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Jugo surtido

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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Cocido quemado

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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Buseca

Buseca arrived in Montevideo with Italian immigrants from Lombardy and became a classic winter dish of Uruguayan bodegones and family kitchens, eaten on cold June and July days. Honeycomb tripe is simmered until tender, then stewed with white beans, pork chorizo, bacon, peppers, tomato and paprika into a thick, warming stew served with crusty bread. Buy tripe that is already cleaned and blanched (dressed). The usual mistake is undercooking the tripe: it needs a full 2 hours, until it's soft enough to cut with a spoon. Slow-cooker option: after step 4, cook on low for 8 hours. Chef's tip: a little grated lemon zest and parsley stirred in at the end lifts the rich, gelatinous sauce.

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Jugo de maca

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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Caldo de gallina

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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Einspänner

The Einspänner is named after the one-horse carriages of old Vienna: coachmen waiting outside in winter supposedly liked their coffee under a lid of cream that kept it hot and stopped it slopping. Today it is served in a handled glass at classic coffee houses, a strong black mocha (a double espresso or Großer Brauner without milk) topped with a thick layer of cold, lightly sweetened whipped cream and a pinch of icing sugar. You do not stir it: you sip the hot, bitter coffee through the cold, sweet cream, so each mouthful is two temperatures and two textures. It is an afternoon or late-morning coffee, often with a slice of Sachertorte. The common mistake is runny cream that sinks and turns the drink into a milky latte; whip it until it just holds a peak and spoon it on gently so it floats. It is ready when the cream stands at least 2 cm above the coffee and slowly sinks at the edges. It is strong: a double shot of caffeine in one glass. Chef's tip: pour the coffee in first and wait ten seconds before adding the cream, so the crema settles and helps support the cap.

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Mandi'o chyryry

Mandi'o chyryry means 'fried cassava' in Guaraní, and it is what rural Paraguayan families make from yesterday's boiled mandi'o: chunks crushed and fried in a big pan with onion until crisp in places, then scrambled with eggs. It comes out for breakfast with cocido or for a quick supper, and costs next to nothing. Use sweet cassava, the kind sold in supermarkets. The mistake is stirring constantly, which turns it to mush; let the cassava sit and brown. Chef's tip: the best chyryry starts with cold, day-old boiled cassava, which fries crisper than freshly boiled.

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Bantan

Bantan is the Mongolian comfort soup, cooked in Ulaanbaatar homes on freezing winter mornings and given to anyone who's ill, tired or recovering from a long night out. Flour is rubbed with a little water into tiny crumbs, which thicken a broth of minced mutton or beef into a soft, porridge-like soup. It is plain, warming and ready in half an hour. A common mistake is dumping the crumbs in at once, which makes lumps; sprinkle them slowly while stirring. Chef's tip: rub the flour between your palms until the crumbs are the size of rice grains.

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Grießschmarrn

Across Austria and Bavaria, Grießschmarrn is the farmhouse breakfast or light Sunday lunch that grandmothers made from what was always in the larder: semolina, milk, eggs and butter. The semolina is soaked in hot milk until thick, then fried slowly and torn apart with two spatulas into buttery, crisp-edged crumbs, dusted with icing sugar and served with plum or apple compote. The common mistake is turning it too often over a high heat: the crumbs need time on a medium flame to form a golden crust, or they stay pale and pasty. Chef's tip: let the semolina mixture rest for 15 minutes before frying, so the grains swell fully and the Schmarrn crisps instead of sticking.

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Ei im Glas

In the old coffee houses of Vienna, the breakfast menu still lists Ei im Glas: two very soft-boiled eggs, scooped warm from their shells into a small glass, with a knob of butter, chives, salt and pepper. You stir it into a golden, custardy mess and eat it with a crisp Semmel roll (gluten-free bread if you need it) and a Melange coffee. The mistake almost everyone makes is boiling the eggs a minute too long, so the yolk sets and the dish turns into plain egg salad. Chef's tip: warm the glass with hot water while the eggs cook, so the butter melts on contact and the eggs stay hot to the last spoonful.

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Chicons braisés

Belgian endive, called chicon in Wallonia and witloof in Flanders, is grown in the dark around Brussels and eaten all winter, from November to March. Braised slowly in butter with a pinch of sugar and a squeeze of lemon, the pale heads turn golden, soft and gently caramelised, with only a whisper of their raw bitterness left. Serve them beside mashed potatoes and a fried egg, or as a side for a Sunday roast. The usual mistake is crowding the pan and boiling them in their own water, which leaves them grey and bitter. Chef's tip: lay the heads in a single layer and press a round of baking paper on top, so they steam gently and then brown in the butter once the juices cook off.

