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Sharbat-e rivas (rhubarb sherbet)

For a few weeks in spring, after Nowruz, sellers come down from the Alborz foothills, the mountains of Khorasan and Kurdistan with bundles of rivas, the thick-stalked wild rhubarb. People peel and eat the stalks raw with salt, cook them into khoresh, and boil the rest into syrup to keep the taste of the season into summer. Sharbat-e rivas is pink, sharp and refreshing, like sour cherry and green apple together, softened by sugar and lifted by mint. The common mistake is boiling the rhubarb hard and pressing it through the sieve, which makes the syrup cloudy, brownish and stringy; simmer gently and let it drip on its own. Use only the stalks, never the leaves, which are poisonous. The syrup is ready when it is clear, rose-coloured and coats a spoon in a thin film; it keeps for two weeks in a clean bottle in the fridge, and should be thrown away if it fizzes, smells of alcohol or grows mould. Garden rhubarb is a good substitute for rivas; the reddest stalks give the prettiest colour. Chef's tip: a strip of lemon peel in the pot brightens the colour and stops the syrup tasting flat.

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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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Homemade kashkFermented yogurt whey

Kashk began with Iran's nomadic herders, who churned their yoghurt for butter in goatskin bags, then cooked and dried the sour leftover into hard balls that lasted through winter. In Kerman, Fars and Khorasan it is still made that way, but in Tehran most people buy it liquid in jars. Making your own is worth one slow afternoon. It is the salty, sour, almost cheesy finish swirled over ash reshteh at Nowruz, folded into kashk-e bademjan with fried mint and walnuts, and stirred into kaleh joosh on cold nights. Liquid kashk is thick and creamy like soured cream but sharper and saltier; dried kashk is chalky-hard and grates like aged cheese. Common mistake: heating the churned yoghurt fast; it scorches and the curd turns rubbery. Keep the heat low and stir. The curd is ready when it separates into soft white clumps in a clear, yellow-green whey. Kashk is always cooked again before eating — even the jarred kind — so heat it when you use it. Chef's tip: a goat or sheep's milk yoghurt, or half and half with cow's, gives the most authentic, funky flavour.

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Chai nabat (saffron rock candy tea)

Pilgrims leaving Mashhad carry home boxes of saffron nabat, crystals of rock candy grown on a string and tinted gold with Khorasani saffron. Across Iran a glass of chai nabat is what you are handed when you feel unwell, after a shock, after an exam, or late at night when the evening meal sits heavy; it is traditionally drunk to settle the stomach and warm you up. The tea is brewed strong in a teapot that sits on top of the kettle, then poured clear and amber into small glasses, and the nabat stick is stirred until it softens the tea with a gentle, honeyed sweetness and a faint saffron aroma. Black tea has a moderate amount of caffeine, so give children a weaker glass. A common mistake is boiling the leaves or letting them steep on direct heat, which turns the tea bitter and murky; Persian tea is "dam" — brewed gently on steam. It is ready when the leaves have sunk, the tea is clear and reddish-amber and it smells of bergamot or cardamom. Chef's tip: hold the glass up to the light; if you can't see through it, top it up with hot water, as Iranians do.

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Sharbat-e bidmeshk (willow blossom sherbet)

Kashan and the villages of Qamsar and Niasar are famous for distilling flowers in spring: rose water in May, and before that araq-e bidmeshk, the distillate of the fuzzy catkins of the musk willow. In summer, when the desert heat settles over the old houses, the same bottles go into sharbat-e bidmeshk, a pale syrup diluted with icy water and served to guests in tall glasses, sometimes with swollen basil seeds. It is traditionally drunk to calm the nerves and cool the body. The taste is delicate, sweet and haunting, somewhere between honeysuckle, musk and fresh hay. The common mistake is adding the distillate to hot syrup; the heat drives the scent away within minutes, so cool the syrup completely first. The syrup is ready when it is clear and pours like thin honey, and the finished sherbet should smell floral the moment you lift the glass. Look for the distillate in Iranian shops; there is no true substitute, though rose water with a few drops of orange-blossom water makes a pleasant but different drink. Chef's tip: a squeeze of lemon in the syrup stops it crystallising in the fridge, where it keeps for a month.

