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Cau cau

Cheap, filling and deeply loved, cau cau is a lunchtime staple at Lima's menú restaurants and market comedores, served with white rice. Pieces of honeycomb tripe are simmered until soft, then stewed with diced potato in a golden sauce of ají amarillo, garlic and turmeric, finished with a fistful of mint (hierbabuena) that freshens the richness. The texture is soft and slightly springy, the sauce mild, warm and herby. Buy tripe from a butcher or Latin, Asian or halal shop already cleaned and blanched (white honeycomb); it must be simmered until fully tender and cooked through. The common mistake is undercooking the tripe: if it squeaks between your teeth it needs longer. Chef's tip: cut the potatoes small and let some of them break up at the end; they thicken the sauce naturally.

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Purtumute

High-jungle towns like Chachapoyas and Moyobamba, in the cloud-forest regions of Amazonas and San Martín, serve purtumute at festivals and family gatherings: a thick pot of beans and big white mote corn kernels simmered with onion, garlic, chilli and plenty of chopped culantro. Some versions add cheese or pork crackling; this one keeps it vegan, letting the creamy beans and chewy corn carry the dish. It is filling and earthy with a fresh green finish, and it is served in bowls with ají on the side and a plantain or a little rice. The dried beans need an overnight soak, which isn't included in the times. The usual mistake is adding salt and the sofrito too early, which can stop the beans from softening; season once they are tender. Canned or jarred white hominy works for the mote. Chef's tip: mash a ladle of the beans against the side of the pot near the end; it thickens the stew without any flour.

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Carapulcra

Older than Peru itself, carapulcra comes from the Afro-Peruvian kitchens of Chincha, south of Lima, where it is cooked in big pots for saints' days and family lunches and served next to a mound of sopa seca, a pairing locals call the 'matrimonio'. Pieces of papa seca, potato that has been boiled, sun-dried and broken into nuggets, are toasted and simmered with pork shoulder in a brick-red sauce of ají panca, garlic, cumin and ground peanuts, until the potato swells into chewy, savoury lumps and the sauce turns thick and nutty. Most people skip toasting the papa seca, and the stew tastes flat; the dry pan is where the flavour comes from. Chef's tip: stir often in the last half hour and add hot stock a ladle at a time; papa seca drinks liquid and catches on the base without warning.

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Seco de cabrito

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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Adobo arequipeño

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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Puca picante

Puca means red in Quechua, and Ayacucho's puca picante is as red as a stew gets, thanks to ají panca and a little beetroot. Cubes of pork and potato simmer in a sauce thickened with ground toasted peanuts until creamy, nutty and mildly hot; it is served at Ayacucho's Sunday lunches and during Semana Santa with white rice, a fried pork chunk on top and a sharp salsa criolla. A frequent error is too much beetroot, which makes it earthy and sweet; you only need enough for the colour. Chef's tip: toast the peanuts in a dry pan before grinding them, and the sauce tastes twice as deep.

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Olluquito con charqui

Olluco is a glossy yellow-and-pink tuber grown high in the Andes, crunchy when raw and silky when cooked, and in Lima's market eateries it is cut into fine matchsticks and stewed with charqui, sun-dried meat that was the travel food of Inca messengers. The dish is gently spiced with ají panca and finished with fresh parsley, and it is always served with white rice. Latin shops sell olluco in jars; if you can't find it, firm new potatoes or courgette give a similar texture, and beef brisket stands in well for charqui. Chef's tip: cut the olluco and rinse it well; the slippery sap washes off and the stew won't turn slimy.

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