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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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Habichuelas guisadas

Habichuelas guisadas are on the stove most weekdays in Puerto Rico, from Ponce to Fajardo, ladled over plain white rice for the everyday plate called arroz con habichuelas. Pink or red beans simmer with sofrito, tomato sauce and olives, and cubes of calabaza (West Indian pumpkin) melt into the pot to make a thick, orange-red, gently sweet sauce. It's homely, cheap and deeply savoury. Island cooks often add a piece of ham; this version doesn't need it. Chef's tip: when the pumpkin is soft, crush a few pieces against the side of the pot; they dissolve into the liquid and thicken it without any flour.

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Tembleque

Tembleque gets its name from the way it shivers (tiembla) when you set it on the table, and in Puerto Rico it is the dessert of the Christmas season, from the parrandas of December through to the Three Kings in January. It's nothing more than coconut milk, sugar and cornflour cooked into a silky custard, poured into a mould and chilled until it holds its shape. It is cool, pure white, lightly sweet and tastes completely of coconut, with a blush of cinnamon on top. Chef's tip: use full-fat tinned coconut milk; light coconut milk sets thin and tastes watery.

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Quesitos

Every panadería in Puerto Rico has a tray of quesitos by the till, and a warm one with a café con leche is a standard island breakfast, from Old San Juan to small-town bakeries in the mountains. Puff pastry is rolled around a log of sweet vanilla cream cheese and baked until it shatters, then brushed with sugar syrup so the top turns glossy and sticky. The filling stays soft and slightly tangy inside the crisp layers. Chef's tip: chill the filling before you roll, so it holds its shape and doesn't squeeze out of the ends in the oven.

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Coquito

Coquito is Puerto Rico's Christmas in a glass: bottles of it are made in early December, given to neighbours and poured at every parranda, the late-night singing visits from house to house, until the Fiesta de San Sebastián in Old San Juan in January. This version contains alcohol: it blends coconut milk, sweet cream of coconut and condensed and evaporated milk with Puerto Rican white rum, cinnamon, nutmeg and vanilla. It's thick, cold and sweet, with the warmth of rum behind the spice. For children and anyone avoiding alcohol, make it without the rum as described in the steps. Chef's tip: let it rest in the fridge overnight; the spices bloom and the rum mellows, and it tastes far rounder on the second day.

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Mangú

Mangú is breakfast across the Dominican Republic, from Santo Domingo's colmados to farm kitchens in the Cibao valley: green plantains boiled until soft, then mashed smooth with butter and a splash of cold water and crowned with red onions softened in vinegar. It is creamy, mild and salty, with the sharp pink onions cutting through. At home it's usually served as los tres golpes, with fried salami, fried cheese and fried eggs; this vegetarian plate keeps the queso frito and the eggs. Chef's tip: mash with cold water rather than the cooking water; cold water makes the mash smoother and lighter, the trick every Dominican grandmother swears by.

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Habichuelas con dulce

In the Dominican Republic, Holy Week means pots of habichuelas con dulce, shared over garden walls between neighbours from Santiago to San Pedro de Macorís. Red beans are cooked soft and blended into a smooth cream, then simmered with coconut and evaporated milk, cinnamon and cloves, with soft cubes of sweet potato and plump raisins. Served cold, it tastes like a spiced coconut custard with a gentle earthy depth; nobody guesses beans the first time. It's traditionally topped with little crunchy milk biscuits. Chef's tip: push the blended beans through a sieve; it takes two minutes and gives the silky texture that marks a good batch.

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Mofongo

In Puerto Rico mofongo is the dish people drive out to the kioskos of Piñones and the roadside fondas of Arecibo for: green plantain fried in chunks, then pounded while hot in a wooden pilón with raw garlic and good olive oil until it holds together in a rough, crusty dome. The outside stays a little crisp, the inside is soft, starchy and fiercely garlicky. Most places pound in chicharrón (pork crackling); this garlic-oil version is the main one here, and the crackling is a note at the end for meat eaters. Serve it with a small bowl of hot caldo to spoon over, or with stewed beans or a tomato sofrito sauce. Chef's tip: warm the garlic in the olive oil only until it smells sweet, never until it browns, so the mofongo tastes of fresh garlic rather than bitter toast.

