Comida parte dos: Sharing is caring

I consider myself a moderately generous person. If you need something and I have it, I most likely have let you borrow or use it. I share wine, I share books, I share toiletries, I share tips, we all know I like to over-share about my life. I’m generally the sharing type.

Until it comes to food.

I don’t know when it started exactly, but I have a little bit of anxiety with sharing food. I don’t know how to describe it other than I get the feeling of being cheated or like if I don’t guard my food it will all be taken and I will be left hungry. This feeling has only been exacerbated by my intolerance to gluten, which has made me incapable of eating most things offered to me, but does not make the things I am eating untouchable to everyone else. It isn’t to say I don’t share my food, I often share my food. I offer, sometimes people ask first. Only a handful of times have I actually told someone “no” about sharing my food, and these moments were embarrassing to say the least (unless we´re talking about Justin, in which case he had probably already eaten more than his share). And, lets face it, there are some foods you just don’t share. Honestly, I’m pretty embarrassed about this quirk of mine. I should just give and not expect to receive, and all of that other good “above it all” crap. But my problem is there are people out there that take and take and don’t give back.

Some have theories that it must have been started by being the youngest in a family of boys; three-older brothers ravenous in their adolescent growth-spurts, their insatiable hunger driving them to devour everything in site and leaving the poor, scrawny little sister with the decision to fight for her food or go hungry. It’s a good theory, but it has one major flaw—I was the pickiest eater around and would’ve done anything to be rid of the burden of a full plate of food. I mostly lived off cereal and hot chocolate. I do, however, have clear memories of my brother Sean leaving less than half-a-bowl of cereal in the box, leaving about the same amount of milk, and the un-holiest of all sharing practices; he used to break a cookie in half and pick the larger half for himself. Everyone knows it’s a cardinal rule of sharing that if you break the cookie in half, the other person gets to choose first.

Just like everything else in life, there are unspoken common courtesies. You hold open the door for the person with their arms full, you let pregnant women or the elderly take your seat on the bus while you stand, and when it comes to food, you offer, and the receiver only takes a little unless the person offering says it’s okay to take a lot.  So I suppose more specifically I have a problem with allowing someone to take more than their share of something. If we’re going halve-sies, we’re going halve-sies, and no one is getting more than their share unless someone is willing to relinquish their half. There are rules about these things.

Needless to say, the rules here are different.

You remember the general rule of elementary school of not eating in the classroom unless you have enough to share with the entire class? (I always hated that rule, by the way, and often hid lifesavers or mentos in my desk.) Well that is the rule of Peru. If you have food, you are sharing it with everyone present.

I once witnessed a moment when a single person eating a roll of bread in the presence of 12 other people was swarmed, and like some miraculous act of Jesus, somehow shared with everyone there. A roll. It was hardly the size of my fist. But the person knew that by having that piece of bread around others, they were obligated to share with everyone present.

Because this rule is so standfast, sometimes you don’t even have to offer food because people will ask for it and take it without waiting for a response. “Me invitas….” they’ll whine, and you’re stuck. Otherwise everyone just sits and waits for the offer, while thinking you’re an asshole if you don’t.

People don’t even drink their own beer. “Drinking circles” are the way to socially drink, which consists of one beer, one cup, and a group of people standing in a circle. There’s a whole process on how to pass it and everything. (I could write a whole post on just alcohol alone, so we’ll leave that for another day).

In the states I got pretty used to “my food” and “your food”, and unless an equal-share arrangement had been made with both parties, you stuck to eating your own food. Most times this agreement became null for me, as I generally had something gluten-free and the other person did not. Therefore, sharing was minimized quite a bit, as few people wanted to take some of my food without having anything to offer in return.

That doesn’t really fly here.

My mom sent me a package with GF mac and cheese in the mail awhile back. I held onto it for a long time, wondering when I could make it without having to share it. I learned in training that if you have something and you don’t want to share it, you hide it in your room and hoard it. Not exactly the healthiest habit to have, hoarding food and eating it in secret, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

So one day after getting to know my now host-family’s habits and schedules, I decided to go for it. Dinner isn’t a big meal here, it mostly consists of leftovers, and oftentimes is leftover rice with a fried egg and fried bananas. Sometimes my host family just eats bread and cheese (part of which I can’t partake in) so I decided it would only be just that I make my own mac and cheese and they eat their glutenous bread.

Within 60 seconds of readying the water to boil, every family member had stopped everything they were doing and had come from the furthest reaches of the household to stand in the kitchen and ask me what I was making. I showed them the box and they marveled at it, this foreign food item that appeared to be something made from wheat, but somehow magically wasn’t. They stood over me, uncomprehending this item that was both noodles and cheese, and yet the noodles were made out of rice, and the cheese was a package of powder.

