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Haneeneh

Haneeneh is desert comfort food from the Bedouin tents of the Jordanian Badia: soft dates mashed into hot samneh with crumbs of yesterday's flatbread, scented with cardamom and pressed into a rich, fudgy sweet. It is made for guests, for new mothers and for cold mornings before herding, eaten by hand with black tea or Arabic coffee. It takes ten minutes and uses only store-cupboard things. The mistake to avoid is cooking the dates too long once they meet the ghee; they turn stiff and chewy instead of jammy. Chef's tip: toast the crumbs in the ghee first until nutty, then add the dates off the heat so the mixture stays soft.

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Zarb

Visitors to the desert camps of Wadi Rum often watch the zarb come up from the sand at sunset: tiered racks of spiced lamb, chicken, potatoes and onions that have steamed for hours in a pit of embers, then lifted out smoky and falling apart. At home you get close with a deep roasting tin sealed tightly with foil, a long, low oven and a short blast of heat at the end. Serve it on a big platter over rice or with shrak, with yoghurt and a tomato salad. The mistake most people make is leaving gaps in the foil, so the steam escapes and the meat dries. Chef's tip: marinate overnight in the fridge and add a little smoked paprika to the spice mix; it brings back the taste of the pit.

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Shorbat freekeh

When the sunset call to prayer ends the Ramadan fast in Amman, the first spoonfuls are very often shorbat freekeh, a nourishing broth thickened with cracked green wheat that was roasted in the field while still young. The smoke from that roasting gives the soup its distinctive, almost barbecue-like depth, while chicken, cinnamon and cardamom keep it gentle on an empty stomach. It is followed by dates, salad and the main dish. The usual mistake is not picking over and rinsing the freekeh, which can hold tiny stones and chaff. Chef's tip: toast the rinsed freekeh in butter for a couple of minutes before adding the broth; it brings out the smokiness.

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Ouzi

Ouzi is the showpiece of Jordanian and Damascene wedding buffets and Eid lunches: golden filo bundles that break open to spiced rice, minced lamb, peas and toasted nuts. The name comes from the whole roast lamb once served on a mountain of rice; the parcels are the neat, home-sized version, made ahead and baked as guests arrive. Serve with plain yoghurt or a cucumber-yoghurt salad. The common mistake is filling the filo with wet rice, which turns the bottoms soggy, so cook the rice until just tender and spread it out to steam dry. Chef's tip: lay a few nuts and peas in the bowl first, then the filo, then the filling, so each parcel comes out with a pretty top.

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Galayet bandora

Ask anyone in Amman what they cook when the fridge is nearly empty and the answer is often galayet bandora: ripe tomatoes collapsed in a shallow pan with olive oil, garlic and hot green chilli until they turn jammy and sweet. It turns up at breakfast, as a quick supper, and over a camp fire on desert trips to Wadi Rum, always eaten straight from the pan with torn khubz or shrak. Some families add cubes of lamb; this meatless version is the one most homes make every week. The usual mistake is stirring too much and adding water, which gives you a thin sauce instead of glossy, slightly caramelised tomatoes. Chef's tip: let the tomatoes sit untouched for the first few minutes so their undersides catch and colour; that touch of browning is where the flavour comes from.

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Shrak

In Bedouin camps around Wadi Rum and Ma'an, shrak is baked fresh for every meal: dough stretched thinner than a handkerchief, flung over a domed iron saj above the fire and lifted off seconds later, soft and blistered. It is the bread that lines the mansaf platter and wraps grilled meat, and it is torn for galayet and labneh at breakfast. At home an upturned wok over a gas flame stands in for the saj. The common mistake is rolling the dough on a dry surface; it tears, so oil your hands and worktop instead and stretch the dough over the backs of your hands like a pizza maker. Chef's tip: rest the dough balls a full 30 minutes, well oiled and covered; relaxed gluten stretches to near see-through without fighting back.

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Hilbeh

Hilbeh is the tray cake Jordanian grandmothers bake in winter and for visits after childbirth, when fenugreek is believed to warm and strengthen. Soaked fenugreek seeds swell into soft, jelly-coated beads that dot a dense semolina crumb, giving a gently bitter, maple-like scent that the hot syrup softens. Cut into diamonds, each topped with an almond, it sits on the coffee table beside Arabic coffee from Irbid to Aqaba. The mistake people make is using the seeds dry: they stay hard and bitter, so boil and soak them first. Chef's tip: pour cold syrup over the cake the moment it leaves the oven; hot-on-cold soaks in evenly and keeps the top from going soggy.

