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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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MohnschneckePoppy seed rolls

Every German bakery counter has a tray of Mohnschnecken next to the cinnamon and nut snails, and they are bought by the bag for Saturday breakfast and afternoon coffee. A soft, buttery yeast dough is spread with a thick filling of ground poppy seeds cooked in milk with sugar and lemon, rolled up, sliced and baked, then brushed with a thin lemon glaze. The usual mistake is using whole poppy seeds straight from the jar: they must be ground (or bought ground, as "Mohn gemahlen") or the filling stays gritty and bland. Chef's tip: cool the poppy filling completely before spreading it, because a warm filling melts the butter in the dough and the spirals unroll in the oven.

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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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KispiñoSteamed quinoa cakes

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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Smen (salted, herbed butter)

Atlas households once kept jars of smen for months, even years, until the salted butter developed a pungent, almost blue-cheese aroma; a spoonful stirred into couscous, harira or a chicken tagine gives a depth nothing else can. Long ageing at room temperature is risky at home, so this is a safer fridge version: pasteurised unsalted butter is simmered with dried za'atar or oregano, strained, salted and then matured in the fridge for 2–4 weeks, which gives a mellow, nutty, faintly tangy smen rather than the fiercely strong old kind. For the real long-aged flavour, buy smen from a reputable shop. Use it a teaspoon at a time; it is meant as a seasoning, not a cooking fat. The mistake to avoid is leaving any milk solids or water in the butter, as that is what turns it rancid or mouldy rather than pleasantly aged. Chef's tip: strain it through muslin until perfectly clear; any milky bits left in the jar are what turn butter rancid.

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Ras el hanout

Ras el hanout means 'head of the shop', and every spice seller in the Marrakech souk will tell you theirs is the best: a warm, complex mix of a dozen or more spices that they grind to their own formula. This home version balances earthy cumin and coriander with sweet cinnamon, ginger and turmeric, the perfume of cardamom and dried rosebuds, and the heat of black pepper. Rub it on vegetables before roasting, stir a teaspoon into tagines, lentils or couscous broth, or season chickpeas and roast pumpkin with it. Toasting the whole spices first takes 5 minutes and makes a real difference. Chef's tip: make small batches and store the blend in a sealed jar away from light; it is at its best for about 3 months.

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Preserved lemons (l'hamd marked)

No Moroccan pantry is complete without a jar of l'hamd marked, lemons packed in salt and their own juice and left for about a month until the rind softens and takes on a mellow, floral, almost sweet flavour. The rind is what you use: finely chopped into salads, slivered over chicken with olives, added to fish tagines, chermoula and bean dishes. Fez cooks traditionally use small, thin-skinned doqq or beldi lemons, but any unwaxed lemon works. Hands-on work is only 20 minutes; the jar then needs 3–4 weeks in a cool, dark cupboard before it is ready. Chef's tip: press the lemons down hard every day for the first week; as they release juice they shrink, and you can squeeze one more lemon into the jar.

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Jben (fresh Moroccan cheese)

On the road into Chefchaouen, women from the Rif villages sit with rounds of jben wrapped in palm leaves, a fresh, soft, lightly salted cheese with a clean, milky tang. Breakfast in the north often means a slab of it drizzled with olive oil, sprinkled with dried thyme or za'atar, with olives, honey and warm bread. Traditionally jben is curdled with animal rennet (sometimes with thistle or fig sap), so check if you buy it; this home version uses vegetarian (microbial) rennet and pasteurised milk, and is drained in the fridge. Hands-on time is about an hour; the curd then needs 1–2 hours to set and 4–6 hours to drain. Keep it chilled and eat it within 4 days. Chef's tip: avoid UHT and ultra-pasteurised milk, which will not set into a firm curd; ordinary pasteurised whole milk works well.

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Fekkas (twice-baked almond biscuits)

Before Eid and during Ramadan, Moroccan kitchens fill with the scent of fekkas: logs of a soft, eggy dough studded with almonds, raisins, aniseed and sesame are baked, cooled, sliced thin and baked again until dry, golden and very crunchy. They are offered to guests on trays with ghriba and other biscuits and dunked into mint tea or milky coffee, and they keep for weeks in a tin, so they are perfect to make ahead. The flavour is gently sweet, with liquorice notes from the anise and a little lemon. Avoid slicing the logs while they are still hot from the first bake; they crumble. Let them firm up first. Chef's tip: let the baked logs cool completely, ideally overnight, before slicing; warm logs crumble under the knife.

