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Asado uruguayo

Sunday in Uruguay means asado: in Montevideo backyards and the cattle towns of the interior, beef ribs (asado de tira), chorizo and morcilla cook slowly over the embers of a wood fire, with only coarse salt, while the family waits. The parrillero rakes coals under the grill and keeps the heat low and even. This recipe includes pork chorizo. The mistake is cooking over flames; the fire should burn down to embers you can hold your hand above for 6–8 seconds. Chef's tip: salt the meat only when it goes on the grill, with coarse salt, never fine.

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Ciorbă de legume

Ciorbă is the sour soup that opens a Romanian lunch, from canteens in Cluj to Sunday tables in Moldavia, and the vegetable version is cooked all through the fasting weeks before Easter and Christmas. Root vegetables, beans and peppers simmer in a light broth that is soured at the end with borș, the fermented wheat-bran liquid sold in bottles at Romanian shops, or with lemon juice. Fresh lovage (leuștean) gives its unmistakable celery-like perfume. It is eaten piping hot with bread and a fresh green chilli on the side. Chef's tip: add the borș only at the end and let it come back just to a simmer; boiling it hard dulls the sour tang.

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Fasole bătută

Fasole bătută, 'beaten beans', is the fasting-day spread of Romania: on Christmas Eve and through Lent, plates of it appear in homes from Bucharest to the monasteries of Bucovina. Soft white beans are mashed smooth with garlic and oil, then crowned with a tangle of slow-fried onions stained red with paprika. It is spread thickly on bread, or served beside pickles and mămăligă. Chef's tip: beat the beans while they are still warm; cold beans turn stiff and pasty, and a common mistake is adding too little liquid, so loosen with a splash of cooking water until the purée is light and fluffy.

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Tocăniță de ciuperci

Tocăniță is the everyday stew of Romanian home cooking, and the mushroom version is a fixture of the Orthodox fasting days, when Transylvanian cooks use forest mushrooms gathered in the Apuseni hills and city cooks use button mushrooms from the market. Onions, garlic, tomato, white wine and thyme cook down into a thick, glossy sauce, without the sour cream and paprika of a Hungarian paprikás. It is always eaten with hot mămăligă and a spoon of the sauce over the top. Chef's tip: brown the mushrooms in batches in a hot pan; crowding them is the usual mistake, and they then stew grey in their own water instead of turning golden.

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Papanași

Papanași are the dessert Romanians order after almost any restaurant meal, from the old town of Bucharest to the mountain chalets of Sinaia and Bran. A soft dough of fresh cheese, egg and semolina is shaped into a ring with a little ball on top, fried until puffed and golden, then crowned with cold smântână and sour cherry or blueberry jam. Warm, tangy and very rich, one is a full dessert. Chef's tip: use dry, crumbly cheese and drain it if it's wet; a common mistake is a sloppy dough that soaks up oil and falls apart, so add flour only until it just stops sticking.

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Cozonac

Cozonac is the festive loaf every Romanian family bakes for Easter and Christmas, filling kitchens from Craiova to Suceava with the smell of butter, rum, lemon and orange zest. The rich yeast dough is rolled around a walnut and cocoa filling studded with pieces of rahat (Turkish delight), then braided and baked in a tall loaf tin so each slice shows a dark swirl. Unlike Slovenian potica, which is rolled into a thin spiral ring, cozonac is a braided loaf. It is eaten in thick slices with coffee on the feast mornings. Chef's tip: knead until the dough is silky and comes away from the bowl, then be patient with the rises; under-proving is the classic mistake and gives a dense, heavy loaf.

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Plăcintă cu brânză

In Moldavia, on both sides of the Prut, plăcintă means a flat round pie fried or baked on a griddle, and the cheese and dill one is what grandmothers in Iași and Chișinău make for weekend breakfasts and for guests at the door. A soft, stretchy dough is pulled thin, wrapped around salty cheese with fresh dill and egg, coiled into a snail and flattened, then cooked in a pan until blistered and crisp. They are eaten hot with a glass of sour milk or tea. Chef's tip: rest the oiled dough properly so it stretches without tearing; skipping the rest is the common mistake and you'll be fighting a springy dough that leaks its filling.

