Vegetarian, or something you can't eat? Set your diet once and we'll hide recipes that don't fit.
272 recipes
Duivekater is an old festive bread from Holland and Zeeland, baked for St Nicholas, Christmas and New Year's Eve. It is a long, flat, glossy loaf of rich, lemon-scented sweet dough, shaped with cuts at both ends that curl like a bone or a pair of legs; bakers once also made it for church feast days. Slices are eaten with butter. Chef's tip: give the shaped loaf a full second rise before cutting the ends, or the cuts close up in the oven.
In the Netherlands, kerstkransjes are small, ring-shaped butter biscuits topped with flaked almonds and pearl sugar, traditionally threaded with a ribbon and hung on the Christmas tree for children to pick off. They are tender and buttery with a lemony crumb and a crunchy top, and keep well in a tin through the holidays. They take about 45 minutes from start to finish. Chef's tip: punch the centre hole slightly bigger than you want; it shrinks as the biscuits bake.
Aguadito is the soup Lima serves in the small hours: at the end of a wedding, after New Year's Eve and at weekend family lunches, it is ladled out thick and steaming to revive everyone. Rice simmers in chicken broth coloured deep green with blended coriander and warmed with yellow ají amarillo, along with peas, carrot, pepper, sweetcorn and potato. A portion gives about 24 g of protein, from the chicken with a little from the rice and peas, for around 480 kcal. The common mistake is adding the coriander purée too early: cooked for long it turns khaki and loses its fresh taste, so stir it in for the last 10 minutes. The chicken must reach 74 °C at the bone. Chef's tip: blend a handful of spinach with the coriander; it keeps the colour vivid green without changing the flavour.
Bruine bonensoep is a Dutch winter staple, simmered in homes from Groningen to Zeeland on dark evenings between November and March and eaten with thick slices of rye bread. Brown beans are cooked with onion, leek, celery and carrot, then about half of the pot is blended, so the soup is velvety but still full of whole beans. Many families add bacon or smoked sausage; this version is vegetarian and vegan, with smoked paprika and a little soy sauce standing in for the smoky, savoury depth. A bowl gives about 22 g of protein from the beans. Brown beans are a type of kidney bean, so after soaking for 12 hours (not counted in the times) they must boil hard for 10 minutes. The most common mistake is blending the whole pot, which turns it into a heavy purée with no texture. Chef's tip: a pinch of ground cloves with the bay leaf gives the old-fashioned Dutch flavour.
In the fishermen's terminals of Chorrillos and Callao, chilcano is what you drink on a Sunday morning after a long night: a clear, gingery broth made from the heads and bones left over from cleaning fish for ceviche, with chunks of fish, red onion, chilli and a squeeze of lime in the bowl. It is light and warming, around 160 kcal a bowl, and still gives about 24 g of protein from the fish fillet and the broth. The common mistake is squeezing the lime into the pot while it boils, which turns it bitter; add it to each bowl at the table. Don't boil the bones for more than 30 minutes either, or the broth turns cloudy and harsh. Chef's tip: ask the fishmonger for heads and frames from mild white fish like sea bass or cod, and leave out oily fish such as mackerel, which makes the broth strong and fishy.
Parihuela is the big weekend seafood soup of Callao and the Peruvian coast, eaten at long Sunday lunches in cevicherías and praised as a cure for tiredness and late nights. A deep red broth of ají panca, ají amarillo, tomato and fish stock is loaded with chunks of fish, prawns, squid and mussels. A portion gives about 30 g of protein, from the fish and shellfish, for roughly 300 kcal. Some cooks add chicha de jora or beer; this version has none. The common mistake is adding all the seafood at once: squid and prawns turn rubbery while the fish cooks, so they go in last. Before cooking, discard any mussels that stay open when tapped, and after cooking discard any that stay shut. Chef's tip: fry the chilli pastes in the oil until they darken and smell sweet; that toasted ají is what gives parihuela its depth.