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Sharbat-e zaferan (saffron sherbet)

Big steel urns of golden saffron sherbet are poured for guests at Iranian weddings and engagement parties, and the same drink is handed out on the street as nazri during Muharram and at memorial gatherings, when families offer something sweet and cool in the name of the departed. Saffron from Khorasan is ground with a sugar cube, bloomed in a little water and stirred into syrup with rose water and lemon. The result is honey-sweet and floral, with saffron's faint bitterness and hay-like perfume at the end, and a colour that should be a clear, sunny orange-gold. The usual mistake is dropping whole threads straight into cold water, which gives a pale, patchy drink and wastes expensive saffron; grind it first and let it bloom for at least 10 minutes. You know the bloom is ready when the water is a deep red-orange and smells strongly of saffron. Taste before serving: it should be sweet but finish clean, with the lemon just noticeable. Chef's tip: an ice cube placed on the ground saffron and left to melt slowly gives the deepest colour of all, an old Iranian trick.

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Mandi'o chyryryFried cassava with onion and egg

Mandi'o chyryry means 'fried cassava' in Guaraní, and it is what rural Paraguayan families make from yesterday's boiled mandi'o: chunks crushed and fried in a big pan with onion until crisp in places, then scrambled with eggs. It comes out for breakfast with cocido or for a quick supper, and costs next to nothing. Use sweet cassava, the kind sold in supermarkets. The mistake is stirring constantly, which turns it to mush; let the cassava sit and brown. Chef's tip: the best chyryry starts with cold, day-old boiled cassava, which fries crisper than freshly boiled.

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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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Empire biscuitsJam-filled iced shortbreads

Empire biscuits sit in the window of every Scottish high-street bakery: two rounds of crisp shortcake stuck together with raspberry jam, topped with white icing and a jelly sweet or half a glacé cherry. They were called Linzer or German biscuits until the First World War. Chef's tip: let the biscuits cool completely before sandwiching, or the jam soaks in and they go soft.

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Devon cream tea scones

A cream tea is the West Country's afternoon treat: warm scones, clotted cream and strawberry jam with a pot of tea, served in tea gardens across Devon and Cornwall. In Devon the cream goes on first and the jam on top; in Cornwall it's the other way round, and the argument never ends. These scones are plain and light so the cream and jam shine. Chef's tip: cut straight down with the cutter and don't twist it, or the scones rise lopsided.

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Mushy peas

No fish and chip shop in the North of England is complete without a tub of mushy peas, and in Nottingham and Leeds they are sold with mint sauce from pea stalls at fairs. Dried marrowfat peas are soaked overnight with a little bicarbonate of soda, which softens their skins, and then simmered until they break down into a thick, savoury green mash. Chef's tip: rinse the soaked peas very well, or the bicarbonate leaves a soapy taste.

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Cornish saffron buns

Saffron buns, called 'tea treats' in parts of Cornwall, were handed out at Sunday school outings and chapel tea treats, and they still glow yellow in bakery windows from Penzance to Truro. A pinch of saffron steeped in warm milk colours a soft, enriched dough studded with currants and peel, so they taste gently floral and fruity. Eat them split and spread with butter or clotted cream. Chef's tip: steep the saffron overnight for the deepest colour and flavour.

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Dundee cake

Dundee cake is the light, buttery fruit cake from the city of marmalade and jute, said to have been created by the Keiller family to use up their orange peel. Instead of marzipan and icing it is topped with concentric circles of whole blanched almonds, and it is eaten at Christmas and with afternoon tea. Chef's tip: lay the almonds on gently without pressing; if they sink they burn and the pattern is lost.

