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Guyanese coconut buns

A coconut bun and a cold drink from a Georgetown cake shop is a Guyanese after-school ritual, and the same buns turn up in lunch boxes, at church teas and in the bags of sweets sent to relatives abroad. They are rough, rock-cake-style mounds, crisp and golden outside, crumbly and moist inside from freshly grated coconut, freckled with raisins and fragrant with nutmeg. Have one with a cup of tea, or with a wedge of cheddar as many Guyanese do. The mixture needs to be stiff enough to hold a peak; adding too much milk is the classic error, and the buns flatten into biscuits. Chef's tip: rub the butter in until the flour looks like breadcrumbs, then stop handling the mix as soon as it clumps, for a short, tender crumb.

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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.

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SwankGuyanese limeade

Swank is the simplest drink in Guyana and the one everybody's grandmother made: fresh limes from the yard squeezed into cold water and sweetened with brown Demerara sugar from the cane fields along the coast; nobody agrees where the odd name comes from. It turns up beside Sunday cook-up rice, at village cricket matches, at Mashramani in February and on any hot afternoon in Georgetown, New Amsterdam or the Essequibo coast, poured from an enamel jug full of ice. It is sharp, refreshing and gently caramel-sweet from the brown sugar, with a warm hint of nutmeg on top. The common mistake is squeezing the limes so hard, or leaving the lime shells in the jug, that bitter peel oil takes over; squeeze firmly but not to the last drop, and take the shells out. It is ready when the sugar has completely dissolved, it tastes bright, tart and sweet in balance, and the nutmeg smells warm on top. Make it fresh: lime juice turns bitter if it sits for more than a few hours. Chef's tip: dissolve the Demerara in a little warm water first; the large crystals take forever to melt in cold water.

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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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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.

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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.

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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.

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Locro de zapallo for toddlersPumpkin stew for toddlers

Locro de zapallo is the golden pumpkin stew of Lima's home kitchens and menú lunch spots, eaten on weekdays with white rice and, for adults, a fried egg and ají on the side. For toddlers from 12 months it is cooked without any ají, the pumpkin is simmered until it melts into a sauce, and just a little crumbled fresh cheese is stirred in, so it is sweet, creamy and easy to mash. It contains milk; there is no gluten, egg, nuts or soya. Queso fresco is often made with animal rennet, so for a vegetarian bowl choose one labelled vegetarian, or use a little paneer, and always a pasteurised cheese. Chef's tip: cut half the pumpkin small so it dissolves into the sauce and the rest larger so it keeps some shape.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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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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.

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CassareepCassava syrup

Cassareep is what makes Guyana's Christmas pepperpot dark, sweet-savoury and long-keeping, and in Amerindian villages of the Rupununi and along the rivers it is still boiled down from the juice of grated cassava. Traditional cassareep uses bitter cassava, whose raw juice is poisonous until it has been boiled for hours; this home version uses only sweet cassava (the kind sold in shops as yuca), and still boils the juice for a long time, because even sweet cassava must never be eaten raw. A little dark sugar helps it reach the deep colour that slow reduction gives in the villages. The usual mistake is stopping too soon, when it is brown and thin; it should be black and syrupy, like molasses. Chef's tip: take the pan off the heat when it coats a spoon thickly, as it thickens much more as it cools.

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CouacToasted cassava meal

In French Guiana couac is on the table at almost every meal, sprinkled over fish in sauce, stirred into stews or soaked in water with sugar as a snack, and it is still made in the carbets (open-sided sheds) of Amerindian and Maroon villages along the Maroni river. Traditionally it is made from bitter cassava, which is poisonous until its juice has been pressed out and the meal roasted for hours. This home version uses only sweet cassava (yuca), and still presses out and discards all the juice and toasts the meal until fully dry, because cassava must never be eaten raw. The usual mistake is a heat that is too high: the outside scorches while the inside is still damp. Chef's tip: stir almost constantly over a medium-low heat; the couac is done when it rattles in the pan, smells nutty and a grain snaps cleanly between your teeth.

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Dombrés aux haricots rougesFlour dumplings in red beans

Dombrés are the small rolled flour dumplings that Guianese Creole cooks in Cayenne and Saint-Laurent-du-Maroni drop into a pot of red kidney beans, so they swell and soak up the herb-scented sauce. In French Guiana and the Antilles the beans are often cooked with salted pork tail or smoked meat; this version leaves out the meat and uses smoked paprika, onion, chives, thyme and cloves for depth, making a hearty vegan dinner with rice. Dried kidney beans must be boiled hard for 10 minutes before simmering to destroy a natural toxin, so don't skip that step or cook them in a slow cooker from raw. Dumplings that fall apart are the usual problem: keep the dough firm and the pot at a gentle simmer once they go in. Chef's tip: roll each dombré between your palms into a small torpedo; that shape cooks evenly and holds together.

