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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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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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Tarta de zapallitosCourgette and cheese tart

In Buenos Aires every rotisería sells tartas by the slice, and at home a tarta de zapallitos is baked on Sunday evening so that a wedge can go into the vianda (packed lunch) for school and work all week. Zapallitos are round green courgettes; ordinary courgettes work just as well. The common mistake is adding the courgette raw, which floods the pastry; sauté it until the liquid has cooked away. Argentine queso rallado and many hard cheeses are made with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian hard cheese. Chef's tip: bake the tart on a preheated baking tray so the base crisps before the filling soaks in.

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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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VánočkaBraided Christmas bread

On Czech Christmas Eve morning, before the carp and the potato salad, the table holds a long golden vánočka, a sweet braided loaf whose layered plaits are said to represent the baby Jesus in swaddling. Families slice it for breakfast through the holidays with butter, honey or jam. The crumb is soft and rich with egg and butter, scented with lemon zest and studded with raisins; flaked almonds crisp up on the crust. The usual slip is braiding too loosely, so the tiers slide apart in the oven; plait tightly and hold them with wooden skewers while baking. Soaking raisins in warm water (not rum) keeps them juicy and alcohol-free. Chef's tip: vánočka keeps for days wrapped in a cloth, and slightly stale slices make superb French toast.

185 minCzechBaking
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ŽinčicaSoured whey drink

Hikers walking past a salaš, a Slovak shepherds' hut, are often offered a mug of žinčica, the cool, sour whey left over from making bryndza and hrudka cheese. Shepherds heat the whey until fine flakes of cheese float up, then leave it to sour, and drink it with boiled potatoes or on its own on a hot afternoon. It is thin, refreshing and tangy, a little like a light buttermilk. At the salaš it is often made from raw sheep's milk, so at home make it only from the whey of cheese made with pasteurised milk (the korbáčiky recipe gives you plenty) and vegetarian rennet. The common slip is leaving it to sour somewhere warm for too long, where it turns cheesy and harsh; a cool room and 12 hours is enough. Chef's tip: a spoonful of cultured buttermilk gives a clean, reliable sourness every time.

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JidášeEaster honey buns

Maundy Thursday, "Green Thursday" in Czech, is the day for jidáše, sweet yeasted buns rolled into ropes and coiled into spirals or loose knots to recall the rope of Judas, which gives them their name. Families in Bohemia and Moravia bake them for breakfast that morning and brush them, still hot, with honey; eating one was once said to bring health for the year. They are soft and fluffy, lightly scented with lemon, with a sticky, shiny top. A common mistake is brushing the honey on cold buns, where it just sits; warm the honey and glaze them straight from the oven so it soaks in. Honey is not suitable for babies under one year old. Chef's tip: roll the ropes thinner than you think, about finger thickness; they double as they prove.

145 minCzechBaking
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ZelňákSauerkraut yeast pie

Out in the Moravian wine villages, when bread was baked in the communal oven, the last of the dough went into zelňák: a flat yeast base spread with sour cabbage and fried onion and baked until the edges blister. It is still sold in bakeries around Brno and Hodonín and eaten warm in slices with a glass of buttermilk or new wine. Old recipes fry the onion in lard or add crackling; this version uses oil and butter and is vegetarian. The topping is tangy, sweet from the onion and scented with caraway, over a soft, bready base. Where it often goes wrong is using wet sauerkraut straight from the jar, which turns the base soggy. Squeeze it well and fry it first. Chef's tip: a thin layer of sour cream under the cabbage keeps the base moist and stops the topping drying out.

120 minCzechBaking
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Bratislavské rožkyWalnut or poppy seed crescents

Bakers in old Pressburg, today's Bratislava, have shaped these little horns for nearly three centuries, and the city still treats them as its own Christmas and wedding pastry. The walnut ones are bent into a horseshoe and the poppy seed ones into a crescent, so you can tell them apart on the plate. The dough is rich and short, almost like a pastry, and the shiny brown top is crazed with fine cracks from a double egg glaze. A common mistake is glazing the second time before the first coat is dry, which leaves a dull, smooth top instead of the famous marbling. Patience is the whole trick: a cool rest after the yolk, then a warm rest after the white. Old recipes add a splash of rum to the walnut filling; this version uses lemon and cinnamon instead. Chef's tip: keep the dough cold and work quickly, so the butter stays in tiny flakes.

150 minCzechBaking
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BublaninaCherry sponge traybake

Czech grandmothers make bublanina the moment cherries ripen in June, and again with apricots or plums later in summer, baking it in a big tray for afternoon coffee in the garden. The name comes from the bubbles that form as the fruit sinks into the batter. It is a light, buttery sponge, golden at the edges, with pockets of juicy, sharp fruit and a snowfall of icing sugar on top; children love it warm. A common mistake is folding in the flour too hard, which knocks out the air and makes a tough cake; mix until just combined. Pitted fruit is easiest for little eaters. Chef's tip: toss the fruit in a spoon of flour before scattering it over, so it sits in the sponge instead of sinking to the bottom.

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FrgályYeast tarts with pear or cheese

At weddings and church fairs in Moravian Wallachia, in the hills around Rožnov and Vsetín, tables are stacked with frgály: yeast tarts as wide as a dinner plate, rolled so thin the filling seems to sit on a crisp, chewy disc. The classic toppings are dried pear mixed with plum butter, sweet tvaroh (Czech quark), or poppy seed, all scattered with a buttery crumble. This recipe makes four, two with each of the first two fillings. Tvaroh is usually set without rennet, but some brands use it, so check the label. The usual slip is leaving the dough thick in the middle, which makes a bready tart; roll right to the edge, about 3 mm thick. Chef's tip: bake on the lowest oven shelf on a hot tray, so the base browns before the filling dries.

150 minCzechBaking
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Camu camuCamu camu berry juice

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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EmolienteBarley and flaxseed herbal drink

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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Bolas de fraileDulce de leche doughnuts

Friars' balls, to translate them literally, are a fixture of the Buenos Aires panadería counter among the facturas that porteños buy by the dozen on Sunday morning: soft, round yeast doughnuts, fried golden, rolled in sugar and split or piped with dulce de leche or crema pastelera. Children dive for them first. Inside they are light and fluffy, outside slightly crisp and sweet, and they are at their best within a few hours, with mate or coffee with milk. Oil that is too hot is the mistake: the outsides brown in seconds and the centres stay raw and doughy, so keep it at 170 °C and fry slowly. A thermometer helps a lot. Pastry cream is the other classic filling if you prefer it. Chef's tip: let the shaped balls rise on individual squares of baking paper and slide them into the oil on the paper; they keep their round shape and the paper peels off after a few seconds.

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Quinua con manzanaQuinoa and apple drink

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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AguajinaAguaje palm fruit drink

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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Bizcochitos de grasaSavoury beef fat biscuits

A paper bag of bizcochitos de grasa sits next to the mate gourd in kitchens, offices and roadside service stations across Argentina, from Buenos Aires to the Andes. These little rounds, a couple of bites each, are layered with beef fat, so they flake and crumble, salty and plain enough to eat by the dozen with bitter mate in the afternoon. The fat is rendered beef fat (grasa vacuna), so they are not vegetarian; ask your butcher for dripping or render suet yourself. A dough worked too warm is the mistake that robs them of their layers; the fat melts into it instead of staying in sheets. Chef's tip: chill the dough for 10 minutes between folds whenever it starts to feel greasy, and prick each round right through so it puffs in flakes rather than domes.

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KispiñoSteamed quinoa cakes

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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