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Torshi gol kalamCauliflower and carrot pickle

In Tehran kitchens the autumn torshi session begins when cauliflower is cheap in Azar and Dey, and jars of torshi gol kalam line the balconies before Yalda night. A spoonful of these crunchy, sharp florets cuts through the richness of a winter khoresh, kuku sabzi, adas polo or a plate of kabab and rice, and every family argues about the right herbs. Ours is the classic: blanched cauliflower and carrot with whole garlic cloves, dried mint and tarragon, nigella seeds and a few dried chillies, all under strong vinegar. The taste is properly sour with a herbal, slightly peppery depth; the florets stay crisp-tender. Common mistake: packing the vegetables while still wet from blanching, which waters down the vinegar and invites soft, slimy pickles; drain and dry them for an hour. It is ready after 10–14 days, when the cauliflower has turned ivory-gold, the garlic is mild and the vinegar tastes herbal rather than raw. Chef's tip: Persian grape vinegar gives the softest flavour; cider or white wine vinegar at 5–6% acidity is a good substitute.

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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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Chai nabat (saffron rock candy tea)

Pilgrims leaving Mashhad carry home boxes of saffron nabat, crystals of rock candy grown on a string and tinted gold with Khorasani saffron. Across Iran a glass of chai nabat is what you are handed when you feel unwell, after a shock, after an exam, or late at night when the evening meal sits heavy; it is traditionally drunk to settle the stomach and warm you up. The tea is brewed strong in a teapot that sits on top of the kettle, then poured clear and amber into small glasses, and the nabat stick is stirred until it softens the tea with a gentle, honeyed sweetness and a faint saffron aroma. Black tea has a moderate amount of caffeine, so give children a weaker glass. A common mistake is boiling the leaves or letting them steep on direct heat, which turns the tea bitter and murky; Persian tea is "dam" — brewed gently on steam. It is ready when the leaves have sunk, the tea is clear and reddish-amber and it smells of bergamot or cardamom. Chef's tip: hold the glass up to the light; if you can't see through it, top it up with hot water, as Iranians do.

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NazkhatoonSmoky aubergine with pomegranate

Nazkhatoon comes from Gilan, the green, rainy province on Iran's Caspian coast, where it is eaten in summer as a starter or side with grilled fish, rice and fresh herbs. Charred eggplant is chopped with tomato, garlic and mint, then sharpened with sour pomegranate molasses and verjuice, so it tastes smoky, tart and fresh at once. Suitable as part of a balanced diet, it is a vegetable salad with no grain: about 110 kcal and 14 g carbohydrate per portion. The usual mistake is using sweet pomegranate syrup; it must be the sour Gilani style, and a little goes a long way. Chef's tip: chop everything by hand rather than in a blender, so the salad keeps some texture.

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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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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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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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Ash-e dooghYogurt soup with rice and chickpeas

Ash-e doogh is the summer and autumn soup of Ardabil and the Azeri north-west of Iran, cooked in big pots for family gatherings and sold in bowls in the bazaars. Rice and chickpeas are simmered in tangy yoghurt with handfuls of dill, coriander, spinach and mint, and the soup is topped with crisp fried onion and dried mint. It is creamy and sour, never heavy. The usual mistake is stopping stirring: the yoghurt splits into grains if left to boil alone, so stir in one direction without stopping until it comes to the boil. Chef's tip: beat a spoonful of rice flour into the yoghurt before heating; it stabilises it and keeps the soup silky.

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Sharbat-e rivas (rhubarb sherbet)

For a few weeks in spring, after Nowruz, sellers come down from the Alborz foothills, the mountains of Khorasan and Kurdistan with bundles of rivas, the thick-stalked wild rhubarb. People peel and eat the stalks raw with salt, cook them into khoresh, and boil the rest into syrup to keep the taste of the season into summer. Sharbat-e rivas is pink, sharp and refreshing, like sour cherry and green apple together, softened by sugar and lifted by mint. The common mistake is boiling the rhubarb hard and pressing it through the sieve, which makes the syrup cloudy, brownish and stringy; simmer gently and let it drip on its own. Use only the stalks, never the leaves, which are poisonous. The syrup is ready when it is clear, rose-coloured and coats a spoon in a thin film; it keeps for two weeks in a clean bottle in the fridge, and should be thrown away if it fizzes, smells of alcohol or grows mould. Garden rhubarb is a good substitute for rivas; the reddest stalks give the prettiest colour. Chef's tip: a strip of lemon peel in the pot brightens the colour and stops the syrup tasting flat.

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Asal-o-khamehClotted cream and honey on flatbread

On Friday mornings in Tehran and Isfahan, families queue at the bakery for hot barbari or sangak, then come home to a treat: thick clotted cream, called khameh or sarshir, drizzled with honey and scooped up with the warm bread, alongside glasses of black tea. The mistake is serving it with cold bread; the warmth is what softens the cream into the honey. Honey is not suitable for babies under one. Chef's tip: let the cream sit out for 10 minutes and spread it first, then drizzle the honey in a thin stream so you get sweet ribbons rather than a puddle.

