All recipes

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Kumis

Kumis in Colombia is a thick, sweetened fermented milk, nothing like the Central Asian mare's-milk drink of the same name. Bakeries and cafeterias sell it chilled in glasses with a slice of plain sponge cake, the classic kumis con ponqué, and many families still make it at home. It is cool, tangy and creamy, somewhere between drinking yogurt and buttermilk. Use only pasteurised milk, heat it first, and work with very clean equipment: wash jars and spoons in hot soapy water and scald them with boiling water. The milk ferments at room temperature (20–28 °C, out of direct sun) for 12–24 hours, then goes into the fridge; never leave it out longer. Discard any batch with mould, pink or orange patches, or a rotten rather than sour smell. Adding the starter to milk that is still too hot is the common slip, as heat kills the cultures and nothing sets. Chef's tip: add the sugar after fermenting, then chill well before serving.

30 min

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Chocolate santafereño

Old Bogotá, once Santafé, built an afternoon ritual around hot chocolate. In the café-restaurants of La Candelaria it comes in a big cup, frothed with a wooden molinillo, with a plate of white cheese, almojábanas and buttered bread on the side. The surprise for visitors is the cheese: cubes go straight into the hot chocolate, softening into stretchy strings that are fished out with a spoon, a salty contrast to the sweet, spiced drink. Colombian table chocolate comes in bars already sweetened and often flavoured with cinnamon and clove; dark chocolate plus sugar and spice is a fair swap. The usual cheese, queso campesino or doble crema, is normally set with animal rennet, so choose a vegetarian (microbial-rennet) mozzarella-style cheese. Boiling the chocolate hard is the misstep that makes it grainy and scorched; keep it at a gentle simmer. Chef's tip: no molinillo? Whisk briskly with a balloon whisk or a milk frother until there's a thick foam.

15 min

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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.

55 min

Syrian Basics

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Kabees lifit

No falafel or shawarma wrap in Beirut is complete without a few batons of kabees lifit, the crunchy, vinegary pickled turnips that glow pink from a slice of raw beetroot in the jar. Lebanese families put them up in autumn when turnips are young and sweet, and a bowl sits on the mezze table next to olives and green chillies. They are sharp, salty and crisp, and cut through grilled meats, fried kibbeh and hummus. Common mistake: using iodised table salt, which clouds the brine; use pure fine salt or sea salt. Chef's tip: choose small, firm turnips with smooth skins — big woody ones stay bitter however long they pickle.

25 min

Lebanese Basics

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Palm Springs date shake

The Coachella Valley around Palm Springs and Indio grows most of America's dates, and roadside date farms along the desert highway have sold this shake to thirsty drivers since the 1930s. Soft Medjool dates are blended with vanilla ice cream and milk into a thick, caramel-flavoured shake. Chef's tip: soak the chopped dates in a little warm milk for 10 minutes first, so they blend completely smooth instead of leaving chewy bits in the straw.

10 min

American Drinks

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Lemonana

From café terraces in Ramallah and Jaffa to juice bars along Hamra Street in Beirut, summer means tall glasses of lemonana: lemons and fistfuls of fresh mint blended with ice into a sharp, sweet, electric-green slush. It is the drink handed to you after a walk through the market at noon, and it cools a mezze lunch like nothing else. Everything goes in a blender, but the mint must be fresh and plentiful. The common mistake is blending the mint for too long, which bruises it and turns the drink murky and grassy. Chef's tip: make a lemon-sugar syrup first and chill it; dissolved sugar sweetens evenly and lets you blend for only a few seconds.

20 min

Palestinian Drinks

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Tejuino

On hot afternoons in Guadalajara, vendors ladle tejuino from big clay pots into plastic bags or glasses with ice, a squeeze of lime, a pinch of salt and often a scoop of lime sorbet. It is made from corn masa cooked with piloncillo and left for two or three days to ferment a little, which gives it a tangy, slightly sour taste. The fermentation is light and the drink is sold as non-alcoholic, but a trace of alcohol can form, so keep the fermentation to 2 days and serve it well chilled. Skip the fermenting stage entirely for children: drink it fresh as a sweet atole-style cooler. Chef's tip: taste it each day; take it to the fridge as soon as it tastes pleasantly sour, like a mild yoghurt.