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Cornulețe

Cornulețe are the little crescent cookies that fill tins in Romanian kitchens before Christmas and New Year, and that grandmothers in Sibiu and Timișoara bake by the hundred for weddings and name days. This version uses a tender yeasted dough made with butter and yogurt, wrapped around a spoonful of thick plum jam (magiun) or rose rahat and rolled into horns. They bake pale and soft, not flaky, and are rolled in vanilla sugar while warm (the recipe makes 32, two per serving), which sets them apart from the cream-cheese rugelach of Jewish baking. Chef's tip: use thick jam and pinch the ends shut; runny jam is the usual mistake and bubbles out and burns on the tray.

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Ciorbă de perișoare

Across Romania, from Bucharest canteens to Moldavian grandmothers' kitchens, a pot of ciorbă de perișoare turns up on the Sunday table and again on Monday, when it tastes even better. This version contains pork: soft meatballs of minced pork and rice simmer in a clear vegetable broth that is soured at the end with borș (fermented wheat-bran liquid) or lemon juice, then finished with a handful of lovage. It is eaten very hot with a spoon of sour cream and a fresh green chilli to bite between spoonfuls. A frequent slip is boiling the soup hard once the meatballs are in, which breaks them apart and clouds the broth. Chef's tip: wet your hands in cold water before rolling each meatball; the mixture will not stick and the balls stay smooth and round.

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Mici

Every Romanian park, beer garden and May Day picnic smells of mici, the little skinless rolls of minced beef and lamb that sizzle on charcoal grills from Bucharest's Obor market to the Black Sea coast. The mince is beaten with garlic, thyme, a strong beef stock and a little bicarbonate of soda, which makes them springy and juicy inside with a crusty outside. They come in tens, with plenty of mustard, fresh bread and sometimes chips. The usual error is cooking them straight after mixing: the mince needs a night in the fridge for the bicarbonate and garlic to work. Chef's tip: shape them with oiled hands on an oiled tray, and grill them no thicker than your thumb so the middle cooks before the outside burns.

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Ciorbă de burtă

Romanians swear by ciorbă de burtă the morning after a wedding or a long night out, and in Bucharest there are restaurants that serve little else from breakfast onwards. Strips of beef tripe sit in a silky broth thickened with egg yolk and sour cream, sharpened with vinegar and served with mujdei, a raw garlic sauce, and a hot pepper on the side. It takes time, because tripe only turns tender after a long, slow simmer. The mistake most people make is boiling the soup after the yolks go in, which scrambles them into flecks. Chef's tip: buy cleaned, blanched (white, 'dressed') tripe from the butcher; it saves an hour of scrubbing and is much milder.

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Sopa paraguaya

Paraguayans love telling visitors that their national 'soup' is eaten with a fork: sopa paraguaya is a dense, moist cornbread baked with sweated onions, fresh cheese, eggs and milk. It's on every table at asados, weddings and the Christmas meal, and sold in squares at bus stations from Asunción to Encarnación. The crust is golden and the inside soft and cheesy, more like a savoury pudding than bread. Chef's tip: soak the cornmeal in the milk for 15 minutes before mixing; hydrated cornmeal bakes up tender instead of gritty.

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Chipa

In Paraguay you hear 'chipa, chipa!' called by vendors with big baskets on buses and street corners, and every family bakes it for Holy Week, when chipa is the food of Good Friday. Cassava starch, a little cornmeal, butter, eggs and a lot of hard cheese are kneaded into a dough scented with aniseed, shaped into rings or small rolls and baked in a hot oven, traditionally a domed clay tatakua. It's chewy, crisp outside and best warm with cocido (toasted yerba tea). Chef's tip: the dough should feel soft and slightly greasy; add milk a spoon at a time, as too much makes the chipa spread flat.

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Mbejú

Mbejú (say 'mbeh-JOO') is a Guaraní breakfast and merienda: cassava starch rubbed with butter, cheese and a little milk into damp crumbs, then pressed into a hot pan where it fuses into a thick, chewy, crisp-edged cake. It's eaten in the countryside with cocido (sweet toasted yerba tea with milk) on cool mornings, cut into wedges. It's naturally gluten free and very quick. Chef's tip: the mix should look like damp sand, not a dough; if you can squeeze a handful and it just holds, it's right.

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Chipa guasu

Chipa guasu (Guaraní for 'big chipa') is sopa paraguaya's softer cousin, made from fresh corn instead of cornmeal. The kernels are grated or blended into a milky purée and baked with onion, cheese and whipped eggs into a tender, gently sweet bake that rises and wobbles. It's a summer dish at Paraguayan asados and fiestas patronales (saints' days), eaten beside grilled meat or simply with a tomato salad. Chef's tip: fold in the whisked egg whites last; it's what makes chipa guasu light and puffed rather than dense.

