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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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Mandi'o chyryryFried cassava with onion and egg

Mandi'o chyryry means 'fried cassava' in Guaraní, and it is what rural Paraguayan families make from yesterday's boiled mandi'o: chunks crushed and fried in a big pan with onion until crisp in places, then scrambled with eggs. It comes out for breakfast with cocido or for a quick supper, and costs next to nothing. Use sweet cassava, the kind sold in supermarkets. The mistake is stirring constantly, which turns it to mush; let the cassava sit and brown. Chef's tip: the best chyryry starts with cold, day-old boiled cassava, which fries crisper than freshly boiled.

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BorșFermented wheat bran sour liquid

Before lemons were common in Moldavian and Wallachian villages, every household kept a crock of borș, the cloudy, tangy liquid that turns a plain soup into a ciorbă. Wheat bran and a little cornmeal are steeped in hot water, seeded with a starter and left to ferment for 3–4 days in total, so although the hands-on work is short, plan a long weekend: the timings shown cover only the first two days of waiting. It is naturally vegan and a staple of the fasting (post) kitchen, where it sours nettle, bean and vegetable ciorbe. Where people go wrong is using a jar that is not properly clean, which lets the wrong microbes win and turns the borș slimy or mouldy. Chef's tip: keep a few spoonfuls of the drained bran, dried, as the starter (huște) for your next batch.

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Varză călităBraised cabbage with tomato

Ask a Wallachian grandmother what goes with hot mămăligă on a winter weeknight and she may well point to a pan of varză călită. Fresh white cabbage is shredded and braised for the best part of an hour with onion, tomato, bay and thyme until it turns amber, silky and faintly sweet; in January many cooks use sauerkraut from the barrel instead, rinsed once to tame the salt. With no meat or butter it is a classic fasting (post) dish, though outside the fasts it also sits next to sausages and roasts. The usual slip is turning up the heat to hurry it, which scorches the base before the cabbage softens. Chef's tip: a spoon of vinegar and a pinch of sugar at the very end wake up the flavour without making it taste sour.

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HuatiaEarth-baked potatoes

After the potato harvest in May and June, families in Puno, Cusco and across the highlands build a huatia in the field: a little dome of dry earth clods heated with dried brush until the clods glow, then knocked down over freshly dug potatoes and oca so they bake slowly underground. Opened an hour later, the potatoes are smoky, floury and so soft their skins split, and the oca turns sweet and tangy. Everyone eats them with their hands, with salt, chilli sauce and fresh cheese. This recipe gives an oven method for home cooks: a lidded pot bedded with coarse salt and herbs, which traps heat and steam much like the earth. If you do try a real huatia outdoors, use a clear patch of ground away from anything that can catch fire and keep water nearby. Don't uncover the pot early to check: the steam escapes and the potatoes turn leathery. Fresh oca is sold in some markets as New Zealand yam; small sweet potatoes will do. Chef's tip: choose potatoes of a similar size so they all finish together, and serve with uchucuta.

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MămăligăCornmeal mush

Mămăligă is the golden cornmeal staple of the Romanian countryside, from the hill villages of Oltenia to the farms of Maramureș, where it was once eaten more often than bread. It is cooked in water until thick enough to hold a spoon upright, turned out onto a wooden board and cut with a thread, then eaten hot with crumbled salty brânză and a cold spoon of smântână (soured cream). Unlike Ukrainian banosh, which is cooked in sour cream, mămăligă is plain cornmeal and water; the richness goes on top. It sits beside stews such as tocăniță or under a fried egg for supper. Chef's tip: rain the cornmeal in through your fingers while whisking, and keep stirring from the bottom; dumping it in at once is the classic mistake that leaves raw, gritty lumps.

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TacachoMashed roasted green plantain balls

Tacacho is the breakfast of the Peruvian Amazon, from Tarapoto to Iquitos: green plantains roasted over coals, mashed with fat and salt and shaped into balls. There it comes with cecina (smoked pork) and is mashed with lard and crackling; this vegan tacacho uses good oil and a pinch of smoked paprika for the same savoury, smoky depth. The balls are dense, chewy and starchy, crisp at the edges where the plantain charred, and they are eaten hot with a fiery chilli sauce or alongside stews. Use plantains that are fully green and firm. Chef's tip: mash the plantains while they are still very hot; as green plantain cools its starch sets and it won't bind into a smooth ball.

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