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Verhackerts

In Styria, in the wine taverns (Buschenschanken) of the south and on farmhouse breakfast tables, verhackerts is spread thickly on dark rye bread with the morning coffee or at the mid-morning Jause: smoked pork bacon and back fat chopped so finely it becomes a paste, seasoned with garlic, salt and pepper. Traditionally it is made from raw cured, cold-smoked Styrian Speck and eaten without cooking; that raw version is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. This safer home version cooks the minced bacon gently until the meat is cooked through (71 °C) before it is chilled into a spread. Serve on rye bread, or gluten-free bread if needed. The common mistake is browning the bacon; it should only render and turn opaque, or the spread goes crumbly instead of smooth. Chef's tip: mince it while the bacon is fridge-cold, almost frozen, so the fat stays in clean little pieces rather than smearing.

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Refresco de cocona

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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Wiener Melange

In Vienna you never simply order 'a coffee'; you order by name, and the Melange is the one most Viennese ask for. It arrives in a large cup on a small silver tray with a glass of water and often a tiny chocolate, and you may sit over it for an hour with the newspapers at Café Prückel or Hawelka, mid-morning or after lunch. Traditionally it is a mild, longer espresso (a Verlängerter) with roughly equal hot milk and a soft cap of milk foam; it is gentler than a cappuccino and the foam is looser and creamier. Expect a round, nutty, slightly sweet cup with little bitterness. The common mistake is overheating the milk: once it passes about 70 °C it smells cooked and loses its sweetness and the foam turns big-bubbled and dry. Stop when the jug is too hot to hold for more than a second or two. It is ready when the foam sits in a smooth, glossy dome about a finger thick and the coffee shows as a brown ring at the edge. One cup has about the caffeine of a single espresso. Chef's tip: always serve the glass of water alongside, as Vienna does; it is drunk first to clear the palate.

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Schnitzelsemmel

Austrians setting off on a train journey, a ski day or a building-site shift pack a Schnitzelsemmel: a crisp Kaisersemmel roll holding a cold, golden pork schnitzel (veal for special days), a leaf of lettuce and a squeeze of lemon, sometimes with a smear of mustard or a gherkin. Leftover Sunday schnitzels are made for it. The common mistake is pressing the breadcrumbs on hard; they should sit loosely so they puff up and ripple away from the meat as it fries. Chef's tip: shake the pan constantly while frying so hot fat washes over the top, and the crust soufflés into those famous waves.

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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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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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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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Tortilla de acelga

In Montevideo and Buenos Aires, tortilla de acelga is a homely supper or picnic dish, cut into wedges for a weekday dinner or packed for a Sunday at the beach, hot or cold. Plenty of chard is cooked down with onion and garlic, then bound with eggs into a thick, green, juicy omelette that is flipped in the pan like a Spanish tortilla. Serve it with a tomato salad. Suitable as part of a balanced diet. About 190 kcal and 7 g carbohydrate per portion. The usual mistake is leaving the chard wet: squeeze it well, or the tortilla weeps and won't set. If you're cooking for anyone pregnant, a young child or anyone with a weakened immune system, cook it until fully set in the middle. Chef's tip: cook it on a low heat with a lid on for the first side; it sets through without burning the base.

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Mate de muña

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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Saffron rijstpap

Flemish rijstpap, rice slowly cooked in milk until thick and creamy, is a breakfast, a pudding and a childhood memory, and in East and West Flanders it is coloured golden with saffron and eaten with a spoonful of brown sugar. Old Flemish sayings even promise that in heaven you eat rijstpap with golden spoons. The mistake is cooking it too fast: the milk catches on the bottom and the rice stays chalky, so keep it at the barest simmer and stir often. Chef's tip: use round pudding rice, not long-grain, because its starch is what makes the porridge thick and silky without any cream.

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Pistolets

In Brussels and all over Belgium, someone in the family goes to the bakery early on Sunday morning to bring home a paper bag of warm pistolets, the small round rolls with a split down the middle. They are eaten at a long breakfast with butter, jam, chocolate spread, cheese and boiled eggs. The crust shatters and the crumb is light and open. The common mistake is baking in a dry oven, which gives a dull, thick crust; a pan of boiling water in the oven makes the thin, crackly bakery crust. Chef's tip: press the split with a floured wooden spoon handle right after shaping, not just before baking, and it opens cleanly in the oven.

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Estofado de pollo

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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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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