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CapuchinosYolk sponge cones in spiced syrup

Named for the pointed hoods of Capuchin friars, these little cones of yolk sponge sit in neat rows in Havana dulcerías, glistening with syrup and sold by the half dozen for birthdays and Sunday visits. They're baked in small cone moulds, then dropped into warm syrup scented with lime peel, cinnamon and star anise until heavy and soaked through, so they are moist, eggy and very sweet. The syrup is often spiked with rum or anise liqueur; this one stays alcohol-free. A syrup boiled too thick won't soak in and leaves a sticky crust, so keep it at a light, pourable stage. No cone moulds? Bake them in a mini muffin tin; they just won't have the hood shape. Chef's tip: soak the sponges while they're still warm and the syrup is warm too; both at the same temperature, the syrup goes right to the centre.

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Belgian frangipane tartlets

Look in the glass counter of a Flemish bakery and between the rice tarts and cream puffs sit rows of frangipanetaartjes: small shortcrust cases with a hidden layer of apricot jam, filled with almond frangipane and glazed with a thin, crackly white icing. Belgians pick them up on Saturday mornings or for a birthday at the office and eat them with coffee. They are buttery, nutty and moist, with a sharp fruity note from the jam. Too much jam is the mistake to watch: it bubbles up through the frangipane and glues the tartlets to the tin. Chef's tip: brush the warm tartlets with hot apricot jam first and let it set before the icing goes on; the jam seals the surface so the glaze stays white and shiny.

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Boniato fritoFried white sweet potato

Boniato, the pale, chestnut-sweet sweet potato of the Caribbean, is fried in rounds all over Cuba as an everyday side for picadillo, eggs or rice and black beans, and in Miami's Little Havana it turns up next to most lunch plates. The slices come out golden and lightly crisp outside, fluffy and floury inside. The common mistake is oil that is too hot with slices that are too thick: the outside burns while the middle stays hard, so keep the slices 5 mm and the heat steady. Ordinary orange sweet potato works too, though it is sweeter and browns faster. Chef's tip: drop the cut slices into cold water as you go, as boniato darkens quickly, then dry them very well before frying.

20 minCubanSidesVeganGluten free
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TopfengolatschenSweet quark puff pastry squares

A Topfengolatsche is what Viennese office workers grab from the bakery on the way in, and what grandparents order with a Melange in a coffee house on a Sunday afternoon. The corners of a puff pastry square are folded over a lemony, vanilla-scented filling of Topfen (Austrian quark) with plump raisins, and the top gets a thin white glaze. It is flaky, light and not too sweet. Raisins are sometimes soaked in rum; warm water or orange juice works just as well, and the recipe below is alcohol-free. Wet quark is the classic problem, because it turns the filling runny and it leaks out in the oven. Chef's tip: hang the quark in a sieve lined with a clean cloth for an hour, or squeeze it, until it is as thick as soft cream cheese.

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Tortilla de plátanoRipe plantain omelette

In Havana and across the Cuban countryside, tortilla de plátano is a home supper made from what is in the kitchen: slices of very ripe plantain fried until caramelised, then set in a thick, golden omelette. The sweet fruit against salty egg is the whole point, and it is served with white rice and black beans or a simple tomato salad. The mistake people make is using a plantain that is still yellow and firm; it stays starchy and dry, so wait until the skin is mostly black and the fruit gives when pressed. Chef's tip: flip the tortilla by sliding it onto a plate, covering with the pan and turning both over together, which keeps it whole.

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SeñoritasCustard slices in puff pastry

Señoritas are a fixture of Cuban bakeries in Havana and Santiago, and of the Cuban-run ventanitas in Miami: two sheets of crisp, flattened puff pastry sandwiching a thick vanilla-and-lemon custard, with a shiny white sugar glaze on top. They are Cuba's cousin of the mille-feuille, eaten mid-morning or after lunch with a tiny cup of sweet café cubano, and they are always in the box for a birthday or a baptism. Adding the custard while it is still warm is where it goes wrong: the pastry goes limp within an hour. Chef's tip: bake the pastry under a second baking tray so it stays flat, thin and evenly crisp, which makes clean cutting far easier.

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MariquitasGreen plantain chips

Mariquitas are the thin, glassy green-plantain chips that come in paper cones at Cuban cafeterías in Havana and Miami, always with a little bowl of garlicky mojo for dunking. They are a party and weekend snack, but with a mandoline they are ready in twenty minutes on any evening. The most common mistake is using plantains that have started to ripen: yellow ones are sweet and soft and burn before they crisp, so buy them hard and fully green. Take care with the mandoline and use its guard, and never leave hot oil unattended. Chef's tip: cut long, paper-thin slices lengthwise and drop them into the oil one at a time so they don't stick together.