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Rashoof

In the stone villages around Karak and Tafileh, rashoof is what simmers on cold, wet evenings: brown lentils and coarse bulgur cooked soft, then enriched with jameed, the dried salted yoghurt that is also the soul of mansaf. The result is thick, sour and comforting, almost a porridge, finished with a heap of onions fried golden in samneh. Jameed is sold in hard balls or as a liquid in Middle Eastern shops; thick strained yoghurt with a little extra salt makes a fine stand-in. The classic mistake is letting the soup boil hard once the yoghurt goes in, which makes it split into grainy curds. Chef's tip: temper the yoghurt with a ladle of hot soup first and stir in one direction over a low heat; it stays silky.

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Ka'ak bi ajwa

In the last nights of Ramadan, Jordanian kitchens turn into small bakeries, and trays of ka'ak bi ajwa go into neighbourhood ovens ready for Eid morning. A crumbly semolina pastry scented with anise and mahlab is wrapped round a rope of date paste, closed into rings and baked pale gold, then offered to every visitor with bitter Arabic coffee. Children usually do the rolling. The common mistake is overworking the dough after the butter goes in, which makes the cookies hard rather than sandy. Chef's tip: rest the semolina and butter mixture overnight before adding the liquid; the grains drink the fat and the ka'ak melt in the mouth.

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Pastelón

Pastelón turns up at Puerto Rican Sunday lunches and Christmas parties all over the island, from San Juan to Ponce, usually next to a pot of rice and beans. Instead of pasta it is layered with long slices of fried ripe plantain, so every bite is sweet and salty at once: soft caramelised plantain, a savoury beef picadillo with olives and capers, melted cheese and a light egg binding. Cut it into squares like a lasagne. The mistake to avoid is using yellow or green plantains; they stay starchy and dry, so wait until the skins are almost black. Chef's tip: leave the pastelón to rest for 15 minutes after baking; the egg and cheese set and the squares come out clean.

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Alcapurrias

Drive along the coast road at Piñones in Loíza on a weekend and the beach kiosks are frying alcapurrias by the tray, each one wrapped in paper with a dash of chilli vinegar. The shell is a masa of grated green banana and yautía (taro root), coloured with annatto oil, that fries to a crisp crust with a soft, almost creamy inside; the filling here is a well-seasoned beef picadillo. They are a Loíza tradition with roots in the town's Afro-Puerto Rican cooking. The common mistake is frying warm, wet masa, which spreads and falls apart in the oil; chill it until firm. Chef's tip: shape them on a piece of greaseproof paper or banana leaf brushed with annatto oil, then slide each one straight off into the pan.

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Arroz con gandules

No Nochebuena table from San Juan to Mayagüez is complete without a big caldero of arroz con gandules, and in December every grandmother's pot is judged on it. Medium-grain rice is cooked with pigeon peas (gandules), fresh sofrito, achiote oil, tomato sauce and a scoop of alcaparrado (olives and capers), until each grain is tender and golden-orange. Island cooks usually add pork; this version gets its depth from a generous spoon of sofrito and good stock, and loses nothing. The best part is the pegao, the crisp golden crust left on the bottom of the pot. Chef's tip: once the lid goes on, leave the rice alone; stirring breaks the grains and releases starch, and you will lose both the fluffy texture and the pegao.

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La bandera dominicana

Across the Dominican Republic, from Santo Domingo office canteens to family kitchens in Santiago, the midday meal is la bandera, named after the flag: white rice, red beans stewed with squash, and braised chicken. It is eaten almost every weekday, often with a green salad and fried plantain. Dominican cooks start the chicken by caramelising sugar in the oil, which gives the sauce its deep brown colour, and they prize the concón, the crisp layer of rice at the bottom of the pot. The mistake to avoid is letting the sugar go past dark amber; burnt sugar makes the whole stew bitter. Chef's tip: marinate the chicken with lime, garlic and oregano the night before; it takes on far more flavour than a quick 30 minutes.

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Pernil

No Puerto Rican Nochebuena (Christmas Eve) is complete without pernil, a whole pork shoulder rubbed with a pounded paste of garlic, oregano and black pepper, left in the fridge overnight and roasted low for hours until it falls apart. This is a pork dish. Families fight over the cuerito, the crackling skin on top, and the meat goes with arroz con gandules, salad and more rice the next day. The usual mistake is smearing the marinade over the skin: the garlic burns and the skin never crackles, so push the paste into slits and under the skin, and keep the skin itself dry and salted. Chef's tip: marinate for a full 24 hours if you can; the garlic and vinegar soak right into the meat.

