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Sauce djoumgblé

Baoulé cooks in central Côte d'Ivoire dry okra in the sun during the harvest, then grind it into the dark green powder that makes sauce djoumgblé. Stirred into a beef and tomato stew with flaked smoked fish, it thickens the pot into a deep brown, slippery sauce with an earthy, smoky flavour quite different from fresh okra soup. It is the classic partner for foutou banane or placali in Bouaké and in Abidjan's maquis, where each mouthful of starch is pulled through the sauce. Look for the powder as dried or ground okra in African grocers. Chef's tip: whisk the okra powder into cold water before it goes into the pot; scattered straight into hot sauce, it forms lumps that never break down.

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African chicken (Macanese galinha africana)

Macau restaurants have served galinha africana since the 1940s, and the story most often told is that a hotel chef in the city created it from spices that Portuguese sailors brought back from Mozambique and Angola. Today it is a signature at Macanese and Portuguese restaurants from Taipa village to Coloane, eaten at long weekend lunches with rice or crusty bread. Chicken pieces are marinated, grilled until charred, then baked under a thick, brick-coloured sauce of ground peanuts, coconut milk, chilli, paprika, garlic and onion that is rich, nutty and quietly fiery. It is often made with a pale, timid sauce; cook the onion, garlic and paprika slowly until really deep red before the coconut goes in. Chef's tip: marinate the chicken overnight in the fridge so the garlic and chilli reach the bone.

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Galinha à portuguesa (Portuguese chicken)

Puzzlingly, you will not find this in Portugal: galinha à portuguesa belongs to Macau, where cooks mixed a Portuguese idea of a creamy baked chicken with the turmeric, curry powder and coconut milk that came through the Portuguese trading routes from Goa and Malacca. Macanese restaurants and Hong Kong's cha chaan teng serve it bubbling in a clay pot or baking dish, golden on top, with chicken and potatoes in a mild, yellow, gently sweet coconut sauce, always with white rice to soak it up. It is a favourite for family dinners and Christmas tables. The thing people get wrong is boiling the coconut sauce hard, so it splits and turns oily; keep it at a gentle simmer. Chef's tip: brown the chicken well first, and finish under a hot grill for the speckled golden top that Macau restaurants are known for.

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Minchi (Macanese minced meat with potatoes)

If one dish says home to Macanese families, the descendants of Portuguese and Chinese Macau, it is minchi: a quick hash of minced beef and pork seasoned with soy sauce, Worcestershire sauce and a touch of sugar, mixed with crisp little cubes of fried potato and crowned with a runny fried egg. It appears on weeknight tables, at Macanese restaurants near Rua do Cunha, and at gatherings of the Macanese community abroad, always with plain white rice. Savoury, slightly sweet and full of crunch, it tastes like the meeting of a Portuguese kitchen and a Cantonese wok. A common error is stirring the potatoes into the meat too early, which makes them soft and floury; fry them separately until crisp and fold them in at the end. Chef's tip: let the mince sit undisturbed for a minute in the hot pan before stirring, so it browns instead of stewing.

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Serradura

Portuguese for 'sawdust', serradura is the cool, creamy dessert you'll find in every Macanese restaurant and café from Taipa to the Senado Square backstreets, ordered to round off a long Macanese lunch. Alternating layers of sweetened whipped cream and powder-fine tea biscuit crumbs set softly in the fridge, so each spoonful is light, milky and caramel-sweet, with a gentle crumbly texture. It is usually served in small glasses, sometimes semi-frozen like an ice cream cake. Coarse crumbs are where it goes wrong; they stay crunchy and gritty instead of melting into the cream, so grind the biscuits as fine as sand. Chef's tip: whip the cream and condensed milk together only to firm peaks and stop there, or it turns grainy and buttery.

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Akpessi

Around Bouaké and Yamoussoukro, akpessi is what Baoulé families cook when they want a filling one-pot meal with little fuss: chunks of green plantain and yam simmered right in a red palm oil and tomato sauce until tender. A few pieces are crushed into the liquid at the end, so the sauce turns thick and clings to everything. It is often made with smoked fish; this version keeps it meat-free, with soft garden eggs folded through for body. Expect an earthy, gently starchy dish with heat from the pepper, good with sliced avocado on the side. The usual mistake is stirring too much, which turns the whole pot to mush instead of leaving soft chunks. Chef's tip: oil your hands before peeling green plantains; the sticky sap washes off far more easily.

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Attoukpou

Along the lagoons east and west of Abidjan, Ebrié and Attié cooks turn soured cassava dough into attoukpou, a soft steamed paste that is gentler and less stretchy than placali. The crumbled dough is steamed until it turns translucent, then pounded with a little hot water into smooth, pillowy balls with a light sourness. It is served at home and at village gatherings with palm-nut sauce, a light pepper soup or aubergine sauce, and it soaks up gravy beautifully. Ready-made fermented cassava dough from an African grocer saves days of work. Avoid packing the dough tightly into the steamer; it needs space for the steam to move through. Chef's tip: crumble the dough very finely before steaming; big lumps stay chalky in the middle however long they cook.

