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Matambre arrollado

Christmas and New Year in Argentina fall in high summer, so the festive table is crowded with cold dishes, and matambre arrollado is the one that draws a crowd: a thin sheet of beef from between the ribs and skin (matambre, the rose or flank cut), spread with garlic and parsley, layered with hard-boiled egg, carrot and red pepper, rolled into a fat sausage, poached and pressed. Rotiserías in the Buenos Aires suburbs sell it by the slice, and each round shows a mosaic of colours. Served cold with Russian salad and a sharp chimichurri, it is tender and savoury. Because the outside of the meat ends up rolled inside, cook it to a core temperature of 71 °C, as for minced meat. The usual mistake is slicing it warm: it falls apart, so press it under a weight in the fridge overnight. If you can't find matambre, ask the butcher for a thin flank steak butterflied to 1 cm. Chef's tip: lay the meat with the grain running along the roll, so each slice cuts across the fibres and stays tender.

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Pastel de papas

Midweek family dinners in Buenos Aires often come out of the oven in a deep dish: pastel de papas, the Argentine answer to cottage pie. The beef picadillo is cooked the way it is for empanadas, with onion, red pepper, paprika and cumin, then studded with green olives, chopped boiled egg and sometimes raisins for a sweet-salty bite, all under a thick, creamy mash browned with cheese or sugar on top. It is a dish of school lunches and Sunday leftovers, served with a green salad. Mince must reach 71 °C, which it will long before the potato crust browns; just make sure no pink remains when you cook the filling. A runny filling is the usual letdown, as it seeps into the mash, so cook it until the pan is almost dry. Chef's tip: sprinkle a teaspoon of sugar over the mash before baking, as many Argentine cooks do; it caramelises into a thin, crackly golden crust.

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Estofado de llama

Llama herds have grazed the Puna of Jujuy for thousands of years, and in Purmamarca, Tilcara and Humahuaca restaurants now proudly serve their meat to visitors, most often as a slow estofado. The meat is very lean, dark red and mild, a little like venison, and it is braised with onion, red pepper, tomato, cumin, ají molido and a sprig of muña or oregano until tender, then served with Andean potatoes, quinoa or rice. Outside the Andes, llama is sold by a few specialist game and alpaca farms; lean venison or beef topside are the closest substitutes. Treat it like beef and braise it until fork-tender. Because the meat has almost no fat, the common mistake is cooking it at a rolling boil, which makes it dry and stringy: keep the heat low and the lid on. Chef's tip: dust the meat lightly with a little cornflour before browning; it protects the lean pieces and thickens the sauce without making it heavy.

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Cordero al asador

Southern Patagonia raises sheep on vast estancias, and when the shearing ends or a fiesta comes round in Santa Cruz or Chubut, a whole lamb goes on the asador: an iron cross pushed into the ground beside a fire of lenga or ñire wood. Lambs fed on wild steppe grasses taste clean and faintly herbal, so the seasoning is only salt and a brine to baste, and the result is crackling skin over meat that falls into juicy strands. Serve with chimichurri, a simple salad and bread. Order a whole lamb of 10–12 kg dressed weight from a butcher. Rushing it with a big flame near the meat is the commonest error; the heat must be steady and gentle. Chef's tip: give it about three hours with the ribs to the fire and only the last hour or so skin side, then check the thickest part of the leg reads at least 63 °C (Patagonian cooks take it to about 70 °C, cooked through).

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Matambre a la pizza

Weekend asados around Buenos Aires usually end with a show-off dish from the grill, and matambre a la pizza is the one that makes children cheer: a whole sheet of matambre (the thin flank cut that sits under the skin) cooked slowly until tender, flipped, then spread with tomato sauce, oregano and mozzarella and left on the grill until the cheese bubbles. Parrillas in the suburbs sell it cut into squares. Many cooks first simmer the meat in milk, which keeps the lean cut juicy and soft; that is the method here, finished under a hot grill or in the oven if you have no barbecue. Matambre is eaten well done and tender rather than pink. The usual mistake is grilling it straight away like a steak, which leaves it leathery: slow cooking first is what makes it tender. Chef's tip: score the membrane on the fatty side in a criss-cross before cooking, so the sheet stays flat instead of curling up when it hits the heat.