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Puerto Rican sofrito

Open a freezer anywhere in Puerto Rico, or in the Puerto Rican neighbourhoods of New York and Orlando, and you'll find a tub or ice-cube tray of green sofrito. It is the start of almost everything savoury on the island: beans, rice, stews, soups and sauces. Unlike the slow-cooked Spanish sofrito, this one is raw, blended from culantro (recao), cilantro, little sweet ajíes dulces, cubanelle peppers, onion and lots of garlic. It smells grassy and sharp in the jar and turns mellow and savoury as soon as it hits hot oil. Chef's tip: if you can't find ajíes dulces, use extra red pepper and a tiny piece of seeded scotch bonnet; you want their fruity perfume, not heat.

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Habichuelas guisadas

Habichuelas guisadas are on the stove most weekdays in Puerto Rico, from Ponce to Fajardo, ladled over plain white rice for the everyday plate called arroz con habichuelas. Pink or red beans simmer with sofrito, tomato sauce and olives, and cubes of calabaza (West Indian pumpkin) melt into the pot to make a thick, orange-red, gently sweet sauce. It's homely, cheap and deeply savoury. Island cooks often add a piece of ham; this version doesn't need it. Chef's tip: when the pumpkin is soft, crush a few pieces against the side of the pot; they dissolve into the liquid and thicken it without any flour.

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Tembleque

Tembleque gets its name from the way it shivers (tiembla) when you set it on the table, and in Puerto Rico it is the dessert of the Christmas season, from the parrandas of December through to the Three Kings in January. It's nothing more than coconut milk, sugar and cornflour cooked into a silky custard, poured into a mould and chilled until it holds its shape. It is cool, pure white, lightly sweet and tastes completely of coconut, with a blush of cinnamon on top. Chef's tip: use full-fat tinned coconut milk; light coconut milk sets thin and tastes watery.

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Quesitos

Every panadería in Puerto Rico has a tray of quesitos by the till, and a warm one with a café con leche is a standard island breakfast, from Old San Juan to small-town bakeries in the mountains. Puff pastry is rolled around a log of sweet vanilla cream cheese and baked until it shatters, then brushed with sugar syrup so the top turns glossy and sticky. The filling stays soft and slightly tangy inside the crisp layers. Chef's tip: chill the filling before you roll, so it holds its shape and doesn't squeeze out of the ends in the oven.

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Coquito

Coquito is Puerto Rico's Christmas in a glass: bottles of it are made in early December, given to neighbours and poured at every parranda, the late-night singing visits from house to house, until the Fiesta de San Sebastián in Old San Juan in January. This version contains alcohol: it blends coconut milk, sweet cream of coconut and condensed and evaporated milk with Puerto Rican white rum, cinnamon, nutmeg and vanilla. It's thick, cold and sweet, with the warmth of rum behind the spice. For children and anyone avoiding alcohol, make it without the rum as described in the steps. Chef's tip: let it rest in the fridge overnight; the spices bloom and the rum mellows, and it tastes far rounder on the second day.

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Mangú

Mangú is breakfast across the Dominican Republic, from Santo Domingo's colmados to farm kitchens in the Cibao valley: green plantains boiled until soft, then mashed smooth with butter and a splash of cold water and crowned with red onions softened in vinegar. It is creamy, mild and salty, with the sharp pink onions cutting through. At home it's usually served as los tres golpes, with fried salami, fried cheese and fried eggs; this vegetarian plate keeps the queso frito and the eggs. Chef's tip: mash with cold water rather than the cooking water; cold water makes the mash smoother and lighter, the trick every Dominican grandmother swears by.

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Habichuelas con dulce

In the Dominican Republic, Holy Week means pots of habichuelas con dulce, shared over garden walls between neighbours from Santiago to San Pedro de Macorís. Red beans are cooked soft and blended into a smooth cream, then simmered with coconut and evaporated milk, cinnamon and cloves, with soft cubes of sweet potato and plump raisins. Served cold, it tastes like a spiced coconut custard with a gentle earthy depth; nobody guesses beans the first time. It's traditionally topped with little crunchy milk biscuits. Chef's tip: push the blended beans through a sieve; it takes two minutes and gives the silky texture that marks a good batch.

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Mofongo

In Puerto Rico mofongo is the dish people drive out to the kioskos of Piñones and the roadside fondas of Arecibo for: green plantain fried in chunks, then pounded while hot in a wooden pilón with raw garlic and good olive oil until it holds together in a rough, crusty dome. The outside stays a little crisp, the inside is soft, starchy and fiercely garlicky. Most places pound in chicharrón (pork crackling); this garlic-oil version is the main one here, and the crackling is a note at the end for meat eaters. Serve it with a small bowl of hot caldo to spoon over, or with stewed beans or a tomato sofrito sauce. Chef's tip: warm the garlic in the olive oil only until it smells sweet, never until it browns, so the mofongo tastes of fresh garlic rather than bitter toast.

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