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Scottish oatcakes

Oatcakes have been baked on girdles across Scotland since oats were the country's main grain, and they are still eaten with cheese, smoked fish or marmalade, and alongside soup on cold days. Medium oatmeal is bound with a little melted butter and hot water, rolled thin and baked until crisp and nutty. Chef's tip: work quickly while the dough is warm; as it cools it cracks and won't roll.

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Orkney clapshotSwede and potato mash

Clapshot is the Orkney way with neeps and tatties: equal amounts of swede and potato mashed together with butter, chives and plenty of pepper, rather than served side by side. Islanders eat it with oatcakes and cheese, with mince, or alongside haggis on Burns Night. It is sweet, earthy and soft-orange. Chef's tip: dry the boiled vegetables in the hot pan before mashing, or the swede makes it watery.

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Chelsea buns

The Chelsea bun was the speciality of the Old Chelsea Bun House in London in the 1700s, where crowds queued on Good Friday; today the coiled, sticky bun is a bakery classic across England. A soft dough is spread with butter, brown sugar, currants and spice, rolled up, sliced and baked snugly in a tin so the buns rise into each other and come out square-sided. Chef's tip: pack the slices tightly; it is the squeeze that gives them their shape and soft edges.

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Yorkshire puddings

In Yorkshire the pudding was once served first, on its own with gravy, to fill people up before the meat; today these puffed, crisp-edged cups sit beside the roast at Sunday lunch all over England. The batter is nothing but eggs, flour and milk, and the trick is in the heat: smoking-hot fat in the tin and a hot oven. Serve with onion gravy for a vegetarian roast. Chef's tip: rest the batter for at least 30 minutes, which helps the puddings rise tall and even.

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Singin' hinnies

Singin' hinnies are the girdle cakes of Northumberland and Tyneside, named for the singing hiss of the butter as they cook ('hinny' is a Geordie word of affection, like 'honey'). Mothers made them for children coming home from school, cooked on a heavy griddle and eaten hot, split and buttered. They are scone dough studded with currants and cooked in the pan instead of the oven. Chef's tip: keep the heat medium-low so they cook through before the outside darkens.

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Hot cross buns

Hot cross buns are eaten toasted with butter on Good Friday across England, and London bakeries have sold them for centuries to the old street cry 'one a penny, two a penny'. The soft, spiced dough is full of currants and orange peel, and the cross on top is piped from a simple flour paste before baking. Chef's tip: let the dough rise somewhere really warm; spiced, fruited dough is slow and needs patience.

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Mince pies

Mince pies are handed round with mulled drinks at every English Christmas gathering, from carol services to office parties, and children leave one out for Father Christmas. The mincemeat once held meat; this home-made version is all fruit, apple and spice, with vegetarian suet, and brandy is optional, so it can be alcohol-free. Chef's tip: make the mincemeat a week ahead so the flavours mellow; it keeps for months.

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Yorkshire fat rascals

Fat rascals are big, rough, fruit-studded cakes from the North York Moors, halfway between a scone and a rock cake, and the famous Harrogate tea rooms made them a visitor's treat. Each one gets a face of glacé cherries and blanched almonds before baking. Eat them warm, split and buttered, with a pot of tea. Chef's tip: work the dough as little as possible, just until it holds; overmixed rascals bake up tough.

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Eccles cakes

From the town of Eccles near Manchester, these flat pastry cakes are filled with butter-soaked currants and peel, slashed three times on top and baked until sugary and crackly. Lancashire people eat them with a slice of crumbly Lancashire cheese, the sweet and salty pairing locals swear by. Chef's tip: chill the filled cakes for 20 minutes before baking, so the pastry stays flaky and the filling doesn't leak.

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Scottish shortbread

Shortbread is Scotland's most famous bake, handed round at Hogmanay with a dram and packed in tins as a gift all year. The classic recipe is one part sugar, two parts butter and three parts flour, with a little rice flour for the sandy snap; it is shaped into a round and cut into petticoat tails, a shape linked with Mary, Queen of Scots. Chef's tip: bake low and slow so it stays pale gold; brown shortbread tastes bitter rather than buttery.

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