Things moved on and my host-mom fried some eggs as I finished up the mac and cheese. Everyone had saddled up to their plate of rice and fried egg as I dished up my plate of the gooey, unnaturally-orange perfection. The whole time I felt everyone’s eyes boring into me.

I am not going to offer my food to them.

I am NOT going offer my food to them!

“Amanda, me invitas…”

Normally I can eat an entire package of mac to myself, but because I now had four people that wanted to try, I took less than half. Within seconds, my saving grace had been divvied up and everyone was eating the mac.

“Cultural exchange, Amanda, cultural exchange….you’re letting them try American food,” I told my inner beast of hunger.

“Oh, this is just like treschiz,” my host sister said.

“Oh, yeah…” everyone said as they realized what I had prepared was not, in fact, some foreign delicacy, but simply a food they knew and rarely ate, just with a different name. 

“Yeah….like treschiz, only I can’t eat treschiz because it’s made with wheat,” I said, trying to keep the smile big and passive aggressiveness down. “If you don’t want it, I would be more than happy to eat it, since it was a gift from my mom all the way from the United States of America.”

I think at this point my host-sister saw the beast, so she picked up her plate and left the room. I managed to get over it, told myself “you at least got to eat some of it, which is more than you had before.” Until the next morning, when I went to make my breakfast and found half a plate of my beautiful mac and cheese in the pig-slop bucket.

To be honest, it had been kind of a bad week, and seeing those noodles forsaken and scattered in a pile of food scraps was just too much. I might have cried a little bit. I might have also asked my host sister why she would throw such a thing away, when I had made myself clear that I would eat it.

That’s when I realized I needed a perspective change.

Whether I think I should share or not, they all do. And while I would love to indulge and have certain things all to myself, it only alienates my host family and makes me even weirder to them if I don’t partake in what they consider a common courtesy. Besides, I have a bag full of gluten-free mixes and absolutely nowhere to make them. Flours flop, even when they’re stored in airtight bags. Am I going to potentially let my gifts from home go bad in my stubbornness to not share?

This is still a process for me. I still keep certain food in my room (peanut butter will never be communal), I still hesitate on sharing certain things, rack my brain with ways to get away with eating it all to myself, and I sometimes stop by the tienda and buy cocadas or sublime’s to hide in my bag and eat in the secrecy of my room.

However, it´s getting easier. It’s actually kind of relieving, like a weight lifted off my chest. Less sneaking around and hiding, more happy faces and moments to bond with my host family. And it’s another step to integration. I’ll know I’m really integrated when I work up the nerve to lower my bottom lip and let out a whine of “Por favoooorrr….me invitas…”

Nah, I won´t do that. Gotta start small. Poco a poco.

Comida

A local mother butchering and preparing cabrito for a school function.

 Peruvians are nothing if not proud of their food. One of the first questions I’m asked by people is, “Do you like Peruvian food?” and then, “What is your favorite Peruvian food?”

I have a hard time answering this question, and sadly not because I love all of it. I am not Peruvian food’s biggest fan. But do I say I don’t like it? Of course not! A) I have to follow the rule of not being negative in anyway, even if that means lying and B) It’s always better to emphasize the things you like than talk about the things you dislike. Therefore, I say, “Well, I looooove food so much I of course love Peruvian food! I love all types of food! But if I have to pick a favorite, I would say…” After filling them in on my favorite foods (which I have posted below) I then tell them I am still acostumbrando a Peruvian food, since I am still not used to eating so much rice. I then take the opportunity for a cultural lesson on how in the U.S. we eat a lot more vegetables, and rice is more of a side dish that is eaten occasionally. Whenever I tell them this, they look at me like I just told them in the States dogs meow and cats bark.

Since food is such a big deal here (and such a big deal to me) it makes me a little sad that I am not in love with it, and only occasionally like it. A lot of this has some to do with my limited options (gluten-free), and the mountainous portions of rice and excessive use of boiled potatoes and maiz morado (purple corn) in the platos tipicos of my region. You’re hard pressed to see a vegetable on your plate (corn is not a vegetable! It’s a grain!), unless there are peas in the stew, and even with the wild variety of fruit available in Peru, it is most commonly used for freshly made juice puree with a ton of sugar added.

