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SaleuriCheese pastry sticks

Set out on a platter at Romanian name-day parties, christenings and New Year's Eve, saleuri are the salty sticks people nibble with a glass of something before the sarmale arrive. The pastry is short and flaky from cold butter and sour cream, with grated cheese worked through it and more cheese, caraway and sesame pressed on top. Older village recipes were often made with lard; this version uses butter. They are best the day they are baked but keep crisp in a tin for three or four days, and they go well with a bowl of olives or a cold beer. The top is brushed with beaten egg; milk works instead if you want them egg-free on the outside. Chef's tip: cut the strips with a pizza wheel and leave them lying where they are on the tray, rather than lifting each one, so they stay straight; warm, overworked dough is the usual mistake, and it bakes up tough instead of flaky.

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Mucenici moldoveneștiHoney and walnut sweet breads

On 9 March, the feast of the Forty Martyrs of Sebaste, households in Romanian Moldavia bake forty of these little figure-eight breads, take some to church and give the rest to neighbours; the day also marks the start of the farming year. The shape is read as a stylised human figure, or as the number eight. They come out soft and golden, then are brushed while hot with honey syrup and rolled in chopped walnuts, so they turn sticky and fragrant. Serve them with tea or a glass of milk. Some cooks add a few drops of rum essence to the syrup; vanilla does the job here. Glazing them once they have cooled is a common slip: the syrup only soaks in properly while the breads are hot. Chef's tip: twist each rope loosely before shaping the eight, so the bread has ridges to catch the walnuts.

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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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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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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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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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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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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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Socată (elderflower fizz)

In late May and early June, when elder bushes bloom white along every Romanian village lane and riverbank, grandmothers fill big glass jars with water, sugar, lemon slices and elderflower heads and set them on a sunny windowsill or balcony. Three or four days later the jar is fizzing gently and socată, the most beloved summer drink of rural Romania, is bottled and chilled for haymaking days, family lunches and long evenings in the courtyard. It is sweet and floral, like honeyed lemonade with the scent of muscat grapes, with a light natural sparkle. Like all young ferments it makes a trace of alcohol, well under 1% if drunk within a week. The common mistake is washing the flowers or picking them after rain: the pollen and wild yeast that start the fermentation are rinsed away and nothing happens. Pick dry, fully open heads on a sunny morning and just shake off insects. It is ready to strain when fine bubbles rise steadily and it smells floral and slightly tangy. Use only the flowers: elder stems, leaves and unripe berries are toxic. Chef's tip: a few raisins in the jar give the yeast a boost if your flowers are slow.

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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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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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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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Varză călităBraised cabbage with tomato

Ask a Wallachian grandmother what goes with hot mămăligă on a winter weeknight and she may well point to a pan of varză călită. Fresh white cabbage is shredded and braised for the best part of an hour with onion, tomato, bay and thyme until it turns amber, silky and faintly sweet; in January many cooks use sauerkraut from the barrel instead, rinsed once to tame the salt. With no meat or butter it is a classic fasting (post) dish, though outside the fasts it also sits next to sausages and roasts. The usual slip is turning up the heat to hurry it, which scorches the base before the cabbage softens. Chef's tip: a spoon of vinegar and a pinch of sugar at the very end wake up the flavour without making it taste sour.

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AlivenciCornmeal and cheese cake

Across the Prut, in villages from Vaslui to the Republic of Moldova, alivenci is what happens when a farmhouse has fresh cheese, sour cream and a sack of cornmeal: a soft, custardy cake baked in a tray and cut into squares while warm. It is lighter than mămăligă and richer than bread, with a tender, slightly crumbly crumb studded with curd, and is eaten for Sunday breakfast or as a side with stews and a dollop of sour cream. Traditional brânză de vaci (cottage-style cheese) is usually made without rennet, but some brands use it, so check the label. Where most people go wrong is using coarse polenta, which stays gritty; fine cornmeal gives the silky texture. Chef's tip: let the batter sit for 15 minutes before baking so the cornmeal hydrates and the cake sets evenly.

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AmandineChocolate sponge cakes

Every Bucharest cofetărie keeps a tray of amandine in the glass case, neat dark oblongs that generations of schoolchildren have bought with their pocket money. Despite the almond-sounding name there are no almonds in them: a cocoa sponge is split, soaked with a cocoa syrup, sandwiched with a rich chocolate custard buttercream and coated in a shiny ganache. Bakeries traditionally add rum to the syrup; this version is alcohol-free and uses vanilla and orange zest instead, though you can add 2 tablespoons of rum if you like. A common mistake is soaking the sponge while the syrup is still hot, which turns it to mush; both should be cool. Chef's tip: chill the filled cake until really firm before glazing and cutting, and wipe the knife hot between each cut for clean edges.

