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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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Tahini cookies

Every Israeli bakery and grandmother's biscuit tin has ugiyot tahini, little domed cookies that crumble and melt on the tongue with a deep, toasty sesame flavour. They are baked for Shabbat coffee, for guests dropping by in Haifa or Jerusalem, and as an easy dairy-free sweet to follow a meat meal. This version uses oil rather than butter, so it is vegan. The mistake is baking until they turn golden all over; they firm up as they cool and should leave the oven pale with just-coloured bases. Chef's tip: stir the tahini jar thoroughly first, since the oil separates and a dry spoonful from the bottom makes sandy, dry cookies.

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BoulouAnise and raisin loaf

After the long Yom Kippur fast, Moroccan families in Beersheba and Dimona break it gently with tea and slices of boulou, a sweet, cake-like bread scented with anise and studded with raisins and walnuts. It keeps well for days, so many cooks bake it before the holiday and it lasts through Sukkot with coffee. The crumb is tight and tender, closer to a sweet brioche than to challah, with a shiny sesame top. People often under-bake it because the crust browns fast; check with a skewer, not by colour. Chef's tip: toast the anise seeds in a dry pan for a minute before adding them, which deepens the liquorice note without making it sharp.

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GazozFruit syrup soda

Before bottled soft drinks, the kiosks along Rothschild Boulevard and in Florentin sold gazoz: a squirt of fruit syrup topped up with fizzy water from a tap. Tel Aviv cafés have revived it as a glass crammed with fresh and lightly fermented fruit, flowers and herbs, so it is pretty, tart and only gently sweet. Make it on hot afternoons, for children's birthdays or as an alcohol-free welcome drink. The mistake is pouring the soda too early, so it goes flat before you drink it. Chef's tip: macerate the fruit in syrup for at least 30 minutes, ideally overnight in the fridge, so it bleeds colour into the glass.

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HamantaschenFilled triangle cookies

In Israel these are called oznei Haman, 'Haman's ears', and in the weeks before Purim every bakery from Tel Aviv to Be'er Sheva fills its windows with them, while families bake trays at home to pack into mishloach manot gift baskets. A short, lightly orange-scented dough is folded into a three-cornered pocket around a filling of poppy seeds cooked with milk and honey, or a quick date paste. They should be crisp at the edges and tender in the middle. The common mistake is rolling the dough too thin or overfilling, which makes the corners spring open in the oven. Chef's tip: chill the shaped cookies for 15 minutes before baking so the corners keep their sharp pinch.

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KichelCrisp bow-tie egg cookies

At kiddush in Ashkenazi synagogues, from Bnei Brak to the old shuls of Haifa, plates of kichel sit beside pickled herring and a small glass of something, and children quietly fill their pockets. The dough is barely sweet, rich in eggs, rolled out on sugar and twisted into bow-ties that puff up hollow and shatter when you bite them. They are good with tea, or with salty herring the traditional way. The common mistake is underbaking: they must dry right through and turn golden, or they go soft and chewy within a day. Chef's tip: roll the dough directly onto a layer of sugar so the crystals press in and caramelise underneath.

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LekachHoney cake

Every Ashkenazi family in Israel seems to have its own lekach, and in the days before Rosh Hashanah the smell of honey and spice drifts out of kitchens all over Kfar Saba and Jerusalem. It is a dark loaf of honey, brown sugar, strong coffee, cinnamon and cloves, made with oil so it stays dairy free for the festive meat meal. It tastes even better after two days wrapped, when the crumb turns sticky and deep. Slice it thinly and eat it with tea, wishing for a sweet new year. The common mistake is an oven that is too hot: honey burns quickly, so the outside darkens before the middle sets. Chef's tip: bake low and slow, and tent with foil once the top is mahogany.

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LimonanaFrozen mint lemonade

The name joins limon and nana, lemon and mint, and this slushy green lemonade is what beach cafés from Herzliya to Eilat hand over the counter on blazing summer days. Lemon juice, sugar syrup, a big handful of mint and ice are blended until smooth and frosty, so the drink is sour, sweet and cooling at once. It is alcohol-free and children love it. The mistake is blending the mint so long that it turns bitter and brownish; a short, hard blitz keeps it bright. Chef's tip: make the syrup ahead and chill it, then use plenty of ice so the drink stays thick rather than watery.

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MandelbrotTwice-baked almond cookies

Mandelbrot, 'almond bread' in Yiddish, is the biscuit jar staple in Ashkenazi grandmothers' kitchens from Ramat Gan to Netanya, set out with tea after Shabbat lunch and packed for long journeys because it keeps for weeks. Unlike Italian biscotti it is made with oil, so it is tender and crumbly rather than rock-hard, and this version is flavoured with orange zest and dusted with cinnamon sugar. Dip it in hot tea or coffee. Because there is no butter, it can follow a meat meal. The usual mistake is slicing the logs straight out of the oven, which crumbles them; let them cool for 15 minutes first. Chef's tip: use a serrated knife and one firm downward saw, rather than pressing, for clean slices.

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PetelRaspberry cordial

A jug of petel on the table means summer in Israel: generations of kids have grown up drinking the bright red raspberry cordial in kindergarten, at kibbutz pools and at Shabbat lunches. The bottled kind is mostly colouring and flavouring; this homemade version simmers real raspberries with sugar and lemon into a fruity, tangy syrup you dilute with cold still or sparkling water. It keeps in the fridge for two weeks, or freezes in ice-cube trays. The common mistake is pressing the fruit hard through the sieve, which makes the syrup cloudy and pippy. Chef's tip: dilute one part syrup to five or six parts water, then adjust; it is meant to be light, not sticky.

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RodanchasPumpkin pastry roses

Rodanchas are the Rosh Hashanah pastries of Sephardic families from Turkey and Rhodes, baked in Jerusalem and Bat Yam because pumpkin, kalabasa, is one of the new-year blessings. A thin oil dough is spread with sweet spiced pumpkin and rolled into coils that open like roses in the oven. They are crisp at the edges and soft and jammy inside, eaten with coffee after the festive meal or for breakfast. The mistake is a watery filling, which soaks the dough and stops the roses holding their shape. Chef's tip: roast the pumpkin rather than boiling it, then cook the purée in a pan until it is thick enough for a spoon to leave a trail.

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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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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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