35 min

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Torito de cacahuate

Torito is the party drink of the port of Veracruz and the Sotavento, poured at weddings, saints' days and the Tlacotalpan Candelaria fair: a thick, cold, milkshake-like blend of peanuts, condensed and evaporated milk and cinnamon. The traditional version is spiked with aguardiente, the local cane spirit. This recipe is the alcohol-free version, so children can drink it too; adults who want the original add a measure of cane spirit to each glass. It contains peanuts, so check for allergies. Chef's tip: toast the peanuts until just golden before blending; raw ones taste flat and beany.

15 min

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Tinto

Ask for a tinto anywhere in Colombia and you get a small cup of black coffee, never red wine. Street vendors carry it in thermos flasks through the plazas of Manizales, Pereira and Bogotá, and offices, bus stations and farm kitchens in the coffee region brew pots of it all day. It is light, hot and gently sweet, often made by simmering ground coffee with water and a little panela, then straining it through a cloth bag. The usual error is boiling the coffee hard, which makes it harsh and bitter; let it come to the boil only once. Chef's tip: let the grounds settle for a minute off the heat before straining, so the cup stays clear.

10 min

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Agua de chía con limón

In the markets of Michoacán, especially in Uruapan and Morelia, the glass barrels of agua fresca often include one cloudy, speckled with tiny seeds: agua de chía, limeade with soaked chia seeds that swell into soft little pearls. Chia has been grown in central Mexico since long before the Spanish, and the drink is light, sharp and very refreshing, with a gentle texture from the seeds. It is drunk with lunch or on hot afternoons. Chef's tip: stir the seeds into the water twice in the first ten minutes; otherwise they clump into jelly-like lumps.

10 min

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Doce de abóbora com nozes

When the big squashes are harvested in late autumn in Trás-os-Montes, every pantry gets a row of these jars. The pumpkin cooks down with sugar, lemon peel and cinnamon to a thick amber jam, and toasted walnuts are stirred in at the end. Locals spoon it over fresh requeijão or a slice of sheep's cheese after dinner, or onto toast at breakfast. Chef's tip: salt the cut pumpkin with the sugar overnight; it releases its water so the jam cooks faster and keeps its colour.

80 min

Portuguese Basics

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Avena colombiana

Bakeries all over Colombia keep a fridge of avena in plastic cups, ready to pair with a warm pandebono, buñuelo or almojábana. It is a thick, sweet oat drink cooked in milk with cinnamon and cloves, then blended smooth and chilled until it is creamy and spoonable, somewhere between a milkshake and rice pudding. Children drink it after school, and it is a common mid-morning snack with something baked. Home versions are less sweet and more spiced than shop ones. The thing to watch is texture: if you skip blending or straining, you end up with slimy flecks of oats, so blend thoroughly once it is cooked. It thickens a lot as it chills, so loosen it with cold milk before serving. Chef's tip: toast the oats in the dry pan for 2 minutes first; it gives a nutty, biscuity flavour.

25 min

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Mırra

In the courtyard houses of Mardin and the guest rooms of Şanlıurfa, mırra is poured from a long-spouted pot into tiny handleless cups, just a mouthful each, as a sign of welcome. It is made by boiling dark-roasted coffee for a long time until it becomes thick, bitter and concentrated, then boiling it again and again. Tradition says you never put the cup down empty unless you mean to marry the host's family, so hand it back with a small shake. It is never sweetened: serve it with dates or a sweet. Common mistake: using finely ground Turkish coffee; it turns muddy, so use medium-ground dark roast. Chef's tip: the second boil is where the flavour comes from, so don't rush it.

65 min

Turkish Drinks

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Jugo de corozo

Corozo is a tiny, glossy red-black palm fruit that grows wild across Colombia's Caribbean lowlands, and in Sincelejo, Montería and Cartagena it is boiled into a deep wine-red juice that is tart, slightly bitter and very refreshing. It is sold in bags from street coolers and served with lunch at home, especially in the dry season when the fruit is plentiful. The fruit is mostly stone and skin, so it is boiled to release the colour and flavour, then mashed and strained. Blending the whole fruit is the trap here: the hard stones can break a blender and add bitterness, so only mash them. Frozen corozo pulp is sold in some Latin shops; there is no true substitute, but tart cherry juice with a squeeze of lime gives a similar colour and sourness. Chef's tip: dissolve the sugar while the juice is still warm, then chill well; it tastes sharper and brighter cold.

