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MbaipyCheesy polenta

Mbaipy (say 'mbai-PU') is Guaraní country cooking at its plainest: coarse corn flour stirred into milk and onion fried in oil until it thickens into a soft, spoonable porridge, finished with cubes of fresh cheese that melt into strings. In the Paraguayan countryside it is a cheap winter supper; cooks often stir in shredded chicken to make mbaipy so'o, but this is the meat-free version eaten on fasting days and in plenty of homes. Queso Paraguay is made with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian mozzarella or fresh cheese if you need to. The usual mistake is tipping the corn flour in all at once, which makes lumps that never cook out. Chef's tip: let it sit, covered, off the heat for five minutes before serving; it firms up slightly and the corn swells fully.

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Morcilla dulceSweet blood sausage with walnuts

No Uruguayan parrilla is complete without morcilla dulce: a soft pork blood sausage sweetened with sugar and scented with orange peel, studded with walnuts and raisins, grilled until the skin crisps and served first, as part of the achuras, while the beef is still cooking. It is pork throughout: pork blood, pork back fat and natural pork casings. Making it at home is a project. Buy fresh pork blood with an anticoagulant added from a butcher who supplies it for sausage making, keep it chilled below 4 °C and use it within a day. The common mistake is poaching at a rolling boil, which bursts the casings. Chef's tip: keep the water at 80–85 °C, just shivering, and prick a sausage after 25 minutes: it is done when brown, not red, juice comes out.

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Postre MassiniCustard sponge with burnt sugar top

Montevideo's birthday cake of choice since the early twentieth century, the Massini is two thin layers of sponge sandwiching a thick filling of whipped cream folded with egg-yolk custard, crowned with a thin glassy crust of torched yolk and sugar. Bakeries across Uruguay sell it on Sundays. Traditional versions sometimes add a sweet fortified wine to the custard; this one is alcohol-free. The custard is cooked to a safe 71 °C. The common mistake is assembling with warm custard, which melts the cream into a puddle. Chef's tip: if you don't have a blowtorch, put the sugared top under a very hot grill for a minute and watch it closely.

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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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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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Mate de muñaAndean mint tea

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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Chilcano de piscoPisco and ginger ale highball

When Lima's grey winter finally lifts and summer reaches the beaches south of the city, the chilcano takes over from the pisco sour: lighter, longer and made for an afternoon. Peru even gives it a Semana del Chilcano each January, and it is poured at weekend lunches with chifa or fried fish. This is a highball for adults only: pisco poured over a tall glass of ice with fresh lime and ginger ale, finished with a few drops of bitters. It should taste crisp and fizzy, with the ginger and lime lifting the floral grape notes of the pisco rather than hiding them. The common mistake is using too little ice and warm ginger ale, which gives a sweet, diluted drink that goes flat in minutes. Fill the glass to the top with ice and keep the ginger ale in the fridge until the last second. It is ready when the glass is frosty, the bubbles race up the sides and the bitters drift through the top as a pink haze. Light it may be, but drink responsibly. Chef's tip: try a fruit-infused pisco, made by steeping passion fruit or mandarin peel in the bottle for a few days; Limeños love a chilcano de maracuyá.

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Cremolada (Lima passion fruit slush)

From January to March, when Lima's coast swelters, queues form at the cremolada counters of Barranco and along the Jirón de la Unión downtown for cups of this thick fruit ice. It sits between a granita and a sorbet: frozen fruit pulp scraped again and again until it is slushy and spoonable, with real bits of fruit through it. Passion fruit (maracuyá) gives a sharp, bright flavour; creamy lúcuma, with its maple and sweet potato taste, is the other favourite. Chef's tip: use a shallow metal tray; it freezes faster and evenly, so you get fine crystals rather than chunks.

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Escabeche de pescadoFried fish in sweet-sour onion sauce

In Lima, escabeche de pescado belongs to the criollo kitchen of the old city: it turns up on Friday lunch menus, on buffet tables, and above all in Lent and Holy Week, when families eat fish and this dish can be made the day before. Fish is fried until golden, then covered in a warm sauce of thick-cut red onion softened in oil with garlic, ají amarillo, ají panca, cumin and vinegar, and left to cool so the flavours soak in. It is served cold or at room temperature with boiled sweet potato, hard-boiled egg and purple botija olives. It tastes tangy, sweet and gently fruity-hot, with crunchy onion over tender fish. The fish here is fully cooked, but because it is a cold seafood dish, pregnant people, babies, older people and anyone with weak immunity should eat it well chilled and within 2 days. Common mistake: stewing the onions until limp; they should only lose their raw bite. It is ready when the sauce has soaked a little into the fish and smells of vinegar and toasted chilli. Chef's tip: use thick fillets of corvina or bonito; thin fillets break under the sauce.

