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Tisane de tilleul (linden tea)

Carpentras, at the foot of Mont Ventoux, has been France's linden capital for over a century. In late June the flowering lime trees are harvested by hand, the blossoms and their pale papery bracts dried in the shade, and in July the town's linden market sells them by the sack. In French homes a tisane de tilleul is what you drink after dinner, at the end of a long day or before bed, often with a slice of lemon or a little honey; Proust's famous madeleine was dipped in one. It tastes softly floral and sweet, a little like honey and fresh hay, with a smooth, almost silky feel. The common mistake is using fully boiling water and steeping for fifteen minutes: the tea turns dull brown and slightly astringent. Let the kettle settle to about 90 °C and steep for 5–7 minutes, covered. It is ready when the infusion is pale gold and smells of a summer garden. It is traditionally drunk to unwind; if you take regular medication, have a heart condition, or want to give it to young children, check with a doctor first. Chef's tip: keep the pot covered while it steeps so the scented oils stay in the tea instead of the kitchen.

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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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French 75

The French 75 took its name from the light field gun of the First World War, because Parisian bartenders of the late 1910s and 1920s said it hit you just as hard. It has stayed a celebration drink in Paris and beyond: raised at weddings, New Year's Eve and long weekend brunches. It is for adults only and stronger than it tastes, so drink responsibly. A good one is bright and lemony with gin botanicals underneath, then a fine, persistent Champagne fizz that makes it feel light and dry. The common mistake is putting the sparkling wine in the shaker, which either blows the lid off or leaves the drink completely flat. Shake only the gin, lemon and syrup with ice, strain them into the glass and top with Champagne there. It is ready when the shaker is frosted, the foam has risen and fallen once, and a steady stream of small bubbles runs up the flute. Any dry traditional-method sparkling wine such as crémant works in place of Champagne; check the label if vegan matters. Chef's tip: twist the lemon peel over the glass, not into the shaker; the oil on the surface is the first thing you smell.

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Citron presséFresh lemon drink

Order a citron pressé on a Paris terrace in July, or at a café in Nice after the beach, and the waiter brings a tall glass with an inch of freshly squeezed lemon juice, a carafe of iced water, a sugar bowl or a little jug of syrup and a long spoon. You build the drink yourself, as sharp or as sweet as you like, which is half the pleasure; French children learn to drink it with plenty of sugar, grown-ups often with almost none. It is bright, sour and cleansing, nothing like bottled lemonade, and best in the late afternoon heat. The common mistake is stirring granulated sugar straight into cold lemon water: it sinks and never dissolves, so the first sips are sour and the last a sludge. Dissolve the sugar in the juice first, or use a quick syrup. It is ready when the sugar has vanished, the drink tastes balanced to you and the glass is beaded with cold. Unwaxed lemons matter if you add a twist of peel. Chef's tip: pour the water over ice slowly and taste after half the carafe; most people find they need less water than they expect.

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Diabolo mentheMint syrup and lemonade

Ask anyone who grew up in France about diabolo menthe and they will remember sitting on a café terrace after school, or on holiday in Brittany or the Vendée, with a tall glass of startling green fizz and a straw. It is simply sirop de menthe, the sweet mint syrup sold in every French supermarket, topped up with limonade, which in France means a clear, lightly sweet, lemony fizzy drink. Grenadine makes a diabolo grenadine, lemon syrup a diabolo citron. It tastes cool, minty and sweet, like a liquid mint sweet, with a sharp sparkle. The common mistake is pouring the syrup on top of the lemonade: it sinks in a dense layer and you drink plain fizz followed by pure syrup. Put the syrup in the glass first and pour the lemonade down the side so it mixes as it rises. It is ready when the glass is an even mint-green from bottom to top and still fizzing hard. Café ratio is about one part syrup to seven parts lemonade. Chef's tip: for a homemade syrup, steep a big handful of fresh mint in hot sugar syrup for 30 minutes and strain; it will be pale gold-green rather than emerald, and tastes fresher.

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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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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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Kir

Dijon's own aperitif carries the name of Canon Félix Kir, the priest who became the city's mayor after the war and poured blanc-cassis at every reception to show off two Burgundy products at once: the sharp white Aligoté grape and the blackcurrant liqueur made around the city. It is still what you are offered before a family Sunday lunch in Burgundy, with a warm plate of gougères. It is a drink for adults only, low-key and refreshing: tart, mineral white wine with a dark, jammy blackcurrant note, deep ruby-violet in the glass, served cold with no ice. The usual mistake is too much cassis, which makes a sticky, syrupy drink that hides the wine. Keep to about one part cassis to five or six parts wine. It is ready when the colour is a clear, deep pink-purple you can still see light through and the glass mists with cold. Enjoy one before the meal and drink responsibly. If you cannot find Aligoté, use any dry, unoaked, high-acid white. Swap the wine for Champagne or crémant and you have a kir royal. Chef's tip: pour the cassis in first and the wine on top; it mixes itself and you need not stir.

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Soupe de poissons with rouilleFish soup with rouille

Not to be confused with bouillabaisse, where whole pieces of fish are served, soupe de poissons is the smooth, rust-coloured soup made all along the coast from Marseille to Sète from small rockfish too bony to eat any other way. The fish are fried with fennel, tomato, garlic and saffron, simmered and then pressed through a food mill, giving a velvety soup tasting deeply of the sea. In harbourside restaurants it arrives with a tray of toasted croutons, a pot of fiery garlic rouille and grated cheese, and everyone builds their own bowl. This rouille is thickened with potato and bread, with no raw egg. Chef's tip: press the cooked fish hard through the mill or sieve; the flavour is in the pulp, not just the liquid.

