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Prekmurska gibanica

Prekmurje, the flat north-eastern corner of Slovenia on the Mura river near the Hungarian border, built this towering cake for weddings and harvest feasts, and it is now protected as a traditional speciality. On a shortcrust base sit eight thin layers, four fillings repeated twice: poppy seed, curd cheese, walnut and apple, each separated by thin pastry and soaked with sour cream and melted butter, so every slice shows neat stripes of grey, white, brown and gold. Serve it warm or the next day with coffee; it keeps for 3 days in the fridge and freezes well. Curd cheese (skuta or quark) is usually rennet-free, but check the label. Going heavy on the fillings is the classic trap: each layer should be about 1 cm, or the cake won't bake through and the stripes blur. Chef's tip: make all four fillings the evening before, and assembly the next day takes just 20 minutes.

180 minBalkanBaking
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Vanilice

No slava, the family saint's day feast in Serbia, goes by without a plate of vanilice, and every grandmother's tin holds a few hundred at Christmas. Two tiny fluted rounds of tender walnut shortbread are glued together with tart jam, usually apricot or rosehip, then rolled in vanilla sugar until snowy. They crumble at the first bite and turn soft and melting after a day or two in the tin. Many old recipes use lard; this one uses butter, so the biscuits are vegetarian. Where most people go wrong is baking them until golden: vanilice should stay pale, with only the faintest colour on the base, or they turn hard and lose their vanilla scent. Chef's tip: roll them in the sugar while they are still slightly warm from sandwiching, so the coating clings.

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Soparnik

Between Split and Omiš, in the stony villages of Poljica in Dalmatia, women once baked soparnik on the open hearth, sliding a huge round of thin dough under hot embers and ash. Its filling is nothing but raw Swiss chard, onion and parsley with olive oil, and the finished pie is brushed with garlic and more oil while it is still steaming. It is crisp at the edges, soft and green inside, and was traditionally eaten on fasting days such as Good Friday and Christmas Eve, cut into diamonds and served lukewarm with a glass of water or a plate of olives. A common mistake is salting the chard too early: it weeps water and the bottom turns soggy, so salt only as you spread it. Chef's tip: heat a large baking tray or pizza stone in the hottest possible oven so the base cooks fast, as it would on the hearthstone.

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Paprenjaci

Paprenjaci have been baked in Zagreb and the villages of northern Croatia for centuries, and today they are on the list of Croatian heritage foods, sold at Christmas fairs and as gifts in pretty tins. The dough is sweetened with honey and spiced with cinnamon, cloves and a surprising amount of black pepper, then pressed into carved wooden moulds so each biscuit carries a flower, bird or heart. They are firm at first, with a slow peppery heat behind the honey, and soften after a few days. Serve them with tea, mulled apple juice or coffee. The usual slip is forgetting to flour the mould, so the dough sticks and the pattern tears; dust it every time. Chef's tip: grind the pepper as finely as you can, almost to a powder, so you get warmth in every bite rather than hard specks.

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Kajmak

At the Zlatibor and Čačak markets, women sell kajmak from wide tubs, cut in soft ivory folds that taste of cooked milk, butter and a little salt. It is made by slowly heating rich milk, letting it settle in shallow pans and lifting off the thick skin that forms as it cools, then layering those skins with salt. This home version uses pasteurised milk and cream and stays in the fridge throughout; the long-aged, raw-milk kajmak of the villages is not something to copy at home. Spread it on warm lepinja or proja, or stir it into hot potatoes. A common mistake is letting the milk boil: the bubbles tear the skin and you end up with flecks instead of a thick sheet. Chef's tip: keep the skimmed milk left underneath for porridge, proja or pancakes; nothing goes to waste.

1440 minBalkanBasicsGluten free
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Stonski kolač

Behind the long stone walls of Ston, on the Pelješac peninsula near Dubrovnik in Croatia, bakers make one of the strangest cakes on the Adriatic: a pastry case filled with short pieces of cooked pasta, ground walnuts, chocolate, cinnamon and citrus zest, all bound with eggs and sugar. It is served on feast days and at weddings, cut into dense, fragrant slices where the pasta gives a soft, chewy bite against the nutty filling. Many families add a splash of rum to the filling; this recipe is alcohol-free, and adults can add 2 tbsp of rum with the zest if they like. A common mistake is cutting the cake while warm, when the filling is still too soft to hold; leave it to cool completely. Chef's tip: undercook the pasta by a minute, because it keeps softening in the oven.