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Guyanese plait breadBraided white loaf

A glossy three-strand plait sits on the table in many Guyanese homes on Christmas morning and for Old Year's Night, next to garlic pork, pepperpot and black cake, and bakeries in Georgetown sell it every day for sandwiches. It is a soft, close-crumbed white bread, just a little sweet, that tears into pillowy pieces and soaks up pepperpot gravy beautifully. The common slip is adding too much flour while kneading: the dough should feel slightly tacky, or the loaf bakes up dry and dense. Chef's tip: let the shaped plait prove until a finger pressed into the side leaves a dent that springs back slowly; that is the moment to bake.

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Guyanese salaraRed coconut roll

Walk into any bakery in Georgetown or along the Berbice coast and the salara is easy to spot: a soft, slightly sweet loaf rolled around a bright red filling of grated coconut, sugar and spice, cut so every slice shows a spiral. It is tea-time and lunch-box food, eaten with a cup of cocoa tea or a cold drink after school. The coconut is coloured with red food colouring, which is part of the look but can be left out. The usual mistake is a wet filling: if the coconut is soggy, the roll splits and the spiral gapes open as it bakes. Chef's tip: squeeze fresh grated coconut lightly in a cloth before mixing it, and roll the dough tight like a Swiss roll, pinching the seam well.

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Guyanese tennis rollsSweet lemony buns

Nobody quite agrees why these buns are named after tennis, but every Guyanese person knows the pairing: a split tennis roll with a thick slice of cheddar, eaten mid-morning or packed for a long bus ride up the East Coast Demerara. They are round, pale golden and very soft, with a gentle sweetness and a hint of lemon zest. Overbaking is the usual problem; they should come out light gold, not brown, so the crust stays tender. Chef's tip: bake the rolls close together on the tray so they rise into each other and keep soft sides, then pull them apart once cool.

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Surinamese bojoCassava and coconut cake

At a verjaardag (birthday) party in Paramaribo, there is nearly always a tray of bojo on the side table, cut into squares next to fiadoe and pom. It is a dense, moist cake of grated cassava and coconut, sweetened and scented with cinnamon, vanilla and almond, with plump raisins through it and a golden, chewy crust. Cassava must always be cooked thoroughly, and this cake bakes for a full hour so the centre sets properly. The usual mistake is cutting it warm, when it is still gummy; give it time to cool and firm up. Eggs and coconut are the allergens to note. Chef's tip: frozen grated cassava, thawed and squeezed dry, gives the smoothest result and saves a lot of grating.

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Surinamese dawetCoconut milk and lemongrass drink

Javanese Surinamers brought dawet from Java, and today it is sold cold from big jars at warungs in Lelydorp and the Paramaribo district of Blauwgrond, especially on hot Sunday afternoons. In Suriname it has become its own drink, quite different from the Malaysian cendol with its green noodles: chilled coconut milk sweetened with a lemongrass and pandan syrup, often tinted pale pink and studded with soaked basil seeds or soft jelly strips. The common mistake is boiling the coconut milk, which makes it split and taste flat; it should only be warmed. Chef's tip: bruise the lemongrass hard with a rolling pin before simmering it, so the syrup tastes bright and lemony.

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Surinamese fiadoeRaisin spice yeast cake

Fiadoe belongs to Creole family celebrations in Paramaribo, from birthdays to New Year, where it is cut into squares and handed round with a glass of something sweet. It is a rich yeast dough baked in layers with butter, raisins, currants, chopped nuts and warm spices, so each slice is soft and bready with sticky, fruity streaks. Many families soak the fruit in rum; this version plumps it in warm orange juice instead, so it is alcohol-free. The common mistake is baking it too hot, which browns the top before the thick middle is cooked. Chef's tip: cover the tin loosely with foil for the last 15 minutes if the top is darkening too fast.

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Adobo arequipeñoMarinated slow-cooked pork

On Sunday mornings in Arequipa, families head to picanterías in Cayma and Yanahuara for a steaming bowl of adobo, chunks of pork that have marinated overnight in chicha de jora (fermented maize beer), ají panca, garlic and cumin, then cooked slowly in a clay pot with thick wedges of red onion. The sauce is dark red, tangy and garlicky rather than hot, and you mop it up with pan de tres puntas, the city's triangular bread; a mug of anise tea follows. Chicha de jora contains alcohol; for an alcohol-free adobo, use the vinegar and water swap in the ingredient list, which gives the same sour edge. Boiling it hard is the classic error, as it toughens the pork; it should barely tremble under the lid. Chef's tip: marinate the pork the evening before, always in the fridge, and cook it the next morning in its marinade.

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Seco de cabritoBraised kid goat with coriander

Ask anyone in Chiclayo or Lambayeque for the north's great Sunday dish and seco de cabrito comes up first: young goat, marinated in garlic and vinegar, then braised slowly in a deep green sauce of blended coriander, ají amarillo and chicha de jora, with grated loche, the local aromatic squash. The meat turns tender and the sauce is herby, sour and warm. It comes to the table with white rice and frejoles (stewed canary beans) and a sharp salsa criolla. Chicha de jora is a fermented maize beer and contains alcohol; the alcohol-free swap in the ingredients keeps the tang. Lamb shoulder stands in well for kid. People often blend the coriander with the stems discarded, but the stems carry the most flavour, so use the whole bunch. Chef's tip: add half the coriander at the start and half 10 minutes before the end, so the sauce stays bright green.

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