breakfast stalls in Iquitos and the riverside towns of Loreto pour chapo into glasses from big steaming pots before the heat of the day sets in, and by afternoon the same drink is sold chilled. It is made from plantains left until their skins are black, simmered with cinnamon and cloves until soft, then blended smooth and loosened with milk. The result is thick, naturally sweet and gently spiced, somewhere between a smoothie and a thin custard, and children love it. Some families make it with water only; evaporated milk is the common addition in town. The mistake is using plantains that are still yellow-green: they taste starchy and the drink turns grey and gluey, so wait until the skins are mostly black and the fruit gives when pressed. Serve hot with bread or a tamal, or cold over ice. Chef's tip: strain it through a sieve after blending for a silky drink, and thin it with water if it thickens as it cools.

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Camu camu

Camu camu are small purple-red berries that grow on bushes along the flooded riverbanks of the Peruvian Amazon, and in Iquitos and Pucallpa they are sold as frozen pulp and blended into a sharp, pink refresco at juice bars and lunch places. The flavour is intensely sour, more than lime, with a faint cherry note, and the berries are famous for containing far more vitamin C than oranges. It is the drink people order with a heavy plate of tacacho or rice. Never boil camu camu or make the juice hours ahead: heat and air quickly fade its colour and much of the vitamin C, so blend it cold and drink it soon. Frozen pulp or freeze-dried powder from health-food and Latin shops are the forms you'll find abroad. Chef's tip: start with half the pulp and add more to taste; it's strong enough that a little goes a long way.

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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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Champús

When Lima's grey winter sets in, from June to September, champús sellers set up on street corners with big pots of this thick, fruity drink, ladled warm into glasses and eaten as much as drunk. It's made from mote (hulled white corn), simmered with pineapple, quince or apple, soursop, chancaca and warm spices, then thickened lightly with corn flour, so every spoonful has soft fruit and chewy corn in a spiced, molasses-sweet base. It is close in spirit to mazamorra morada but paler and tangier. The mistake people make is adding the thickener straight into the hot pot, where it forms lumps; always slake it in cold water first and pour it in while stirring. Canned or jarred hominy saves hours; frozen soursop (guanábana) pulp is in Latin shops and can be left out. Serve warm in glasses with spoons. Chef's tip: simmer the pineapple peel and core with the spices for the first 20 minutes, then strain them out; they give much of the flavour.

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Emoliente

Before dawn, all over Peru, emolienteros set up their carts with a row of steaming kettles and jars of herbs, and commuters stop for a glass of emoliente on the way to work. It's a hot infusion of toasted barley, flaxseed and herbs, with lime juice and sugar added to order, and it is drunk for comfort and digestion, especially in Lima's damp winter. The flaxseed gives it a slippery, soothing body; the barley a toasty, almost coffee-like note. Street versions use horsetail, alfalfa, boldo and other herbs; this home version keeps it simple, with horsetail as an option (leave it out if you are pregnant or have kidney problems). The usual error is boiling the flax too long, which makes the drink gloopy; add it for the last 10 minutes only. Serve very hot in glasses, with pan con queso or a sandwich. Barley contains gluten. Chef's tip: toast the barley yourself until it is deep brown; it's what gives emoliente its colour and its roasted flavour.

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Quinua con manzana

Morning market stalls and street carts from Lima to Huancayo ladle quinua con manzana into glasses alongside emoliente and maca, and many people drink it as breakfast on its own, with a bread roll or a sandwich beside it. Quinoa and chunks of apple are simmered with cinnamon and cloves until the grains burst and the liquid thickens, then sweetened and served warm or cold. Some stalls blend it smooth; others leave the grains and soft apple pieces to spoon up. It is mild, fruity and filling, and children usually like it. The mistake that ruins it is skipping the rinse: quinoa's natural coating, saponin, makes the drink bitter and soapy, so rub it under running water until the foam stops. Chef's tip: add a few drops of lime at the end; it lifts the apple and keeps the drink from tasting flat.

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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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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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Makdous

Every autumn, Damascus kitchens fill with jars of makdous as families preserve the last of the small aubergines for the winter breakfast table. The aubergines are boiled, salted and pressed for a day, then stuffed with walnuts, red pepper, garlic and chilli and packed under olive oil to cure until tangy and tender. A couple of them, split on a plate with bread, labneh and tea, is the classic Syrian morning. Common mistake: skipping the pressing — any water left in the aubergines can spoil the jar. Chef's tip: keep the jar in the fridge and always lift them out with a clean fork; homemade preserves in oil should be kept chilled and eaten within a month for safety.

