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Shlada khiar (grated cucumber salad with oregano)

In the heat of a Fes or Marrakech summer, this ice-cold grated cucumber salad is served in bowls with spoons, half salad, half drink, alongside rich tagines or a plate of fried fish. Cucumber is grated and loosened with water, vinegar and a little sugar, then perfumed with crushed dried oregano or zaatar. Grating ahead and leaving it to sit in salt is the usual slip; the cucumber goes limp and bitter. Chef's tip: rub the oregano between your palms over the bowl to wake its oils.

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Shlada gar'a (cooked courgette salad with cumin)

In Meknes and Casablanca the pale courgettes of early summer are cooked down into this soft, spiced salad, one of several little dishes set out with bread before the main course. The courgettes are steamed with garlic, then crushed lightly with olive oil, cumin, paprika and lemon until spoonable but still chunky. Serve it cool with bread or alongside grilled fish. Watery courgettes are the usual problem; cook off all the liquid before seasoning. Chef's tip: add a handful of chopped coriander only at the end so it stays bright.

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Shlada beldia (Moroccan tomato and cucumber salad)

Shlada beldia, "country salad", sits next to the bread on almost every Moroccan table, from Marrakech grill stalls to a Tuesday family lunch in Oujda. Tomato, cucumber, onion and green pepper are diced as small as lentils, then dressed with lemon, olive oil, parsley and a pinch of cumin, so it eats like a fresh relish with grilled meat, tagines or eggs. The common mistake is dressing it too early: the tomatoes weep and it turns to soup, so salt it just before serving. Chef's tip: dice everything to the same tiny size; that's what makes it taste Moroccan rather than like a chopped salad.

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Shlada batata (Moroccan cumin potato salad)

Shlada batata is one of the cooked salads that line up on a Moroccan table before Friday couscous, in Rabat as much as in the Rif: boiled potato chunks dressed while warm with olive oil, lemon, cumin, paprika, garlic and plenty of parsley, with no mayonnaise at all. It's eaten at room temperature with bread, or with grilled sardines. Dressing cold potatoes is the common mistake; they don't absorb the flavours, so toss them while they're still steaming. Chef's tip: a few slivers of preserved lemon peel make it unmistakably Moroccan.

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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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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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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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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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Bajan rum punch

Every Barbadian knows the rhyme: one of sour, two of sweet, three of strong, four of weak. It is how rum punch is mixed for Sunday lunch, at beach limes, at the Friday night fish fry in Oistins and through the Crop Over festival in July and August. The punch is for adults only and it is strong, so pour it over plenty of ice and drink responsibly. Made right, it tastes bright and tangy from lime, rounded by brown-sugar syrup, warm with golden Barbados rum and finished by aromatic bitters and the woody smell of fresh nutmeg on top. The usual mistake is reading 'weak' as fruit juice or adding extra rum: the four of weak is water (and melting ice), and swapping in sweet juices makes the punch cloying. Make the syrup properly, measure by volume and taste before you add the last of the water. It is ready when the sweet and sour are in balance, nothing catches your throat and the jug is beaded with cold. It also keeps 2 days in the fridge, so it can be made ahead. Chef's tip: grate the nutmeg over each glass at the table; ready-ground nutmeg has lost the smell that makes Bajan punch what it is.

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Bajan fish cutterFried flying fish sandwich

Around Barbados a "cutter" is any sandwich in a salt bread roll, and the fish cutter is the lunch people queue for at beach bars from Oistins to Bathsheba: a piece of flying fish (or mahi-mahi, called dolphin locally) seasoned with Bajan seasoning, crumbed, fried crisp and stuffed into a split roll with lettuce, tomato and a dab of fiery yellow pepper sauce. The fish should be juicy and the crust shattering. The usual mistake is frying too cool, which makes the coating greasy; keep the oil hot and fry in small batches. Use flying fish fillets if you can find them frozen, or any thin white fish. Chef's tip: rub a little of the frying oil over the cut sides of the rolls and toast them in a dry pan, so the bread doesn't go soggy under the fish.

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Bajan pumpkin fritters

Barbadian grandmothers turn leftover boiled pumpkin into these little fritters for Sunday tea, frying spoonfuls of a soft, spiced batter until puffed and golden, then rolling them in sugar while still hot. Inside they are tender and custardy, with cinnamon, nutmeg and a hint of vanilla. They're best eaten warm, straight from the paper towel. The common mistake is a watery batter from wet pumpkin, which makes flat, greasy fritters: drain the cooked pumpkin well. Chef's tip: use the dense, orange West Indian pumpkin or butternut squash; watery jack-o'-lantern pumpkins don't work well.