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Sfenj (Moroccan doughnut rings)

Early in the morning, in medina lanes from Fez to Casablanca, the sfenji pulls handfuls of sticky dough from a bowl, pokes a hole through each with his thumb and drops the rings into a big pan of oil, where they puff into crisp, golden, irregular doughnuts with a chewy, airy inside. Customers carry them away threaded on a strip of palm leaf, to eat hot with mint tea or coffee, plain, dusted with sugar or dipped in honey. The dough is just flour, yeast, salt and water, and deliberately very wet; that is what gives the open, holey crumb. Allow about 1 1/2 hours for it to rise. Where sfenj go wrong is a dough that is too stiff; it should be sticky and slack, or the rings come out bready instead of open and chewy. Chef's tip: keep a bowl of water beside you and wet your hands before every piece, so the sticky dough slides off your fingers instead of clinging to them.

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Krachel (aniseed and sesame brioche buns)

Moroccan bakeries pile their windows with krachel, round, glossy buns of enriched dough perfumed with aniseed, toasted sesame and orange-flower water, and families bake them at home for breakfast, for guests and for feast days. They are soft and pillowy, lightly sweet, with a distinctive liquorice-like scent from the anise and a nutty crunch of sesame on top. Eat them warm with butter and jam, dipped into milky coffee, or with mint tea in the afternoon. The dough needs two rises, about 1 1/2 hours in all. Don't rush the rise: under-proved krachel bake dense and tight instead of soft and fluffy. Chef's tip: lightly toast the aniseed and sesame in a dry pan before adding them to the dough; it doubles their fragrance.

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Meskouta (Moroccan orange cake)

Every Moroccan home cook seems to have a meskouta recipe, the light, fluffy sponge that is baked in a ring tin and set out for afternoon tea, unexpected guests or a children's snack. This one is flavoured with fresh orange juice and zest; many families make a yogurt version instead, using the yogurt pot to measure everything, and that variation is in the steps. The crumb is airy and moist, not too sweet, and it pairs perfectly with mint tea or a glass of milk. No mixer is strictly needed, but it helps. Chef's tip: beat the eggs and sugar for a full 5 minutes until pale and tripled in volume; under-whipped eggs, the usual mistake, make a dense, flat meskouta.

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Rhabarberkuchen mit BaiserRhubarb meringue cake

From late April until the traditional end of the season on St John's Day in June, German bakeries and garden tables everywhere have rhubarb cake, and the most loved version is crowned with meringue. A buttery sponge is covered with sour pink rhubarb, baked, then piled with a cloud of sweet meringue and returned to the oven until golden and crisp outside, marshmallow-soft within. The sweet topping balances the sharp fruit perfectly. A common mistake is not draining the rhubarb, so its juice pools under the sponge and the base stays wet. Chef's tip: toss the cut rhubarb with a little sugar an hour ahead, then drain it well; it softens slightly and stops weeping into the cake.

120 minGermanBaking
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RosinenstutenRaisin milk loaf

Rosinenstuten is the soft, slightly sweet raisin loaf that Westphalian and Rhineland families buy for Sunday breakfast and for christenings, where a giant one was once the traditional gift. It is baked in a long tin, sliced thick and spread with good butter, sometimes with a layer of cheese on top, which sounds odd and works beautifully. The crumb is fine and fluffy and the crust soft and shiny. A common mistake is adding dry raisins straight to the dough; they burn on the crust and steal moisture. Chef's tip: soak the raisins in hot water for 15 minutes, pat them dry and knead them in only at the very end, gently, so the dough stays light.

190 minGermanBaking
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Silesian StreuselkuchenCrumble-topped yeast cake

Streuselkuchen came west with families from Silesia, where a tray of it was baked for every wedding and church fair, and it is now sold in every German bakery. The point is the crumble: big, buttery, vanilla-scented lumps sitting almost as thick as the soft yeast base underneath. It is served plain with coffee in the afternoon, often a day old, when the streusel has gone crisp and the base slightly chewy. A common mistake is rubbing the streusel to fine sand; it should be squeezed into clumps the size of hazelnuts. Chef's tip: use cold, cubed butter and chill the finished streusel for 20 minutes before scattering it, so the lumps keep their shape in the oven.