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Kulche birinjiRice flour cardamom cookies

On the morning of Eid, or when Nowruz comes round in March, Afghan households set out a dish of kulche birinji next to the sugared almonds and dried fruit for every visitor. These small, snow-white rounds are made from rice flour, powdered sugar and ghee, scented with cardamom and sometimes rose water, and they dissolve on the tongue almost as soon as you bite. A pinch of ground pistachio pressed into the centre of each gives colour. Serve them with green tea, the way they are offered in Kabul. They are naturally gluten free and eggless. Browning is the common mistake: they should come out as pale as they went in, just firm on the base. Chef's tip: let the dough rest for 20 minutes after mixing so the rice flour drinks up the ghee; it becomes far easier to roll smooth, crack-free balls.

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CraquelinBrioche with sugar cube pockets

Sugar cubes, of all things, are the secret of the Belgian craquelin. Bakers in Ghent, Bruges and Brussels wrap broken cubes inside rich brioche, and as the loaf bakes they melt into little wells of syrup that set crunchy, while pearl sugar crackles on the crust (hence the name). It is a Sunday breakfast and weekend bakery loaf, sliced thick and eaten plain or with butter and a bowl of café au lait; Flemish bakers sometimes add orange zest. Leaving sugar pieces exposed on the outside, especially the base, is the usual pitfall: they caramelise, burn and glue the loaf to the tin. Chef's tip: chill the kneaded brioche for at least an hour before you fold in the sugar, so the butter firms and the dough is easy to wrap around the cubes.

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Kärntner ReindlingCinnamon raisin yeast cake

Carinthia's Easter loaf takes its name from the Reindl, the round, deep pan it is baked in, and in southern Austria no Easter basket goes to church without one. Inside the golden yeast crust is a spiral of butter, cinnamon sugar and plump raisins, so every slice shows a dark swirl. Locals eat it two ways: sweet with coffee on Easter morning, or alongside the savoury Easter platter with horseradish. Many bakers soak the raisins in rum overnight; warm water or tea works just as well and keeps it alcohol-free. A dry, crumbly Reindling usually means too much flour went in during kneading, so keep the dough soft and only lightly floured. Chef's tip: butter the pan well and dust it with sugar, which caramelises into a thin crunchy shell.

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ErdäpfelstrudelSavoury potato strudel

Austrians, especially in the Mühlviertel of Upper Austria and the Waldviertel, make savoury strudels as often as sweet ones, and Erdäpfelstrudel is a farmhouse favourite for a meatless Friday or a cold evening. Thin pastry wraps a filling of potatoes, fried onion, sour cream, marjoram and parsley, baked until crisp and golden and sliced with a green salad or a dill and sour-cream dip. Bought filo makes it easy at home. The mistake to avoid is a wet filling, which turns the pastry soggy underneath. Chef's tip: cool the filling completely before rolling; warm filling makes the layers stick and tear.

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BusecaTripe and white bean stew

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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LampreadoCassava starch cheese fritters

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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Mandi'o chyryryFried cassava with onion and egg

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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CancháncharaAguardiente, lime and honey cocktail

In the colonial town of Trinidad, in Sancti Spíritus province, the canchánchara is served in little clay cups to the sound of a son band in the late afternoon. Its roots are in the independence wars of the 1860s and 70s, when the mambí fighters drank cane aguardiente mixed with honey, lime and water, warm or at camp temperature. Today it comes with crushed ice, but it is still a drink for adults only, rustic and honest: floral honey, sharp lime and the raw, sugary heat of young cane spirit, cold and only slightly diluted. The classic mistake is pouring honey straight onto the ice, where it sets into a hard lump at the bottom and the drink tastes of nothing but sour spirit. Stir the honey into the lime and water first until no streaks remain, then add the ice and spirit. It is ready when the honey has disappeared into a cloudy, even mixture and the outside of the cup sweats with cold. Drink it slowly and responsibly. Outside Cuba, use unaged white rum or cachaça for the aguardiente; a short tumbler is fine if you have no clay cup. Chef's tip: soak the clay cup in cold water for ten minutes first; it keeps the drink cold for much longer.

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Batido de trigoPuffed wheat shake

Havana cafeterías and Miami ventanitas blend this for breakfast on the run: puffed wheat, cold milk, sugar and ice whizzed into a thick, frothy shake that tastes like a malted milk with toasted cereal. It is one of the most loved Cuban batidos, and quick to make at home. The common mistake is using sweetened, honey-coated cereal, which makes it cloying; plain puffed wheat lets the toasty grain flavour come through. Chef's tip: blend the puffed wheat with half the milk first until completely smooth, then add the ice, so you don't get soggy flecks of cereal.

