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Tarta de zapallitos

In Buenos Aires every rotisería sells tartas by the slice, and at home a tarta de zapallitos is baked on Sunday evening so that a wedge can go into the vianda (packed lunch) for school and work all week. Zapallitos are round green courgettes; ordinary courgettes work just as well. The common mistake is adding the courgette raw, which floods the pastry; sauté it until the liquid has cooked away. Argentine queso rallado and many hard cheeses are made with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian hard cheese. Chef's tip: bake the tart on a preheated baking tray so the base crisps before the filling soaks in.

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Capeletis a la Caruso

Capeletis a la Caruso were created in a Montevideo restaurant in the 1950s and named after the great tenor, and they are still a Sunday lunch favourite in Uruguayan homes: little stuffed pasta hats in a rich sauce of cream, cooked ham (pork), mushrooms and onion, finished with grated cheese. Buy good fresh capeletis or tortellini; the sauce is what you make. The usual mistake is boiling the cream sauce hard, which makes it oily and grainy. Chef's tip: cook the mushrooms in a dry hot pan first until they squeak and brown, before any butter goes in, for a deeper taste.

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Chai nabat (saffron rock candy tea)

Pilgrims leaving Mashhad carry home boxes of saffron nabat, crystals of rock candy grown on a string and tinted gold with Khorasani saffron. Across Iran a glass of chai nabat is what you are handed when you feel unwell, after a shock, after an exam, or late at night when the evening meal sits heavy; it is traditionally drunk to settle the stomach and warm you up. The tea is brewed strong in a teapot that sits on top of the kettle, then poured clear and amber into small glasses, and the nabat stick is stirred until it softens the tea with a gentle, honeyed sweetness and a faint saffron aroma. Black tea has a moderate amount of caffeine, so give children a weaker glass. A common mistake is boiling the leaves or letting them steep on direct heat, which turns the tea bitter and murky; Persian tea is "dam" — brewed gently on steam. It is ready when the leaves have sunk, the tea is clear and reddish-amber and it smells of bergamot or cardamom. Chef's tip: hold the glass up to the light; if you can't see through it, top it up with hot water, as Iranians do.

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Homemade kashk

Kashk began with Iran's nomadic herders, who churned their yoghurt for butter in goatskin bags, then cooked and dried the sour leftover into hard balls that lasted through winter. In Kerman, Fars and Khorasan it is still made that way, but in Tehran most people buy it liquid in jars. Making your own is worth one slow afternoon. It is the salty, sour, almost cheesy finish swirled over ash reshteh at Nowruz, folded into kashk-e bademjan with fried mint and walnuts, and stirred into kaleh joosh on cold nights. Liquid kashk is thick and creamy like soured cream but sharper and saltier; dried kashk is chalky-hard and grates like aged cheese. Common mistake: heating the churned yoghurt fast; it scorches and the curd turns rubbery. Keep the heat low and stir. The curd is ready when it separates into soft white clumps in a clear, yellow-green whey. Kashk is always cooked again before eating — even the jarred kind — so heat it when you use it. Chef's tip: a goat or sheep's milk yoghurt, or half and half with cow's, gives the most authentic, funky flavour.

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Morcipán (blood sausage roll)

At any Buenos Aires asado, and at the street grills outside football grounds like La Bombonera in La Boca, the choripán has a twin: the morcipán, a soft, rich morcilla split and laid in crusty bread. Argentine morcilla is a pork blood sausage with pork fat, onion and spices, sometimes with nuts or raisins, and it grills to a crisp skin around a soft, spoonable centre that tastes deep and slightly sweet. A sharp chimichurri cuts through it. Chef's tip: grill it over a gentle heat and turn it carefully with tongs; on a fierce grill the casing splits and the filling runs out.

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Ka'i ladrillo

Ka'i ladrillo — 'monkey brick' in Guaraní — is the sweet sold by vendors on Asunción buses and at country fiestas: roasted peanuts bound in boiled cane molasses and set in brick-shaped blocks, crunchy and dark with a slightly smoky toffee taste. It contains peanuts, so keep it away from anyone with a peanut allergy. The common mistake is taking the syrup off too soon, so the bricks stay sticky and never set. Chef's tip: test the syrup by dropping a little into cold water; it is ready when it sets into a brittle thread that snaps.

