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Kadha (spiced herbal decoction)

When the fog settles over Delhi, Lucknow and the plains of Uttar Pradesh in December, or whenever the monsoon brings coughs round the house, someone puts a pan of kadha on the stove. Tulsi leaves, ginger, black pepper, cinnamon, cloves and sometimes a little ajwain are boiled hard until the water reduces by half, then sweetened with jaggery and sipped in small cups, morning or night. It is not a gentle tea: it is hot, peppery, clove-numbing and earthy, with a dark amber colour and a sweet edge. It is traditionally drunk for coughs and colds; it does not replace medical care, and anyone who is pregnant, on medication or giving it to small children should keep it mild and check with a doctor. The common mistake is simmering it gently like tea: kadha needs a steady boil so the spices give up their strength and the liquid reduces. It is ready when the volume has halved and the brew is deep amber and pungent. Chef's tip: crush the pepper and cloves just before they go in; whole spices hardly flavour the water in this short time.

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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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Neer mor (spiced buttermilk)

From April to June, when Chennai and Madurai bake at forty degrees, temples, shops and political parties set up 'thaneer pandhal' sheds by the roadside, offering free neer mor to every passer-by from great clay pots. At home it comes after a rice meal of sambar and rasam, or in the middle of the afternoon. The curd is churned and thinned with water until barely white, then seasoned with green chilli, ginger, curry leaves, coriander and a pinch of asafoetida, sometimes finished with a tempering of mustard seeds. It should be very thin, salty, tangy and herby, with a little chilli heat and a lingering savoury scent. The common mistake is using too little water: it then drinks like a heavy lassi rather than a thirst-quencher. Aim for about one part curd to four parts water. It is ready when the buttermilk is smooth, cold and pale green-flecked, and smells of curry leaf. It keeps a day in the fridge. Chef's tip: crush the ginger, chilli and curry leaves rather than chopping them; bruising releases far more flavour into the thin liquid.

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Variyali sharbat (fennel cooler)

On May afternoons in Ahmedabad and Surat, when the loo wind blows and nobody wants a hot drink, Gujarati homes keep a bottle of variyali sharbat concentrate in the fridge. Fennel seeds are soaked, ground with rock sugar, strained and mixed with lemon and a little black pepper, then diluted with iced water for guests, after lunch, or to break a fast, since nothing in it is off-limits on upvas days if you use rock salt. It is pale green and cloudy, with a sweet aniseed taste, a sharp lemon finish and a faint peppery tingle. The common mistake is grinding dry fennel straight away: it stays gritty and the flavour is harsh. Soak the seeds for at least two hours so they swell and grind into a smooth paste. It is ready when the strained concentrate is silky, smells clearly of fennel and tastes very sweet, as it will be diluted three or four times. The concentrate keeps 5 days in the fridge in a clean bottle. Chef's tip: add a few mint leaves or a pinch of cardamom when grinding for a more rounded cooler.

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Masala doodhSaffron nut milk

Late evening at Ahmedabad's Manek Chowk, milk sellers pour masala doodh from a height between two brass pots to cool and froth it, and on Sharad Purnima families set a pot of it under the full moon before drinking it chilled. It is richer and more fragrant than plain badam milk: a home-ground masala of almonds, pistachios, cardamom, nutmeg and a little black pepper is stirred into milk reduced with saffron and sugar. The common mistake is boiling it hard after the nut masala goes in, which makes it catch and taste scorched. Chef's tip: grind a jar of the masala in one go and keep it in the fridge; two teaspoons turn any glass of milk into a treat.

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Gondhoraj gholLime-scented yogurt drink

In Kolkata the gondhoraj lime arrives with the monsoon heat, a knobbly green fruit whose peel smells of flowers and pine more than of sour citrus. Bengali households use it to lift dal and fish, but in the sticky months from Boishakh into Srabon it goes into ghol: dahi churned with cold water until frothy, sweetened lightly and scented with the zest, a squeeze of juice and a torn leaf. Cafés along Gariahat and old sweet shops serve it in clay bhaar cups after lunch, and it is just as good mid-afternoon with a plate of muri. It drinks thin, cool and silky, with a soft tang and a perfume that hits the nose before the first sip. The usual mistake is grating too deep or leaving the zest to sit for an hour: the white pith and the oils turn bitter. Take only the green outer layer, add it just before serving, and stop when the ghol smells floral rather than sharp. It is ready when the top is covered in fine foam and a spoon comes out lightly coated. Chef's tip: for the salted version, swap the sugar for black salt and a pinch of roasted cumin, as many Kolkata homes do on the hottest days.

