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Caldo de gallinaHen broth with noodles

In Lima's markets and the all-night caldo stalls of districts like La Victoria, a bowl of caldo de gallina is the dawn breakfast for market porters, taxi drivers and anyone coming home late: a deep, golden broth from a slow-simmered hen (a boiling fowl) with ginger and spring onion, ladled over thick noodles and yellow potato, with a boiled egg, lime and ají chilli on the side. The common mistake is boiling the broth hard, which clouds it and toughens the meat; keep it to a lazy simmer. The chicken must reach 74 °C, though after this long simmer it will be well past that. Chef's tip: cook the noodles separately, then put them in the bowls; cooked in the pot they drink the broth and turn it starchy.

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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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Pira caldoCreamy fish soup with cheese

Along the Paraguay River from Asunción to Concepción, pira caldo is the fishermen's soup, said to restore strength after a long night: chunks of firm river fish poached in a broth of onion, peppers and tomato fried in fat, then made creamy with milk and melted fresh cheese. Surubí or other catfish is traditional; any firm white fish such as hake or pollock works. The mistake most people make is boiling the soup after the milk and cheese go in, which splits it. Chef's tip: fry the vegetables until they are very soft and sweet before adding the water; that is where the flavour comes from.

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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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Supă de chimenCaraway soup

Banat Swabian families around Timișoara, the German-speaking farmers settled on the plain in the 18th century, called it Kümmelsuppe, and their Romanian and Hungarian neighbours took it up as supă de chimen. Caraway seeds are fried in butter with flour until the roux turns the colour of hazelnuts, then whisked into stock and finished with ribbons of beaten egg and crisp croutons. It is a cheap, warming soup for cold mornings and for the morning after a feast, nutty and toasty with a gentle aniseed note. A common mistake is browning the roux on a high heat, where it burns and turns bitter in seconds; keep the heat medium and stir without stopping. Chef's tip: lightly crush the caraway first to release more flavour.

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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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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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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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Ciorbă de pește lipoveneascăDelta fish soup

The Lipovans, Russian Old Believers who settled the Danube Delta villages of Jurilovca, Periprava and Mila 23 three centuries ago, cook their fish soup in a cauldron over a fire by the water. A broth is first made from the fish frames and tails with onion and pepper, strained, then the vegetables and thick pieces of several fish go in, usually carp, pike, zander and catfish, so each brings its own texture. The fish is lifted onto a platter and eaten with garlic sauce and mămăligă, while the clear, peppery, tomato-sharp broth is drunk from bowls. Where most cooks go wrong is stirring once the fish is in: it breaks into flakes. Shake the pot instead. Chef's tip: a splash of the cold sauerkraut juice or borș at the end, instead of lemon, gives the sourness Delta cooks prefer.

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BorșFermented wheat bran sour liquid

Before lemons were common in Moldavian and Wallachian villages, every household kept a crock of borș, the cloudy, tangy liquid that turns a plain soup into a ciorbă. Wheat bran and a little cornmeal are steeped in hot water, seeded with a starter and left to ferment for 3–4 days in total, so although the hands-on work is short, plan a long weekend: the timings shown cover only the first two days of waiting. It is naturally vegan and a staple of the fasting (post) kitchen, where it sours nettle, bean and vegetable ciorbe. Where people go wrong is using a jar that is not properly clean, which lets the wrong microbes win and turns the borș slimy or mouldy. Chef's tip: keep a few spoonfuls of the drained bran, dried, as the starter (huște) for your next batch.

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Ciorbă de fasole verdeGreen bean soup

High summer in Transylvania means green beans by the basketful, and both Romanian and Hungarian households around Cluj and Târgu Mureș turn them into this pale, creamy, sour soup, which Hungarian cooks call tejfölös zöldbableves. Beans, potato and a little pepper simmer in a light tomato broth that is soured with vinegar, then finished off the heat with sour cream and a fistful of dill, so every spoonful is tangy, silky and fresh. Serve it hot for lunch with good bread, or with mămăligă for a thicker meal. The classic mistake is tipping cold sour cream straight into the boiling pot, where it curdles into flecks; temper it with hot broth first. Chef's tip: add the vinegar gradually and taste, as the soup should be bright but not sharp.

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Ciorbă de hribiPorcini soup

Late summer in the beech and spruce forests of Maramureș sends whole families out with baskets, and the first pot of the season is usually this sour porcini soup. Fresh hribi give it a meaty bite, a handful of dried ones deepen the broth, and a spoon of vinegar plus sour cream turns it into a proper ciorbă: tangy, creamy and smelling of the woods. It is eaten as a first course with a slice of rye bread and a fresh hot pepper on the side, often during the Orthodox fasting weeks in its cream-free form. The usual slip is stirring cold sour cream straight into the pot, where it splits into white flecks; warm it with a ladle of broth first. Chef's tip: keep the soaking water from the dried porcini and pour it in slowly, leaving the last spoonful and its grit behind in the bowl.

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Ciorbă rădăuțeanăSour chicken soup with garlic

Rădăuți, a small town in Bukovina, gave its name to this soup in the 1970s, when a local restaurant cook began treating chicken the way Romanians treat tripe: a clear broth, soured with vinegar and thickened at the end with egg yolks, sour cream and plenty of garlic. The result is pale gold, velvety and tangy, with tender shreds of chicken; many prefer it to the tripe original, and it is a firm favourite at Suceava wedding lunches and the morning after. Serve it with a fresh hot pepper, extra garlic paste and warm bread. The mistake almost everyone makes once is letting the soup boil after the yolks go in, so they scramble; temper them, then keep the pot hot but below a simmer. Chef's tip: add the vinegar a spoon at a time at the very end; it should taste clearly sour but never vinegary.

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Ciorbă de pui cu tarhonChicken soup with tarragon

Tarragon grows in almost every garden in Transylvania, from Saxon villages near Sibiu to the Hungarian towns of Harghita, and it is what makes this chicken soup taste of the region. Pieces of chicken simmer with root vegetables and potato, the pot is soured with a splash of vinegar, and at the end sour cream and a big handful of chopped tarragon go in, giving a pale, creamy broth with a gentle aniseed lift. Unlike the egg-thickened soups of Moldavia, this one stays light and brothy. It is eaten as the first course of a Sunday lunch, with fresh bread and a hot pepper. A common mistake is adding the tarragon too early; long cooking turns it bitter and grey, so stir it in just before serving. Chef's tip: a spoon of tarragon pickled in vinegar, as Transylvanian cooks keep it, does the souring and flavouring in one.

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