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Chilcano de pisco

When Lima's grey winter finally lifts and summer reaches the beaches south of the city, the chilcano takes over from the pisco sour: lighter, longer and made for an afternoon. Peru even gives it a Semana del Chilcano each January, and it is poured at weekend lunches with chifa or fried fish. This is a highball for adults only: pisco poured over a tall glass of ice with fresh lime and ginger ale, finished with a few drops of bitters. It should taste crisp and fizzy, with the ginger and lime lifting the floral grape notes of the pisco rather than hiding them. The common mistake is using too little ice and warm ginger ale, which gives a sweet, diluted drink that goes flat in minutes. Fill the glass to the top with ice and keep the ginger ale in the fridge until the last second. It is ready when the glass is frosty, the bubbles race up the sides and the bitters drift through the top as a pink haze. Light it may be, but drink responsibly. Chef's tip: try a fruit-infused pisco, made by steeping passion fruit or mandarin peel in the bottle for a few days; Limeños love a chilcano de maracuyá.

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Mate de muña

Muña is the minty shrub that grows wild on the slopes around Cusco, Puno and the Sacred Valley, and highland cooks reach for it after a heavy meal of chicharrón or when visitors are struggling with the altitude. Market herb sellers sell it in fresh bunches, and hotels and homes leave it in a flask for anyone coming in from the cold evenings. Steeped simply in hot water, it smells somewhere between spearmint, oregano and pennyroyal, with a cooling, slightly peppery taste and a pale green-gold colour. It is traditionally drunk to settle the stomach. The usual mistake is boiling the leaves hard for a long time, which turns the tea brown and bitter. Pour water just off the boil over the sprigs, cover, and let it steep. It is ready when the cup is pale gold and the aroma rises as soon as you lift the lid. Outside Peru, look for dried muña in Latin shops; failing that, use mostly spearmint with a little fresh oregano. Muña is strong: avoid large amounts in pregnancy, and check with a doctor if you take regular medication. Chef's tip: cover the cup while it steeps so the scented oils stay in the tea.

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Postre Massini

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 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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Jugo surtido

Step up to any juguería in Lima's Mercado de Surquillo or a barrio market at breakfast time and order a surtido: the juicer drops papaya, banana, pineapple and freshly squeezed orange into a tall blender, sometimes a slice of cooked beetroot for colour or a splash of milk, and pours you a big glass with the rest left in the jug for your 'yapa', the free refill. It is thick but still pourable, sweet from ripe fruit with a sharp orange edge, the kind of drink that stands in for breakfast before a long day. The common mistake is adding lots of ice and water, which makes it thin and frothy rather than velvety. Use cold fruit and freshly squeezed orange juice as the liquid. It is ready when it coats the glass and no lumps of banana are left. This version is fruit only; stalls also make it with milk if you prefer. Drink it straight away: papaya and banana go brown and bitter within half an hour. Chef's tip: use very ripe papaya with orange flesh; under-ripe papaya tastes of nothing and gives a faintly bitter aftertaste.

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Jugo de maca

Before dawn at markets in Huancayo, Cusco and Lima, juice ladies ladle hot jugo de maca from big pots for workers on their way in: maca root, a turnip relative grown above 4,000 metres in the Junín highlands, simmered with milk, cinnamon and cloves and sweetened with honey or sugar. It tastes malty and toasty, a bit like butterscotch. The common mistake is stirring the powder straight into hot milk, which leaves gritty lumps; whisk it into a little cold milk first. Maca is not usually advised in pregnancy, so ask your doctor first if you are pregnant. Chef's tip: use gelatinised (cooked) maca powder if you can find it; it dissolves smoothly and is gentler on the stomach.