Pejerrey arrebozado is a Lima classic from the cevicherías and home kitchens of the coast, eaten at lunch on a plate with white rice, a heap of sharp salsa criolla and sometimes boiled potato. The pejerrey, a small silverside, is opened into butterflied fillets, dipped in a light egg-and-flour batter and fried golden. Outside Peru, use small fillets of whiting, sole, haddock or tilapia. The batter here uses sparkling water, not beer, so it is alcohol free. The common mistake is frying in oil that isn't hot enough: the batter drinks the oil and turns greasy, so test with a drop of batter first. Chef's tip: make the salsa criolla first and let the onion sit in lime for ten minutes; it softens its bite and turns a pretty pink.
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.
From mid-November, when Sinterklaas arrives by boat, Dutch bakers fill their windows with banketstaven: long logs of buttery puff pastry with a thick seam of soft almond paste inside. They carry on through Christmas, and in many families a banketletter, the same pastry shaped into the first letter of a child's name, is part of the 5 December presents. Sliced thick, it is flaky outside and moist, sweet and marzipan-like inside; serve it with coffee or hot chocolate. Leaving a weak seam is the mistake that lets the almond filling burst out in the oven. Chef's tip: make the almond paste a day ahead and rest it in the fridge: the almonds absorb the egg and it bakes up softer and more fragrant.
Up and down the Peruvian coast, from Chorrillos in Lima to the beaches of Piura, chicharrón de pescado is the crunchy plate ordered alongside ceviche at a long seafood lunch: bite-size chunks of firm white fish marinated briefly in garlic and lime, dusted in flour and fried, then served with fried cassava, salsa criolla and tartar or rocoto sauce. Using frozen peeled cassava keeps it to half an hour. The common mistake is leaving the fish in the lime too long: after about ten minutes the acid starts to 'cook' the outside and the coating slips off. Chef's tip: toss the floured pieces in a sieve to shake off every bit of loose flour; a thin coat fries crisp, a thick one turns pasty.
Tallarines rojos is the Sunday-lunch and weeknight pasta of homes all over Peru, from Lima to Arequipa: spaghetti in a sweet, deep-red sauce of blended tomato, onion and garlic with a little ají panca and oregano, often with pieces of chicken cooked right in it. Children love it, and it is served with a sprinkle of grated cheese and sometimes a spoon of huancaína on the side. The usual mistake is cooking the sauce too briefly, so it tastes of raw onion; let the blended tomato fry until it darkens and the oil shows at the edges. Chef's tip: a bay leaf and a spoon of ají panca paste give the sauce its Peruvian character; paprika will do if you can't find the paste.
Walk through Ayacucho's central market at seven in the morning and you will see women selling stacks of chaplas from cloth-lined baskets, still warm from the wood-fired ovens of the Andes. These round wheat breads puff up like pita in the fierce heat, leaving a hollow pocket inside a thin, soft, lightly floury crust. In Ayacucho and Huancavelica they are eaten with sweet coffee or hot emoliente for breakfast, or split and filled with queso fresco, avocado or a spoonful of rocoto sauce. Highland bakers traditionally work in a little lard; vegetable shortening gives the same tenderness and keeps the bread vegan. A cool baking tray is the reason chaplas stay flat, so preheat it thoroughly. Chef's tip: let the rolled rounds rest before baking and flip them upside down onto the tray, so the smooth, dry side meets the heat first and the pocket opens evenly.
The small town of Oropesa, half an hour from Cusco, calls itself Peru's bread capital, and its wood-fired bakeries are famous for chuta: big, flat, round loaves as wide as a dinner plate, glossy on top, with a faint sweetness and the warmth of aniseed. Travellers on the road to Puno and Bolivia stop to buy them by the bagful, and families bring them home for All Saints' Day and for sharing with hot coca tea or coffee, fresh cheese and butter. The bakeries traditionally use lard; this version uses vegetable shortening and butter, so it is vegetarian. The make-or-break moment is the proof: chuta is large and flat, and if it goes in under-risen it bakes dense and splits at the rim. Chef's tip: toast the aniseed for a minute in a dry pan and crush it lightly before adding, for a rounder, sweeter perfume.
Boterkoek sits on the counter of almost every Dutch bakker, from Amsterdam to small towns in Brabant: a round, flat butter cake, scored in a criss-cross on top, glossy with glaze, dense and fudgy in the middle and crisp at the edges. It is cut into small wedges, because it is rich, and eaten with a cup of coffee at elf uur, the eleven o'clock break, or offered to visitors. The dough itself has no egg; only the top is brushed with beaten egg for shine (milk works too, though the colour is paler). Overbaking is the classic mistake: it should come out golden but still soft in the centre, so it sets fudgy, not dry. Chef's tip: use salted butter, or add the pinch of salt; it is what stops boterkoek tasting merely sweet.
