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Mate de muñaAndean mint tea

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.

8 min

Peruvian Drinks

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Chilcano de piscoPisco and ginger ale highball

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.

10 min

Peruvian Drinks

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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.

40 min

Peruvian Basics

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Refresco de coconaCocona cooler

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.

10 min

Peruvian Drinks

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Jugo de macaWarm maca drink

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.

10 min

Peruvian Drinks

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Jugo surtidoMixed fruit juice

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.

10 min

Peruvian Drinks

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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.

5 min

Peruvian Drinks

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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.

10 min

Paraguayan Drinks

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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.

80 min

Paraguayan Baking

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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.

14 min

Paraguayan Drinks

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Rigó JancsiChocolate mousse cake

This tall cube of chocolate sponge, thick chocolate cream and a glossy dark top carries the name of a Hungarian Roma violinist whose scandalous romance with a Belgian princess made headlines around 1900; Budapest confectioners named a cake after him and it has stayed in every cukrászda since. The cream is the star: a ganache whipped with cream until it is like a dense, cool mousse, with no setting agent needed. A thin layer of apricot jam on the base adds a sharp note. Some bakers add a splash of rum to the cream; this version is alcohol-free. A common mistake is whipping the chocolate cream before it is fully cold, so it never thickens; chill it for at least 2 hours, better overnight. Chef's tip: cut the glazed top layer into squares before you set it on the cream, and the finished cake slices cleanly.

180 min

Hungarian Baking

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ZserbóWalnut and apricot layered pastry

At Christmas and at every family name day, a Hungarian grandmother cuts zserbó into neat diamonds: three layers of walnut and apricot jam between four thin sheets of rich yeast pastry, crowned with dark chocolate. It was created at the Gerbeaud café on Vörösmarty tér in Budapest, and the name is simply the café's French name spelled the Hungarian way. The pastry bakes short and tender, the jam stays sharp and fruity, and the chocolate adds a firm, glossy snap. A common mistake is rolling the sheets unevenly, so the slices come out lopsided; weigh the dough into four equal parts and roll each to the size of the tin on baking paper. It tastes even better the next day, once the jam has soaked in. Chef's tip: use a tart apricot jam and stir a squeeze of lemon into it if it seems very sweet.

120 min

Hungarian Baking

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FlódniFour-layer poppy seed and fruit pastry

Four stripes of filling, black poppy seed, golden apple, nutty walnut and dark plum jam, stacked between thin sheets of shortcrust: that is flódni, the Hungarian-Jewish pastry of Budapest's old Jewish quarter around Kazinczy and Dob streets. Jewish families bake it for Purim and Hanukkah, and the bakeries of the seventh district sell it by the slab all year. Each cut slice should be moist, dense and not too sweet, best with a glass of tea or black coffee. Many families make the dough with a little sweet white wine and use margarine so it can follow a meat meal; this version keeps it alcohol-free with grape juice, and you can swap the butter for a firm baking margarine to make it dairy-free. The usual slip is rolling the sheets too thick, so the pastry swamps the fillings; each one should be barely 3 mm. Chef's tip: bake it a day ahead and slice it cold with a hot, wet knife, because the layers settle overnight and cut cleanly.

150 min

Hungarian Baking

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Kakaós csigaCocoa yeast snails

Walk into any Hungarian bakery at seven in the morning and the window will hold trays of kakaós csiga, cocoa snails, glossy on top and dark-striped inside. Children eat them on the way to school with a carton of chocolate milk, and office workers grab one with a coffee. The dough is soft and milky, rolled up with butter, cocoa and sugar so the swirl turns fudgy and slightly sticky; a brush of syrup after baking keeps them shiny and moist for a day. Where most people go wrong is spreading the filling on too-warm dough, which tears; let the risen dough rest for a few minutes after rolling. Chef's tip: roll the dough up from the long side quite tightly and cut with dental floss or a very sharp knife, so the snails keep their round shape.

120 min

Hungarian Baking

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Lekváros buktaPlum jam yeast buns

Grandmothers across Hungary bake a tray of bukta on a Sunday afternoon, and school bakeries sell them for the walk home: soft, milky yeast buns, each folded around a spoon of thick plum butter and baked so close together that they rise into one another. Pulled apart, the sides stay tender and pale while the tops shine golden, and the dark, tart plum filling balances the sweet dough. Serve them warm with a glass of cold milk or cocoa. The usual slip is using runny jam, which bubbles out and burns on the tray; it must be a thick lekvár that holds its shape on a spoon. Chef's tip: brush each bun with melted butter before it goes into the tin, so the buns rise together but still pull apart neatly.

