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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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KoserevaCandied bitter orange peel

Kosereva is a Paraguayan home preserve from the days when nothing was wasted: thick strips of bitter-orange peel soaked and boiled to soften their bite, then cooked slowly in dark cane molasses until glossy and nearly black. In the countryside it is eaten after lunch with a slice of fresh cheese or simply on its own. Bitter oranges (Seville oranges) are in season in winter. The most common mistake is not changing the boiling water enough, which leaves the peel unpleasantly bitter. Chef's tip: taste a sliver of peel after the third boil; it should be gently bitter like marmalade, not harsh.

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Parovye kotlety for toddlers (steamed cutlets)

Parovye kotlety, steamed cutlets, are the nursery and kindergarten classic of Russian homes from St Petersburg to Novosibirsk, served with mashed potato or buckwheat at lunch. Minced chicken or turkey is mixed with bread soaked in water and grated onion, shaped into small patties and steamed until soft and juicy, so there is no crust for small gums to struggle with. This version for toddlers from 12 months has no added salt and no egg. It contains wheat (gluten, in the bread); there is no milk, egg, nuts or soya. Chef's tip: beat the mince against the side of the bowl for a minute; it makes the cutlets hold together without egg.

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Mochenye yablokiFermented apples

In the villages of central Russia, around Ryazan, Tula and Kursk, late autumn meant packing an oak barrel with whole Antonovka apples between layers of blackcurrant and cherry leaves, then pouring over a brine of water, salt, honey and a little rye flour. A month later, in the cold of the cellar, they had become mochenye yabloki: still crisp, very juicy, tart and lightly sweet, with a faint fizz on the tongue and an aroma close to cider. Through the winter they come out with roast goose or duck, on the zakuski table beside sauerkraut and salted cucumbers, and as a snack with tea. Like any lactic ferment they produce a trace of alcohol, well under 1% while young. The most common mistake is using soft, sweet dessert apples, which go mealy and fall apart; choose hard, sour, late-season apples without a single bruise and pack them tightly. They are ready when the brine is cloudy and smells pleasantly sour and a slice tastes tangy right to the core. Chef's tip: lay a clean cabbage leaf on top under the weight; it keeps the apples down and catches any surface yeast.

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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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Cocido quemadoBurnt sugar mate drink

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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Kefir

Kefir is the sour, lightly fizzy fermented milk that families across Russia, Georgia and the North Caucasus drink plain from a glass at breakfast, as an evening snack or alongside a meal, and also use in pancakes and cold soups. It is made by leaving milk with kefir grains, a living culture of yeasts and bacteria, at room temperature for a day until it thickens. Nothing is added: no salt and no sugar. About 0.25 g salt per 250 ml glass, all from the milk itself. Always use pasteurised milk. The usual mistake is leaving it too long, until it separates into curds and whey; check after 18 hours and stop when it is just thick and pourable. Chef's tip: a second ferment of 6 hours in the fridge in a closed bottle makes it smoother and a little fizzier.

1445 minRussianDrinksGluten free
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Oblepikha tea (sea buckthorn tea)

Sea buckthorn grows wild along the rivers of Altai and the Baikal shore, and by October its thorny branches are crowded with tiny orange berries. Siberians freeze them by the bucketful, and all winter a glass teapot of oblepikha tea glows on café tables from Irkutsk to Moscow, ordered after skiing or against the dark afternoons. The taste is sharp and tropical, somewhere between passion fruit, pineapple and lemon, with a faint oily richness from the berries, softened by honey and warmed by ginger. The common mistake is pouring boiling water straight onto the honey and berries: it dulls the fruit, makes the honey taste flat and can turn the tea bitter. Let the kettle settle for a couple of minutes first. It is ready when the tea is a cloudy sunset orange, smells of citrus and ginger and the berries have released their juice. Outside Russia, look for frozen sea buckthorn in Eastern European or Nordic shops, or use unsweetened sea buckthorn purée. Chef's tip: crush a big batch of berries with honey, keep it in a jar in the fridge for a week, and spoon it into mugs whenever you want a cup.