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Tamales norteños

Families in Salta and Jujuy make tamales by the hundred, usually for the national holidays or for the winter fiestas in the Quebrada, with everyone at the table spreading dough onto husks, spooning in filling and tying parcels. The northern Argentine tamal is different from the Mexican one: the dough is made from finely ground white or yellow maize cooked with squash and beef fat, and the filling is a red, peppery mix of beef (traditionally from the head or charqui, dried beef) with onion, ají molido and cumin. Each parcel is folded and tied with a strip of husk into a little bundle, then boiled. Expect a long, hard afternoon, but they freeze well. Look for dried corn husks and fine maize flour in Latin American shops; masa harina also works. The filling must reach 71 °C, as for any mince, before it goes into the husks. Dough that is too dry is the usual mistake and cracks as it cooks; it should feel like soft polenta. Chef's tip: soak the husks in hot water for 30 minutes so they fold without splitting.

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Seco de chabelo

Piura's picanterías, near the dry northern border, serve this rough, savoury mash at lunch: green plantains, roasted or boiled and pounded, mixed with fried strips of carne seca (salted dried beef) and a quick sofrito of onion, tomato and ají amarillo. It is dense, salty and smoky, with the plantain's starchy sweetness, and is eaten with salsa criolla and fried ripe plantain or chifles (plantain crisps). The legend says it was invented for a soldier called Chabelo in the War of the Pacific. Use carne seca or cecina from Latin shops, or unseasoned beef jerky. Pounding the plantains smooth is the classic mistake: chabelo should be lumpy and rustic. Chef's tip: soak the dried beef in warm water for 30 minutes and taste a piece; if it's still very salty, change the water and soak again.

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Chinchulines

No proper Sunday asado in Buenos Aires province or the interior is complete without a round of achuras, and chinchulines are the boldest of them: beef small intestine, coiled on the grill and cooked slowly until the outside crackles like pork scratchings and the inside stays soft and rich with its own fat. Pass them round on a board with lemon and bread as a starter while the bigger cuts cook. Buy them already cleaned from a butcher or a Latin American meat counter, and rinse them again well at home. The usual mistake is too much heat: the outside burns long before the inside cooks. Offal must be cooked right through, with no soft, raw-looking parts. Chef's tip: simmer them briefly before grilling; it cleans them further, shortens the time on the coals and gives you a much more even crunch.

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Cazuela de cabrito

Up in the Calchaquí valleys of Salta, where goats graze between the vineyards and the cardón cactus, cabrito ends up in a heavy clay cazuela on Sunday or feast days. The meat simmers with onion, red pepper, cumin and ají molido until it slides off the bone, and the potatoes and thick rounds of corn on the cob drink up a brick-red, gently spiced broth. Bring it to the table in the pot with bread or a simple tomato and onion salad. Kid goat can be ordered from halal butchers and some farm shops; lamb shoulder works too. People often boil it hard to save time, which squeezes the lean meat dry and stringy; it wants the barest simmer. Chef's tip: brown the pieces in two or three batches so they colour properly instead of stewing in their own juices; that browning is where most of the flavour comes from.

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Mollejas a la parrilla

Order an asado in any Argentine parrilla and the mollejas arrive early, before the big cuts, crusty and golden outside, soft and almost custardy within, with nothing but lemon. They are the thymus glands of young cattle, mild in flavour and rich in texture, and parrilleros treat them as a treat for the guests who hang around the grill. Ask a butcher for veal sweetbreads (heart sweetbreads are the plumpest) and cook them the day you buy them. Grilling them hot and fast is the common mistake: the outside chars while the centre stays raw and rubbery. As offal, they must be cooked right through, to at least 71 °C in the middle. Chef's tip: a brief blanch firms them, makes the membrane easy to peel and means the grill only has to crisp them.

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Bife a caballo

On the chalkboard of any neighbourhood bodegón in Buenos Aires you will find bife a caballo, steak "on horseback": a thick bife de chorizo (sirloin) or rump seared hard in a hot pan, crowned with two fried eggs whose yolks run into the meat juices, and served with a pile of chips. It is the plate for hungry taxi drivers at lunch and for anyone recovering from a long night. Cook the steak to your taste; Argentines usually ask for it jugoso (medium rare, about 55 °C in the centre) or a punto (medium, about 60 °C). Use eggs fried until the whites are fully set, and cook the yolks firm for anyone vulnerable. Crowding a pan that isn't hot enough is the classic mistake, which stews the steak grey, so let the pan smoke first. Chef's tip: rest the steak while you fry the eggs in the same pan; the beef juices in the fat give the whites crisp, savoury edges.

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Chivito al asador

Malargüe, in the dry south of Mendoza, holds a goat festival every summer, and the star is the chivito: a milk-fed kid opened flat, wired to an iron cross and planted at an angle beside a fire of jarilla or other hardwood. It cooks from the side, never over the flames, basted with a garlicky salmuera until the skin turns glassy and crackling and the meat pulls apart. Serve it straight from the cross with salad, bread and chimichurri. Order a whole kid of 5–7 kg dressed weight from a specialist or halal butcher, and check the cross fits it before the day. Most failures come from setting it too close to the fire, which burns the outside while the thick legs stay raw. Kid is lean, so cook it right through, as in Mendoza: the thickest part of the leg should reach at least 70 °C. Chef's tip: cook bone side to the fire for two-thirds of the time; the ribs protect the meat, and the skin goes on last so it crisps instead of scorching.