120 min

Hungarian Baking

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Rákóczi túrósCheesecake with meringue lattice

Look along the counter of any Budapest cukrászda and you will see Rákóczi túrós: a slab of shortcrust under a creamy, lemony túró filling, crossed with a lattice of golden meringue and dotted with apricot jam in the gaps. It was invented by the pastry chef János Rákóczi in the 1930s and won a prize at the Paris World Fair, and it has been a Hungarian favourite ever since. The textures make it: crisp pastry, soft cheese, and meringue that is crunchy on top and marshmallowy underneath. Túró is usually set without rennet, but check the label. The usual slip is piping the meringue onto a filling that is still wobbly, so the lattice sinks; bake the filling until just set first. Chef's tip: press the túró through a sieve for a silky filling with no grainy bits.

90 min

Hungarian Baking

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Túrós táskaSweet cheese puff pastry pockets

Every Hungarian bakery chain and village shop has a túrós táska in the case, a flaky square folded corner to corner over a fat cushion of sweet curd cheese. The filling is fresh túró beaten with egg yolk, vanilla, lemon zest and raisins, and it bakes soft and slightly tangy inside crisp, buttery puff pastry. It is a mid-morning snack with coffee, or breakfast on the go. Túró is usually made without animal rennet, but check the label if that matters to you. The usual slip is a runny filling that leaks onto the tray, so press the túró through a sieve and add a spoon of semolina to bind it. Chef's tip: chill the filled pockets for 10 minutes before baking; the cold pastry puffs higher and the corners stay folded.

60 min

Hungarian Baking

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Pozsonyi kifliWalnut or poppy seed crescents

These little crescents take their name from Pozsony, the Hungarian name for Bratislava, where bakers made them famous in the nineteenth century, and today they fill Christmas cookie tins across Hungary alongside bejgli. A short, buttery yeast dough is wrapped around a walnut or poppy seed filling, then glazed first with yolk and then with white, which gives the shiny, crackled, marbled top that marks a good batch. They are rich but not too sweet: eat them with coffee or tea through the holidays. Where most people go wrong is letting the dough rise in a warm spot; this is a cold dough, and if it gets warm the butter melts and the kifli split open. Chef's tip: let the yolk glaze dry fully before the white goes on, or you will not get the crackle.

120 min

Hungarian Baking

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PrószaCornmeal cake with sour cream

Before wheat was common in the Őrség and Göcsej, the wooded border country of western Hungary, cornmeal was the everyday flour, and prósza was what came out of the bread oven on baking day. It is a moist, golden cornbread cake, made rich and tender with sour cream, sweet but not sugary, with a crumbly crust. Families in the region eat it warm for breakfast or afternoon coffee, either plain, spread with plum jam, or baked with a layer of sweet túró and sour cream on top, as here. Túró is normally made without rennet, but check the label. The usual slip is using coarse polenta, which stays gritty; choose fine cornmeal, and let the batter rest so it softens. Chef's tip: scald the cornmeal with the hot milk first; it swells and gives a much softer crumb.

60 min

Hungarian Baking

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Lemon verbena tea (louiza)

After a big dinner or before bed, many Moroccan households swap green mint tea for a pot of louiza, lemon verbena, whose long, narrow leaves give a pale golden infusion that smells of lemon sherbet and has no caffeine. The fresh herb is sold in bunches alongside mint and absinthe at market herb stalls, and dried leaves keep all year. Drink it plain, lightly sweetened, or brewed with a few mint sprigs. It is soothing, clean-tasting and fragrant. Chef's tip: pour boiling water over the leaves and let them steep off the heat for 5 minutes; boiling the leaves in the pot, a common mistake, turns the tea grassy and bitter.

10 min

Moroccan Drinks

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Moroccan spiced coffee

In many Moroccan homes, coffee is bought ready-mixed from the roaster with a spoonful of 'attria', a warm blend of ground spices such as cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, cardamom, black pepper and toasted sesame, that gives it a rounded, gently peppery aroma. It is brewed in a pan or a pot and sipped black and sweet, or with a splash of milk, after lunch, with pastries for guests, or on cold mornings. The spices soften the bitterness and make the whole kitchen smell wonderful. This home version mixes the spices into ordinary ground coffee. Chef's tip: keep the coffee at a bare simmer and never let it boil hard; vigorous boiling, the usual mistake, extracts bitterness from both coffee and spices.

10 min

Moroccan Drinks

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Nous-nous (half-half coffee)

Sit down at a café terrace in Casablanca, Rabat or Marrakech and order a 'nous-nous' (from 'nus', half) and you will get a small glass of half espresso, half steamed milk, often layered so the coffee floats in a dark band over the pale milk with a cap of foam. It is the default morning and afternoon coffee for many Moroccans, sipped slowly while watching the street, usually with a sugar lump or two on the saucer. It is smaller and stronger than a latte and milkier than a macchiato. A moka pot works fine at home if you have no espresso machine. Chef's tip: heat the milk only to 60–65 °C, hot to the touch but not scalding; boiled milk loses its sweetness and the foam collapses, a common mistake.

5 min

Moroccan Drinks

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AguajinaAguaje palm fruit drink

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.

15 min

Peruvian Drinks

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ChapoPlantain and milk drink

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.

30 min

Peruvian Drinks

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