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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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Estofado de polloChicken stew

Estofado de pollo is the mild, homely chicken stew of Lima's family kitchens and school lunches, usually on the table on a weekday or a quiet Sunday with white rice. Chicken pieces are browned, then braised in a sauce of onion, garlic, tomato, a little ají panca paste and bay, with carrots, peas and yellow potatoes cooked right in the pot until the sauce is thick and orange. It is comforting rather than hot. The usual mistake is boiling it hard, which shreds the potatoes and dries the chicken; keep it at a lazy bubble. Chef's tip: use a few yellow potatoes along with waxy ones; they collapse slightly and thicken the sauce naturally.

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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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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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Escabeche de pescadoFried fish in sweet-sour onion sauce

In Lima, escabeche de pescado belongs to the criollo kitchen of the old city: it turns up on Friday lunch menus, on buffet tables, and above all in Lent and Holy Week, when families eat fish and this dish can be made the day before. Fish is fried until golden, then covered in a warm sauce of thick-cut red onion softened in oil with garlic, ají amarillo, ají panca, cumin and vinegar, and left to cool so the flavours soak in. It is served cold or at room temperature with boiled sweet potato, hard-boiled egg and purple botija olives. It tastes tangy, sweet and gently fruity-hot, with crunchy onion over tender fish. The fish here is fully cooked, but because it is a cold seafood dish, pregnant people, babies, older people and anyone with weak immunity should eat it well chilled and within 2 days. Common mistake: stewing the onions until limp; they should only lose their raw bite. It is ready when the sauce has soaked a little into the fish and smells of vinegar and toasted chilli. Chef's tip: use thick fillets of corvina or bonito; thin fillets break under the sauce.

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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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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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Ají amarillo pasteYellow chilli paste

In Lima's markets ají amarillo is sold fresh all year, and most Peruvian cooks keep a tub of this paste in the fridge the way others keep tomato purée: it is the golden base of causa limeña, ají de gallina, papa a la huancaína, chupe and the sauce for tiraditos. The chillies are seeded, de-veined and blanched in three changes of water, which tames the heat and the raw grassiness, then peeled and blended with oil into a thick, silky, saffron-orange paste. It tastes fruity and sunny, almost like apricot and passion fruit, with a rounded, medium heat. Abroad, buy whole frozen ají amarillo from Latin grocers; dried ají mirasol, soaked, gives a darker, earthier paste. Common mistake: skipping the peeling; the thin skins leave papery flecks and a bitter edge. It is ready when it is completely smooth and holds a soft peak like thick hummus. This is a low-acid paste: keep it in the fridge for a week or freeze it, never on the shelf. Chef's tip: freeze it in an ice-cube tray; one cube is about a tablespoon, just right for a pot of ají de gallina.

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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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Sardines stuffed with chermoula

Walk past the fish stalls by Essaouira's harbour and you smell this before you see it: sardines opened flat, smeared with a green-red paste of herbs, garlic, cumin and paprika, pressed together in pairs, dusted with flour and fried until the edges crunch. The fish stays moist and rich inside, sharpened by lemon and a little chilli. In Safi and Agadir homes they appear at lunch with a tomato and onion salad and bread, or tucked into sandwiches from street carts. Chef's tip: ask the fishmonger to butterfly the sardines and remove the backbone; it saves a fiddly 20 minutes and they lie flat.

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Djaj mhammerSaffron butter roast chicken

Mhammer means reddened or browned, and that final colour is what sets this Rabat and Fez favourite apart from a tagine. The bird is first poached in a little water with butter, garlic, saffron, cumin and paprika, so the meat soaks up the spices and stays juicy, then it goes into a hot oven to crisp and turn burnished while the cooking liquid reduces into a rich, buttery sauce. Moroccan families serve it at weddings and on Eid with olives, preserved lemon, fried or roasted potatoes and bread. Chef's tip: keep the poaching liquid at a gentle shiver, not a boil; boiling tightens the meat and the skin splits before it ever browns.

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ChraimeFish in spicy garlic paprika sauce

Friday night in Moroccan and Libyan Jewish homes, from Casablanca to Tripoli and now Paris and Tel Aviv, often begins with a plate of chraime before the main course. Thick fish steaks simmer in a brick-red sauce built from a frightening amount of garlic, sweet and hot paprika, chilli, caraway and cumin, loosened with oil and a squeeze of lemon. It is spicy, garlicky and very savoury, and the oily sauce begs to be mopped up with challah or other good bread. It is also eaten cold the next day. Chef's tip: cook the spices in the oil over a low heat until they smell toasty but not dark; burnt paprika tastes acrid and you cannot rescue it.

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TridSaffron chicken on pastry sheets

Before pastilla became the showpiece, Fez and Marrakech made trid, a dish so old it is sometimes called the grandmother of rfissa. Sheets of dough are stretched until you can read through them, cooked briefly on an upturned pot, then layered on a platter and soaked with the cooking juices of chicken simmered with onions, lentils, saffron and a whisper of fenugreek. The pastry softens into silky, almost noodle-like folds, the sauce is golden and peppery, and the chicken sits on top in big pieces to be shared by hand. It is served at family lunches, for guests, and to women after childbirth. Chef's tip: oil your hands and the work surface generously when stretching the dough; it is the oil, not flour, that lets it go paper-thin without tearing.