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Kapusta provansalCabbage and apple salad

Kapusta provansal has nothing to do with Provence: the grand name is a Soviet-era flourish for a bright marinated cabbage salad that turns up on festive tables from Moscow to Novosibirsk, especially at New Year and through the autumn when the cabbage is crisp and sweet. Coarsely cut cabbage, grated carrot, apple wedges and red cranberries are packed into a jar under a hot marinade of water, sugar, vinegar, sunflower oil, bay and allspice. By the next day it is crunchy, juicy, sweet and sour, with tart pops of berry and a gentle spiced warmth, and it sits happily beside boiled potatoes, kotlety, salted herring or roast chicken. The commonest mistake is slicing the cabbage very finely, which goes limp under the hot marinade; cut it into rough 3 cm squares and crush it only lightly with the salt. It is ready when the cabbage has turned slightly translucent but still snaps and the carrot has coloured the brine pale orange. Chef's tip: add a few strips of red pepper and a crushed garlic clove to the jar for colour and depth.

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Mannaya kashaSemolina porridge

Mannaya kasha is the breakfast of every Russian childhood, served in kindergartens and at home: semolina simmered in milk into a smooth, soft porridge, with a melting knob of butter and a spoon of jam or berries in the middle. The famous mistake, joked about by generations of children, is lumps; they form when semolina is tipped in all at once, so rain it in slowly while stirring. Chef's tip: for a thick porridge use 3 tablespoons of semolina per 250 ml of milk, and for the runny kindergarten style use 2; it thickens a lot as it cools, so take it off the heat a little thinner than you want.

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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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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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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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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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HemenexHam and eggs

Hemenex, the Czech spelling of "ham and eggs", has been a breakfast in Prague cafés and pub kitchens since the First Republic and is still a weekend favourite at home: slices of cooked pork ham warmed in butter, eggs cracked right over them and fried until the whites set, then everything slid out together and eaten with bread and pickled gherkin. The common mistake is frying the ham until crisp; it should just warm and brown a little at the edges. Cook the yolks fully set for pregnant people, young children, older or vulnerable people. Serve with rye bread, or gluten-free bread if needed. Chef's tip: lay the ham in overlapping slices so it forms a "plate" under the eggs and the whites can't stick to the pan.

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Tvarohová pomazánkaQuark spread

Tvarohová pomazánka is the savoury quark spread made in Czech and Slovak kitchens for breakfast, snacks and the evening bread plate: tvaroh beaten with a little butter, finely chopped onion, sweet paprika and chives, then spread on dark rye bread. It is fresh, tangy and pale orange. The mistake is using raw onion cut too coarsely, which overpowers the mild quark and makes the spread watery; chop it very finely or grate it. Chef's tip: make it 30 minutes ahead and chill it, so the paprika colours the spread and the onion mellows.

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Berezovy sok (birch sap)

For two or three weeks at the end of March and into April, while there is still snow under the trees and before the buds open, the birches around Moscow, Tver, Vologda and across the north start to run. Families tap a few trees at the dacha and drink the sap straight from the jar: clear, cold, very faintly sweet, tasting of rainwater and fresh wood. Because it spoils within two or three days, villagers bottled the rest with sugar, raisins and lemon zest, letting it ferment slightly into a sparkling drink that kept into early summer; like any ferment it makes a trace of alcohol, well under 1% if drunk young. Only tap with the owner's permission, choose trees thicker than 20 cm, drill one small hole and plug it with a wooden peg afterwards so the tree heals. The common mistake is sealing the bottles tight at warm room temperature, which can make them burst; keep them cool and open the caps daily. The bottled sap is ready when the raisins float, a ring of fine bubbles forms on top and it tastes gently sparkling. Chef's tip: drink the first glass straight from the tree; it is never quite as good again.

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Ivan-chai (fireweed tea)

Long before Chinese tea reached ordinary villages, peasants around Koporye near St Petersburg, and on through Karelia and the Arkhangelsk forests, were rolling and fermenting the leaves of fireweed, the tall pink-flowered plant that floods clearings every July. Ivan-chai is having a revival now, sold in paper bags at markets and drunk at the dacha in the evening from the samovar, because it has no caffeine and will not keep anyone awake. It brews to a clear amber with a soft, slightly fruity, honey-and-dried-apple taste and almost no bitterness. Granular kinds taste deeper, leaf kinds more floral. The common mistake is brewing it for two or three minutes like black tea; it needs a full 10 minutes in a warmed pot to open up, and it never turns bitter if you leave it longer. It is ready when the liquid is a deep golden-amber and smells of honey and dried fruit. It is traditionally drunk as a calming evening tea; if you are pregnant or on regular medication, check with a doctor before drinking it daily. Chef's tip: the same leaves give a second, lighter pot; just top up with fresh hot water and wait another 10 minutes.