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Surti cold cocoaThick chilled cocoa milk

Long after dinner, the lanes around Surat's Chowk Bazaar and Athwa Lines fill with families queueing for cold cocoa, a thick, almost milkshake-like chocolate milk poured from big steel cans into tall glasses. The secret is cooking cocoa and a spoon of cornflour into rich milk first, then chilling it for hours so it thickens and the cocoa flavour deepens, before whisking it frothy to order. The common mistake is stirring cocoa powder straight into cold milk, which leaves bitter, dusty lumps floating on top. Chef's tip: make it the night before and whisk with a hand blender for 30 seconds just before pouring for the classic foamy head.

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VadouvanDried shallot and spice balls

Vadagam, called vadouvan in Puducherry's French-Tamil kitchens, is a seasoning made in the hot months: shallots and garlic are pounded with mustard seeds, cumin, fenugreek, curry leaves and castor or gingelly oil, rolled into balls and dried in the sun for days. A piece crumbled into hot oil at the start of a sambar, a kuzhambu, a poriyal or even buttered vegetables gives a deep, sweet, smoky onion flavour. This version finishes the drying in a low oven, which is safer and quicker in cooler kitchens. The common mistake is storing the balls before they are bone dry; any softness inside can turn mouldy, so break one open to check. Chef's tip: crush a ball and warm it in ghee, then toss with roast carrots for a very Pondicherry side dish.

280 minIndianBasicsVeganGluten free
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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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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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Haldi doodh (turmeric milk)

In homes from Punjab to Kerala, a mother or grandmother hands round haldi doodh on cold winter nights, after a fall in the playground or whenever someone starts sniffling; it is drunk at bedtime, steaming, in a steel tumbler. Milk is simmered with turmeric, a few grinds of black pepper and sometimes ginger or cinnamon, then sweetened with jaggery. It is golden, warming and gently earthy, with a soft peppery heat and a slightly grainy feel if the turmeric is fresh-ground. It is traditionally drunk for colds and aches, as a comfort rather than a cure. The common mistake is adding raw turmeric powder to hot milk at the end: it tastes chalky and bitter. Simmer it in the milk for a few minutes so the raw edge cooks out. It is ready when the milk turns an even deep yellow, smells mellow and has a thin skin forming on top. Add jaggery off the heat, as it can curdle boiling milk. Turmeric stains, so use a steel pan. Chef's tip: a teaspoon of ghee stirred in at the end makes it rounder and is how many families make it.

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Paneer soda (rose soda)

Every Tamil town once had a soda shop with crates of Codd-neck bottles sealed by a glass marble, and the pop of the marble being pushed down was the sound of a hot afternoon. Paneer here means rose water, not cheese, and paneer soda is rose syrup topped with that sharp local fizz, sold in Madurai, Tiruchi and Coimbatore by the bus stand and at temple festival stalls in Chithirai and Vaikasi, the hottest months. It is sweet and floral at first, then the bubbles and a touch of lime cut through and leave the mouth clean. The mistake most people make is boiling the rose water with the sugar: the scent cooks away and you are left with plain syrup. Make the syrup first, let it cool, and only then stir in the rose water. The syrup is ready when it is clear and slightly thickened, like thin honey, and the finished drink should be rosy pink and still foaming as you hand it over. Chef's tip: chill the syrup, the soda and the glasses well; warm soda loses its fizz the moment it meets the syrup.

