All recipes

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Zwiebelkuchen

When the grape harvest starts in Baden and the Württemberg vineyards in September, bakeries pull out trays of Zwiebelkuchen: a thin yeast base piled with slowly softened onions under a sour-cream and egg custard, sprinkled with caraway. It is traditionally eaten warm with Neuer Wein or Federweißer, the young, still-fermenting wine; that is alcoholic, so pour cloudy fresh grape juice or apple juice instead, which tastes just as right. Many bakers add bacon; this version is vegetarian. A common mistake is rushing the onions on a high heat: they need 25 minutes on low until soft and sweet but still pale. Chef's tip: cool the onions before adding the custard, or the eggs start setting in the bowl.

70 min

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Birnen, Bohnen und Speck

Birnen, Bohnen und Speck is late-summer cooking from Hamburg and Schleswig-Holstein, made in August when green beans and small, firm cooking pears ripen at the same time in the Vierlande market gardens. A piece of smoked pork belly bacon is simmered until tender, and its smoky broth then cooks the beans, whole pears and potatoes, with summer savory to tie the sweet and salty together. It is one pot, served straight from the stove with the bacon sliced on top. Chef's tip: choose pears that are still hard; ripe dessert pears collapse into the beans.

90 min

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Pfälzer Saumagen

Saumagen is the pride of the Palatinate, served at wine-village festivals and family dinners from the Haardt hills to Ludwigshafen. A cleaned pig's stomach is stuffed with diced pork shoulder, pork sausage meat, potato and carrot seasoned with marjoram and nutmeg, poached slowly, then sliced thick and fried until crusty. The stomach works only as a casing and is ordered from a butcher; if you can't get one, bake the same filling in a covered terrine in a water bath. Serve with sauerkraut and mashed potato. Chef's tip: fill the stomach only three-quarters full, or it bursts as the potatoes swell.

225 min

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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.

15 min

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Labskaus

Labskaus is the pink, rough-textured hash that ships' cooks made from salted beef and potatoes, and it is still on the menu in harbour pubs from Hamburg to Bremen, often as a hearty lunch after a cold walk along the Elbe. Salt beef is fried with onion, then pounded into mashed potato with pickled beetroot and a splash of its juice, so the whole plate turns magenta. A fried egg goes on top, with gherkins and, for those who like it, a rolled pickled herring on the side. Chef's tip: keep back some of the beetroot liquid and add it at the end, a spoon at a time; it is the sharpness that stops the hash tasting heavy.

60 min

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Panhas

Panhas comes from the slaughter days of Westphalia and the Lower Rhine, when the pork broth left in the kettle was thickened with buckwheat flour and the scraps of meat and sausage so nothing went to waste. It sets into a firm loaf that keeps for days in the fridge; thick slices are fried until crisp and eaten for breakfast or supper with apple sauce, fried potatoes or rye bread. This version uses pork belly and coarse liver sausage. Chef's tip: fry the slices in a hot pan and leave them alone for the first 4 minutes, so a crust forms before you turn them.

90 min

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Nürnberger Rostbratwürste

Nuremberg's little pork sausages are barely longer than a finger, grilled over beechwood in the old town's sausage kitchens and sold three at a time in a crusty roll, 'Drei im Weggla', at the Christmas market and all year round. They are delicate, coarse-ground and fragrant with marjoram, mace and lemon zest, and at a sit-down meal six or twelve come on a pewter plate with sauerkraut and horseradish. Making them at home needs a mincer with a sausage nozzle and narrow sheep casings, and is a satisfying weekend project. Vegetarians can buy small vegetarian bratwursts and grill them with the same sides. Chef's tip: keep the meat and mincer ice-cold; warm fat smears and the sausages turn crumbly.

75 min

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Mecklenburger Rippenbraten

Mecklenburger Rippenbraten is the Christmas and Sunday roast of Mecklenburg on the Baltic coast, a flat piece of pork belly spread with apple and prunes, rolled, tied and roasted until the skin crackles. The fruit melts into the meat and turns the pan juices into a sweet, dark gravy, served with red cabbage and boiled potatoes. The prunes are sometimes soaked in rum; here they are soaked in apple juice, so the dish is alcohol-free. Chef's tip: dry the scored skin uncovered in the fridge overnight; dry skin is what puffs into crackling.