120 minBalkanBaking
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Ballokume

Every 14 March, Elbasan in central Albania celebrates Dita e Verës, Summer Day, an old spring festival that is now a national holiday, and the whole town smells of ballokume. These pale golden cookies are made from cornmeal, lots of butter, sugar and eggs, beaten until almost fluffy, then baked into little domes that crack on top and melt into sandy, buttery crumbs. Families give plates of them to neighbours and children nibble them alongside the red-and-white spring bracelets called verore; they are lovely with tea or Turkish-style coffee. This version is gluten free, made with fine cornmeal and cornflour, so check both packets carry a gluten-free label. Under-beating is the classic error: the butter and sugar need a full ten minutes until almost white, or the cookies bake dense and greasy. Chef's tip: chill the shaped cookies for 15 minutes before baking so they keep their dome.

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Flija

Flija is the dish of long summer afternoons in Kosovo, from the Rugova valley to the villages around Prizren, when friends gather and take turns tending the saç, a domed iron lid heaped with embers. Thin batter is painted onto a round tray in spokes, cooked under the heat, brushed with a mix of sour cream and yogurt, then painted again, until 15 or more layers have built up over a couple of hours. Cut into wedges, it is chewy, buttery and lightly scorched, served with honey, white cheese, pickled peppers or a bowl of yogurt. At home, a very hot oven grill stands in for the saç. The most frequent mistake is crowding the batter: each spoke must leave a finger-wide gap for the next layer to fill, or the pie becomes a thick, gummy pancake. Chef's tip: keep the batter as thin as single cream, and whisk in a spoonful of water whenever it thickens as it stands.

240 minBalkanBaking
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Pispili

When the spring greens come up in southern Albania, around Korçë and down towards Gjirokastër, households bake pispili in a round tray: a coarse cornmeal batter spread over a thick bed of spinach, leeks, dill and crumbled white cheese, then baked until the top is cracked and golden. Neither bread nor quite a pie, it is cut into diamonds and eaten warm or at room temperature, often with a bowl of yogurt, olives and spring onions for a simple lunch. Albanian white cheese and most feta are made with animal rennet, so check the label or use a vegetarian feta-style cheese. The usual slip is leaving the greens wet: squeeze them hard, or the bottom layer steams into a soggy paste under the cornmeal. Chef's tip: drag a fork across the batter before it goes in the oven and drizzle oil into the grooves; that gives the rough, crackly crust pispili is loved for.

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Krompiruša

In Bosnia only the meat pie is called burek; the potato version is krompiruša, and Sarajevo's buregdžinice bake it in great round copper trays, coiled like a snail. Thin pastry is wrapped around raw diced potato and onion seasoned with pepper, rolled into long ropes and coiled into the tin, then baked until the outside shatters and the potato inside turns soft and peppery. It is entirely plant-based when made with oil and shop-bought filo, which usually contains only flour, water and oil. Eat it hot with a glass of cold plain yogurt, or soya yogurt to keep it vegan. Where most people go wrong is cutting the potatoes too early, so they turn grey and watery; prepare them just before rolling. Chef's tip: when it comes out of the oven, sprinkle with a little hot water and cover with a clean tea towel for 10 minutes, which softens the top layers just as Bosnian bakers do.

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Reform torta

Belgrade pastry shops have sold reform torta since the early twentieth century, and it is still the cake Serbian families bring out for birthdays, weddings and the slava. Three thin layers of walnut meringue, crisp at the edge and chewy inside, are stacked with a dense chocolate butter cream made with egg yolks cooked over steam until thick. It is very rich, so cut thin slices and serve with strong coffee. The usual slip is beating the butter into a chocolate mixture that is still warm, which melts it and splits the cream; let it cool to room temperature first. Chef's tip: assemble the cake the day before; overnight in the fridge the meringue softens a little and the cake slices cleanly with a hot knife.

150 minBalkanBaking
by KrazyBadal 1 views

Vanillekipferl

No Austrian Christmas cookie tin is complete without Vanillekipferl, the pale little crescents that melt on the tongue; Viennese grandmothers bake them by the hundred in early December, and they are just as loved over the border in Bavaria. The dough is short and rich with butter and ground almonds, and the crescents are rolled in vanilla sugar while still warm so it sticks. The common mistake is overbaking: they should stay pale with only the tips turning golden, or they lose their tender, sandy texture. Chef's tip: chill the dough well and shape it with cool hands; warm dough cracks and the crescents spread in the oven.