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Plăcintă dobrogeanăCheese and egg coil pie

Down on the Black Sea coast and the steppe villages around Constanța and Tulcea, where Aromanian, Turkish and Tatar cooks have shared ovens for generations, plăcintă dobrogeană is a big round pie made from hand-stretched sheets rolled around salty cheese and egg, coiled into a tin and baked until crackling. Just before baking, a little egg and yogurt is poured over, so the inner layers turn soft and custardy under a shatteringly crisp top. It is cut into wedges and eaten warm for breakfast with ayran or a glass of milk. Telemea and other salty white cheeses are often made with animal rennet, so pick one labelled vegetarian. The usual slip is overfilling the rolls, which split as they coil. Chef's tip: keep the stretched dough under a damp tea towel while you work, so it stays supple.

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ÎnvârtităRolled sweet cheese pastry

Sunday visits in the villages around Iași and Suceava rarely happen without a tray of învârtită, the coiled pastry whose name simply means 'twisted'. A soft dough is pulled over a floured tablecloth until it is as fine as paper, brushed with butter, covered in sweet cottage cheese with raisins and lemon zest, rolled up and wound into a snail before baking. Fresh from the oven it is crackly at the edges and moist in the middle; it is cut into wedges and eaten with coffee or a glass of milk. Families also fill it with sour cherries in June or grated pumpkin in autumn. Cottage cheese is usually made without animal rennet, but check the label if you keep strictly vegetarian. Lots of bakers stretch the dough too soon after mixing, and it tears into holes; give it the full rest. Chef's tip: drain the cottage cheese in a sieve for 20 minutes first, so the filling stays creamy and does not run out of the seams.

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HanklichCheese and egg yeast cake

The Transylvanian Saxons, German-speaking villagers who settled around Sibiu, Brașov and Sighișoara in the Middle Ages, baked Hanklich in their fortified-church villages for Sundays, weddings and the Kronenfest in late June. A thin, soft yeast base is spread with a thick layer of sweetened cottage cheese, eggs and cream that bakes into a wobbly, lemony custard with a golden top, a little like a cheesecake on bread. It is cut into squares and eaten with coffee. Some quark and cottage cheese is made with animal rennet, so check the label if you want it strictly vegetarian. The classic slip is overbaking until the topping cracks and weeps; take it out while the centre still trembles slightly. Chef's tip: roll the dough right into the corners of the tray and build a small rim, so the topping stays put.

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VărzăriSauerkraut pan-fried pies

Across Moldavia and over the Prut in the Republic of Moldova, the long Lent before Easter and Christmas is when grandmothers bring out the sauerkraut barrel and start rolling vărzări. The dough is plain flour, water and oil, rolled paper-thin, folded around sauerkraut fried with onion and black pepper, then pan-fried in a little oil until blistered and crisp. Hot from the pan they are flaky outside and soft and sour within; at room temperature they make a good packed lunch, often eaten with a glass of compote or a bowl of bean soup. Being completely free of animal products, they suit the strict fasting days. Where most people go wrong is leaving the sauerkraut wet: squeeze it hard, or the juice soaks the dough and the pies tear. Chef's tip: rest the dough under a warm bowl for half an hour; the gluten relaxes and it will roll almost transparent without springing back.

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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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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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ChampúsMote corn and pineapple drink

When Lima's grey winter sets in, from June to September, champús sellers set up on street corners with big pots of this thick, fruity drink, ladled warm into glasses and eaten as much as drunk. It's made from mote (hulled white corn), simmered with pineapple, quince or apple, soursop, chancaca and warm spices, then thickened lightly with corn flour, so every spoonful has soft fruit and chewy corn in a spiced, molasses-sweet base. It is close in spirit to mazamorra morada but paler and tangier. The mistake people make is adding the thickener straight into the hot pot, where it forms lumps; always slake it in cold water first and pour it in while stirring. Canned or jarred hominy saves hours; frozen soursop (guanábana) pulp is in Latin shops and can be left out. Serve warm in glasses with spoons. Chef's tip: simmer the pineapple peel and core with the spices for the first 20 minutes, then strain them out; they give much of the flavour.

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Turrón de Doña PepaAnise biscuit sticks in spiced syrup

Every October, the month of the Señor de los Milagros processions in Lima, bakeries and street sellers pile their trays with turrón de Doña Pepa: layers of crumbly anise-flavoured sticks drenched in a dark syrup of chancaca cooked with fruit and spices, topped with a storm of coloured sprinkles. Popular lore credits it to Josefa Marmanillo, a woman from the Cañete valley who is said to have made it in thanks after the procession. It is sticky, crunchy and soft at once, with orange and clove in the syrup. Its downfall is usually runny syrup that soaks the sticks into mush; it needs to reach a thick, threading stage before it goes on. Chancaca is sold as cones or blocks in Latin shops; panela or dark muscovado also work. Some coloured sprinkles contain gelatin, so check the label. Chef's tip: make it a day ahead; the syrup sets and the sticks soften just enough to slice neatly.

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