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Buseca

Buseca arrived in Montevideo with Italian immigrants from Lombardy and became a classic winter dish of Uruguayan bodegones and family kitchens, eaten on cold June and July days. Honeycomb tripe is simmered until tender, then stewed with white beans, pork chorizo, bacon, peppers, tomato and paprika into a thick, warming stew served with crusty bread. Buy tripe that is already cleaned and blanched (dressed). The usual mistake is undercooking the tripe: it needs a full 2 hours, until it's soft enough to cut with a spoon. Slow-cooker option: after step 4, cook on low for 8 hours. Chef's tip: a little grated lemon zest and parsley stirred in at the end lifts the rich, gelatinous sauce.

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Cocido quemado

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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Morcilla dulce

No Uruguayan parrilla is complete without morcilla dulce: a soft pork blood sausage sweetened with sugar and scented with orange peel, studded with walnuts and raisins, grilled until the skin crisps and served first, as part of the achuras, while the beef is still cooking. It is pork throughout: pork blood, pork back fat and natural pork casings. Making it at home is a project. Buy fresh pork blood with an anticoagulant added from a butcher who supplies it for sausage making, keep it chilled below 4 °C and use it within a day. The common mistake is poaching at a rolling boil, which bursts the casings. Chef's tip: keep the water at 80–85 °C, just shivering, and prick a sausage after 25 minutes: it is done when brown, not red, juice comes out.

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Tereré

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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Pisco sour

Lima drinks its pisco sour as the aperitif before a long ceviche lunch, and celebrates it every year on the first Saturday of February; the recipe took shape in the city's bars in the 1920s. It is for adults only and stronger than its pillowy look suggests. Underneath a thick white foam you get sharp Peruvian lime, a clean sweetness and the floral, grapey warmth of quebranta pisco, with the bitters adding a spicy smell to every sip. The texture should be silky, almost creamy, never thin. The classic mistake is squeezing the limes too hard or too early: the oil from the pith turns the drink bitter within half an hour. Halve the limes, press each half gently by hand just before mixing and stop when the juice slows. The egg white is raw, so use pasteurised egg white for anyone pregnant, for babies, older people or anyone unwell, or swap in 30 ml aquafaba. It is ready when the foam stands about 1 cm high and is firm enough to hold the drops of bitters on its surface. Sip one slowly and drink responsibly. Chef's tip: shake once without ice first to whip the egg white, then again with ice; the foam will be twice as thick.

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Refresco de cocona

In Iquitos, Pucallpa and the river towns of Loreto, heat and humidity make a cold refresco part of every lunch, and cocona is one of the favourites sold from plastic jugs at the Belén market. The fruit looks like a fuzzy orange tomato and tastes between tomato, lemon and apricot: very sour, aromatic and juicy. Blended with water and sugar it makes a tangy, golden drink with a light pulp, served with juane or tacacho con cecina. The usual mistake is skipping the fuzz: cocona skin is covered in fine hairs that make the drink scratchy, so rub them off under running water before you start. Blend only briefly, too, so the many seeds do not crack. It is ready when the refresco is opaque orange, sour first and sweet after, with no grit. Outside the Amazon, look for frozen cocona pulp in Latin American shops; naranjilla (lulo) pulp is the closest substitute. Chef's tip: a pinch of salt makes the fruit taste sweeter and fruitier without more sugar.

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Gushtaba

No Kashmiri wedding feast ends without gushtaba. After hours of wazwan courses, the waza (master cook) brings out these large, pale balls of mutton pounded with fat until silky, swimming in a creamy yogurt gravy scented with fennel, dry ginger and cardamom, and its arrival tells guests the meal is over. Families of Kashmiri descent in Muzaffarabad, Mirpur and Rawalpindi still serve it at weddings and on special Fridays, with plain steamed rice. Good gushtaba is so smooth that it barely holds together on the spoon. Using lean meat is what lets people down: without about a quarter fat the balls turn grainy and hard. Chef's tip: traditionally the meat is pounded on a stone for an hour; at home, process it in short bursts with chilled fat and ice-cold water, stopping to scrape down, until it looks like a sticky, shiny paste.