35 min

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Pozol de cacao

In the heat of Villahermosa and the Chiapas lowlands, farmers carry a ball of corn dough in a banana leaf and mix it with water in a jícara (a gourd bowl) at midday: that is pozol, a cold, thick, filling drink that has been made since Maya times. The cacao version is the favourite, sold from big clay pots at market stalls with ice, sometimes slightly fermented so it turns pleasantly sour. This home version uses masa harina and cocoa nibs, so it is ready in minutes; leave it to ferment if you want the tang. Chef's tip: stir it every time before pouring, as the corn settles to the bottom fast.

23 min

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Soumada

On Crete and several Aegean islands, a glass of cloudy-white soumada is offered to guests at weddings and on hot summer afternoons. It begins as a thick almond syrup kept in the fridge, which is stirred into iced water to make a cool, gently sweet drink that tastes of marzipan and orange blossom. Some islanders add a few bitter almonds for an edge; they are not safe to eat in quantity, so this version uses a drop of almond extract instead. Common mistake: boiling the syrup hard after the almond milk goes in, which makes it cloudy and grainy rather than smooth. Chef's tip: squeeze the almond pulp in a muslin bag with real force; the last drops are the richest.

45 min

Greek Drinks

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Mazamorra antioqueña

Paisas finish lunch with a glass of mazamorra the way others take dessert: soft, swollen kernels of hulled white corn in their own starchy cooking liquid, topped up with cold milk and eaten with a piece of panela or guava paste to nibble between sips. In Medellín it is sold from carts as well as made in big pots at home for the week, and it is mild, milky and quietly filling. Look for dried hulled white corn (maíz pilado or peto) in Latin American shops. Soak it overnight first. A common mistake is serving it before the corn is fully soft; the kernels should split open and be tender to the bite. Chef's tip: save the thick cooking liquid; it gives the drink its silky body, and the corn keeps in it for 4 days in the fridge.

180 min

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Cajeta de Celaya

Celaya, in the Bajío of Guanajuato, has made cajeta for centuries, once packing it into little wooden boxes (cajetes) that gave it its name. It is caramel cooked from goat's milk, so it is looser and has a gentle tang compared with the cow's-milk dulce de leche of Argentina. Mexicans spread it on crêpes and churros, pour it over ice cream, sandwich it between obleas (wafers) and turn it into glorias. A splash of rum-flavoured 'envinada' cajeta exists, but this one is plain and alcohol-free. Chef's tip: use a pan at least three times the volume of the milk; it foams high when the bicarbonate goes in.

95 min

Mexican Basics

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Salted butter caramel

Salted butter caramel was made famous by a confectioner in Quiberon in the 1970s, and now every crêperie from Rennes to Brest pours it over sweet crêpes, and every Breton cupboard has a jar for ice cream, apples or simply a spoon. Brittany kept the habit of salted butter long after the rest of France, so the salt is part of the flavour, not a trend. The caramel is cooked dark, loosened with hot cream and finished with butter flecked with sea salt. It keeps for two weeks in the fridge. Chef's tip: warm the cream before adding it; cold cream makes the caramel seize into hard lumps and spit furiously.

20 min

French Basics

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Tsai tou vounou

Bunches of dried sideritis, the woolly-leaved herb Greeks call mountain tea, hang in village kitchens from Mount Olympus to Taygetos, and a pot is brewed at the first sniffle of winter or after a long walk. The tea is pale gold with a gentle lemony, earthy, slightly floral taste, and it is drunk with honey, a slice of lemon and sometimes a cinnamon stick. Common mistake: brewing it like black tea with boiling water for a minute; it needs a gentle simmer to draw out flavour. Chef's tip: break the dried stems into the pot along with the flowers; the flower heads hold most of the aroma, the stems add body.

10 min

Greek Drinks

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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.