120 minGermanBaking
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Versunkener ApfelkuchenSunken apple sponge

Versunkener Apfelkuchen, the sunken apple cake, is the quickest cake in the German home repertoire, made on autumn weekends when the first Boskoop and Elstar apples come in from the orchards of the Altes Land near Hamburg and Lake Constance. Peeled apple halves are scored like a fan and pressed into a rich lemon sponge, which rises up around them as it bakes until they seem to sink in. Children love it still warm with whipped cream. A common mistake is cutting the scores too deep, so the apples fall apart; cut about two-thirds of the way through. Chef's tip: brush the apples with apricot jam the moment the cake comes out of the oven; it gives a shiny bakery glaze and keeps them from drying.

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ZwetschgendatschiPlum yeast sheet cake

When the late-summer Zwetschgen (small, oval damson-type plums) arrive at the markets of Augsburg and Munich, every Bavarian and Swabian kitchen bakes a Datschi on the biggest tray it owns. A thin, soft yeast dough is covered edge to edge with plum halves stood upright in tight, overlapping rows, so the juices run and caramelise as it bakes. It is eaten in the afternoon, cut in squares, with a big spoon of whipped cream. A common mistake is using large round plums, which flood the dough with juice and leave it soggy; the firm, oval Zwetschgen hold their shape. Chef's tip: scatter a thin layer of fine breadcrumbs or ground almonds over the dough before the plums go on to catch the juice.

115 minGermanBaking
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ZwiebelkuchenOnion tart

When the grape harvest starts in Baden and the Württemberg vineyards in September, bakeries pull out trays of Zwiebelkuchen: a thin yeast base piled with slowly softened onions under a sour-cream and egg custard, sprinkled with caraway. It is traditionally eaten warm with Neuer Wein or Federweißer, the young, still-fermenting wine; that is alcoholic, so pour cloudy fresh grape juice or apple juice instead, which tastes just as right. Many bakers add bacon; this version is vegetarian. A common mistake is rushing the onions on a high heat: they need 25 minutes on low until soft and sweet but still pale. Chef's tip: cool the onions before adding the custard, or the eggs start setting in the bowl.

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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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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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BaumkuchenLayered tree cake

Baumkuchen is the king of German cakes, and the little town of Salzwedel in Saxony-Anhalt has baked it on a turning spit over an open flame for two centuries; in December, Baumkuchenspitzen, chocolate-dipped triangles of it, fill the shelves before Christmas. Without a spit you can build it at home in a tin under the grill, one thin layer at a time, and each slice shows the golden rings of a tree. The mistake people make is spreading the batter too thickly, which gives fewer, stodgy layers that cook unevenly; aim for 2 tablespoons at a time. Chef's tip: stand by the oven; each layer turns from pale to burnt within a minute once it browns.

110 minGermanBaking
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ButterkuchenButter and almond yeast cake

Butterkuchen is the cake of northern German celebrations: in Lower Saxony, Bremen and Holstein it is baked on huge trays for funerals, weddings and christenings, which is why it is also called Freudenkuchen, joy cake. A thin, soft yeast base is dimpled all over with your fingertips, the holes filled with butter, then the whole thing showered with sugar and flaked almonds. In the oven the butter and sugar melt into little caramel pools. A common mistake is making the dimples too shallow, so the butter just runs off; press right down to the tray. Chef's tip: as soon as the cake comes out, spoon a few tablespoons of cream over it; it soaks in and keeps the base tender for two days.

110 minGermanBaking
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DonauwelleMarbled cherry sheet cake

Donauwelle, the 'Danube wave', is a German home-baker's favourite from the 1970s onwards, made on a tray for school fairs, birthdays and the Sunday coffee table. Cut a slice and you see the river: vanilla and chocolate sponge swirled into waves by sour cherries pushed into the batter, then a thick layer of vanilla buttercream and a dark chocolate top combed into ripples. A common mistake is pouring on the chocolate while the buttercream is soft, which melts the layers together; chill the cake well first. Chef's tip: warm a serrated knife in hot water and wipe it between every cut so the chocolate cracks cleanly instead of shattering.

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EierscheckeThree-layer quark custard cake

Eierschecke is Dresden's café cake, cut in squares from a big tray in every Saxon bakery: a thin yeasted base, a thick layer of vanilla quark, and on top the 'Schecke', a wobbly, golden egg-and-butter custard that bakes into a soft, almost soufflé-like crust. It is eaten on Sunday afternoons with strong filter coffee, and Saxons argue about whether raisins belong in the quark. A common mistake is pouring the custard on too thickly or baking too hot, so it puffs and cracks; bake it low and slow. Chef's tip: the cake cuts neatly only when completely cold, so make it the day before.

105 minGermanBaking
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