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Dal gosht

Stretching a kilo of mutton to feed a big family is an old Pakistani household skill, and dal gosht is its most loved result: chana dal cooked with the meat until the lentils melt into a thick, golden, peppery gravy that is half curry, half stew. It turns up for Friday lunch in Punjab and for everyday dinners in Karachi Urdu-speaking homes, eaten with hot chapati, rice and a sharp salad of onion and tomato. Done right, some dal stays whole while the rest thickens the gravy. A common slip is adding raw dal to the pot at the same time as the meat; dal cooks faster, so it collapses into paste before the mutton is tender. Chef's tip: finish with a tarka of ghee, cumin and fried garlic for a Sunday version, or leave it plain with oil for an everyday pot that stays dairy free.

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Falsa sherbet

For a few short weeks in May and June, Punjabi fruit sellers from Multan to Lahore pile their carts with falsa, tiny purple-black berries with a big seed and a sweet-sour, grape-like flavour, and roadside stalls crush them in big jugs of iced water with sugar and a pinch of black salt. The sherbet is a striking magenta, tart and salty-sweet, and people swear by it as a cooler against the loo, the scorching summer wind; it is also a favourite at iftar when Ramadan falls in summer. Outside Pakistan look for frozen falsa in South Asian grocers, or use blackcurrants, which give a similar colour and sharpness. A common slip is blending the berries hard, which cracks the seeds and turns the drink bitter. Chef's tip: just rub the berries with the sugar and a little water by hand or pulse very briefly, then strain, so you get all the juice and colour and none of the bitterness.

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Bhindi gosht

Summer in Punjab means okra in every bazaar, and the moment small, tender pods appear, households start making bhindi gosht for lunch: a dry-ish mutton curry with whole fried okra folded through at the end, tasting of tomato, green chilli and a little dried mango. It is eaten with chapati and a bowl of plain yogurt or raita on the side, and leftovers are even better packed in a tiffin the next day. The okra should be tender and bright, not slimy. That stringy texture comes from washing the okra and cutting it while wet, so wash and dry it completely before you trim it. Chef's tip: fry the okra separately until its edges blister, then add it to the meat only in the last ten minutes; it keeps its shape and the gravy stays clean.

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Palak gosht

When the winter spinach comes in around Gujranwala and Sheikhupura, bunches of it are piled on carts by the armful, and palak gosht is what many Punjabi kitchens make with them. The spinach is cooked into the mutton until it collapses into a dark green, garlicky gravy, loose but not soupy, with flecks of ginger and the warmth of green chilli rather than a lot of red spice. It is eaten with makki ki roti or plain chapati and a glass of lassi. Puréeing the spinach to a smooth paste is a frequent misstep; Punjabi cooks chop it and let it melt so you can still see the leaves. Chef's tip: add a knob of butter or ghee and a pinch of dried fenugreek leaves at the end, which rounds off the iron edge of the spinach.

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Aloo gosht

If one curry stands for a weekday dinner in a Pakistani house, from Rawalpindi flats to Karachi's Nazimabad, it is aloo gosht: mutton on the bone and halved potatoes in a loose, peppery shorba meant to be soaked up with chapati or poured over plain rice. Nothing about it is fancy; its comfort comes from a long bhuna of onion, tomato and spice before any water goes in, so the thin gravy still tastes deep. The potatoes go in once the meat is half done and come out soft at the edges, having drunk the gravy. Adding them at the start leaves them falling apart while the meat is still chewy, so wait. Chef's tip: when the masala is fully fried, add the water boiling hot, not cold, so the meat keeps cooking and the shorba stays clear rather than greasy.

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Marchwangan korma

The name says it all: marchwangan means chilli, and this is the wazwan's hottest course, mutton cooked in a deep crimson gravy of Kashmiri chillies, mustard oil, fennel, dry ginger and a breath of cinnamon, with a spoonful of tamarind for sharpness. Kashmiri chillies bring colour more than ferocity, so you need a lot of them, and a few hotter dried chillies give the real kick. It is served at weddings and family feasts in Azad Kashmir and by Kashmiri households in Lahore and Rawalpindi with plain rice, alongside milder dishes like gushtaba to cool the palate. Scorching the chilli paste is how it goes wrong; it turns bitter and brown, so fry it on a moderate heat with a splash of water. Chef's tip: soak the whole dried chillies in hot water and blend them rather than using only powder, for a smoother, glossier gravy.