100 minFrenchSoups
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GarbureCabbage and bean duck soup

Shepherds in the Béarn valleys and farmers across Gascony have eaten garbure through the cold months for centuries, and it is still the centrepiece of village rugby-club suppers and winter fêtes. It is a soup so thick that, as people in Pau like to say, the ladle should almost stand up in it: white beans, cabbage, potatoes, leeks and turnips cooked down slowly, finished with pieces of duck confit warmed through in the pot. A ham hock is often added too; that version is a pork dish as well as a duck one, so leave it out if you need to. Serve it in deep bowls with thick slices of country bread. Chef's tip: hold back the salt until the very end, because confit duck and ham hock both season the soup as they warm.

180 minFrenchSoupsGluten free
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CotriadeFish and potato soup

Cotriade is the Breton answer to bouillabaisse, plainer and kinder on the purse, made in the ports of the south coast from Concarneau to Quiberon with whatever the boats could not sell. Chunks of several fish, both firm and oily, are poached with potatoes and onions in a thyme-scented broth, then served in two parts: the broth poured over toasted bread, and the fish and potatoes moistened with a sharp mustardy vinaigrette. The contrast of the soft, buttery broth and the bright dressing is the whole point. Serve it with good bread and salted butter. Chef's tip: add the firm fish first and the delicate ones last, so nothing falls to pieces in the pot.

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Salted butter caramel

Salted butter caramel was made famous by a confectioner in Quiberon in the 1970s, and now every crêperie from Rennes to Brest pours it over sweet crêpes, and every Breton cupboard has a jar for ice cream, apples or simply a spoon. Brittany kept the habit of salted butter long after the rest of France, so the salt is part of the flavour, not a trend. The caramel is cooked dark, loosened with hot cream and finished with butter flecked with sea salt. It keeps for two weeks in the fridge. Chef's tip: warm the cream before adding it; cold cream makes the caramel seize into hard lumps and spit furiously.

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Vegetarian vori voriCornmeal dumpling and vegetable soup

Vori vori is the soup Paraguayan grandmothers make on cold June and July evenings: a golden broth full of bori, small balls of cornmeal and cheese that swell soft as they simmer. The name is a Guaraní take on the Spanish 'bolita' (little ball). It's usually made with hen; this version gets its colour and body from pumpkin, carrot and a sofrito with saffron or turmeric. Chef's tip: shape the balls no bigger than a hazelnut; they double in size and larger ones stay raw inside.

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French onion soup

Soupe à l'oignon gratinée was the late-night meal of Les Halles, the old Paris food market, where porters and party-goers ate it at dawn; in Lyon, the city of onions, it's a winter bistro classic. Onions are cooked very slowly in butter until they turn a deep mahogany brown, then simmered in stock with a splash of wine and topped with toasted bread and melted cheese under the grill. The traditional soup uses beef stock; this version uses a rich vegetable stock and lets the deeply browned onions carry the flavour. Gruyère and Comté are made with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian alternative. Chef's tip: give the onions a full hour on a low heat; rushing them over a high heat is the common mistake and they burn before they sweeten.

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Vichyssoise

Vichyssoise is a creamy leek and potato soup served cold, named after the spa town of Vichy and made famous by a French chef in New York in 1917, who based it on his mother's hot potage. In France it's made in hot weather, when a bowl of something cool and silky is all anyone wants, and served in small portions as a starter, sprinkled with chives. It needs only a few ingredients, so the leeks must be cooked gently to keep the colour pale and delicate. Chef's tip: let the leeks soften without browning; colouring them is the common mistake that turns the soup grey-beige and bitter.

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Chocolat chaudThick hot chocolate

Paris's grand tearooms have served chocolat chaud since the 1800s, and it is nothing like a powdered cocoa drink: dark chocolate is melted into hot milk and cream until it is thick, glossy and rich enough to coat the cup. Parisians drink it in small cups on cold afternoons, often with a pot of whipped cream on the side and a pastry. It is also a winter treat at home after a walk. Use chocolate you'd enjoy eating. Chef's tip: keep the heat low and whisk; letting it boil is the common mistake and the chocolate can turn grainy and catch on the bottom.

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Soupe au pistouBean and vegetable soup with basil

Soupe au pistou is Provence's summer minestrone, eaten from July to September when basil grows thick in the gardens around Marseille and Avignon. Beans, courgettes, green beans, carrots, potato and small pasta simmer in a light broth, then each bowl gets a spoonful of pistou, a pounded paste of basil, garlic, olive oil and hard cheese with no pine nuts. Stirred in at the table, it turns the broth fragrant and green. It is a whole meal with bread. The traditional cheese is Parmesan or aged Gouda, so use a vegetarian hard cheese. Chef's tip: never boil the pistou; adding it to the pot is the common mistake that turns the basil dark and kills its smell.

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So'o yosopyGround beef and rice soup

So'o yosopy, "pounded meat" in Guaraní, is a soup Paraguayans make for anyone who is tired or recovering, and on cold days in Asunción's winter: beef is ground very finely and stirred into cold water so it breaks into soft, delicate threads, then simmered with onion, tomato, pepper and a little rice and oregano. The texture is smooth and the broth light. The mistake is adding the beef to boiling water, which makes it clump into meatballs; mix it into cold water first and stir as it heats. Chef's tip: ask the butcher to mince lean beef twice, or pulse it very fine in a food processor.

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White sauce

The classic white sauce behind pasta bakes, lasagne, baked vegetables and creamy soups. Butter and flour are cooked together first so the sauce tastes of nothing raw, then milk is whisked in until it turns thick, glossy and smooth. Use it straight away, or keep it covered in the fridge for up to 2 days.

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