Ontbijtkoek means 'breakfast cake', and in Friesland and Groningen, where the best-loved versions come from, a thick slice spread with butter is still a normal start to the day or a mid-morning snack with coffee. The loaf is dark, sticky and springy, made with rye flour and syrup and scented with the Dutch spice mix koekkruiden: cinnamon, cloves, ginger, nutmeg and cardamom. It contains no egg and no butter in the batter, and it gets better after a day or two wrapped up. Baking it too hot is the usual mistake; the outside goes bitter before the middle sets, so bake it low and slow. Chef's tip: wrap the loaf in cling film while it is still slightly warm and leave it overnight; it softens into the classic tacky, chewy crust.
In the Netherlands a krentenbol, buttered and sometimes topped with a slice of Gouda, is packed in schoolbags for the morning break and eaten with milk after school. The buns are soft, slightly sweet and so full of currants and raisins that there is barely room for the bread. This version adds little sugar, letting the dried fruit sweeten it. It contains gluten and milk. Chef's tip: soak the dried fruit in hot water before kneading it in; dry fruit pulls moisture from the dough and burns on the surface.
In the Netherlands the tosti is what children ask for after school, at the swimming-pool café and at Saturday lunch: two thin slices of white bread with ham and young Gouda, pressed in a tosti iron until crisp and golden and the cheese oozes at the edges, then dunked in ketchup. It is ready in ten minutes. It contains gluten (wheat) and milk. Chef's tip: butter the outside of the bread, not the inside, so it browns evenly and doesn't stick.
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.
When a baby is born in the Netherlands, visitors are greeted with beschuit met muisjes: round, crisp rusks spread with butter and covered in sugared aniseed sprinkles, pink for a girl, blue for a boy, or the older white-and-pink or white-and-blue mix. Brothers, sisters and school friends love handing them round, and the sprinkles are also a favourite on bread at breakfast. Aniseed was once thought to help new mothers. It contains gluten and milk. Chef's tip: butter the rusks generously right to the edge, or the sprinkles roll off; that is why the Dutch say to 'press, not scatter'.
Borrelnootjes, peanuts in a crunchy seasoned shell, are the bowl you find on every Dutch bar counter and next to the cheese at home borrels, and they come from the Indo-Dutch kitchen, where they were spiced with garlic and coriander. Most people buy them in bags, but home-made ones are lighter and far less salty. Raw peanuts are dusted in seasoned flour and starch, splashed with water and coated in several thin layers, then baked until they crack. Never serve them to anyone with a peanut allergy, and keep whole nuts away from small children. The usual mistake is adding too much water at once, which makes the nuts clump. Chef's tip: build the coating in three thin layers, shaking the bowl hard each time.
Kaasstengels come out of ovens all over the Netherlands for birthday parties, New Year's Eve and the Friday borrel, piled in glasses so guests can grab one with a drink. Strips of puff pastry are brushed with egg, coated in grated aged cheese and twisted, then baked until crisp, flaky and golden. They are one of the easiest party snacks there is, made with ready-rolled pastry. Most aged cheese is made with animal rennet, so choose a vegetarian one if needed. The common mistake is underbaking, which leaves them pale and soft in the middle. Chef's tip: chill the twisted strips for 10 minutes before baking so they keep their spiral.
Ossenworst is Amsterdam's own borrel sausage, made since the seventeenth century from lean beef spiced with cloves, nutmeg, mace and white pepper, and sliced thin at cafés in the Jordaan with mustard, pickled onions and gherkins. The traditional sausage is raw and lightly cured, so it is best bought from a specialist Amsterdam butcher, and like all raw meat it is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. This home version keeps the same spicing but is gently poached until the centre reaches 71 °C, then chilled and sliced, which makes it safe for everyone. A common mistake is boiling it hard, which makes it dry and crumbly. Chef's tip: keep the water at about 80 °C, never bubbling, and check the core with a thermometer.