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Vegetarian vori vori

Vori vori is the soup Paraguayan grandmothers make on cold June and July evenings: a golden broth full of bori, small balls of cornmeal and cheese that swell soft as they simmer. The name is a Guaraní take on the Spanish 'bolita' (little ball). It's usually made with hen; this version gets its colour and body from pumpkin, carrot and a sofrito with saffron or turmeric. Chef's tip: shape the balls no bigger than a hazelnut; they double in size and larger ones stay raw inside.

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Chajá

Chajá was created in 1927 at a bakery in Paysandú, a city on the Uruguay River, and named after a local bird whose feathers look as fluffy as its crumbly meringue coat. Today it's Uruguay's birthday and celebration cake: layers of light sponge soaked in peach syrup, filled with whipped cream, peaches and dulce de leche, then covered in crushed meringue. It's sweet, soft and crunchy at once, best on the day it's assembled. Chef's tip: soak the sponge but not too much; it should feel moist, not wet, or the layers slide.

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Torta frita

In Uruguay, a grey rainy afternoon has one answer: torta frita and mate. These thin discs of dough, pierced with a hole in the middle, are fried until puffed and golden and either sprinkled with sugar or eaten plain, still hot, between sips passed around the circle. In Montevideo you'll smell them from street stalls on wet days; at home they're made with butter or beef fat, here with butter. Chef's tip: the hole in the middle isn't decoration; it lets the centre cook through at the same speed as the edges.

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Pastel mandi'o

Pastel mandi'o are the golden half-moons sold at bus stations and street stalls all over Paraguay, especially in Asunción and around Holy Week: a soft dough of cooked cassava (mandi'o in Guaraní) and a little corn flour, wrapped round minced beef with onion, pepper, boiled egg and cumin, then fried. The mistake is a wet cassava dough that sticks and tears; drain the cassava well and add starch until it is smooth and pliable. Chef's tip: shape them between two sheets of cling film, which stops the soft dough sticking to the worktop.

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Chivito

The chivito was created in the 1940s at a restaurant in Punta del Este, Uruguay, and became the national sandwich: a soft roll filled with thin, tender steak, ham, melted mozzarella, a fried egg, bacon, lettuce, tomato, olives and mayonnaise. It is eaten in Montevideo's parrillas and corner bars with chips on the side. This sandwich contains pork. The mistake is a thick, chewy steak: use thinly sliced sirloin and sear it fast. Chef's tip: toast the cut sides of the rolls so they stand up to all the juices.

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So'o yosopy

So'o yosopy, "pounded meat" in Guaraní, is a soup Paraguayans make for anyone who is tired or recovering, and on cold days in Asunción's winter: beef is ground very finely and stirred into cold water so it breaks into soft, delicate threads, then simmered with onion, tomato, pepper and a little rice and oregano. The texture is smooth and the broth light. The mistake is adding the beef to boiling water, which makes it clump into meatballs; mix it into cold water first and stir as it heats. Chef's tip: ask the butcher to mince lean beef twice, or pulse it very fine in a food processor.

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Nakuru-style sizzler

A complete barbecue meal on one big tawa: a tangy wheat and vegetable mix with three chutneys, crisp cheesy corn balls, baked stuffed capsicums and creamy cheesy pasta, all sizzling under hot barbecue sauce. Every part can be made ahead and finished on the jiko. It's a healthy and filling meal by itself.

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Chinese tawa potatoes

An Indo-Chinese favourite from the barbecue tawa: crisp fried potato chips tossed with garlic, ginger, soy sauce, ketchup and plenty of chillies and spring onion, then glazed with a little cornflour sauce. Sticky, salty and hot. Serve straight away as a starter.

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Mămăligă

Mămăligă is the golden cornmeal staple of the Romanian countryside, from the hill villages of Oltenia to the farms of Maramureș, where it was once eaten more often than bread. It is cooked in water until thick enough to hold a spoon upright, turned out onto a wooden board and cut with a thread, then eaten hot with crumbled salty brânză and a cold spoon of smântână (soured cream). Unlike Ukrainian banosh, which is cooked in sour cream, mămăligă is plain cornmeal and water; the richness goes on top. It sits beside stews such as tocăniță or under a fried egg for supper. Chef's tip: rain the cornmeal in through your fingers while whisking, and keep stirring from the bottom; dumping it in at once is the classic mistake that leaves raw, gritty lumps.

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