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QodbanGrilled lamb skewers

Smoke rising off long braziers marks the qodban sellers of Marrakech, who thread lamb cubes with little pieces of fat so the meat bastes itself over the coals. Cumin, paprika, grated onion and parsley go on before grilling; more cumin and salt go on after. The result is charred and juicy, fragrant rather than fiery, and eaten straight off the skewer, wrapped in khobz with a little harissa and tomato. Leg or shoulder of lamb both work. Chef's tip: alternate every two pieces of lean meat with one small piece of fat; it melts as the skewer turns and keeps the lean pieces moist.

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Eggs with khlii

Old Fassi households keep a jar of khlii in the cold for exactly this: a spoonful of its spiced fat warmed in a small pan, a few strands of the dried beef crisped in it, then eggs cracked straight on top. The whites set lacy and savoury from the cumin and coriander in the fat, the yolks stay soft, and the beef shards turn chewy-crisp like the best bacon bits. It is eaten on a weekend morning or on a cold day with warm khobz or msemen torn into the pan, alongside mint tea. Use khlii made by our safer oven-dried, fridge-stored method, and if you cook for anyone pregnant, very young or vulnerable, fry the eggs until the yolks are firm. Chef's tip: warm the khlii fat gently before the eggs go in; too hot and the meat burns bitter before the whites have set.

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Lemon verbena tea (louiza)

After a big dinner or before bed, many Moroccan households swap green mint tea for a pot of louiza, lemon verbena, whose long, narrow leaves give a pale golden infusion that smells of lemon sherbet and has no caffeine. The fresh herb is sold in bunches alongside mint and absinthe at market herb stalls, and dried leaves keep all year. Drink it plain, lightly sweetened, or brewed with a few mint sprigs. It is soothing, clean-tasting and fragrant. Chef's tip: pour boiling water over the leaves and let them steep off the heat for 5 minutes; boiling the leaves in the pot, a common mistake, turns the tea grassy and bitter.

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Raib (set yogurt with orange-flower water)

Every Moroccan town has a mahlaba, a dairy café, with a fridge full of little glass pots of raib: soft, wobbly set yogurt, lightly sweetened and often scented with orange-flower water or flavoured with strawberry. It is eaten with a spoon as a snack, as a dessert after dinner, or with msemen at breakfast. The texture is delicate and spoonable rather than thick like strained yogurt. The oldest versions were set with rennet; this home version uses live yogurt as a starter (if you try rennet tablets, choose a vegetarian one). It needs 6–8 hours to set and a few hours to chill. Chef's tip: let the milk cool to 43 °C before adding the starter; too hot and the cultures die, so the raib never sets, which is the most common mistake.

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Moroccan marinated olives (zitoun mchermel)

Olive sellers in the Marrakech medina build tall pyramids of green, violet and black olives, and some of the most tempting bowls are the ones already dressed with chilli paste, garlic and preserved lemon. Making zitoun mchermel at home is simple: rinse good brined olives, then toss them with harissa, cumin, paprika, lemon rind, herbs and olive oil and give them a day in the fridge to soak up the flavours. They come to the table at almost every meal, next to bread and salads, and are perfect with mint tea or as a snack before dinner. Chef's tip: lightly crack each olive with the flat of a knife or the bottom of a glass so the marinade gets inside.

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Saykouk (couscous in cold buttermilk)

On hot evenings in the villages of the Middle and High Atlas, supper is often nothing more than saykouk: steamed couscous, usually barley, cooled and then drowned in ice-cold lben, the tangy buttermilk left after churning butter. It is eaten with spoons from a big shared bowl and is wonderfully cooling, sour and creamy, with the grains soaking up the milk as you eat. Some families sweeten it with a little sugar, others keep it salty; both are right. This quick version uses instant couscous so it is ready in about 20 minutes. Don't pour the buttermilk over warm couscous: it should be fully cool, or the buttermilk splits and the dish loses its refreshing chill. Chef's tip: let the couscous cool completely before the buttermilk goes in, or it turns the buttermilk warm and slightly grainy.

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Berber omelette

Roadside cafés on the mountain passes of the High Atlas keep small clay tagines warming over charcoal, and the one most travellers order for breakfast or a quick lunch is the Berber omelette: eggs cracked over a bubbling base of tomato, onion, cumin and paprika, then covered until they just set. It arrives sizzling with olives and herbs on top and plenty of bread to wipe the dish clean, usually with a glass of mint tea. At home you can use a small tagine on a heat diffuser or a lidded frying pan. For anyone pregnant, very young, older or with a weak immune system, cook until the yolks are firm. Chef's tip: never put a clay tagine straight onto a high flame; use a diffuser and medium-low heat, or it can crack.