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Morcipán (blood sausage roll)

At any Buenos Aires asado, and at the street grills outside football grounds like La Bombonera in La Boca, the choripán has a twin: the morcipán, a soft, rich morcilla split and laid in crusty bread. Argentine morcilla is a pork blood sausage with pork fat, onion and spices, sometimes with nuts or raisins, and it grills to a crisp skin around a soft, spoonable centre that tastes deep and slightly sweet. A sharp chimichurri cuts through it. Chef's tip: grill it over a gentle heat and turn it carefully with tongs; on a fierce grill the casing splits and the filling runs out.

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Sándwich de bondiolaGrilled pork shoulder sandwich

Along the Costanera Sur riverside in Buenos Aires, beside the Reserva Ecológica, the carritos have grilled for cyclists, walkers and taxi drivers for generations, and the bondiola sandwich is their pride: a thick pork shoulder steak, marbled and juicy, grilled until charred and laid in a crusty roll with chimichurri and salsa criolla. Weekend afternoons are the busiest. Chef's tip: leave the fat on the steak and turn it only once; the fat bastes the meat and the crust is the best part.

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Escabeche de pescadoFried fish in sweet-sour onion sauce

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.

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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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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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Locro de zapallo for toddlersPumpkin stew for toddlers

Locro de zapallo is the golden pumpkin stew of Lima's home kitchens and menú lunch spots, eaten on weekdays with white rice and, for adults, a fried egg and ají on the side. For toddlers from 12 months it is cooked without any ají, the pumpkin is simmered until it melts into a sauce, and just a little crumbled fresh cheese is stirred in, so it is sweet, creamy and easy to mash. It contains milk; there is no gluten, egg, nuts or soya. Queso fresco is often made with animal rennet, so for a vegetarian bowl choose one labelled vegetarian, or use a little paneer, and always a pasteurised cheese. Chef's tip: cut half the pumpkin small so it dissolves into the sauce and the rest larger so it keeps some shape.

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Ají amarillo pasteYellow chilli paste

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.

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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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Sharbat-e bidmeshk (willow blossom sherbet)

Kashan and the villages of Qamsar and Niasar are famous for distilling flowers in spring: rose water in May, and before that araq-e bidmeshk, the distillate of the fuzzy catkins of the musk willow. In summer, when the desert heat settles over the old houses, the same bottles go into sharbat-e bidmeshk, a pale syrup diluted with icy water and served to guests in tall glasses, sometimes with swollen basil seeds. It is traditionally drunk to calm the nerves and cool the body. The taste is delicate, sweet and haunting, somewhere between honeysuckle, musk and fresh hay. The common mistake is adding the distillate to hot syrup; the heat drives the scent away within minutes, so cool the syrup completely first. The syrup is ready when it is clear and pours like thin honey, and the finished sherbet should smell floral the moment you lift the glass. Look for the distillate in Iranian shops; there is no true substitute, though rose water with a few drops of orange-blossom water makes a pleasant but different drink. Chef's tip: a squeeze of lemon in the syrup stops it crystallising in the fridge, where it keeps for a month.

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Sharbat-e zaferan (saffron sherbet)

Big steel urns of golden saffron sherbet are poured for guests at Iranian weddings and engagement parties, and the same drink is handed out on the street as nazri during Muharram and at memorial gatherings, when families offer something sweet and cool in the name of the departed. Saffron from Khorasan is ground with a sugar cube, bloomed in a little water and stirred into syrup with rose water and lemon. The result is honey-sweet and floral, with saffron's faint bitterness and hay-like perfume at the end, and a colour that should be a clear, sunny orange-gold. The usual mistake is dropping whole threads straight into cold water, which gives a pale, patchy drink and wastes expensive saffron; grind it first and let it bloom for at least 10 minutes. You know the bloom is ready when the water is a deep red-orange and smells strongly of saffron. Taste before serving: it should be sweet but finish clean, with the lemon just noticeable. Chef's tip: an ice cube placed on the ground saffron and left to melt slowly gives the deepest colour of all, an old Iranian trick.

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Ardeh shirehTahini and grape molasses spread

In Iranian homes, especially in Yazd and the central provinces, a small dish of ardeh shireh sits on the winter breakfast spread: smooth tahini swirled with dark grape molasses into a marbled, sticky spread that tastes like a grown-up peanut butter and jam. It is mopped up with warm flatbread and washed down with tea. The mistake is beating the two together until uniform; you lose the swirls and the spread turns dull. Fold just a few times. Chef's tip: stir the tahini jar well first, because the oil separates, and use runny, well-stirred tahini for the best ribbons. Serve with flatbread, or gluten-free crackers if you need it gluten free.

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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 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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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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