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Kati kati

From Kom country near Bamenda, kati kati is chicken cooked twice: first grilled over open coals until smoky and charred in places, then chopped and simmered briefly in red palm oil with onion and hot pepper until every piece is lacquered. It turns up at celebrations in the North West and in Bamenda chop houses, always with fufu corn and a heap of njama njama. The flavour is smoky, rich and fiery, and the sauce is thick enough to cling, not pool. A charcoal grill gives the best flavour, though a hot oven grill works well. Chef's tip: chop the grilled chicken into small pieces before it goes into the pot, so the palm oil sauce reaches every surface.

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Sweet okok

Okok leaves come from a wild forest vine, and in the Centre region market women sit shaving them into hair-fine ribbons with razor-sharp knives so cooks can take them home ready to use. The Beti way is to cook them with plenty of freshly ground groundnuts and, in the version many people grew up on, a spoonful of sugar, which turns the pot into a thick, nutty, gently sweet green stew. Expect a pleasant chew from the leaves and a creamy body from the peanuts; there is no palm oil here at all. Serve it with slices of bobolo or boiled cassava for a classic Yaoundé lunch. The usual mistake is adding the groundnut paste too early and not stirring, so it scorches on the base. Chef's tip: wash the shredded leaves in at least three changes of water, rubbing them between your hands, to remove the fine grit that collects in the ribbons.

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Miondo

Douala's Duala families wrap their cassava dough into slim sticks no thicker than a finger, and bundles of miondo tied with string are stacked at every market from Akwa to New Bell. The roots are soaked for several days until they soften and sour, then ground smooth, drained, rolled, wrapped in leaves and boiled until firm and slightly translucent. The result is chewy, gently tangy and neutral enough to soak up ndolé, grilled fish or a fiery pepper sauce, and peeling back the leaf is part of the pleasure. Plan ahead: the soaking takes 3–4 days and the draining a few hours more, though the hands-on work is about an hour. Chef's tip: roll the sticks no thicker than your little finger so they cook through evenly; fat ones stay pasty in the middle.

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Kondre

For weddings, funerals, the enthronement of a chief or the return of a relative from abroad, the Bamileke of the West Region cook kondre. Chunks of goat are stewed slowly with green plantain, tomato and a fragrant blend of local spices including white pepper, pebe and country onion, until the plantain melts at the edges and thickens the sauce. The result is earthy, peppery and very satisfying, eaten straight from the bowl with nothing else alongside. Beef or lamb can replace goat; pebe and country onion are sold in Cameroonian grocers, with nutmeg and a pinch of clove standing in at a pinch. Marinate the meat in the fridge, never on the counter. Chef's tip: give the goat a full hour on its own before the plantain goes in; the meat needs far longer to soften.

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Accra banane

Morning street corners in Douala smell of frying banana: vendors drop very ripe fruit and flour batter into deep oil and sell accra banane by the paper bag, often with a bowl of bouillie or a plate of beans. Crisp at the edges and soft, sweet and almost custardy inside, these little puffs need nothing more than mashed bananas, flour, sugar and a pinch of nutmeg. Children love them after school, and they are a thrifty way to rescue fruit that has turned black. A frequent slip is using underripe bananas, which give heavy, bland fritters. Chef's tip: use bananas so ripe the skins are mostly black; firmer yellow ones give a dry, bland fritter.

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Mintumba

Golden and glossy with red palm oil, mintumba is the richer cousin of bobolo, baked or steamed in leaves in the Centre region and eaten as a snack or alongside sauce, grilled fish or roasted groundnuts. The soured cassava dough is kneaded with oil and a little salt, then wrapped and cooked until it sets into a dense, chewy loaf with a toasty crust where it touched the leaf. Its flavour is tangy, earthy and buttery from the oil. Start with bought fermented cassava paste from an African grocer, or make the dough as for bobolo. Don't wrap the dough loosely; gaps let water in and the parcels turn soggy. Chef's tip: warm the palm oil until just liquid before kneading it in; poured in solid, it streaks the dough instead of colouring it evenly.