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Ma'arouk

As soon as Ramadan begins, bakeries in Damascus and Aleppo stack up golden loaves of ma'arouk, a soft, slightly sweet brioche-like bread that people buy on the way home to break the fast. The dough is perfumed with mahlab (ground cherry stones), topped with nigella and sesame seeds, and is often braided or filled with date paste. Eat it warm with tea, or toasted the next morning with white cheese. Common mistake: adding too much flour while kneading; the dough should stay soft and a little tacky for a tender crumb. Chef's tip: brush with sugar syrup as soon as the loaves leave the oven — it gives the classic shine and keeps the crust soft.

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Barazek

Barazek are the cookies Damascene families bring out for Eid and to go with an afternoon glass of tea: thin, crisp and buttery, with a glassy crust of sesame seeds held on with honey on top and a scattering of chopped pistachios pressed into the bottom. They are made by the tin-load in Damascus sweet shops and keep for weeks. Common mistake: using untoasted sesame — they should be lightly toasted before going on, or the cookies taste raw. Chef's tip: dip the sesame side into the honey syrup and then the seeds, not the other way round; you get an even, shiny layer that bakes to amber.

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Erk sous

In the lanes of old Damascus and Aleppo, the erk sous seller is heard before he is seen, clacking brass cups as he walks with a great curved jug strapped to his back. His drink is liquorice root, slowly dripped through with cold water, dark, earthy, faintly bitter and naturally sweet, poured with a flourish over the shoulder during Ramadan iftars and hot afternoons. At home a sieve and a cloth do the job. The mistake people make is pouring boiling water over the root, which pulls out harsh bitterness; cold water and patience give a smooth, foamy drink. Liquorice root raises blood pressure if you drink a lot of it, so keep to a glass or two a day and skip it if you are pregnant or have high blood pressure. Chef's tip: a pinch of bicarbonate of soda in the damp root gives the drink its traditional thick, frothy head.

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Ghraybeh

Across Syria, Lebanon and Palestine, trays of ghraybeh appear for Eid and weddings next to ma'amoul; in Aleppo they are often shaped into little bracelets with a pistachio at the join. Made from just ghee, icing sugar and flour, they are so tender they crumble as soon as you bite, and they should stay ivory-white, never brown. Serve with strong coffee or mint tea. Common mistake: baking until golden — they should come out pale and still soft, and firm up as they cool. Chef's tip: whip the ghee and sugar for a full 10 minutes until white and fluffy; that is what gives the melting texture.

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Tamar hindi

During Ramadan in Damascus, street sellers in bright waistcoats pour tamar hindi from tall brass jugs on their backs, clinking cups to call buyers before iftar. The drink is a deep brown infusion of tamarind, sweetened and sharpened with lemon and a touch of rose or orange blossom, served ice cold to quench a day's thirst. It is fruity, tangy and refreshing, and made in a big batch to keep in the fridge. Common mistake: boiling the tamarind hard — gentle soaking gives a clean taste, while boiling makes it muddy. Chef's tip: strain twice, the second time through a cloth, for a clear, glossy drink.

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Qamar al-din

Damascus is famous for its apricots, and much of the summer harvest is pressed into thin orange sheets of apricot leather called qamar al-din. In Ramadan, almost every Syrian home soaks a sheet overnight and blends it into a thick, velvety drink to break the fast — it is sweet, slightly tart and full of energy after a long day. Serve it chilled, sometimes with a few soaked pine nuts on top. Common mistake: blending without soaking long enough; the leather needs time to soften or the drink is gritty. Chef's tip: add a splash of orange blossom water and a squeeze of lemon to wake up the apricot flavour.

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Shakriyeh

In Damascus, shakriyeh is festive food, cooked for Eid and for welcoming guests because its creamy white sauce is considered a sign of good luck. Lamb on the bone is simmered until tender, then finished in yoghurt that has been stabilised and cooked down into a smooth, tangy sauce with garlic and dried mint. It is spooned over vermicelli rice and eaten piping hot. Common mistake: adding yoghurt straight from the fridge into boiling stock — it splits; cook the yoghurt separately first and stir in one direction. Chef's tip: keep half a cup of the meat broth to thin the sauce at the end — it should flow like single cream.

135 minSyrianMeatGluten free
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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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