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Sardai

Old Lahoris remember the sardai-wala in the lanes of the Walled City, sitting cross-legged with a huge stone mortar and a wooden pestle, grinding soaked almonds, melon seeds, fennel, poppy seeds and black pepper into a pale paste and whisking it into chilled sweet milk. It is creamy, nutty and floral, with the gentle aniseed cool of fennel and a little warmth from pepper, and it was drunk through the hot months as protection against heat. Today it is easier to make with a blender, but the principle is the same: soak, grind fine, strain, chill. Many people forget to soak the seeds long enough, and the drink ends up gritty with a chalky aftertaste. Chef's tip: soak everything for at least 2 hours, or overnight, and strain through a muslin cloth, squeezing hard, so the sardai is silky and full of flavour.

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Rista

Rista is gushtaba's scarlet twin on the wazwan spread, smaller, softer meatballs of pounded mutton cooked in a thin, glowing red gravy instead of yogurt. The colour comes from Kashmiri chillies and mawal, dried cockscomb flower steeped in hot water, and the flavour from fennel, dry ginger and black cardamom fried in mustard oil; it is aromatic rather than brutally hot. Kashmiri families in Azad Kashmir and in Pakistani cities serve it at weddings and big lunches with mounds of steamed rice, and it is often the dish guests remember. Under-pounding is the classic mistake, because coarse meat gives chewy, grainy balls. Chef's tip: if you cannot find mawal, the gravy is still right without it; for extra colour, add one extra teaspoon of Kashmiri chilli rather than food colouring.

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Tumuro tea

Tumuro is the small-leaved wild thyme that grows on the rocky slopes above Hunza and Gilgit, and in late summer families pick and dry bundles of it to brew through the year. The tea is pale gold and intensely aromatic, more resinous and floral than garden thyme, and it is drunk after heavy meals, by anyone with a cold and simply as a warming cup on a mountain evening; cafés in Karimabad serve it to visitors. Boiling it hard for a long time is the misstep that turns it bitter and medicinal. Chef's tip: if you cannot find tumuro, which is sometimes sold in Pakistani grocers and online as Hunza thyme, use dried garden thyme with a few fresh sprigs, steep it gently, and sweeten with a little sugar only if you like.

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Kachi lassi

Harvest time in the Punjab is thirsty work: when the wheat is being cut in the April heat, a steel jug of kachi lassi is carried out to the workers: fresh milk thinned with cold water, stirred with sugar and poured over chunks of ice. Unlike yogurt lassi there is no tang, just a light, clean, milky sweetness that quenches thirst better than plain water, and in many villages it is the drink offered to any guest who arrives on a hot afternoon. Some people add a pinch of salt instead of sugar, or a few drops of rose water. The traditional kind uses raw milk straight from the buffalo; use pasteurised milk instead to be safe. The usual mistake is making it with too little water, which turns it heavy instead of refreshing. Chef's tip: whisk it hard or shake it in a jar so it turns frothy, which makes it feel even cooler.

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Kunna gosht

Chiniot, the furniture town on the Chenab, claims this dish as its own: mutton and marrow bones packed into a narrow-necked clay pot called a kunna, sealed with dough and left to cook slowly in the embers of a bakery oven. The result is a deep red, almost syrupy gravy that clings to every piece, with a layer of spiced ghee floating on top, and it is eaten on Sundays and at family gatherings with hot naan straight from the tandoor. At home a heavy casserole sealed with foil under the lid does the same job. People often lift the lid to check, and every peek lets out the steam that makes the gravy glossy; trust the clock and the low heat. Chef's tip: ask for a few pieces of shank and marrow bone in the mix, because the gelatine from them gives kunna its sticky shine.

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