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Nnam ngon with mushrooms

Steamed parcels of nnam ngon turn up at Beti weddings, funerals and big Sunday tables in the Centre, unwrapped to reveal a firm, pale cake of ground pumpkin seeds that slices like a terrine. The seeds are ground with onion, garlic, ginger and hot pepper, then bound with water and steamed slowly in leaves until rich, savoury and almost meaty. Smoked fish is the classic addition; here browned mushrooms take its place, so the parcels are vegan and still very filling. Serve with bobolo, boiled plantain or sweet ripe plantain. Chef's tip: brown the mushrooms in a dry pan first; added raw, they release water inside the parcel and leave the mixture loose.

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Mbongo tchobi

The Bassa people of the Littoral, between Douala and Édéa, are famous for mbongo tchobi, fish cooked in a startling jet-black sauce. The colour comes from mbongo, the pods of a wild plant in the ginger family, charred over a flame until black and ground with onion, garlic, ginger and njansang; the taste is smoky, peppery and deeply aromatic rather than burnt. Freshwater fish such as carp or tilapia is traditional, simmered gently in the sauce for family gatherings and in Douala restaurants, with boiled plantain, miondo or rice on the side. If mbongo is hard to find, charred black cardamom with grains of paradise gives a similar smoky warmth. Chef's tip: shake the pan instead of stirring once the fish goes in, so the pieces stay whole.

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Kossam

Fulani herders of the Adamawa plateau measure hospitality in kossam: a calabash of cool milk offered to a guest after a long ride, or sold in Ngaoundéré's markets fresh in the morning and pleasantly soured by afternoon. Fresh kossam is simply creamy whole milk, sometimes sweetened, drunk cold with couscous or on its own as a light meal in the heat of the day. For the tangy soured style, stir two spoonfuls of live plain yoghurt into the milk, leave it somewhere warm for 8–12 hours until thickened, then chill. Traditionally it is made with raw milk; at home, always use pasteurised. Chef's tip: chill the milk for several hours and whisk the sugar in hard just before serving, which gives the light froth you see on calabash-served kossam.

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Nkui

Bamileke families in the West Region cook nkui for celebrations, and it is also a traditional food for new mothers in the weeks after a birth. Bark from the nkui shrub is steeped and squeezed until the water turns long and slippery, then simmered with a peppery blend of local spices and finished with okra for an even stronger draw. The soup is thin, silky and warming rather than rich, with a woody, citrusy heat. Lift it with a ball of fufu corn and let the strands trail from your fingers. Look for the bark and the spice mix in Cameroonian grocers; grated okra alone gives a lighter but similar draw. The usual mistake is boiling the soup hard after whisking; it loses its draw. Keep it at a bare simmer. Chef's tip: whip the soup hard with a whisk right after adding the potash; the beating is what builds the stretchy strands.

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Njama njama and fufu corn

Every chop house in Bamenda has its own pot of njama njama, the bitter-sweet huckleberry leaf that grows in Grassfields gardens, served next to a smooth white dome of fufu corn. The leaves are boiled briefly to tame their bitterness, squeezed and then stir-fried with onion, tomato and pepper until tender and glossy. Pinch off some fufu, press a dent into it with your thumb and use it to scoop up the greens; at home, grilled chicken or kati kati often joins the plate. Frozen huckleberry leaves are sold in African grocers, and spinach with a little kale is a fair stand-in. Avoid skipping the blanching of the huckleberry leaves; unblanched they stay bitter. Chef's tip: squeeze the blanched leaves hard by the handful; leftover water dilutes the tomato base and makes the greens soggy.

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Corn chaff

Big pots of corn chaff are everyday food in the North West, from Bamenda's Food Market to boarding-school dining halls, where maize and beans stretch a long way. Dried corn and beans are simmered until soft, then folded into a red palm oil sauce with onion, tomato and hot pepper, with a handful of greens stirred through at the end. The result is hearty and chewy with a deep, slightly smoky sweetness from the oil, and it tastes even better the next day. Serve it in bowls, with ripe avocado on the side when it is in season. Soak the maize and beans overnight. Chef's tip: give the dried maize a head start of about 45 minutes before adding the beans, because it takes far longer to soften.

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Couscous de maïs

Across the North, from Garoua's riverside neighbourhoods to the Adamawa plateau around Ngaoundéré, the evening meal is usually couscous de maïs: not the steamed grains of North Africa but a stiff, smooth maize paste shaped into domes with a wet calabash. It is eaten with the right hand, dipped into slippery okra sauce, leaf sauces or a tomato and groundnut stew. The flavour is mild and sweet like fresh corn, and the texture firm enough to hold the dent made by your thumb. Use fine maize meal; coarse polenta gives a gritty result. Chef's tip: let the first handful of meal cook undisturbed on the simmering water for a few minutes before stirring; it forms a raft that blends in without lumps.