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RfissaChicken with shredded flatbread and lentils

Ask anyone in Rabat or Salé when they last ate rfissa and the answer is often a birth, a naming day or a big family Friday: it is the dish brought to new mothers, because fenugreek and lentils are believed to restore strength. Torn strips of msemen, the flaky square pancake, are steamed until soft and piled high, then drenched in a broth of chicken, onion, ras el hanout and fenugreek that is warming, earthy and a little bitter-sweet. The chicken crowns the mound and everyone eats from the shared platter. Use homemade or bought msemen; day-old is best. Chef's tip: steam the shredded msemen over the simmering broth before saucing it, so it swells and softens instead of turning claggy.

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Seafood pastilla

The sweet pigeon pastilla belongs to Fez; along the northern coast, from Tetouan to Tangier and down to the Atlantic towns, the savoury seafood version is what turns up at weddings and Ramadan dinners. Thin warqa pastry wraps a filling of prawns, white fish and squid, rice vermicelli and plenty of chermoula, the lemony herb, garlic, cumin and paprika marinade, and the pie is baked until it shatters at the touch. Inside it is juicy, tangy and a little spicy. Serve it hot, cut into wedges, with a green salad. Filo works if you cannot find warqa or brick pastry. Chef's tip: drain the cooked filling in a sieve for 10 minutes before you fill the pie; wet filling is what makes a soggy base.

120 minMoroccanFish
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Chicken kdra with almonds

Kdra takes its name from the tall copper pot it was cooked in, and in Fez it is a festive dish for weddings and family gatherings rather than an everyday tagine. The sauce is the point: kilos of onion melted down with smen, saffron, white pepper and cinnamon until it turns pale gold and creamy, with no tomato or paprika at all. Soft chickpeas and almonds simmered until tender go into it, and the whole thing is scooped up with bread. Expect a mellow, perfumed, buttery richness rather than heat. Chef's tip: soak and simmer the blanched almonds with the chicken; they lose their crunch and become creamy like the chickpeas, which is how Fassi cooks like them.

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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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Jalea mixtaMixed fried seafood with cassava

Ordered to share at a Lima cevichería on a Sunday, jalea mixta arrives as a tall golden pile: chunks of white fish, squid rings and prawns, all in a light, crackly coat, on top of fried cassava and buried under a fresh tangle of salsa criolla. The contrast is the point, hot and crunchy underneath, cold, sour and sharp on top, with tartar sauce or ají on the side and cold drinks all round. A frequent mistake is crowding the oil, which drops its temperature and gives you a soggy, greasy coat; fry in small batches and let the oil come back up between them. Chef's tip: boil the cassava first and let it steam dry before frying; it turns fluffy inside and shatteringly crisp outside.

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ChapoPlantain and milk drink

Breakfast stalls in Iquitos and the riverside towns of Loreto pour chapo into glasses from big steaming pots before the heat of the day sets in, and by afternoon the same drink is sold chilled. It is made from plantains left until their skins are black, simmered with cinnamon and cloves until soft, then blended smooth and loosened with milk. The result is thick, naturally sweet and gently spiced, somewhere between a smoothie and a thin custard, and children love it. Some families make it with water only; evaporated milk is the common addition in town. The mistake is using plantains that are still yellow-green: they taste starchy and the drink turns grey and gluey, so wait until the skins are mostly black and the fruit gives when pressed. Serve hot with bread or a tamal, or cold over ice. Chef's tip: strain it through a sieve after blending for a silky drink, and thin it with water if it thickens as it cools.

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Pulpo al olivoOctopus with olive mayonnaise

Created in Lima in the 1950s by a Japanese-Peruvian chef, pulpo al olivo is now a fixture of Nikkei restaurants and smart cevicherías: paper-thin rounds of tender, cold octopus covered with a smooth violet mayonnaise of Botija olives, the big, dark, fruity olives of the southern coast. It is cool, rich and briny, eaten as a starter with lime and a drizzle of olive oil. Allow 1 hour for chilling after cooking. Tough octopus is the usual let-down, and the fix is simple: use frozen octopus (freezing tenderises it) and simmer gently, never at a rolling boil. Because the sauce is an egg emulsion, make it with a pasteurised egg, or use a good ready-made mayonnaise. Chef's tip: slice the octopus while it's cold and firm; warm octopus slices raggedly.

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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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Pollo chi jau kayFried chicken in oyster sauce

Any chifa in Lima, from the old dining rooms of Barrio Chino on Calle Capón to the corner chifa in every district, will have chi jau kay on the menu: boneless chicken marinated in soy and ginger, fried in a crisp coating and served under a dark, glossy oyster sauce, scattered with sesame seeds and spring onion. The crust stays crunchy where the sauce hasn't reached and goes sticky where it has. It is shared with arroz chaufa or plain rice and a Chinese soup. The usual misstep is tossing the chicken in the sauce in the pan, which makes it soggy; Lima chifas pour the sauce over at the table. Chef's tip: fry the chicken twice, once to cook and once very hot for a minute to crisp, and it will stay crunchy under the sauce.

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