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Bajre ki raabdiFermented pearl millet buttermilk porridge

In the villages of Haryana and the Rajasthan border, raabdi is drunk at midday in May and June to keep cool in the fields. Pearl-millet flour is stirred into buttermilk and left to ferment for a few hours, then cooked slowly until thick, cooled in a clay pot and thinned with more buttermilk and salt. It tastes tangy and earthy, a little like a savoury porridge you can drink. Ferment at warm room temperature (25–32 °C) for 4–6 hours: it should smell pleasantly sour with a few bubbles. Throw it away if you see pink, black or furry mould or it smells rotten or of nail varnish. The common mistake is cooking on high heat, which scorches the millet and leaves raw lumps. Chef's tip: keep the cooked raabdi in the fridge and drink it within 2 days, thinning each glass to taste.

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Ragi ambaliFinger millet porridge drink

Across rural Andhra Pradesh and Telangana, farm workers drink a big glass of ragi ambali in the early morning before the summer heat, and clay pots of it are sold at roadside stalls in April and May. Finger-millet flour is cooked into a thick paste, left overnight to ferment lightly, then thinned with buttermilk and stirred with raw onion, green chilli and curry leaves into a cool, tangy, savoury drink. It is suitable as part of a balanced diet. About 140 kcal and 22 g carbohydrate per portion. The usual mistake is pouring the ragi flour straight into boiling water, which makes lumps; mix it with cold water first. Chef's tip: cook the paste until it turns glossy and darker, about 8 minutes; undercooked ragi tastes raw and floury.

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Makhaniya lassiSaffron lassi with butter

Around the clock tower and old city of Jodhpur, lassi shops churn this rich drink all day in summer: chilled set curd whisked with sugar, saffron and cardamom, poured into tall glasses and crowned with a spoon of fresh white butter (makhan) and a layer of malai. You drink the cool lassi and eat the butter and cream with a spoon. It is a meal in itself. The common mistake is thinning it with too much water or ice, which loses the thick, almost spoonable texture that makes it Jodhpuri. Chef's tip: use curd set from full-fat milk the night before and whisk it by hand or with a few pulses only.

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Ragi maltFinger millet malt drink

Across Karnataka, from Bengaluru flats to farmhouses round Mandya and Mysuru, a mug of ragi malt is how many mornings start, especially for schoolchildren, older relatives and anyone heading out to work in the fields. Finger millet powder is whisked into water and cooked until it thickens, then loosened with hot milk and sweetened with jaggery and cardamom; the savoury version, beaten into buttermilk with salt, is drunk cold at lunch in summer. The sweet version is smooth, malty and nutty, mauve-brown, thicker than milk but still drinkable. The commonest mistake is tipping ragi powder straight into hot liquid: it seizes into stubborn lumps. Always whisk it into cold water first. It is ready when the raw, grassy smell has gone, the mixture turns glossy and darker, and it coats the back of a spoon. Add jaggery only off the heat, or the milk can split. For babies, skip the jaggery and ask your health visitor about introducing ragi. Chef's tip: sprouted ragi powder (the true 'malt') tastes sweeter and cooks faster; look for it in Indian shops.

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Tsestalulu (sea-buckthorn juice)

Sea buckthorn grows wild along the river beds of Ladakh, and in Leh the bright orange berries are pressed into tsestalulu, a sharp, tropical-tasting juice sold in summer cafés and made at home after the autumn harvest. It is drunk chilled, sweetened with sugar or honey and thinned with cold water. The berries are very sour and slightly oily, so the juice is always diluted. The common mistake is boiling the pulp, which dulls both the colour and the fresh taste; just blend and strain. Chef's tip: frozen sea-buckthorn berries or plain unsweetened purée from health shops work very well; strain twice through a fine sieve for a silky drink.

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Lebu chaBlack tea with lime

Along College Street and around Esplanade, the tea sellers who pour lebu cha into little unglazed clay cups (bhaar) are the fuel of Kolkata's famous evening adda, the long arguments over books and football. It is weak black tea, sweetened, sharpened with fresh lime and finished with a pinch of sulphurous black salt and roasted cumin, so it tastes sweet, sour and faintly savoury. It is drunk hot in every season and the cup is thrown away. Chef's tip: steep the tea briefly; long-brewed tea plus lime turns harsh and astringent.