The bamischijf is pure Dutch snack-bar culture: Indonesian-style bami goreng, fried noodles with pork, leek and celery, set firm with a little ragout, cut into discs, breaded and deep-fried. It came out of the Indo-Dutch kitchen into the cafetarias of Rotterdam and The Hague, and it is eaten at borrels with sweet chilli or peanut sauce. Here the pork mince is cooked to 71 °C before it goes in. For a vegetarian version, leave out the pork and add more cabbage, carrot and mushrooms. A common mistake is skipping the chilling, which makes the discs fall apart in the oil. Chef's tip: press the noodle mix hard into the tin with a second tin on top before chilling.
Friday afternoon in a Dutch brown café, or a birthday circle in a living room in Utrecht, means a borrel, and the first thing on the table is a plate of cheese cubes on cocktail sticks. Belegen or oude Gouda, aged until it is firm and nutty with little salt crystals, is cut into neat cubes and served with a pot of coarse mustard and a shake of celery salt. Traditional Gouda is made with animal rennet, so pick a vegetarian aged Gouda-style cheese if needed. A common mistake is serving the cheese fridge-cold, which hides its flavour. Chef's tip: cut it half an hour before guests arrive and let it come to room temperature, covered.
Vlammetjes, little flames, are the fiery mini spring rolls of the Dutch borrel, served by the dozen in bars from Amsterdam to Groningen with a bowl of sweet chilli sauce. The filling is beef mince cooked with onion, garlic, sambal and sweet soy until dry and spicy, then rolled tightly in spring roll pastry and fried until blistered and crisp. Make the heat to your own taste. A common mistake is rolling a wet filling, which splits the wrappers and spits in the oil. Chef's tip: cook the mince until the pan is dry and it starts to crackle, then cool it completely before rolling.
The eierbal is a snack-bar legend from the Dutch provinces of Gelderland and Overijssel, found in the wall of hot snacks at many cafetarias and at borrels: half a hard-boiled egg wrapped in a thick curry ragout, breaded and fried into a golden ball the size of a fist. This vegetarian version makes the ragout with vegetable stock and milk. It is rich, so one per person with mustard is plenty. The classic mistake is wrapping eggs in ragout that is still warm; it must be chilled firm or it will not hold. Chef's tip: bread the balls twice, egg and crumbs then egg and crumbs again, so they do not split in the oil.
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.
Rookworst, the horseshoe-shaped smoked pork sausage of the Netherlands, is sliced into thick warm coins for borrel boards in winter and served on cocktail sticks at Friday drinks and football nights, always with a pot of strong yellow mustard. It is also the sausage laid on top of stamppot. Rookworst is sold ready-cooked, so it only needs heating through gently. The common mistake is boiling it, which splits the skin and lets the juices escape. Chef's tip: warm it in water that is just steaming, then serve it within minutes so the slices stay juicy.
In Dutch and Belgian Limburg, appelstroop is spread on brown bread at breakfast, often under a slice of Gouda, and it goes into the Limburg sour stew zoervleis. It is nothing but apples (with a few pears) cooked to a pulp, pressed and boiled down for hours into a glossy, almost black syrup that tastes sweet, sharp and faintly of caramel. The common mistake is stopping too early: until it coats a cold plate and holds a line, it is apple juice, not stroop. Chef's tip: in the last half hour stir constantly and lower the heat, because the thick syrup catches and burns in seconds.
An appelflap is the snack Amsterdammers pick up at the bakery counter or the Albert Cuyp market on a grey afternoon: a triangle of flaky puff pastry, packed with soft cinnamon apple and plump raisins, its top crackling with sugar. You eat it from a paper bag on a bench by the canal, or with a coffee at about four o'clock, and the filling is always hotter than you expect. Chef's tip: cook the apple filling first and let it cool completely; warm filling melts the butter in the pastry and you lose the layers.
Order a koffie verkeerd in any Dutch café or bruin café and you get a tall glass that is mostly steamed milk with a strong shot of coffee poured in, the 'wrong' way round compared with a normal black coffee. It is the Dutch morning cup at home and at work, usually with a speculaas biscuit on the saucer. The common mistake is boiling the milk, which makes it taste cooked and kills the foam; heat it only until it steams and small bubbles form at the edge, about 65 °C. Chef's tip: froth the milk by shaking it in a jar with the lid on before warming it in the microwave, and you get café-style foam without a machine.
