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GurkensalatCucumber and dill salad

Gurkensalat is on German tables from Bavaria to Berlin all summer, served alongside potato pancakes, egg dishes or the Sunday roast, and it is just as common at a garden barbecue. Cucumber is sliced almost paper-thin, salted briefly, then dressed with a little vinegar, sugar, onion and lots of fresh dill, so it is cool, sharp and soft-crunchy. Some households stir in soured cream; this vinaigrette version is vegan. It is very light, with about 1 g of protein a portion, so it is purely a side. The most common mistake is skipping the salting: unsalted slices weep water into the bowl and dilute the dressing within minutes. Chef's tip: squeeze the salted slices gently in your hands before dressing; they bend like ribbons and take up the dill dressing much better.

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Rote-Bete-SalatBeetroot salad

Rote-Bete-Salat is on the table in German homes through autumn and winter, beside potato pancakes, fried eggs or simply bread and butter. Cooked beetroot is cut into slices or batons and dressed with onion, vinegar, oil and a little caraway or grated horseradish, so it is sweet, earthy and sharp at once. It is vegan, gluten free and keeps for days in the fridge. The most common mistake is serving it straight after dressing: give it at least 10 minutes, or better an hour, so the beetroot soaks up the flavour. Chef's tip: wear gloves or rub your hands with lemon juice afterwards, as beetroot stains everything it touches.

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Toast HawaiiHam, pineapple and cheese toast

Toast Hawaii arrived in West German kitchens in the 1950s and never left: a slice of buttered toast layered with cooked ham (pork), a ring of pineapple and a slice of cheese, baked until the cheese melts down over the sides. It is still a nostalgic Saturday supper or party snack from Hamburg to Munich, often crowned with a cocktail cherry in the pineapple's hole. The mistake that ruins it is using pineapple straight from the tin, whose juice soaks the bread; drain the rings well and pat them dry. Chef's tip: toast the bread lightly before topping it, so the base stays crisp under the juicy layers.

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FleischsalatSausage salad

Every German butcher sells Fleischsalat in tubs, and it is spread thickly on bread rolls for Abendbrot or a workday second breakfast from Cologne to Leipzig. It is made from Lyoner or Fleischwurst, a mild cooked pork sausage, cut into fine strips and folded into mayonnaise with gherkins and a little of their brine. Making it at home lets you use less mayonnaise and add yoghurt for freshness. A common mistake is cutting the sausage into thick chunks, which makes it heavy; thin matchsticks are what you want. Chef's tip: chill it for an hour before serving so the gherkin brine flavours the sausage.

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KäsesalatCheese salad

In Bavarian beer gardens and Swabian Vesper stubes, Käsesalat is the cheese lover's answer to sausage salad: matchsticks of Emmental tossed with red onion, gherkins and a sharp vinegar dressing, eaten with a crusty roll or a Breze. It turns up on Saturday evenings at home too, made in ten minutes from what is in the fridge. The cheese soaks up the dressing and goes tender and tangy, while the onion and gherkins keep it crunchy. Traditional Emmental is made with animal rennet, so choose a vegetarian Emmental-style cheese if that matters to you. A common mistake is serving it straight away; the flavours need a short rest. Chef's tip: cut the cheese into thin strips rather than cubes, so the dressing coats every piece.

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Strammer MaxHam and fried egg on bread

Strammer Max is the Kneipe snack of Saxony and Berlin: a slice of buttered bread, cooked ham and a fried egg with a runny yolk, served with a gherkin at pubs in Leipzig and Dresden and made at home as a fast weeknight supper. The ham is pork. Hot egg on cold ham and soft butter is the whole point, so cook the egg last. For a vegetarian version, swap the ham for thick slices of tomato. A common mistake is frying the egg too hot until the edges go hard and brown. Chef's tip: toast the bread lightly in the same pan first, so it holds the yolk without going soggy.

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ApfelschorleApple juice spritzer

At any German beer garden, from Munich's Chinese Tower to the cider taverns of Frankfurt, the drink for children, drivers and anyone on a hot afternoon is Apfelschorle: cloudy apple juice topped up with sparkling mineral water. Germans drink it at family lunches, after sport and at school summer parties, and it is far less sweet than juice alone. The usual mix is half and half, but many people go lighter on the juice. The common mistake is pouring the water first, which knocks out the bubbles. Chef's tip: use naturally cloudy apple juice and very cold, strongly sparkling water, and pour the water in slowly down the side of the glass.

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Bayerischer WurstsalatBavarian sausage salad

Bavarian Wurstsalat is the Brotzeit plate of the beer garden: thin strips of Regensburger or Lyoner, mild cooked pork sausages, tossed with onion rings and gherkins in a sharp, slightly sweet vinegar dressing, and eaten with a pretzel in the shade of chestnut trees. At home it is a fast summer supper on a warm evening. Swabians add cheese and call it Schweizer Wurstsalat. A common mistake is drowning it in oil; the dressing should be mostly vinegar and gherkin brine. Chef's tip: leave the dressed salad for 30 minutes in the fridge so the onion softens and the sausage picks up the vinegar.