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Kabato

From Korhogo and Odienné down to Bouaké, households in northern and central Côte d'Ivoire eat kabato almost daily: a swallow of maize meal cooked with a squeeze of lemon. The acid gives the paste a faint tang and a firmer, cleaner bite than plain cornmeal. It is eaten warm with okra sauce, groundnut sauce or a sauce of pounded leaves, pinched off by hand and dragged through the bowl. A common slip is adding the cornmeal too fast, which makes lumps; rain it in while stirring. Chef's tip: whisk the lemony cornmeal slurry into the boiling water before adding the rest of the meal; starting with a thin porridge is what keeps kabato lump-free.

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Placali

Abidjan's maquis serve placali in shining grey mounds next to bowls of sauce kopé, the okra sauce that slides off the spoon, and many Ivorians from the lagoon and southern forest regions eat it several times a week. It is made from soured cassava dough dissolved in water, strained and cooked while beaten hard until it becomes a translucent, sticky, stretchy paste. The taste is mildly sour and the texture smooth and elastic, meant to be swallowed rather than chewed. Pair it with okra, palm-nut or leaf sauces. Don't stop stirring once the dough thickens, or raw lumps hide in the swallow. Chef's tip: wet your hands and the serving bowl before shaping, otherwise placali clings to everything it touches.

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Sauce gouagouassou

Bété country around Gagnoa and Daloa in western Côte d'Ivoire is known for sauces with plenty of chilli, and gouagouassou is one of the most loved: tomatoes, garden eggs and hot peppers boiled whole, then crushed by hand in a mortar and simmered with smoked fish. There is little or no oil, so the sauce tastes fresh, smoky and bright, with real heat and a rough, rustic texture. Spoon it over white rice or eat it with foutou at a weekday lunch. Use fewer chillies if you prefer, but keep at least one for the character. Chef's tip: soak the smoked fish in hot water for ten minutes first; it softens, rinses off ash and grit, and gives its flavour to the sauce more quickly.

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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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Attiéké with tomato and onion

Attiéké is the light, slightly sour cassava 'couscous' of the Ébrié and Adjoukrou peoples around Abidjan's lagoons, and it is eaten across Côte d'Ivoire every day of the week. In maquis (open-air restaurants) it comes heaped beside grilled fish with a raw salad of tomato, onion and chilli; at home many people eat it simply with that salad, fried plantain and a fried egg, which is how it is served here. Buy it frozen or dried in African shops. Chef's tip: steam attiéké rather than boiling it; water turns it to paste, while steam keeps the grains fluffy and separate.

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Alloco

Alloco is the evening street food of Abidjan, fried in palm or vegetable oil in big pans by vendors around the Allocodrome in Cocody and in every neighbourhood. Very ripe plantain is cut into thick slices or cubes, fried until caramelised at the edges, and eaten with a fiery raw sauce of onion, tomato and chilli. Unlike Ghanaian kelewele it is not marinated in spices: the sweetness of the fruit against the sharp sauce is the whole point. Chef's tip: wait until the plantain skins are mostly black; yellow plantain fries up dry and starchy.

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Foutou banane

Foutou is the pounded staple of the Baoulé country around Bouaké and Yamoussoukro: boiled plantain, often mixed with cassava, pounded in a wooden mortar into a smooth, stretchy, slightly sweet ball. It is eaten with the fingers, pulled off in pieces and dipped into sauce graine (palm nut), sauce arachide or okra sauce. A food processor followed by a short knead does the job at home. Chef's tip: pound while everything is steaming hot; cold plantain will not come together and stays lumpy.

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Sauce graine with chicken and smoked fish

Sauce graine, palm-nut sauce, is the Sunday stew of southern Côte d'Ivoire, made in villages from freshly pounded palm fruit and in Abidjan from tins of palm-nut cream. It is deep orange-red, rich and slightly smoky from the smoked fish that goes in with the chicken, and is eaten with foutou banane, rice or attiéké. The mistake to avoid is boiling it hard at the end; palm-nut sauce should simmer gently until the oil rises to the top, which is how you know it is done. Chef's tip: use bone-in chicken; the bones give the sauce body.

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Kedjenou

Kedjenou comes from the Baoulé people of central Côte d'Ivoire, who cooked it in a sealed clay canari set in the embers and shook the pot instead of stirring it; today it is a weekend favourite in Abidjan's maquis, served with attiéké or rice. Chicken, tomato, onion, aubergine, ginger and chilli go into the pot with no water at all, and the vegetables release enough juice to make a light, intense sauce. The mistake is lifting the lid to stir: the steam escapes and the pot can burn, so seal it well and shake it instead. Chef's tip: a heavy casserole with a sheet of foil pressed under the lid works just like the clay pot.

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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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