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Asal-o-khameh

On Friday mornings in Tehran and Isfahan, families queue at the bakery for hot barbari or sangak, then come home to a treat: thick clotted cream, called khameh or sarshir, drizzled with honey and scooped up with the warm bread, alongside glasses of black tea. The mistake is serving it with cold bread; the warmth is what softens the cream into the honey. Honey is not suitable for babies under one. Chef's tip: let the cream sit out for 10 minutes and spread it first, then drizzle the honey in a thin stream so you get sweet ribbons rather than a puddle.

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Lubia pokhte

On cold winter mornings in Tehran, steam rises from street carts selling lubia pokhte: pinto beans simmered with a pinch of salt until soft as butter, ladled into a cup with some of their cooking liquid and sprinkled with golpar, the citrusy ground seed of Persian hogweed, plus a squeeze of lemon. It is cheap, warming and filling. The mistake is salting the water at the start; add salt once the beans are tender or the skins stay tough. Chef's tip: skim the foam in the first 10 minutes and keep the beans at a lazy simmer, never a rolling boil, so they stay whole but creamy inside.

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Sharbat-e zaferan (saffron sherbet)

Big steel urns of golden saffron sherbet are poured for guests at Iranian weddings and engagement parties, and the same drink is handed out on the street as nazri during Muharram and at memorial gatherings, when families offer something sweet and cool in the name of the departed. Saffron from Khorasan is ground with a sugar cube, bloomed in a little water and stirred into syrup with rose water and lemon. The result is honey-sweet and floral, with saffron's faint bitterness and hay-like perfume at the end, and a colour that should be a clear, sunny orange-gold. The usual mistake is dropping whole threads straight into cold water, which gives a pale, patchy drink and wastes expensive saffron; grind it first and let it bloom for at least 10 minutes. You know the bloom is ready when the water is a deep red-orange and smells strongly of saffron. Taste before serving: it should be sweet but finish clean, with the lemon just noticeable. Chef's tip: an ice cube placed on the ground saffron and left to melt slowly gives the deepest colour of all, an old Iranian trick.

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Morabba-ye albaloo

Sour cherry season in Iran is short, a few weeks in late June and July, and in towns from Mashhad to Tabriz it is the moment when every kitchen has a pot of morabba-ye albaloo on the stove. The jam is kept for the year's breakfasts: spooned onto warm barbari or lavash with butter and white cheese, stirred into tea for children, or kept aside for albaloo polo's syrup. Persian morabba is not a set jam: the cherries stay whole and plump in a loose, glossy, deep-red syrup that is very sour-sweet. They are left overnight in sugar so the juice comes out before cooking, which keeps the fruit intact. Common mistake: boiling hard for a long time to thicken it; the cherries shrivel and the syrup turns brown and toffee-like. Simmer gently and stop early, because it thickens as it cools. It is ready when a drop of syrup on a cold plate wrinkles slightly when pushed and the cherries look translucent. Chef's tip: frozen pitted morello cherries make an excellent morabba out of season; thaw them in the sugar and use their juice.

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Escabeche de pollo

Pollo en escabeche is a home classic in Córdoba and Buenos Aires, a legacy of Spanish preserving that Argentines make on a Saturday to eat cold all week. It comes out of the fridge for a picada before the asado, as a summer lunch with a green salad and crusty bread, or packed for a day in the sierras. Chicken is browned, then gently cooked in oil and vinegar with carrot, onion, red pepper, garlic, bay and black peppercorns, and left to rest at least a day. The meat turns tender and lightly tangy, the carrots keep a little crunch, and the oil carries the flavour of bay and pepper. Because garlic sits in oil, safety matters: the liquid is half strong vinegar (at least 5% acidity, never diluted beyond what the recipe says), and the jar always lives in the fridge, never on the shelf. Eat it within 5 days. The common mistake is letting it boil hard, which makes the chicken dry and stringy; it should barely tremble. It is ready the next day, when the chicken tastes seasoned right through and the oil has turned golden. Chef's tip: take it out 20 minutes before serving so the oil melts back to liquid.

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Guiso de fideos

Guiso de fideos is the winter weeknight stew of Argentina, cooked in Buenos Aires flats and on estancias alike, and as loved by children as by grandparents. Beef, potatoes and vegetables simmer in a light tomato and sweet-paprika broth, then short pasta cooks straight in the pot and thickens it into something between a soup and a stew. Serve it in deep plates with crusty bread and grated cheese for those who want it. The usual mistake is adding the pasta too early, so it swells and turns mushy; it goes in only for the last 10–12 minutes. Chef's tip: cut the beef into small cubes, about 2 cm, so it is tender in under an hour.