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Ekwang with mushrooms

Rolling ekwang is a job for many hands: in the Southwest and around Douala, relatives sit together grating cocoyam and tucking it into leaves for a festive Sunday or a homecoming. The little green cigars are packed into a pot, drenched in red palm oil and left to simmer until the grated tuber binds into soft, almost creamy rolls in a rich, glossy sauce. Smoked fish and crayfish are the usual partners; this meat-free version gets its depth from fresh and dried mushrooms and a pinch of smoked paprika, so it suits vegetarian and vegan guests alike. Serve it on its own, scooping up the sauce, or with boiled plantain. Chef's tip: grate the cocoyam on the finest holes, almost to a purée, so the rolls hold together; coarse shreds stay separate and the pot turns grainy.

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Roasted safou

When the rainy season brings fresh maize to Cameroon, the safou trees fruit at the same time, and roadside grills from Douala to Yaoundé sell the violet plums alongside charred corn cobs. A few minutes over embers turns the firm, sour flesh soft, buttery and slightly tangy, which is why safou is often called the African butter fruit. People peel back the skin with their teeth, scrape the pale green flesh off the stone and alternate bites with sweet corn or a chunk of boiled plantain. Look for fresh or frozen safou in African grocers. Chef's tip: a pinch of salt sprinkled on while the fruit is hot brings out its savoury, olive-like side.

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Sorrentinos de calabaza

Mar del Plata claims the sorrentino, a big round stuffed pasta about the size of a jam-jar lid that Italian-Argentine cooks made their own in the mid-20th century; despite the name, you won't find it in Sorrento. Every fresh-pasta shop in Buenos Aires province sells them by the dozen on Sunday mornings, and the squash version, with roasted calabaza, ricotta and nutmeg, is the most loved. The filling is sweet and soft, the pasta thin but sturdy, and the sauce is either brown butter with sage or a plain tomato filetto. The classic mistake is boiled squash: it carries too much water, the filling weeps and the parcels burst in the pot, so the squash is roasted until dry and caramelised. Grated hard cheese is usually made with animal rennet; choose a vegetarian hard cheese if needed. Chef's tip: chill the filling until firm before you shape it; a cold, stiff filling is far easier to seal without air pockets.

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Trucha a la manteca

Restaurants on the shores of Nahuel Huapi, in Bariloche and Villa La Angostura, put rainbow trout from the cold Andean lakes on almost every menu, and this butter version is the one locals order most. Fillets are fried with crisp skin, then drenched in butter browned with flaked almonds and sharpened with lemon. Serve with boiled new potatoes and a green salad. Any trout or char works. People commonly start the fish in butter, which burns before the skin crisps; fry it in a film of oil and make the brown butter after. Chef's tip: dry the skin really well and dust it with rice flour; it gives a thin, glassy crust without any gluten.

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Zapallitos rellenos

Round green zapallitos, the size of a tennis ball, pile up at every verdulería in Buenos Aires from December to March, and stuffing them is how home cooks turn a cheap summer vegetable into a main course. The shells are blanched, hollowed and refilled with their own flesh fried with onion and red pepper, bound with egg and melting cheese, and topped with breadcrumbs that bake to a crunchy lid. Expect a soft, savoury, slightly creamy filling under a golden crust; serve two per person with a tomato and onion salad or white rice. Overcooking the shells in the first boil is the trap: they collapse in the oven and leak water, so they only get 4 minutes. Round courgettes, eight-ball squash or short fat courgettes all work. The cheeses are usually made with animal rennet; swap in vegetarian versions if needed. Chef's tip: squeeze the chopped flesh in a clean cloth before frying it; drier filling means a firmer, tastier stuffing.

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Chivito al asador

Malargüe, in the dry south of Mendoza, holds a goat festival every summer, and the star is the chivito: a milk-fed kid opened flat, wired to an iron cross and planted at an angle beside a fire of jarilla or other hardwood. It cooks from the side, never over the flames, basted with a garlicky salmuera until the skin turns glassy and crackling and the meat pulls apart. Serve it straight from the cross with salad, bread and chimichurri. Order a whole kid of 5–7 kg dressed weight from a specialist or halal butcher, and check the cross fits it before the day. Most failures come from setting it too close to the fire, which burns the outside while the thick legs stay raw. Kid is lean, so cook it right through, as in Mendoza: the thickest part of the leg should reach at least 70 °C. Chef's tip: cook bone side to the fire for two-thirds of the time; the ribs protect the meat, and the skin goes on last so it crisps instead of scorching.

