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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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Lentil and apricot soup

Red lentil soup with dried apricots is a Lenten favourite of Armenian kitchens, from Yerevan flats to diaspora homes in Beirut and Los Angeles, made in the weeks before Easter when meat and dairy are set aside. The apricots, Armenia's national fruit, melt into the lentils and give a soft sweet-sour note that sits behind cumin, thyme and a squeeze of lemon. It is thick but not stodgy, a bright orange bowl that is filling enough for supper with lavash and a plate of fresh herbs. Chef's tip: chop half the apricots fine and let them dissolve, and add the rest in strips near the end, so you get both background sweetness and juicy bites.

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Spas

Spas is the yogurt soup of the Armenian highlands, eaten hot through the cold winters of Shirak and Gyumri and cold from the fridge in summer, when it tastes like a thick, savoury ayran. The base is tangy matsun (Armenian yogurt) thickened with egg and a little flour so it can boil without curdling, with plump grains of hulled wheat (dzavar) and a swirl of onions fried in butter with dried mint. Families make it for an ill relative, for a quick supper, and as a gentle start to a long feast. Serve with lavash and fresh herbs. Chef's tip: stir in one direction only, without stopping, until the soup comes to the boil; Armenian grandmothers swear by it, and steady stirring really is what keeps the yogurt smooth.

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Eetch

Eetch is a Western Armenian dish from the old Cilician towns, carried by families to Aleppo, Beirut and the Armenian quarters of American cities. Fine bulgur is stirred into a hot sauce of onion, red pepper, tomato and pepper paste and left to drink it up, then finished with lemon, parsley and spring onion and eaten at room temperature, often scooped up with lettuce leaves. Unlike a herb-heavy raw bulgur salad, eetch is cooked, so it is rich and tomatoey, and it is a fixture of Lenten tables, picnics and mezze spreads. It keeps for days, which makes it a favourite for lunchboxes. Chef's tip: take the pan off the heat before adding the bulgur and keep the lid on; the grains soften in the residual heat and stay separate instead of turning to porridge.

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Jingalov hats

Jingalov hats comes from Artsakh (Nagorno-Karabakh), where women in Stepanakert markets would roll the dough around armfuls of greens and cook the flat parcels on a hot saj in front of the queue. The filling is nothing but herbs and leaves, ten to twenty kinds when spring greens are at their best: sorrel, spinach, dill, coriander, spring onion, beet leaves, mint and nettle, wilted with oil and salt. The bread is eaten hot from the griddle at Easter and through Lent, folded in half and dripping with green juices. Displaced families now sell it in Yerevan, where it has become a street-food symbol of home. Chef's tip: mix at least six different greens and keep some sharp ones such as sorrel or lemon juice in the mix; with spinach alone the filling tastes flat.

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Vegetable khorovats

No Armenian summer weekend at the dacha passes without a khorovats, the charcoal grill fired up in the garden from Dilijan to Lake Sevan. Alongside the skewers, whole aubergines, peppers and tomatoes are grilled until black and collapsing, then peeled and chopped with raw onion, garlic and herbs into a smoky, juicy salad. Served on its own with lavash, salty cheese and pickles, it makes a full meal, and it is one of the dishes that Armenians say tastes of summer itself. It works on a barbecue or straight on a gas flame. Chef's tip: grill the vegetables whole, without oil and without cutting them; the skins burn and peel away, while the flesh steams inside and soaks up the smoke.

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Gata

Gata is the sweet bread Armenians bake for Candlemas (Trndez) in February and for New Year, often with a coin hidden inside for luck; whoever finds it is set for the year. Every region shapes it differently, but the best-known are the large golden rounds sold by women at the roadside near Garni temple and Geghard monastery, cut into wedges for the drive home. Inside a tender, slightly flaky dough made with matsun (yogurt) and butter is khoriz, a sweet crumble of flour, sugar and butter that bakes into a soft, sandy layer. Eat it with black coffee or tea. Chef's tip: roll the dough thin and fold the khoriz inside like an envelope before rolling again; the folding creates layers so the gata is light rather than doughy.