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Sándwich de bondiola

Along the Costanera Sur riverside in Buenos Aires, beside the Reserva Ecológica, the carritos have grilled for cyclists, walkers and taxi drivers for generations, and the bondiola sandwich is their pride: a thick pork shoulder steak, marbled and juicy, grilled until charred and laid in a crusty roll with chimichurri and salsa criolla. Weekend afternoons are the busiest. Chef's tip: leave the fat on the steak and turn it only once; the fat bastes the meat and the crust is the best part.

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Sándwich de vacío

Vacío, the flank cut with its layer of fat and membrane, is grilled slowly for a long time at Buenos Aires parrillas, and at the street grills near football grounds and the weekend fairs of Mataderos it ends up sliced into crusty bread for a hearty midday sandwich. Cooked gently, it turns tender and very juicy, with a crisp, salty layer of fat. Chef's tip: grill it membrane side down first for most of the time and do not trim that membrane off; it protects the meat and turns crisp.

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Tas kabab

Tas kabab is a quiet home dish from Iran, cooked in autumn and winter when quinces are in the bazaars and a pot can sit on a low flame through the afternoon. Thin slices of beef or lamb are layered with onion, potato, carrot, tomato and quince, seasoned with turmeric, cinnamon and saffron, then left covered with very little water so everything cooks in its own juices into a sweet-sour, tender stew. Serve with plain rice or bread and a bowl of yoghurt. The usual mistake is adding too much water: it boils instead of steaming and the layers turn into soup. Chef's tip: wrap the lid in a clean tea towel so the drops of steam don't fall back and dilute the juices.

150 minPersianMeatGluten free
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Nazkhatoon

Nazkhatoon comes from Gilan, the green, rainy province on Iran's Caspian coast, where it is eaten in summer as a starter or side with grilled fish, rice and fresh herbs. Charred eggplant is chopped with tomato, garlic and mint, then sharpened with sour pomegranate molasses and verjuice, so it tastes smoky, tart and fresh at once. Suitable as part of a balanced diet, it is a vegetable salad with no grain: about 110 kcal and 14 g carbohydrate per portion. The usual mistake is using sweet pomegranate syrup; it must be the sour Gilani style, and a little goes a long way. Chef's tip: chop everything by hand rather than in a blender, so the salad keeps some texture.

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Ash-e doogh

Ash-e doogh is the summer and autumn soup of Ardabil and the Azeri north-west of Iran, cooked in big pots for family gatherings and sold in bowls in the bazaars. Rice and chickpeas are simmered in tangy yoghurt with handfuls of dill, coriander, spinach and mint, and the soup is topped with crisp fried onion and dried mint. It is creamy and sour, never heavy. The usual mistake is stopping stirring: the yoghurt splits into grains if left to boil alone, so stir in one direction without stopping until it comes to the boil. Chef's tip: beat a spoonful of rice flour into the yoghurt before heating; it stabilises it and keeps the soup silky.

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Ardeh shireh

In Iranian homes, especially in Yazd and the central provinces, a small dish of ardeh shireh sits on the winter breakfast spread: smooth tahini swirled with dark grape molasses into a marbled, sticky spread that tastes like a grown-up peanut butter and jam. It is mopped up with warm flatbread and washed down with tea. The mistake is beating the two together until uniform; you lose the swirls and the spread turns dull. Fold just a few times. Chef's tip: stir the tahini jar well first, because the oil separates, and use runny, well-stirred tahini for the best ribbons. Serve with flatbread, or gluten-free crackers if you need it gluten free.

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Sharbat-e bidmeshk (willow blossom sherbet)

Kashan and the villages of Qamsar and Niasar are famous for distilling flowers in spring: rose water in May, and before that araq-e bidmeshk, the distillate of the fuzzy catkins of the musk willow. In summer, when the desert heat settles over the old houses, the same bottles go into sharbat-e bidmeshk, a pale syrup diluted with icy water and served to guests in tall glasses, sometimes with swollen basil seeds. It is traditionally drunk to calm the nerves and cool the body. The taste is delicate, sweet and haunting, somewhere between honeysuckle, musk and fresh hay. The common mistake is adding the distillate to hot syrup; the heat drives the scent away within minutes, so cool the syrup completely first. The syrup is ready when it is clear and pours like thin honey, and the finished sherbet should smell floral the moment you lift the glass. Look for the distillate in Iranian shops; there is no true substitute, though rose water with a few drops of orange-blossom water makes a pleasant but different drink. Chef's tip: a squeeze of lemon in the syrup stops it crystallising in the fridge, where it keeps for a month.

