All recipes

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Nam dok anchan (butterfly pea lemonade)

Vines of butterfly pea climb fences in gardens all over Thailand, and cafés from Bangkok to Krabi serve the flowers as an iced drink that changes colour at the table. The tea itself is mild and earthy, blue as ink; stirring in lime juice turns it violet and makes it tangy, which children love to watch. Chef's tip: the common mistake is mixing the lime in beforehand; serve the blue tea and lime separately so the colour change happens in the glass.

15 min

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Nom yen (pink milk)Pink iced milk

Thai drink stalls outside schools and markets keep a bottle of red sala syrup next to the condensed milk for this sweet, bubblegum-pink milk, a favourite of children from Bangkok to Hat Yai. Sala is a tangy palm fruit, and the syrup tastes of it lightly, almost like cream soda; any red sala-flavoured syrup from an Asian shop works. Shake it with ice until frothy. Chef's tip: the mistake is too much syrup, which turns it lurid and cloying; start with a tablespoon per glass and add more to taste.

5 min

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Nam takrai (lemongrass drink)

Thai spa receptions and roadside rice shops both pour this from big glass jars, and in Chiang Mai and Bangkok homes a pot is often simmering on hot afternoons. Bruised lemongrass gives a clean, lemony, slightly grassy taste and pandan a soft vanilla note; lightly sweetened, it is refreshing over ice and soothing warm on a rainy-season evening. Chef's tip: the usual mistake is chopping the lemongrass fine and boiling it hard, which makes it bitter; bash the stalks and simmer gently.

20 min

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Nam bai toey (pandan drink)

Every Thai garden seems to have a clump of pandan by the tap, and on hot days cooks across the country blitz a handful of leaves into this bright green drink sold at temple fairs and noodle shops. It tastes sweet, grassy and faintly of vanilla and basmati, and is said to cool the body. Fresh leaves give the best colour; frozen ones from Asian shops work well too. Chef's tip: the mistake is serving it unstrained or leaving it for hours; strain it twice through cloth and drink it the same day, as it fades and turns grey.

15 min

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Nam krachiap (roselle drink)

In the dry hot season Thai markets from Isan to Bangkok sell bags of this ruby drink tied with a straw, made from the dried calyces of the roselle plant grown in the northeast. It tastes like cranberry with a floral edge, sharply tart and only lightly sweet, with a pinch of salt to lift it. Drink it very cold; it keeps for days in the fridge. Chef's tip: the mistake is boiling the roselle for a long time, which turns it bitter and dull; simmer briefly and then let it steep off the heat.

20 min

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CancháncharaAguardiente, lime and honey cocktail

In the colonial town of Trinidad, in Sancti Spíritus province, the canchánchara is served in little clay cups to the sound of a son band in the late afternoon. Its roots are in the independence wars of the 1860s and 70s, when the mambí fighters drank cane aguardiente mixed with honey, lime and water, warm or at camp temperature. Today it comes with crushed ice, but it is still a drink for adults only, rustic and honest: floral honey, sharp lime and the raw, sugary heat of young cane spirit, cold and only slightly diluted. The classic mistake is pouring honey straight onto the ice, where it sets into a hard lump at the bottom and the drink tastes of nothing but sour spirit. Stir the honey into the lime and water first until no streaks remain, then add the ice and spirit. It is ready when the honey has disappeared into a cloudy, even mixture and the outside of the cup sweats with cold. Drink it slowly and responsibly. Outside Cuba, use unaged white rum or cachaça for the aguardiente; a short tumbler is fine if you have no clay cup. Chef's tip: soak the clay cup in cold water for ten minutes first; it keeps the drink cold for much longer.

5 min

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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.

10 min

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Café con lecheCoffee with hot milk

Every morning from Havana to Miami's Little Havana, breakfast is a big cup of café con leche with a length of buttered, pressed Cuban bread (tostada) to dunk in it. A moka pot of dark espresso-style coffee is whipped with sugar into a pale foam, the espumita, and poured into a mug of hot, lightly salted milk. The usual mistake is boiling the milk, which gives it a skin and a cooked taste; heat it only until it steams. Coffee contains caffeine, so this is a grown-up drink; children traditionally get a cup that is mostly milk. Chef's tip: whisk the first few drops of coffee hard with the sugar to a thick paste before adding the rest; that is what makes the creamy espumita on top.