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Kispiño

Pressed in a fist so each one carries the marks of the cook's fingers, kispiño are small, dense quinoa cakes from the Puno highlands, steamed and then left to dry so they keep for weeks on journeys, herding trips and pilgrimages. Traditional ones are bound with a little lime water (from cal, the mineral) and fat; this home version uses oil and a pinch of aniseed and sugar, so they're vegan and pleasantly savoury-sweet. They're firm and chewy, a little like a grain cake, and good with hot tea, coca tea or a soup on a cold day. The common mistake is making the dough too wet, so the cakes slump in the steamer; it should feel like damp sand that holds its shape when squeezed. Ground quinoa is quinoa flour; grind your own from rinsed, dried and toasted grain, or buy it ready ground. Chef's tip: toast the ground quinoa in a dry pan first until it smells nutty, which takes away any bitterness.

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Aguajina

Aguaje is the scaly, chestnut-red fruit of the moriche palm that grows in the flooded forests around Iquitos, and its orange flesh ends up in ice lollies, ice cream and, above all, aguajina, the cold drink sold in plastic cups at every corner and in Belén market. The taste is unusual and loved locally: tangy, a little like apricot and carrot, with a rich, slightly oily body. Fresh aguaje must be softened in warm water for an hour before its thin layer of pulp can be scraped off; outside Peru, frozen aguaje pulp from Latin American shops is the realistic choice and gives a good result. A common slip is adding all the sugar before tasting: the pulp's sourness varies from pack to pack, so sweeten at the end. Serve very cold with lunch or on a hot afternoon. Chef's tip: blend the pulp with only part of the water first, so it breaks down fully, then stir in the rest.

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Chapo

Breakfast stalls in Iquitos and the riverside towns of Loreto pour chapo into glasses from big steaming pots before the heat of the day sets in, and by afternoon the same drink is sold chilled. It is made from plantains left until their skins are black, simmered with cinnamon and cloves until soft, then blended smooth and loosened with milk. The result is thick, naturally sweet and gently spiced, somewhere between a smoothie and a thin custard, and children love it. Some families make it with water only; evaporated milk is the common addition in town. The mistake is using plantains that are still yellow-green: they taste starchy and the drink turns grey and gluey, so wait until the skins are mostly black and the fruit gives when pressed. Serve hot with bread or a tamal, or cold over ice. Chef's tip: strain it through a sieve after blending for a silky drink, and thin it with water if it thickens as it cools.

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Camu camu

Camu camu are small purple-red berries that grow on bushes along the flooded riverbanks of the Peruvian Amazon, and in Iquitos and Pucallpa they are sold as frozen pulp and blended into a sharp, pink refresco at juice bars and lunch places. The flavour is intensely sour, more than lime, with a faint cherry note, and the berries are famous for containing far more vitamin C than oranges. It is the drink people order with a heavy plate of tacacho or rice. Never boil camu camu or make the juice hours ahead: heat and air quickly fade its colour and much of the vitamin C, so blend it cold and drink it soon. Frozen pulp or freeze-dried powder from health-food and Latin shops are the forms you'll find abroad. Chef's tip: start with half the pulp and add more to taste; it's strong enough that a little goes a long way.

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King kong

Named, the story goes, after the giant ape because of its size when the film reached Peru, the king kong is Lambayeque's proudest sweet: thick, crumbly biscuit layers stacked with manjar blanco, a sticky pineapple jam and a peanut fudge, then cut into heavy slabs. Shops in Lambayeque and Chiclayo sell them by the kilo in boxes, and travellers carry them home as gifts. It is very sweet, buttery and dense, so a slice goes a long way with black coffee. This home version makes the manjar blanco from condensed and evaporated milk to save hours, then turns half of it into the peanut layer. The usual mistake is overbaking the biscuit until it is hard; take it out as soon as the edges are pale gold, as it firms up while it cools. It is a project, so make the fillings first and let them cool. Chef's tip: wrap the finished king kong and leave it overnight before cutting; the layers settle and soften into each other.

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Turrón de Doña Pepa

Every October, the month of the Señor de los Milagros processions in Lima, bakeries and street sellers pile their trays with turrón de Doña Pepa: layers of crumbly anise-flavoured sticks drenched in a dark syrup of chancaca cooked with fruit and spices, topped with a storm of coloured sprinkles. Popular lore credits it to Josefa Marmanillo, a woman from the Cañete valley who is said to have made it in thanks after the procession. It is sticky, crunchy and soft at once, with orange and clove in the syrup. Its downfall is usually runny syrup that soaks the sticks into mush; it needs to reach a thick, threading stage before it goes on. Chancaca is sold as cones or blocks in Latin shops; panela or dark muscovado also work. Some coloured sprinkles contain gelatin, so check the label. Chef's tip: make it a day ahead; the syrup sets and the sticks soften just enough to slice neatly.