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SchnittlauchbrotChive bread

Order a Schnittlauchbrot in a Munich beer garden and you get the simplest Brotzeit there is: a thick slice of sourdough rye, buttered right to the edges and buried under so many chopped chives that the bread disappears. A pinch of coarse salt on top is all it needs. Bavarians eat it with a radish or two in the afternoon, and at home it is a classic Abendbrot when the chives in the garden are growing fast in May and June. The mistake is using fridge-cold butter, which tears the bread and will not hold the chives. Chef's tip: press the bread butter-side down into a plate of chives instead of sprinkling, and every bit gets covered.

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KräuterquarkHerb quark

On summer evenings across Germany, from Hamburg allotments to Swabian farmhouse kitchens, a bowl of herb quark sits in the middle of the Abendbrot table with rye bread, radishes and boiled new potatoes. Fresh low-fat quark is loosened with a little milk and linseed or sunflower oil, then packed with chopped chives, parsley and dill and a hint of garlic, so it tastes cool, tangy and green. It also goes on jacket potatoes at the fair and next to grilled vegetables at a barbecue. The usual mistake is chopping the herbs ahead and letting them sit, which turns them dark and bruised. Chef's tip: let the finished quark rest in the fridge for 20 minutes so the garlic mellows and the herbs flavour the whole bowl.

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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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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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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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Jugo de macaWarm maca drink

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.

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Jugo surtidoMixed fruit juice

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.

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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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ButterbrotRye bread with cheese and vegetables

Every German schoolchild knows the Pausenbrot: two slices of rye or mixed-grain bread spread with good butter, closed around a slice of cheese, wrapped in paper and eaten in the mid-morning break, with a few cucumber or apple slices on the side. Adults take the same Butterbrot to work. The common mistake is spreading cold, hard butter, which tears the bread and leaves bare patches that let any wet filling soak in. Many Gouda-style cheeses use animal rennet, so choose one marked vegetarian. Chef's tip: butter right to the crust on both slices; the butter is a waterproof layer that keeps the bread fresh until lunchtime.

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EiskaffeeIced coffee with ice cream

On a hot July afternoon in any German or Austrian Eiscafé, from a Hamburg promenade to a Viennese Gastgarten, the tall glass with the long spoon is Eiskaffee. It is not iced coffee in the American sense: strong coffee, chilled, is poured over two scoops of vanilla ice cream and crowned with sweetened whipped cream, sometimes a wafer and a dusting of cocoa or grated chocolate. You drink the cold coffee through a straw while the ice cream slowly melts into it, then spoon up the creamy, half-frozen rest, so it is part drink, part dessert, eaten at the café in the afternoon rather than with a meal. The usual mistake is pouring hot or even warm coffee straight onto the ice cream: it melts at once into a thin, lukewarm, milky soup. Brew it earlier and chill it properly. It is ready when the coffee is fridge-cold, the scoops sit just proud of the surface and the cream holds soft peaks on top. It is moderately caffeinated, so keep it for adults and older teens. Chef's tip: freeze leftover coffee in ice-cube trays and add a couple to the glass so nothing gets diluted with water.

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KetwurstSausage in a hollowed roll

Ketwurst, from ketchup plus Wurst, was invented in 1977 in East Berlin as the GDR's own fast food, served from state-run snack counters around Alexanderplatz. A long roll was speared onto a heated metal spike to hollow and toast it at the same time, the hole was filled with a spicy ketchup and a hot boiled sausage, usually pork, was pushed inside. It vanished after reunification but is back at a few kiosks in Prenzlauer Berg and Friedrichshain, eaten on the go at lunchtime by Berliners who grew up with it. Chef's tip: heat the sausages in water just below a simmer; boiling hard splits the skins.

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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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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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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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Ei im GlasSoft-boiled eggs in a glass

In the old coffee houses of Vienna, the breakfast menu still lists Ei im Glas: two very soft-boiled eggs, scooped warm from their shells into a small glass, with a knob of butter, chives, salt and pepper. You stir it into a golden, custardy mess and eat it with a crisp Semmel roll (gluten-free bread if you need it) and a Melange coffee. The mistake almost everyone makes is boiling the eggs a minute too long, so the yolk sets and the dish turns into plain egg salad. Chef's tip: warm the glass with hot water while the eggs cook, so the butter melts on contact and the eggs stay hot to the last spoonful.

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EinspännerBlack coffee with whipped cream

The Einspänner is named after the one-horse carriages of old Vienna: coachmen waiting outside in winter supposedly liked their coffee under a lid of cream that kept it hot and stopped it slopping. Today it is served in a handled glass at classic coffee houses, a strong black mocha (a double espresso or Großer Brauner without milk) topped with a thick layer of cold, lightly sweetened whipped cream and a pinch of icing sugar. You do not stir it: you sip the hot, bitter coffee through the cold, sweet cream, so each mouthful is two temperatures and two textures. It is an afternoon or late-morning coffee, often with a slice of Sachertorte. The common mistake is runny cream that sinks and turns the drink into a milky latte; whip it until it just holds a peak and spoon it on gently so it floats. It is ready when the cream stands at least 2 cm above the coffee and slowly sinks at the edges. It is strong: a double shot of caffeine in one glass. Chef's tip: pour the coffee in first and wait ten seconds before adding the cream, so the crema settles and helps support the cap.

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