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Nazook

Nazook is the slice-shaped pastry stacked in the windows of Yerevan bakeries and sold by the box at every Armenian church fair from Glendale to Marseille. A yeasted dough enriched with sour cream is rolled thin, spread with a vanilla-scented filling of flour, butter and sugar, rolled into a log and cut on the slant before baking. The result is flaky outside, with a soft, buttery swirl inside, sweet but not sticky. It is a coffee pastry, served to guests and packed for long journeys because it keeps well. Chef's tip: keep the filling cold and spread it right to the side edges; the swirl looks finished and every slice gets its share.

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Armenian coffee

Armenian coffee, soorj, is boiled in a small long-handled pot called a jazzve and poured unfiltered into tiny cups. It is offered the moment a guest sits down in any Yerevan home and lingers after meals while the grounds settle; when the cup is empty, it is turned upside down on its saucer so someone can read the patterns left in the grounds. The coffee is powder-fine, often scented with a pinch of cardamom, with a velvety foam (kaymak) on top that is a point of pride for the host. Serve with a glass of water and a little gata or dried fruit. Chef's tip: start with cold water and a low flame; the slower the coffee heats, the thicker and longer-lasting the foam.

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Pork khorovats

Khorovats is the centre of every Armenian summer weekend, whether at a family dacha near Yerevan or a picnic by Lake Sevan: big chunks of meat on long flat skewers, grilled over vine or apricot wood. This version uses pork (it contains pork) from the neck or shoulder, which stays juicy over fire; boneless lamb leg works the same way with 2–3 minutes less cooking. The marinade is just onion, black pepper, a little paprika and herbs, and the meat is served with raw onion, flat lavash and a plate of grilled vegetables. A frequent mistake is cutting the pieces small; at under 4 cm they dry out before the outside browns. Chef's tip: lay a sheet of lavash over the finished skewers for a minute so it soaks up the juices, then eat the bread too.

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Armenian harissa

Armenian harissa has nothing to do with the North African chilli paste. It is a thick, smooth porridge of whole wheat and chicken, cooked for hours until both break down, then beaten hard with a wooden spoon. It is tied to Musa Dagh and the village of Anjar, where it is cooked in huge cauldrons for the September feast, and many families also make it for Easter and cold winter Sundays. The taste is gentle and comforting, lifted by browned butter and cumin poured on top. Cooks often stop stirring once the wheat has softened, but the long beating at the end is what gives harissa its creamy, stretchy texture. Chef's tip: soak the wheat the night before; it halves the cooking time.

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Khash

Khash is a winter ritual in Armenia: friends gather in the early morning between November and March, often at the weekend, to share bowls of plain broth made from beef feet that have cooked all night. Everyone seasons their own bowl at the table with crushed garlic and salt, crumbles dried lavash into it and eats with radishes, pickles and fresh herbs. The broth is rich, sticky with gelatine and deliberately unseasoned in the pot. Skimping on the cleaning and soaking is the classic error; it leaves the broth grey and smelling of the farmyard instead of clean and milky-white. Chef's tip: ask the butcher to clean the feet and saw them into pieces for you.

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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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Lavash

In Armenian villages lavash is still slapped onto the hot clay wall of a tonir by women working in pairs, one rolling and one stretching, and the craft is on UNESCO's list of intangible heritage. The sheets come out blistered and soft, then dry to a cracker that keeps for months; a sprinkle of water brings them back to life. Lavash wraps grilled vegetables and herbs, carries cheese to the mouth, lines the pot for a crusty plov and is laid on the table at every meal and wedding. This version is unleavened and cooked in a heavy frying pan, the easiest way to get close to the tonir at home. Chef's tip: roll on a lightly oiled worktop rather than a floured one; the dough clings a little, so it stretches thinner without tearing.

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Ghapama

Ghapama is the dish Armenians carry to the table at New Year and on Christmas Day (6 January), with a folk song, "Hey jan ghapama", sung while the pumpkin is cut. A whole pumpkin is hollowed out, packed with half-cooked rice, dried apricots, prunes, raisins, walnuts and honey, and baked until the flesh is soft enough to scoop. At the table it is sliced from top to bottom like a flower opening, so each wedge comes with its own share of filling. Serve it as a festive main with a herb and cucumber salad, or as a sweet course after a lighter meal. Chef's tip: choose a squat, thick-walled pumpkin with a hard shell; thin-walled ones collapse in the oven before the rice is cooked.

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