15 min

Syrian Drinks

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Panaché (Moroccan mixed fruit milkshake)

Juice bars from Tangier to Agadir list a 'panaché' on the board, which in Morocco means a thick milkshake blended from whatever mix of fruit is in season, most often banana, apple, avocado and orange, served in a tall glass and sometimes topped with chopped dried fruit and nuts. Avocado is used as a sweet fruit here, and it makes the drink extra creamy. It is a favourite after school, as a quick breakfast or after an afternoon in the medina. Make it just before drinking: the orange juice can make the milk turn slightly grainy and the avocado darkens if it stands, which is the usual mistake. Chef's tip: use a ripe, soft avocado and a banana with brown freckles for natural sweetness, so you need very little sugar.

10 min

Moroccan Drinks

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Tascalate

Tascalate is the drink of the Chiapas central valley, sold in Chiapa de Corzo and Tuxtla in tall glasses at markets and given to guests at fiestas. A powder of toasted tortillas, cacao, pine nuts, sugar, cinnamon and a little achiote is whisked into cold water or milk, so it is orange-brown, thick and nutty with a sweet chocolate finish. The powder keeps for weeks, so make a jar. Made with water it is vegan. Chef's tip: toast the tortillas until they snap cleanly; any softness leaves the powder clumpy.

22 min

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Chocolate egg cream

The egg cream contains neither egg nor cream: it is the old soda-fountain drink of Brooklyn and the Lower East Side, made of cold milk, chocolate syrup and a hard jet of seltzer that whips up a tall white foam. It was sold for pennies at candy stores and corner luncheonettes, and New Yorkers still argue about the right order to pour. Chef's tip: everything, glass included, must be ice-cold, or the foam collapses.

10 min

American Drinks

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Salpicón de frutas

Salpicón is what Caleños grab at fruit stands and in the parks of San Antonio when the afternoon heat sets in: a tall cup of tiny, jewel-like cubes of papaya, pineapple, mango, banana and apple, swimming in freshly blended watermelon juice, eaten with a spoon and drunk to the last drop. Some stalls top it up with a fizzy orange or lemon soda; this version keeps it to fresh juice. It is sweet, cool and very refreshing. The mistake people make is cutting the fruit too big; the joy is in tiny cubes you can drink through the juice. Chef's tip: blend and strain the watermelon just before serving and keep everything ice cold; watermelon juice loses its fresh taste within an hour.

15 min

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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.

15 min

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Chocolate de agua

Walk down Calle Mina in Oaxaca City and the air smells of cacao, cinnamon and almonds, roasted and ground into chocolate in front of you at the mills. Most Oaxacans drink it made with water, not milk, so the taste of the cacao comes through clean and slightly bitter, with a thick head of foam raised with a wooden molinillo. It is drunk for breakfast with pan de yema and at every wedding and Day of the Dead altar. The tablets already hold sugar and cinnamon; we give a version with dark chocolate too. Chef's tip: the foam is the point, so whisk hard just before pouring and serve in wide cups.

12 min

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Café de olla

In ranch kitchens and roadside fondas across central Mexico, coffee is not dripped but boiled in a tall clay pot (olla de barro) with a cone of piloncillo and a stick of soft Mexican cinnamon, then strained into clay mugs. It is sweet, spiced and earthy, and is served with pan dulce at breakfast, on cold evenings, and to visitors on Day of the Dead. A saucepan works fine if you have no olla. Chef's tip: turn the heat off before adding the coffee and let it steep rather than boil, or it turns bitter.

15 min

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Agua de fresa cremosa

In Hidalgo, the pulque country north of Mexico City, the pulquerías serve curados: pulque blended with fruit, and the strawberry one is pink, thick and creamy. Home cooks and taquerías make this alcohol-free cousin for the whole family, a strawberry agua fresca blended with evaporated milk, so it is like a light milkshake that you drink with tacos on a hot afternoon. It contains no pulque or alcohol. Chef's tip: use the ripest, darkest strawberries you can find; pale ones give a thin, sour drink.

10 min

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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.

20 min

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Barraquito

Order a barraquito in any café in Santa Cruz de Tenerife or La Laguna and it comes in a small glass showing neat stripes: sweet condensed milk at the bottom, then espresso, then foamed milk, perfumed with lemon peel and cinnamon. The bar classic adds a measure of a vanilla-citrus Spanish liqueur between the layers, which makes it contain alcohol; this recipe leaves it optional, and without it the drink is often called a zaperoco or barraquito sin licor. Chef's tip: pour each layer slowly over the back of a spoon, so the layers sit on top of each other instead of mixing.