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Asado uruguayo

Sunday in Uruguay means asado: in Montevideo backyards and the cattle towns of the interior, beef ribs (asado de tira), chorizo and morcilla cook slowly over the embers of a wood fire, with only coarse salt, while the family waits. The parrillero rakes coals under the grill and keeps the heat low and even. This recipe includes pork chorizo. The mistake is cooking over flames; the fire should burn down to embers you can hold your hand above for 6–8 seconds. Chef's tip: salt the meat only when it goes on the grill, with coarse salt, never fine.

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Pachamanca a la olla

In the highlands around Huancayo and Ayacucho, families mark harvests and saints' days by burying marinated meats, potatoes, sweet potatoes, broad beans and humitas under hot stones and earth for a pachamanca, an 'earth pot'. City cooks get close to it with a heavy pot: the same green marinade of huacatay (black mint), chincho, ají and garlic, layered with meats and roots and steamed in their own juices under banana or corn leaves. Chef's tip: layer the hardest things lowest, potatoes on the bottom and chicken nearest the lid, just as the stones are packed in the field.

135 minPeruvianMeatGluten free
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Dulce de leche

Dulce de leche is Argentina's national sweet, spread on toast at breakfast, sandwiched in alfajores, rolled into panqueques and spooned onto flan. Argentine families traditionally make it by slowly cooking milk and sugar with a vanilla pod and a pinch of bicarbonate of soda, which helps it turn deep brown, until it becomes a thick, glossy caramel cream. It takes about three hours of gentle cooking and regular stirring. Chef's tip: use a wide, heavy pan and keep the heat low; the wider the surface, the faster the milk reduces, and the less it catches on the bottom.

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Asado argentino

For Argentines the Sunday asado is less a recipe than a ritual: someone (the asador) lights the fire mid-morning in a backyard in Buenos Aires or a ranch in the Pampas, and lunch happens hours later. Beef is cooked low and slow over glowing embers, seasoned with nothing but coarse salt, and carved at the grill to be eaten with bread, salad and a bowl of chimichurri. This home version uses two favourite cuts: tira de asado (thin cross-cut short ribs) and vacío (flank). The classic mistake is grilling over flames; wait until the coals are covered in white ash, and spread them so the heat is gentle. Chef's tip: hold your hand 15 cm above the grill; if you can keep it there for 8–10 seconds, the heat is right for asado.

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Milanesa de carne

If there is one dinner every Argentine child grows up on, it is milanesa: beef pounded very thin, dipped in garlicky egg, coated in breadcrumbs and fried until golden. It came with Italian immigrants to Buenos Aires and Rosario, and today it is eaten on weekday nights with mashed potato or chips, cold in sandwiches the next day (milanesa al pan), and on long car trips. Lemon wedges are a must. The mistake most people make is leaving the beef too thick; it should be about 5 mm, so it cooks through by the time the crumb is golden. Chef's tip: bread the milanesas, lay them on a tray and chill them for 30 minutes before frying, so the coating sticks firmly and doesn't fall off in the pan.

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Milanesa a la napolitana

Despite the name, this has nothing to do with Naples: it was invented in Buenos Aires in the 1940s at a restaurant called Nápoli, near the Luna Park stadium. A crisp milanesa is topped with tomato sauce, a slice of ham and plenty of mozzarella, then grilled until the cheese bubbles. It is a pork-and-beef dish, because of the ham. Porteños order it at the corner bodegón with a mountain of chips, one plate often shared by two. The common mistake is spooning on too much sauce, which turns the crumb soggy; a thin layer is enough. Chef's tip: fry the milanesas a minute less than usual, since they finish cooking under the grill, and keep the sauce thick.

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Anticuchos de corazón

As night falls in Lima, anticucheras set up charcoal grills on street corners and fan the smoke towards passers-by; the October processions of the Señor de los Milagros are lined with them. The skewers are traditionally beef heart, a lean, firm and surprisingly mild meat, soaked in a dark-red marinade of ají panca, vinegar, cumin and garlic. They come with a boiled potato, a piece of choclo (large-kernel corn) and a spicy green ají sauce. If you can't get heart, sirloin steak works well. Chef's tip: baste the skewers with the leftover marinade and oil using a few coriander stalks tied together as a brush, the way the street cooks do.

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