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Champús

When Lima's grey winter sets in, from June to September, champús sellers set up on street corners with big pots of this thick, fruity drink, ladled warm into glasses and eaten as much as drunk. It's made from mote (hulled white corn), simmered with pineapple, quince or apple, soursop, chancaca and warm spices, then thickened lightly with corn flour, so every spoonful has soft fruit and chewy corn in a spiced, molasses-sweet base. It is close in spirit to mazamorra morada but paler and tangier. The mistake people make is adding the thickener straight into the hot pot, where it forms lumps; always slake it in cold water first and pour it in while stirring. Canned or jarred hominy saves hours; frozen soursop (guanábana) pulp is in Latin shops and can be left out. Serve warm in glasses with spoons. Chef's tip: simmer the pineapple peel and core with the spices for the first 20 minutes, then strain them out; they give much of the flavour.

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Emoliente

Before dawn, all over Peru, emolienteros set up their carts with a row of steaming kettles and jars of herbs, and commuters stop for a glass of emoliente on the way to work. It's a hot infusion of toasted barley, flaxseed and herbs, with lime juice and sugar added to order, and it is drunk for comfort and digestion, especially in Lima's damp winter. The flaxseed gives it a slippery, soothing body; the barley a toasty, almost coffee-like note. Street versions use horsetail, alfalfa, boldo and other herbs; this home version keeps it simple, with horsetail as an option (leave it out if you are pregnant or have kidney problems). The usual error is boiling the flax too long, which makes the drink gloopy; add it for the last 10 minutes only. Serve very hot in glasses, with pan con queso or a sandwich. Barley contains gluten. Chef's tip: toast the barley yourself until it is deep brown; it's what gives emoliente its colour and its roasted flavour.

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Quinua con manzana

Morning market stalls and street carts from Lima to Huancayo ladle quinua con manzana into glasses alongside emoliente and maca, and many people drink it as breakfast on its own, with a bread roll or a sandwich beside it. Quinoa and chunks of apple are simmered with cinnamon and cloves until the grains burst and the liquid thickens, then sweetened and served warm or cold. Some stalls blend it smooth; others leave the grains and soft apple pieces to spoon up. It is mild, fruity and filling, and children usually like it. The mistake that ruins it is skipping the rinse: quinoa's natural coating, saponin, makes the drink bitter and soapy, so rub it under running water until the foam stops. Chef's tip: add a few drops of lime at the end; it lifts the apple and keeps the drink from tasting flat.

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Esterházytorte

Named after a Hungarian noble family and claimed by both Budapest and Vienna, this torte is a showpiece of Viennese pastry shops, where it sits in the glass counter beside richer chocolate cakes. Five or six crisp-chewy almond meringue layers are stacked with a vanilla custard buttercream, then topped with white icing and the famous feathered chocolate lines. It has no flour at all, so it suits gluten-free guests. A common mistake is baking the layers too pale; they should be light golden, or they go soft and sticky in the cream. Chef's tip: draw the circles on baking paper first and spread the meringue to the line with a palette knife, so every layer matches.

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Kardinalschnitten

Kardinalschnitten, 'cardinal slices', were created in Vienna with the colours of the Church in mind: white meringue and yellow sponge baked side by side in stripes. In Viennese cafés they are a light, summery choice with an afternoon coffee. Two baked sheets of alternating stripes sandwich a soft coffee cream, and the result is crisp, airy and cool at the same time. A common mistake is overfilling with cream that has not been stabilised; it squeezes out when you cut. Here a little mascarpone keeps the cream firm without gelatine. Chef's tip: pipe the meringue stripes first and the sponge in the gaps after, so the sponge does not spread flat.

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Punschkrapfen

Punschkrapfen are the bright pink cubes that glow from every Viennese Konditorei counter, especially in winter. Traditionally the filling of sponge crumbs, jam and chocolate is soaked in rum punch, which gives the cake its name, so the classic version contains alcohol. This recipe makes the alcohol-free version with orange juice and strong black tea, which keeps the fruity, warming flavour that children can eat too; to make the traditional one, swap 40 ml of the orange juice for dark rum. The sponge is moist and dense, the icing sweet and crackly. A common mistake is skipping the overnight press; the cubes fall apart when cut. Many pink colourings use carmine, made from insects, so choose a plant-based one such as beetroot red. Chef's tip: cut with a knife dipped in hot water and wiped between each cut for clean edges.

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