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Estofado de polloChicken stew

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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Refresco de coconaCocona cooler

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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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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Ají amarillo pasteYellow chilli paste

In Lima's markets ají amarillo is sold fresh all year, and most Peruvian cooks keep a tub of this paste in the fridge the way others keep tomato purée: it is the golden base of causa limeña, ají de gallina, papa a la huancaína, chupe and the sauce for tiraditos. The chillies are seeded, de-veined and blanched in three changes of water, which tames the heat and the raw grassiness, then peeled and blended with oil into a thick, silky, saffron-orange paste. It tastes fruity and sunny, almost like apricot and passion fruit, with a rounded, medium heat. Abroad, buy whole frozen ají amarillo from Latin grocers; dried ají mirasol, soaked, gives a darker, earthier paste. Common mistake: skipping the peeling; the thin skins leave papery flecks and a bitter edge. It is ready when it is completely smooth and holds a soft peak like thick hummus. This is a low-acid paste: keep it in the fridge for a week or freeze it, never on the shelf. Chef's tip: freeze it in an ice-cube tray; one cube is about a tablespoon, just right for a pot of ají de gallina.

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Galinha à portuguesa (Portuguese chicken)

Puzzlingly, you will not find this in Portugal: galinha à portuguesa belongs to Macau, where cooks mixed a Portuguese idea of a creamy baked chicken with the turmeric, curry powder and coconut milk that came through the Portuguese trading routes from Goa and Malacca. Macanese restaurants and Hong Kong's cha chaan teng serve it bubbling in a clay pot or baking dish, golden on top, with chicken and potatoes in a mild, yellow, gently sweet coconut sauce, always with white rice to soak it up. It is a favourite for family dinners and Christmas tables. The thing people get wrong is boiling the coconut sauce hard, so it splits and turns oily; keep it at a gentle simmer. Chef's tip: brown the chicken well first, and finish under a hot grill for the speckled golden top that Macau restaurants are known for.

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Minchi (Macanese minced meat with potatoes)

If one dish says home to Macanese families, the descendants of Portuguese and Chinese Macau, it is minchi: a quick hash of minced beef and pork seasoned with soy sauce, Worcestershire sauce and a touch of sugar, mixed with crisp little cubes of fried potato and crowned with a runny fried egg. It appears on weeknight tables, at Macanese restaurants near Rua do Cunha, and at gatherings of the Macanese community abroad, always with plain white rice. Savoury, slightly sweet and full of crunch, it tastes like the meeting of a Portuguese kitchen and a Cantonese wok. A common error is stirring the potatoes into the meat too early, which makes them soft and floury; fry them separately until crisp and fold them in at the end. Chef's tip: let the mince sit undisturbed for a minute in the hot pan before stirring, so it browns instead of stewing.

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African chicken (Macanese galinha africana)

Macau restaurants have served galinha africana since the 1940s, and the story most often told is that a hotel chef in the city created it from spices that Portuguese sailors brought back from Mozambique and Angola. Today it is a signature at Macanese and Portuguese restaurants from Taipa village to Coloane, eaten at long weekend lunches with rice or crusty bread. Chicken pieces are marinated, grilled until charred, then baked under a thick, brick-coloured sauce of ground peanuts, coconut milk, chilli, paprika, garlic and onion that is rich, nutty and quietly fiery. It is often made with a pale, timid sauce; cook the onion, garlic and paprika slowly until really deep red before the coconut goes in. Chef's tip: marinate the chicken overnight in the fridge so the garlic and chilli reach the bone.

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SerraduraCream and biscuit crumb pudding

Portuguese for 'sawdust', serradura is the cool, creamy dessert you'll find in every Macanese restaurant and café from Taipa to the Senado Square backstreets, ordered to round off a long Macanese lunch. Alternating layers of sweetened whipped cream and powder-fine tea biscuit crumbs set softly in the fridge, so each spoonful is light, milky and caramel-sweet, with a gentle crumbly texture. It is usually served in small glasses, sometimes semi-frozen like an ice cream cake. Coarse crumbs are where it goes wrong; they stay crunchy and gritty instead of melting into the cream, so grind the biscuits as fine as sand. Chef's tip: whip the cream and condensed milk together only to firm peaks and stop there, or it turns grainy and buttery.