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.
When the canals of Friesland freeze hard and the whole of the Netherlands goes out on skates, koek-en-zopie stalls appear on the ice selling erwtensoep, warm sausage and steaming cups of anijsmelk. At home it is a winter bedtime drink for children and grandparents alike, made either by crushing aniseed into simmering milk or, as many Dutch families do, by stirring in anijsblokjes, sugar cubes flavoured with aniseed. It tastes softly sweet and liquorice-like without being sharp, and it is smooth and warming, with a faint warmth on the tongue. The common mistake is boiling the milk: it rises over the pan, scorches on the base and forms a thick skin. Heat it slowly and stop when tiny bubbles appear around the edge. It is ready when the milk smells clearly of anise after steeping and has turned faintly ivory. Anise seeds are sold in spice shops; in a pinch use one star anise, though it tastes stronger and less sweet. There is no caffeine, which is why Dutch parents serve it at bedtime. Chef's tip: crush the seeds just before using, the oils fade quickly once ground.
The kaasbroodje is the Dutch commuter's breakfast: a rectangle of puff pastry wrapped around a log of Gouda, baked until the cheese oozes from the ends. Kiosks in Amsterdam Centraal and bakeries along the Haarlemmerstraat sell them warm all morning, and they get eaten on the platform or on the tram, scattering flakes everywhere. Use a young or medium Gouda for melt, with a little aged one for flavour. Traditional Gouda is often made with animal rennet, so choose one labelled vegetarian (made with microbial rennet) if that matters to you. Chef's tip: seal the ends well and bake with the seam underneath, so the cheese melts inside rather than running onto the tray.
Karnemelkse pap, made with the buttermilk left over from Dutch farm churning, was breakfast and supper in the Netherlands for centuries, and many older Dutch people still remember it on cold winter mornings. Buttermilk is thickened with flour into a smooth, tangy porridge and eaten hot with stroop (syrup) or brown sugar. The common mistake is pouring cold buttermilk on flour and boiling hard, which splits the porridge into grainy lumps; mix a smooth paste first and keep the heat gentle. Chef's tip: stir constantly with a whisk, especially at the bottom of the pan, until it bubbles once, and it stays silky.
Lekkerbekje means "little treat", and at the haringkarren and fish stalls of the Albert Cuyp and Dappermarkt it is the other big seller next to raw herring: a whole fillet of whiting (or cod) dipped in batter and fried until the coating crackles. It comes in a paper tray with a lemon wedge and a spoon of remoulade, and Amsterdammers eat it for lunch on market days, standing at the counter. The batter here uses sparkling water instead of beer for lightness. Chef's tip: keep the batter ice-cold and mix it only just before frying; the cold against the hot oil is what makes it shatter.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
A gevulde koek is two discs of short, buttery dough sandwiching a thick layer of almond paste (spijs), glazed with egg and crowned with half an almond. Every Amsterdam bakery has a stack of them, and they are the classic koffie snack at about eleven in the morning, or something to eat on the bike home from the Noordermarkt. The pastry is crumbly and the middle soft, fragrant and lemony. It contains wheat, egg, milk and almonds. Chef's tip: make the almond paste a day ahead; it firms up and is much easier to shape into neat discs.
Hachee is the Dutch stoofpotje that grandmothers in Friesland, Groningen and Brabant leave murmuring on the back of the stove on cold Sundays: beef braised with almost as much onion as meat, plus bay leaves, cloves and a splash of vinegar, until it falls apart into a dark, sweet-sour gravy. It goes on boiled potatoes with red cabbage, or with stamppot, and leftovers are eaten on toast. The usual mistake is rushing the onions: they need a good 15 minutes to turn deep golden, or the gravy stays pale and sharp. Slow-cooker option: after browning, cook on low for 8 hours. Chef's tip: stir in a spoon of dark syrup or apple butter at the end only if the vinegar tastes too sharp; taste first, as good onions often make it unnecessary.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Showing 48 of 272 recipes
Show more recipesPage 2 of 12
Dutch
Peruvian
Austrian