10 min

Spanish Drinks

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Biber salçası

Late every summer, rooftops in Gaziantep, Kilis and Hatay turn red with trays of puréed peppers drying in the sun, and families fill jars that will season soups, köfte, bulgur and lahmacun through the winter. This oven method makes a smaller batch with the same deep, sweet and slightly smoky flavour; use some hot peppers if you like it acı (spicy). Store it under a film of oil in the fridge. The common mistake is a too-hot oven: the edges scorch and turn bitter before the middle thickens. Chef's tip: stir every 20 minutes and scrape the dried rim back in; the paste is ready when a spoon drawn through it leaves a clean trench.

240 min

Turkish Basics

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Jugo de tomate de árbol

Tomate de árbol, the tree tomato or tamarillo, is everywhere in Andean Colombia: in market piles, in ají and above all in juice. Blended with water and sugar, it makes a tangy, deep orange drink with a flavour between passion fruit, tomato and apricot, and it turns up at lunch counters and family tables with almost every meal. Many people blend it with milk instead of water for a creamier glass; this version keeps it vegan. Blending the fruit with its skin is the most common misstep, as the peel is bitter and astringent; a quick blanch makes it slip off easily. Look for tamarillos in good greengrocers, or frozen pulp in Latin shops. Chef's tip: blend only briefly so you do not crush the small seeds, then strain; it stays bright and clean-tasting.

15 min

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Jugo de maracuyá

Passion fruit grows easily in the warm valleys of Colombia, and maracuyá juice is the default glass at many lunch tables, from Huila to the coast. It is intensely aromatic and sharp, so it needs plenty of water and sugar, and it is served over ice; a milk version is made too, but the water one is the more refreshing. Street juice stands blend it fresh all day, and it pairs especially well with fried fish, rice and patacones, or any spicy dish. People tend to over-blend it, crushing the black seeds into gritty, bitter bits; just pulse until the pulp lets go of the seeds, then strain. Frozen passion fruit pulp from Latin shops is a good, cheaper option and needs no straining. Chef's tip: scoop the pulp from wrinkled, heavy fruit; the more wrinkled the skin, the sweeter and more fragrant the fruit inside.

10 min

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Jugo de mora

Order a juice anywhere in Colombia and the waiter will ask: en agua o en leche? With mora, the tart Andean blackberry, the milk version is the treat: a thick, dusky-purple shake with a sour-sweet berry flavour, served with lunch at corrientazo restaurants and in tall glasses at bakeries. Mora de Castilla is longer and sharper than European blackberries and is sold frozen in Latin shops; ordinary blackberries with a squeeze of lime make a good stand-in. Straining is what makes it smooth, since the seeds are gritty. The mistake many people make is blending the berries with the milk and leaving it to stand: the fruit acid slowly curdles the milk, so blend the fruit with water first, strain, then add cold milk and serve straight away. Chef's tip: very cold milk and a few ice cubes keep the drink thick and frothy.

10 min

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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.

60 min

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Şalgam

Order an Adana kebab in its home city and a tall glass of şalgam arrives with it, deep purple, salty, sour and often fiery. It is made by fermenting black carrots with a little bulgur and salt for a week or more, and the sharpness clears the palate between bites of lamb and grilled onion. Street carts in Adana sell it by the glass in summer. This home version skips the separate bulgur-sour-dough stage the big producers use. Use non-iodised salt: iodised salt can stall the ferment. Chef's tip: taste from day 5; when it is sour enough to make you blink, strain and chill it, because it keeps fermenting at room temperature.

20 min

Turkish Drinks

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Limonada de coco

Cartagena's heat makes limonada de coco almost compulsory: beach kiosks and restaurants in the old walled city blend it to order, and it arrives as a pale, frosty slush, sharp with lime and rich with coconut. It is a drink to sip slowly with fried fish, coconut rice and patacones, or on its own on a hot afternoon. Coconut cream gives the body, sugar balances the lime, and a full load of ice gives the frozen texture. The common slip is blending lime pieces with their peel for too long, which turns it bitter within minutes; use juice plus a little zest instead. Shake the tin of coconut cream before measuring, since it separates. Serve it straight away, before it melts and separates. Chef's tip: freeze some of the coconut cream in an ice-cube tray beforehand and use it in place of half the ice for a thicker, creamier result.

10 min

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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.

30 min