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Buñuelos de algasSea lettuce fritters

On the beaches of Rocha, from La Paloma to Punta del Diablo, vendors walk the sand with baskets of hot buñuelos de algas: puffy, salty fritters speckled green with sea lettuce, eaten with a squeeze of lemon. Use dried sea lettuce or mixed seaweed flakes from a shop, or fresh sea lettuce only from a seller who harvests clean water; never pick it from a harbour or near drains. The usual mistake is frying in oil that isn't hot enough, so the fritters soak it up and turn greasy. Chef's tip: rest the batter for 15 minutes so the seaweed softens and the fritters puff more.

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Capeletis a la CarusoStuffed pasta in cream sauce

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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Ka'i ladrilloPeanut molasses bricks

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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Batido de mameyMamey milkshake

In Havana and all over the island, the cafeteria counter has a blender that never stops, turning out batidos of mango, guanábana, papaya and the favourite of all, mamey. The fruit has a rough brown skin and a soft, salmon-red flesh that tastes like sweet potato, pumpkin pie, almond and apricot at once, and blended with cold milk it makes a shake so thick it is almost a dessert. It is drunk mid-afternoon on hot days, at breakfast with toast, or at a kid's birthday party; Miami's Cuban cafés keep the tradition alive with frozen pulp. The common mistake is using a hard mamey, which tastes starchy and slightly bitter; the fruit must give like a ripe avocado when pressed and show deep red flesh when you scratch the skin with a fingernail. The batido is ready when it is smooth, pumpkin-orange and pours slowly in a thick ribbon. Frozen mamey pulp from Latin American shops is a good substitute; reduce the ice because the pulp is already cold. Chef's tip: a pinch of salt and a drop of vanilla bring out mamey's almond notes.

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Mojito

In Old Havana the mojito is the answer to three o'clock heat: made at bar counters along Obispo Street, on the Malecón and at home on the patio, often with a plate of tostones or chicharritas on the side. It is a drink for adults only, though its cool, fresh taste can fool you; sip it slowly and drink responsibly. A real Cuban mojito is fragrant and grassy from hierbabuena, the mild local mint, sharp with lime, gently sweet and lightly sparkling, with the rum giving it backbone rather than burn. The common mistake is shredding the mint with heavy muddling: the leaves turn black, bitter and stick in your teeth. Press the leaves softly against the sugar and lime just until you can smell them strongly, then stop. It is ready when the sugar has dissolved, the glass is fully frosted and the mint leaves are scattered bright green through the ice. Outside Cuba, use spearmint; peppermint tastes like toothpaste here. Chef's tip: slap the garnish sprig between your palms before tucking it in beside the straw; every sip then comes with the smell of fresh mint.

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Daiquiri

The daiquirí is named after a beach and the old iron mines east of Santiago de Cuba, where engineers and miners at the turn of the twentieth century mixed the local white rum with lime and sugar to cut the heat. Later Havana's bars turned it into a frozen blended drink, but in eastern Cuba it is still drunk the plain way, shaken, in the late afternoon or before a dinner of congrí and roast pork. It is a cocktail for adults only, short and clean: tart lime, a light touch of sugar and the soft, dry vanilla notes of light rum, served so cold it almost stings. The common mistake is a lazy shake, which leaves the drink warm, harsh and too strong. Fill the shaker with ice and shake hard for a full 12–15 seconds. It is ready when the tin is too cold to hold, there are tiny shards of ice on the surface and the drink has a fine foam at the rim. Have one and drink responsibly. Balance matters more than amounts: taste your limes, and add a little more syrup if they are very sour. Chef's tip: chill the coupe in the freezer first; a daiquirí loses its magic within minutes in a warm glass.

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Café con lecheCoffee with hot milk

Every morning from Havana to Miami's Little Havana, breakfast is a big cup of café con leche with a length of buttered, pressed Cuban bread (tostada) to dunk in it. A moka pot of dark espresso-style coffee is whipped with sugar into a pale foam, the espumita, and poured into a mug of hot, lightly salted milk. The usual mistake is boiling the milk, which gives it a skin and a cooked taste; heat it only until it steams. Coffee contains caffeine, so this is a grown-up drink; children traditionally get a cup that is mostly milk. Chef's tip: whisk the first few drops of coffee hard with the sugar to a thick paste before adding the rest; that is what makes the creamy espumita on top.

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Chicons braisésBraised endives

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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