10 min

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CortaditoEspresso with steamed milk

Havana runs on small cups of coffee: a cafecito standing at a ventanita, a colada shared in tiny plastic cups at work, and in the afternoon or with breakfast, a cortadito, which is Cuban coffee cut (cortado) with roughly as much hot milk. The coffee is brewed in a stovetop cafetera, and the first dark drops are whipped hard with sugar into a pale, thick espumita that floats on top of the cup. The result is rich, very sweet and caramel-like, with a velvety milk body and a strong, bitter edge underneath. It is high in caffeine, so it is not one for children. The common mistake is adding sugar to the pot or stirring it in at the end; without the espumita you get a thin, flat drink. Beat the first concentrated coffee with the sugar until it turns light tan and holds soft folds, then pour in the rest. It is ready when a pale foam floats on the cup and the milk has been heated until steaming, with small bubbles around the edge but not boiling. Chef's tip: catch only the first 2–3 teaspoons of coffee for the foam; later coffee is too thin to whip.

10 min

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Daiquiri

The daiquirí is named after a beach and the old iron mines east of Santiago de Cuba, where engineers and miners at the turn of the twentieth century mixed the local white rum with lime and sugar to cut the heat. Later Havana's bars turned it into a frozen blended drink, but in eastern Cuba it is still drunk the plain way, shaken, in the late afternoon or before a dinner of congrí and roast pork. It is a cocktail for adults only, short and clean: tart lime, a light touch of sugar and the soft, dry vanilla notes of light rum, served so cold it almost stings. The common mistake is a lazy shake, which leaves the drink warm, harsh and too strong. Fill the shaker with ice and shake hard for a full 12–15 seconds. It is ready when the tin is too cold to hold, there are tiny shards of ice on the surface and the drink has a fine foam at the rim. Have one and drink responsibly. Balance matters more than amounts: taste your limes, and add a little more syrup if they are very sour. Chef's tip: chill the coupe in the freezer first; a daiquirí loses its magic within minutes in a warm glass.

5 min

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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.

10 min

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Nam lamyai (longan drink)

Longan orchards cover the valleys of Chiang Mai and Lamphun, and every August the harvest is smoked and dried in big brick ovens so the fruit lasts all year. That dried lamyai is the base of nam lamyai, sold in plastic bags with a straw at Warorot Market, at roadside stalls on the way to Doi Suthep and in school canteens across the north, especially in the hot season from March to May. It tastes like toffee and smoked honey with a light floral note, and each glass comes with a few plump, chewy longans at the bottom to fish out. The common mistake is boiling the fruit too long with all the sugar at the start: the drink turns syrupy and the longans go mushy. Simmer the fruit first, sweeten at the end and taste before adding everything. It is ready when the liquid is clear amber-brown, the longans have swollen back to roughly their fresh size and the kitchen smells of caramel. It keeps 4 days in a closed jug in the fridge. Chef's tip: a tiny pinch of salt is the street-vendor trick that makes the sweetness taste rounder and brings out the smoky edge.

30 min

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Batido de mameyMamey milkshake

In Havana and all over the island, the cafeteria counter has a blender that never stops, turning out batidos of mango, guanábana, papaya and the favourite of all, mamey. The fruit has a rough brown skin and a soft, salmon-red flesh that tastes like sweet potato, pumpkin pie, almond and apricot at once, and blended with cold milk it makes a shake so thick it is almost a dessert. It is drunk mid-afternoon on hot days, at breakfast with toast, or at a kid's birthday party; Miami's Cuban cafés keep the tradition alive with frozen pulp. The common mistake is using a hard mamey, which tastes starchy and slightly bitter; the fruit must give like a ripe avocado when pressed and show deep red flesh when you scratch the skin with a fingernail. The batido is ready when it is smooth, pumpkin-orange and pours slowly in a thick ribbon. Frozen mamey pulp from Latin American shops is a good substitute; reduce the ice because the pulp is already cold. Chef's tip: a pinch of salt and a drop of vanilla bring out mamey's almond notes.