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Mejillones a la provenzal

On the Atlantic coast around Puerto Madryn and the Golfo Nuevo, mussels from cold Patagonian waters are farmed and gathered in quantity, and seafood places along the rambla steam them a la provenzal, which in Argentina means lots of garlic and parsley. A splash of dry white wine goes into the pot; the alcohol mostly cooks off, but you can swap it for fish stock with a little lemon for an alcohol-free pot that tastes just as good. Serve with bread or chips to mop up the briny juices. Cooking mussels too long is the usual slip: they shrink and turn rubbery, so lift the lid as soon as most have opened. Before cooking, throw away any mussel with a broken shell or one that stays open when tapped; after cooking, discard any that stay shut. Chef's tip: keep the garlic in gently warm oil until it just smells sweet; brown garlic turns bitter and dominates the mussels.

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Empanadas de pescado

Along the coast of Santa Fe, especially during Lent and Holy Week, fishmongers' stalls and riverside kiosks sell fried empanadas filled with sábalo or surubí. The fish is poached, flaked and folded through soft onion and sweet pepper, then sealed in a thin oil-based dough and fried until blistered and crisp. Squeeze lemon over them and eat them warm, with a green salad or just a paper napkin. Any firm white fish works: hake, cod or a farmed catfish. The mistake people make most is skipping the bone check; river fish such as sábalo hide fine bones, so run your fingers through every flake. Chef's tip: keep the filling quite dry and cold before you fill the discs; extra liquid turns to steam in the hot oil and bursts the seams.

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Salsa golf

Mar del Plata's golf club gave its name to this sauce in the 1920s, so the story goes, and Argentines have been mixing mayonnaise and ketchup ever since. It is the pink sauce of the 1970s cocktail party and the seaside: spooned into half avocados (palta a la golf), over hearts of palm, onto a cold hard-boiled egg, beside fries or into a prawn cocktail, and every family has its own ratio. A drop of lemon and a dash of mustard lift it from a simple mix to something tangy and creamy. Too much ketchup is the misstep that turns it sweet and orange; it should be a soft salmon pink. Use shop-bought mayonnaise, which is made with pasteurised egg; if you make your own, use pasteurised eggs. Check the labels of the mayonnaise, ketchup and mustard if you need it gluten free. Chef's tip: let it sit in the fridge for 15 minutes before serving; the flavours blend and it thickens slightly.

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Pollo al disco

Out on the estancias of the Pampas, the disco de arado (an old plough disc welded onto legs) is set over a wood fire for long weekend lunches, and chicken braised in it is one of the most loved dishes: pieces browned in the wide, sloping pan, then cooked down with onions, peppers, garlic, paprika and a splash of white wine until the sauce is sweet and glossy. Friends stand around the fire with bread for dipping. A large, heavy casserole or wok on the hob does the job at home. The recipe uses white wine; for an alcohol-free version, use the same amount of chicken stock plus 1 tablespoon of white wine vinegar. Chicken must reach 74 °C at the thickest part near the bone. The common mistake is piling everything in at once, which boils the chicken pale, so brown it well first. Chef's tip: push the browned chicken up the sloping sides while the vegetables cook in the centre, as disco cooks do; in a casserole, lift it onto a plate.

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Torrejas de acelga

When a bunch of acelga (Swiss chard) is the cheapest thing at the verdulería, Buenos Aires home cooks turn it into torrejas: thin fritters of chopped chard bound with egg, a little flour, garlic and grated cheese, fried in shallow oil until the edges lace up and crisp. They are weekday food, eaten hot from the pan with a squeeze of lemon and a salad, or cold the next day in a sandwich, and children who won't touch greens tend to eat them. Inside they stay tender and green, outside nutty and golden. Wet chard is what ruins them: water left in the leaves makes the batter thin and the fritters spit and fall apart, so wring the blanched chard really dry. Grated hard cheese is often made with animal rennet; pick a vegetarian hard cheese if needed. Chef's tip: fry one small torreja first to check the seasoning and thickness, then adjust with a spoon of flour or a splash of milk.

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