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Pastelón

Pastelón turns up at Puerto Rican Sunday lunches and Christmas parties all over the island, from San Juan to Ponce, usually next to a pot of rice and beans. Instead of pasta it is layered with long slices of fried ripe plantain, so every bite is sweet and salty at once: soft caramelised plantain, a savoury beef picadillo with olives and capers, melted cheese and a light egg binding. Cut it into squares like a lasagne. The mistake to avoid is using yellow or green plantains; they stay starchy and dry, so wait until the skins are almost black. Chef's tip: leave the pastelón to rest for 15 minutes after baking; the egg and cheese set and the squares come out clean.

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Alcapurrias

Drive along the coast road at Piñones in Loíza on a weekend and the beach kiosks are frying alcapurrias by the tray, each one wrapped in paper with a dash of chilli vinegar. The shell is a masa of grated green banana and yautía (taro root), coloured with annatto oil, that fries to a crisp crust with a soft, almost creamy inside; the filling here is a well-seasoned beef picadillo. They are a Loíza tradition with roots in the town's Afro-Puerto Rican cooking. The common mistake is frying warm, wet masa, which spreads and falls apart in the oil; chill it until firm. Chef's tip: shape them on a piece of greaseproof paper or banana leaf brushed with annatto oil, then slide each one straight off into the pan.

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Pernil

No Puerto Rican Nochebuena (Christmas Eve) is complete without pernil, a whole pork shoulder rubbed with a pounded paste of garlic, oregano and black pepper, left in the fridge overnight and roasted low for hours until it falls apart. This is a pork dish. Families fight over the cuerito, the crackling skin on top, and the meat goes with arroz con gandules, salad and more rice the next day. The usual mistake is smearing the marinade over the skin: the garlic burns and the skin never crackles, so push the paste into slits and under the skin, and keep the skin itself dry and salted. Chef's tip: marinate for a full 24 hours if you can; the garlic and vinegar soak right into the meat.

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La bandera dominicana

Across the Dominican Republic, from Santo Domingo office canteens to family kitchens in Santiago, the midday meal is la bandera, named after the flag: white rice, red beans stewed with squash, and braised chicken. It is eaten almost every weekday, often with a green salad and fried plantain. Dominican cooks start the chicken by caramelising sugar in the oil, which gives the sauce its deep brown colour, and they prize the concón, the crisp layer of rice at the bottom of the pot. The mistake to avoid is letting the sugar go past dark amber; burnt sugar makes the whole stew bitter. Chef's tip: marinate the chicken with lime, garlic and oregano the night before; it takes on far more flavour than a quick 30 minutes.

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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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Arroz con gandules

No Nochebuena table from San Juan to Mayagüez is complete without a big caldero of arroz con gandules, and in December every grandmother's pot is judged on it. Medium-grain rice is cooked with pigeon peas (gandules), fresh sofrito, achiote oil, tomato sauce and a scoop of alcaparrado (olives and capers), until each grain is tender and golden-orange. Island cooks usually add pork; this version gets its depth from a generous spoon of sofrito and good stock, and loses nothing. The best part is the pegao, the crisp golden crust left on the bottom of the pot. Chef's tip: once the lid goes on, leave the rice alone; stirring breaks the grains and releases starch, and you will lose both the fluffy texture and the pegao.

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Puerto Rican sofrito

Open a freezer anywhere in Puerto Rico, or in the Puerto Rican neighbourhoods of New York and Orlando, and you'll find a tub or ice-cube tray of green sofrito. It is the start of almost everything savoury on the island: beans, rice, stews, soups and sauces. Unlike the slow-cooked Spanish sofrito, this one is raw, blended from culantro (recao), cilantro, little sweet ajíes dulces, cubanelle peppers, onion and lots of garlic. It smells grassy and sharp in the jar and turns mellow and savoury as soon as it hits hot oil. Chef's tip: if you can't find ajíes dulces, use extra red pepper and a tiny piece of seeded scotch bonnet; you want their fruity perfume, not heat.

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