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Lemon verbena tea (louiza)

After a big dinner or before bed, many Moroccan households swap green mint tea for a pot of louiza, lemon verbena, whose long, narrow leaves give a pale golden infusion that smells of lemon sherbet and has no caffeine. The fresh herb is sold in bunches alongside mint and absinthe at market herb stalls, and dried leaves keep all year. Drink it plain, lightly sweetened, or brewed with a few mint sprigs. It is soothing, clean-tasting and fragrant. Chef's tip: pour boiling water over the leaves and let them steep off the heat for 5 minutes; boiling the leaves in the pot, a common mistake, turns the tea grassy and bitter.

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Fekkas (twice-baked almond biscuits)

Before Eid and during Ramadan, Moroccan kitchens fill with the scent of fekkas: logs of a soft, eggy dough studded with almonds, raisins, aniseed and sesame are baked, cooled, sliced thin and baked again until dry, golden and very crunchy. They are offered to guests on trays with ghriba and other biscuits and dunked into mint tea or milky coffee, and they keep for weeks in a tin, so they are perfect to make ahead. The flavour is gently sweet, with liquorice notes from the anise and a little lemon. Avoid slicing the logs while they are still hot from the first bake; they crumble. Let them firm up first. Chef's tip: let the baked logs cool completely, ideally overnight, before slicing; warm logs crumble under the knife.

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Sfenj (Moroccan doughnut rings)

Early in the morning, in medina lanes from Fez to Casablanca, the sfenji pulls handfuls of sticky dough from a bowl, pokes a hole through each with his thumb and drops the rings into a big pan of oil, where they puff into crisp, golden, irregular doughnuts with a chewy, airy inside. Customers carry them away threaded on a strip of palm leaf, to eat hot with mint tea or coffee, plain, dusted with sugar or dipped in honey. The dough is just flour, yeast, salt and water, and deliberately very wet; that is what gives the open, holey crumb. Allow about 1 1/2 hours for it to rise. Where sfenj go wrong is a dough that is too stiff; it should be sticky and slack, or the rings come out bready instead of open and chewy. Chef's tip: keep a bowl of water beside you and wet your hands before every piece, so the sticky dough slides off your fingers instead of clinging to them.

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Ras el hanout

Ras el hanout means 'head of the shop', and every spice seller in the Marrakech souk will tell you theirs is the best: a warm, complex mix of a dozen or more spices that they grind to their own formula. This home version balances earthy cumin and coriander with sweet cinnamon, ginger and turmeric, the perfume of cardamom and dried rosebuds, and the heat of black pepper. Rub it on vegetables before roasting, stir a teaspoon into tagines, lentils or couscous broth, or season chickpeas and roast pumpkin with it. Toasting the whole spices first takes 5 minutes and makes a real difference. Chef's tip: make small batches and store the blend in a sealed jar away from light; it is at its best for about 3 months.

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Smen (salted, herbed butter)

Atlas households once kept jars of smen for months, even years, until the salted butter developed a pungent, almost blue-cheese aroma; a spoonful stirred into couscous, harira or a chicken tagine gives a depth nothing else can. Long ageing at room temperature is risky at home, so this is a safer fridge version: pasteurised unsalted butter is simmered with dried za'atar or oregano, strained, salted and then matured in the fridge for 2–4 weeks, which gives a mellow, nutty, faintly tangy smen rather than the fiercely strong old kind. For the real long-aged flavour, buy smen from a reputable shop. Use it a teaspoon at a time; it is meant as a seasoning, not a cooking fat. The mistake to avoid is leaving any milk solids or water in the butter, as that is what turns it rancid or mouldy rather than pleasantly aged. Chef's tip: strain it through muslin until perfectly clear; any milky bits left in the jar are what turn butter rancid.

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Panaché (Moroccan mixed fruit milkshake)

Juice bars from Tangier to Agadir list a 'panaché' on the board, which in Morocco means a thick milkshake blended from whatever mix of fruit is in season, most often banana, apple, avocado and orange, served in a tall glass and sometimes topped with chopped dried fruit and nuts. Avocado is used as a sweet fruit here, and it makes the drink extra creamy. It is a favourite after school, as a quick breakfast or after an afternoon in the medina. Make it just before drinking: the orange juice can make the milk turn slightly grainy and the avocado darkens if it stands, which is the usual mistake. Chef's tip: use a ripe, soft avocado and a banana with brown freckles for natural sweetness, so you need very little sugar.

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