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Detsadovsky omlet (kindergarten oven omelette)

Anyone who went to a detsky sad, a kindergarten, in Moscow, Kyiv or Minsk remembers this omelette: tall, pale and soft as a sponge, baked in big trays and served in squares with a slice of bread and butter. The secret is lots of milk and a deep dish, so the eggs steam-bake into a quivering, custardy block rather than a flat frittata. It makes a protein-rich breakfast or supper for toddlers from 12 months, made here without salt. It contains egg and milk; there is no gluten, nuts or soya. Chef's tip: stir the eggs and milk, don't whisk them into a foam, or the omelette rises and then collapses.

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DrachenaBaked egg and milk custard

Drachena belongs to the old peasant cooking of northern Russia, from Arkhangelsk to Vologda, where it was baked in the cooling Russian stove on Sunday mornings. Eggs are whisked with milk, a little sour cream and flour, poured into a hot buttered pan and baked until puffed, golden and wobbly, somewhere between an omelette and a soufflé. It is eaten warm, plain or with sour cream. The common mistake is opening the oven early; the drachena collapses if it gets a draught before it is set. Chef's tip: heat the buttered dish in the oven before pouring in the batter, so it starts to set and rise from the bottom at once.

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Králík na smetaněRabbit in cream sauce

Králík na smetaně is a Sunday lunch in the Czech countryside, especially in Moravia and South Bohemia, where many families once kept rabbits in the yard. Rabbit pieces are braised with carrot, celeriac, parsley root and onion, then the vegetables are blended into a velvety cream sauce brightened with lemon and a pinch of sugar, much like the famous svíčková. It is served with sliced bread dumplings (houskové knedlíky) and a spoon of cranberry sauce. The usual mistake is boiling the sauce after the cream goes in, which can split it; keep it at a bare simmer. Rabbit is lean, so cook it gently and check that the meat comes easily off the bone. Chef's tip: blend the vegetables until completely smooth and pass them through a sieve for the silky sauce Czech cooks are proud of.

120 minCzechMeat
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KhrenovinaHorseradish tomato relish

Khrenovina, also known as khrenoder or gorlodyor, the 'throat-tearer', is what Siberian families grind at the end of August and in September, when the garden tomatoes ripen faster than anyone can eat them and the horseradish roots are dug up. Raw tomatoes, horseradish and garlic go through the meat grinder with salt and a little sugar, and that is all: no cooking at all. Through the autumn and winter it is spooned onto pelmeni and boiled potatoes, beside kholodets and shashlik, and onto rye bread. It is bright, juicy and sweet-sour from the tomato, then the horseradish rushes up your nose like wasabi and the garlic lingers after; the texture is loose and grainy, like a fresh salsa. The mistake everyone makes once is grinding the horseradish indoors with their face over the grinder; the fumes sting hard, so open a window and tie a plastic bag over the outlet. It is ready after an hour or two in the fridge, when the heat has settled and the colour is an even pinkish red. Chef's tip: grind the horseradish last, straight into the tomatoes, so its heat is trapped in the juice.

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Pomazánkové másloChive butter spread

Pomazánkové máslo is a Czech fridge staple, a soft, mild dairy spread that is lighter than butter and is spread thickly on fresh rye bread for breakfast and school snacks, usually topped with chives or sliced radish. Shops sell it ready-made, but at home it is easily made by beating butter with soft quark and a splash of milk. The common mistake is using butter straight from the fridge, which leaves greasy lumps; it must be soft enough to whip. Chef's tip: beat for a full 3 minutes, until pale and fluffy, and the spread stays soft even when chilled.

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Martín FierroCheese with quince paste

Ask for dessert in a Montevideo bodegón or a country parador and you may be offered a Martín Fierro: a thick slice of fresh, mild cheese laid with an equal slice of dense quince or sweet-potato paste, named after the gaucho of the epic poem. It's salty against sweet, soft against firm, and takes two minutes to assemble. Uruguayan fresh cheese is usually made with animal rennet, so choose one with vegetarian rennet if that matters to you. The mistake is serving it fridge-cold, which dulls both flavours. Chef's tip: cut the cheese and paste to exactly the same thickness, about 1 cm, so every bite has both.

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