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Dizi

Dizi, also called abgoosht, is Tehran's working lunch, served at old teahouses and bazaar canteens in individual stone pots, and cooked at home on cold Fridays. Lamb on the bone, chickpeas, white beans, potatoes, tomato and dried lime cook gently for hours. At the table you pour off the broth and soak torn sangak or lavash bread in it (tilit), then pound the meat, beans and potato into a coarse paste (goosht kubideh) to eat with herbs, raw onion and pickles. The usual mistake is adding the potatoes at the start: they collapse and cloud the broth. Slow-cooker: after the beans' hard boil, cook everything except the potatoes on low for 10 hours, adding them for the last 2. Chef's tip: pierce the dried limes so they flavour the broth without turning it bitter, and lift them out before pounding.

245 minPersianMeatGluten free
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Sharbat-e rivas (rhubarb sherbet)

For a few weeks in spring, after Nowruz, sellers come down from the Alborz foothills, the mountains of Khorasan and Kurdistan with bundles of rivas, the thick-stalked wild rhubarb. People peel and eat the stalks raw with salt, cook them into khoresh, and boil the rest into syrup to keep the taste of the season into summer. Sharbat-e rivas is pink, sharp and refreshing, like sour cherry and green apple together, softened by sugar and lifted by mint. The common mistake is boiling the rhubarb hard and pressing it through the sieve, which makes the syrup cloudy, brownish and stringy; simmer gently and let it drip on its own. Use only the stalks, never the leaves, which are poisonous. The syrup is ready when it is clear, rose-coloured and coats a spoon in a thin film; it keeps for two weeks in a clean bottle in the fridge, and should be thrown away if it fizzes, smells of alcohol or grows mould. Garden rhubarb is a good substitute for rivas; the reddest stalks give the prettiest colour. Chef's tip: a strip of lemon peel in the pot brightens the colour and stops the syrup tasting flat.

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Torshi gol kalam

In Tehran kitchens the autumn torshi session begins when cauliflower is cheap in Azar and Dey, and jars of torshi gol kalam line the balconies before Yalda night. A spoonful of these crunchy, sharp florets cuts through the richness of a winter khoresh, kuku sabzi, adas polo or a plate of kabab and rice, and every family argues about the right herbs. Ours is the classic: blanched cauliflower and carrot with whole garlic cloves, dried mint and tarragon, nigella seeds and a few dried chillies, all under strong vinegar. The taste is properly sour with a herbal, slightly peppery depth; the florets stay crisp-tender. Common mistake: packing the vegetables while still wet from blanching, which waters down the vinegar and invites soft, slimy pickles; drain and dry them for an hour. It is ready after 10–14 days, when the cauliflower has turned ivory-gold, the garlic is mild and the vinegar tastes herbal rather than raw. Chef's tip: Persian grape vinegar gives the softest flavour; cider or white wine vinegar at 5–6% acidity is a good substitute.

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Ash-e shalgham

In Tehran and Mashhad homes, ash-e shalgham is the pot put on the stove when someone in the family catches a cold in the first frosts of winter. Turnips and rice are simmered together until the turnips melt and the rice thickens the soup, which ends up soft, sweet and peppery, with a fried-onion and turmeric base. Many families add a little lamb; this one is vegan. The usual mistake is using big, old turnips, which taste bitter and woody; choose small, heavy ones. Chef's tip: grate half the turnips and dice the rest, so the soup is creamy yet still has pieces to bite.

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Lampreado

Paraguayan grandmothers fry lampreado on Sunday evenings to eat with a mug of cocido, the toasted yerba mate drink: small pan-fried cakes of cassava starch, egg, milk and grated cheese with a little onion, crisp at the edges and stretchy inside. Some families also make it with leftover meat, but this version is all cheese. Queso Paraguay is set with animal rennet; a vegetarian Parmesan-style cheese plus mozzarella works well. The trap is a batter that is too thick, which gives heavy, gluey cakes. Chef's tip: the batter should drop slowly off a spoon like thick pancake batter; add milk a spoonful at a time until it does.

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