5 min

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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.

10 min

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Kafae boran (old-style Thai coffee)

Before espresso bars reached Bangkok, coffee in Thailand meant kafae boran from Hainanese-Chinese shophouses and market carts: a dark robusta roast mixed with toasted grains, poured through a long cotton sock called a tung tom and stirred into thick sweetened condensed milk. Uncles still order it hot at 6 am with patongko dough sticks, and in the afternoon heat the same brew is poured over crushed ice and topped with evaporated milk as oliang or kafae yen. The taste is strong, roasty and slightly smoky, sweet and creamy, with a faint caramel-cereal edge from the grains; the iced version is silky and cold. The common mistake is brewing it like filter coffee with too little grounds: once milk and ice go in, it tastes thin. Use plenty, steep it in the sock and pour it through twice. The brew is ready when it is opaque, nearly black and leaves a brown film on a white spoon. It is high in caffeine, so not one for children or late evenings. Chef's tip: rinse the cloth sock in hot water only, never soap, and keep it in a jar of clean water in the fridge between uses so the coffee oils season it.

10 min

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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.

10 min

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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.

8 min

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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.

5 min

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Mojito

In Old Havana the mojito is the answer to three o'clock heat: made at bar counters along Obispo Street, on the Malecón and at home on the patio, often with a plate of tostones or chicharritas on the side. It is a drink for adults only, though its cool, fresh taste can fool you; sip it slowly and drink responsibly. A real Cuban mojito is fragrant and grassy from hierbabuena, the mild local mint, sharp with lime, gently sweet and lightly sparkling, with the rum giving it backbone rather than burn. The common mistake is shredding the mint with heavy muddling: the leaves turn black, bitter and stick in your teeth. Press the leaves softly against the sugar and lime just until you can smell them strongly, then stop. It is ready when the sugar has dissolved, the glass is fully frosted and the mint leaves are scattered bright green through the ice. Outside Cuba, use spearmint; peppermint tastes like toothpaste here. Chef's tip: slap the garnish sprig between your palms before tucking it in beside the straw; every sip then comes with the smell of fresh mint.

5 min

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Batido de trigoPuffed wheat shake

Havana cafeterías and Miami ventanitas blend this for breakfast on the run: puffed wheat, cold milk, sugar and ice whizzed into a thick, frothy shake that tastes like a malted milk with toasted cereal. It is one of the most loved Cuban batidos, and quick to make at home. The common mistake is using sweetened, honey-coated cereal, which makes it cloying; plain puffed wheat lets the toasty grain flavour come through. Chef's tip: blend the puffed wheat with half the milk first until completely smooth, then add the ice, so you don't get soggy flecks of cereal.

5 min

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Prú orientalSpiced root drink

In Santiago de Cuba, Guantánamo and Baracoa, prú is sold from plastic bottles at the kitchen door and poured at every birthday, often next to a slab of cake. The recipe came from Haitian and French-Caribbean coffee planters who settled in the east, and families still keep a "madre", a starter jar from the last batch. Roots of raíz de China and bejuco ubí are boiled with pine, cinnamon and allspice, sweetened and left to ferment for a few days. It tastes like a wild, earthy root beer: woody, spiced, a little bitter, with a soft prickle. Fermentation makes a trace of alcohol, well under 1% if drunk young. Outside Cuba use dried sarsaparilla root, a close relative of China root. The common mistake is sealing bottles too early and leaving them warm, which builds dangerous pressure; use a plastic test bottle and chill once it is firm. It is ready when tiny bubbles rise and it smells sweet-sour, not yeasty. Throw it out if it grows fuzzy mould, turns slimy or smells rotten. Pregnant people should skip the pine needles, and anyone on medication should check with a doctor about herbal roots. Chef's tip: keep 250 ml back as the madre for your next batch.

70 min