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Bajan jug jugPigeon peas and salt meat mash

Jug jug belongs to Christmas in Barbados, served alongside baked ham and roast pork on the big lunch table: green pigeon peas and salted beef and salted pork, cooked tender and minced, then stirred with guinea corn (sorghum) flour, herbs and onion into a thick, savoury, mouldable mash. Its roots are often traced to Scottish settlers' haggis and West African grain cookery, and it tastes rich, salty and herby. The common mistake is not soaking the salt meats long enough, which makes the whole pot too salty to eat; soak them overnight in plenty of water. Cook until the minced meat mixture is piping hot (71 °C) throughout. Chef's tip: stir in the sorghum flour a spoonful at a time while the pot bubbles, like making polenta, so it never turns lumpy.

180 minBajanMeat
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Bajan pumpkin fritters

Barbadian grandmothers turn leftover boiled pumpkin into these little fritters for Sunday tea, frying spoonfuls of a soft, spiced batter until puffed and golden, then rolling them in sugar while still hot. Inside they are tender and custardy, with cinnamon, nutmeg and a hint of vanilla. They're best eaten warm, straight from the paper towel. The common mistake is a watery batter from wet pumpkin, which makes flat, greasy fritters: drain the cooked pumpkin well. Chef's tip: use the dense, orange West Indian pumpkin or butternut squash; watery jack-o'-lantern pumpkins don't work well.

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Bajan fish cutterFried flying fish sandwich

Around Barbados a "cutter" is any sandwich in a salt bread roll, and the fish cutter is the lunch people queue for at beach bars from Oistins to Bathsheba: a piece of flying fish (or mahi-mahi, called dolphin locally) seasoned with Bajan seasoning, crumbed, fried crisp and stuffed into a split roll with lettuce, tomato and a dab of fiery yellow pepper sauce. The fish should be juicy and the crust shattering. The usual mistake is frying too cool, which makes the coating greasy; keep the oil hot and fry in small batches. Use flying fish fillets if you can find them frozen, or any thin white fish. Chef's tip: rub a little of the frying oil over the cut sides of the rolls and toast them in a dry pan, so the bread doesn't go soggy under the fish.

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Bajan coconut turnovers

Glass cases in Bridgetown bakeries hold rows of turnovers, soft golden half-moons of sweet yeasted dough with a sticky filling of grated coconut, brown sugar, almond essence and spice peeking out at the edges, often tinted red. Bajans eat them mid-morning with a mug of cocoa or a cold sweet drink. The mistake is overfilling, which bursts the seams in the oven; leave a clear border to seal. Chef's tip: cook the coconut filling until almost dry and cool it fully before using, as warm wet filling makes the dough soggy.

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Bajan salt bread

Every rum shop and fish fry in Barbados sells "bread and two", and the bread is almost always salt bread: plain, crusty rolls with a soft, slightly chewy crumb and a split down the top, made for stuffing with fish cakes, a slice of cheese or fried flying fish as a cutter. Despite the name, they aren't especially salty; the name sets them apart from sweet bread. The usual mistake is pale rolls with a soft crust from too cool an oven. Chef's tip: put a tray of boiling water in the bottom of the oven for the first 10 minutes for a properly crisp crust.

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Victoria sponge

Named after Queen Victoria, who took a slice with her afternoon tea, the Victoria sandwich is the cake of English village fetes, Women's Institute competitions and every birthday tea in the shires. It is two light butter sponges joined with raspberry jam and buttercream, finished with a dusting of caster sugar. Chef's tip: weigh the eggs in their shells and use the same weight of butter, sugar and flour; that is the classic way to get a perfect crumb.

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Cornish saffron buns

Saffron buns, called 'tea treats' in parts of Cornwall, were handed out at Sunday school outings and chapel tea treats, and they still glow yellow in bakery windows from Penzance to Truro. A pinch of saffron steeped in warm milk colours a soft, enriched dough studded with currants and peel, so they taste gently floral and fruity. Eat them split and spread with butter or clotted cream. Chef's tip: steep the saffron overnight for the deepest colour and flavour.

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