180 min

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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.

80 min

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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.

40 min

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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.

40 min

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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.

30 min

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Mutzbraten

Mutzbraten is the fairground roast of eastern Thuringia, from Schmölln and the Altenburg area, where big chunks of pork shoulder are rubbed with salt, pepper and lots of marjoram, threaded on skewers and hung in an iron cage over a birch-wood fire. It is sold sliced with sauerkraut and a slice of rye bread at markets and village festivals. At home a lidded kettle barbecue with birch or other mild wood chips gives a close result; an oven version is in the steps. Chef's tip: marinate overnight, as the marjoram needs time to work its way into the meat.

170 min

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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.

10 min

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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.

60 min

Peruvian Meat

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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.

150 min

Peruvian Baking

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Weißwurstfrühstück

In Munich the Weißwurst breakfast is a late-morning ritual, eaten between ten o'clock and noon in beer halls and butcher's cafés, with soft pretzels and a pot of sweet Bavarian mustard. The pale sausages of veal and pork back fat, flavoured with parsley, lemon and mace, are bought fresh from the butcher and gently heated, never boiled, then the skin is peeled off at the table. Making the mustard yourself is the easy, rewarding part. Vegetarians can heat plant-based white sausages the same way and keep the mustard and pretzel. Chef's tip: keep the water just below a simmer; boiling splits the skins and the sausages go grey and dry.

40 min

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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.

120 min

Peruvian Baking

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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.

55 min

Peruvian Baking

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Rosinenstuten

Rosinenstuten is the soft, slightly sweet raisin loaf that Westphalian and Rhineland families buy for Sunday breakfast and for christenings, where a giant one was once the traditional gift. It is baked in a long tin, sliced thick and spread with good butter, sometimes with a layer of cheese on top, which sounds odd and works beautifully. The crumb is fine and fluffy and the crust soft and shiny. A common mistake is adding dry raisins straight to the dough; they burn on the crust and steal moisture. Chef's tip: soak the raisins in hot water for 15 minutes, pat them dry and knead them in only at the very end, gently, so the dough stays light.

190 min

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Zwetschgendatschi

When the late-summer Zwetschgen (small, oval damson-type plums) arrive at the markets of Augsburg and Munich, every Bavarian and Swabian kitchen bakes a Datschi on the biggest tray it owns. A thin, soft yeast dough is covered edge to edge with plum halves stood upright in tight, overlapping rows, so the juices run and caramelise as it bakes. It is eaten in the afternoon, cut in squares, with a big spoon of whipped cream. A common mistake is using large round plums, which flood the dough with juice and leave it soggy; the firm, oval Zwetschgen hold their shape. Chef's tip: scatter a thin layer of fine breadcrumbs or ground almonds over the dough before the plums go on to catch the juice.

115 min

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Silesian Streuselkuchen

Streuselkuchen came west with families from Silesia, where a tray of it was baked for every wedding and church fair, and it is now sold in every German bakery. The point is the crumble: big, buttery, vanilla-scented lumps sitting almost as thick as the soft yeast base underneath. It is served plain with coffee in the afternoon, often a day old, when the streusel has gone crisp and the base slightly chewy. A common mistake is rubbing the streusel to fine sand; it should be squeezed into clumps the size of hazelnuts. Chef's tip: use cold, cubed butter and chill the finished streusel for 20 minutes before scattering it, so the lumps keep their shape in the oven.

120 min

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Franzbrötchen

No Hamburg bakery opens without a tray of Franzbrötchen: flaky, buttery yeast pastry rolled with cinnamon sugar, cut into pieces and pressed down hard in the middle with a wooden spoon handle so the spirals splay out into a squashed butterfly. The sugar caramelises underneath into a sticky, crunchy base. They are breakfast with coffee on the way to work and a Sunday treat at the harbour. The common mistake is letting the butter go soft while laminating: it oozes out and you get bread, not layers. Chef's tip: chill the dough between every fold, and press the shape down firmly before the final rise or it will spring back in the oven.

80 min