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Amlou (almond, argan oil and honey spread)

Between Essaouira and Agadir, where argan trees grow on the dry hills, breakfast is not complete without a bowl of amlou: roasted almonds ground to a paste with culinary argan oil and honey until it is pourable, nutty and sweet with a deep, toasty flavour. It is spread on warm bread, msemen or baghrir, eaten with tea, and taken by many as a quick source of energy on cold mornings. Culinary argan oil is made from roasted kernels and is not the same as cosmetic argan oil, which is unroasted; if you cannot find it, roasted walnut oil gives a similar result. Chef's tip: roast the almonds until they are golden right through to the centre; pale almonds give a flat-tasting amlou.

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Chermoula

Along the Atlantic coast, in the fish stalls by Essaouira harbour and in home kitchens up and down the coast, chermoula is the green, garlicky paste that seasons almost everything from the sea: whole fish for the oven, sardines for the grill and fish tagines with potatoes and peppers. It works just as well on vegetables: toss it with potatoes, aubergine or carrots before roasting, spoon it over chickpeas, or stir it into a vegetable tagine. Bright, herby and tangy, it is warm with cumin and paprika and has a little chilli heat. When you use it on fish, marinate in the fridge, never on the counter, and for no more than 2 hours, or the lemon starts to cook the flesh and turns it mushy. Chef's tip: chop by hand or pulse only briefly; blended to a smooth purée, the herbs bruise and taste grassy.

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Moroccan almond milk (sharbat louz)

At Moroccan weddings and engagement parties, silver trays of tall glasses filled with sharbat louz are passed among the guests: chilled milk blended smooth with blanched almonds, sugar and a perfume of orange-flower water. It is also a favourite summer drink at home and is often offered to break the fast in Ramadan. The taste is creamy, delicate and nutty, a world away from carton almond milk, since it is real dairy milk enriched with almonds. Serve it very cold, on its own or with sweets. A common mistake is skipping the straining, which leaves a gritty drink instead of a smooth, silky one. Chef's tip: blend the almonds with the sugar and a little milk first, into a fine paste, before adding the rest; that way it ends up silky rather than gritty. Not for anyone with a nut allergy.

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Nous-nous (half-half coffee)

Sit down at a café terrace in Casablanca, Rabat or Marrakech and order a 'nous-nous' (from 'nus', half) and you will get a small glass of half espresso, half steamed milk, often layered so the coffee floats in a dark band over the pale milk with a cap of foam. It is the default morning and afternoon coffee for many Moroccans, sipped slowly while watching the street, usually with a sugar lump or two on the saucer. It is smaller and stronger than a latte and milkier than a macchiato. A moka pot works fine at home if you have no espresso machine. Chef's tip: heat the milk only to 60–65 °C, hot to the touch but not scalding; boiled milk loses its sweetness and the foam collapses, a common mistake.

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Moroccan spiced coffee

In many Moroccan homes, coffee is bought ready-mixed from the roaster with a spoonful of 'attria', a warm blend of ground spices such as cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, cardamom, black pepper and toasted sesame, that gives it a rounded, gently peppery aroma. It is brewed in a pan or a pot and sipped black and sweet, or with a splash of milk, after lunch, with pastries for guests, or on cold mornings. The spices soften the bitterness and make the whole kitchen smell wonderful. This home version mixes the spices into ordinary ground coffee. Chef's tip: keep the coffee at a bare simmer and never let it boil hard; vigorous boiling, the usual mistake, extracts bitterness from both coffee and spices.

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Smen (salted, herbed butter)

Atlas households once kept jars of smen for months, even years, until the salted butter developed a pungent, almost blue-cheese aroma; a spoonful stirred into couscous, harira or a chicken tagine gives a depth nothing else can. Long ageing at room temperature is risky at home, so this is a safer fridge version: pasteurised unsalted butter is simmered with dried za'atar or oregano, strained, salted and then matured in the fridge for 2–4 weeks, which gives a mellow, nutty, faintly tangy smen rather than the fiercely strong old kind. For the real long-aged flavour, buy smen from a reputable shop. Use it a teaspoon at a time; it is meant as a seasoning, not a cooking fat. The mistake to avoid is leaving any milk solids or water in the butter, as that is what turns it rancid or mouldy rather than pleasantly aged. Chef's tip: strain it through muslin until perfectly clear; any milky bits left in the jar are what turn butter rancid.

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