Being gluten-free in Peru is hard. There is good food in Peru, but I don’t always get to eat it. Having said that, I still know people that are completely capable of eating anything on this planet that have a hard time with the food in Peru. As one volunteer said to me, “It’s hard never being excited for a meal, and never feeling satisfied.” But, much of this has to do with the fact that we’re in the Peace Corps, not on vacation. (If you’d like to check out a blog of someone who does love Peruvian food, you can check out my friend Lindsay’s blog, The Glutton’s Digest.)

So here’s a run down on my experience with Peruvian food; the stuff I like, the stuff I eat even though I don’t really like it, and the stuff I can’t even try. And P.S.- I´ve only been here 4 months, and I´ve only been in a couple areas of Peru, so I´m of course giving you a very limited view at Peruvian cuisine. So just remember, what I'm saying isn´t 100% how it is everywhere. That´s why you should read Lindsay´s blog. Plus she´s awesome.)

Before we start, some vocabulary words and common foods/condiments:

Ajinomoto: MSG. It’s used in practically everything, but a lot of times as a substitute for salt.

Aji: a sauce made from peppers and other ingredients, aji is made into a variety of different sauces of all different colors and levels of spiciness. I can’t try all the different kinds because some are thickened with crushed up crackers.

Camote: Sweet potato. They just eat it plain, but the second I find brown sugar I’m going to introduce them to the amazingness of sweet potatoes a la Thanksgiving dinner.

Yuka: The first time I tried yuka I thought it was an extremely dry potato. However, it is a root that looks like a section of trunk from a small tree when you buy it at the market (literally has bark on it) but is peeled and boiled or cooked down to essentially straight starch.

Choclo: a type of corn that has extremely large kernels. This along with yuka and camote are common side dishes to cebiche, cuy, and just about anything else.

Chicha: This is a drink made from corn, and it can be both alcoholic and non-alcoholic. It is often sickeningly sweet. Chicha morada (made from purple corn) is made with cloves and cinnamon, or with lime. I loathe it.

Inka Kola: Peru’s very own and frequently consumed soda. It’s Simpsons-esque “nuclear-waste yellow” practically glows, and it tastes like bubble gum.

Queso, leche, y yogurt: This is another one of those things that changes from department to department, but in many areas dairy can be hard to come by. Cheese is not common and can be bought at large grocery stores in the city (which is very expensive). Milk can be bought at the store in a can, in a box, or in a bag and often isn’t refrigerated until after it’s opened. Yogurt is drinkable, often isn’t refrigerated, and I have yet to find any that’s thicker or sugar-free. Even “natural” yogurt has way too much sugar in it or uses fake sweetener. Where I live, however, we get milk everyday from a friend’s cow (which we pasteurize at home) and we’re close enough to the department of Cajamarca that we get to indulge in some awesome cheese (which I am not 100% sure is pasteurized).

Also, it should be noted lunch is the most important meal of the day, not dinner. It is when everyone takes a break from work in the fields and comes home to be with their family before they head out to work again, and also around the same time kids finish with school. Breakfast is usually bread, and dinner is usually leftovers from lunch.

Hunka’ hunka’ burnin’ cow heart

Street vendor in Trujillo, La Libertad, firing up the grill for
our anticuchos. 

While I was in training they often forewarned us about comida en la calle, or street food, especially during our first weeks of our bodies adjusting to life in Peru. Street food was seen as a one-way ticket to an evening riding the bicicleta (Peruvian slang for diarrhea). So, seeing as how I didn’t want to lose the pool and poop my pants, I stayed pretty far away from it. But, after a few weeks of less than mediocre meals* that left me unsatisfied and with crashing blood sugar level due to the fact I was mostly just eating rice and potatoes, I caved to the sizzling sounds and wonderful wafting smells coming from the street carts. I am so glad I did. Street food can be tricky for me, because not only do I have to worry about the normal stuff like, “How old is that meat?” but whether or not there are any GF friendly options. So, my tried and true street food friend has, and shall continue to be, anticucho. Anticucho is basically any meat barbecued on a stick, kind of like shish kabobs, but is most commonly known to be cow heart. You can also get cow and chicken intestine, but they tend to be chewier. Anticucho is amazing for so many reasons: 1) Because it’s heart, it can be overcooked and still be more tender than regular meat, 2) it comes with delicious sauces that are spicy and wonderful, 3) you can get it in practically any town on any ol’ street corner, and 4) it’s cheap!

*side note: I now live with a family that feeds me more than rice and potatoes and I don’t have to rely on street food for protein and food fulfillment. I still love it, though.

Pato Guisada-- stewed duck. I only ate this once in the department
of La Libertad, but the guiso is typical of any meat. 

My other “go-to” Peruvian foods that I know I don’t have to worry about (at least too much) are pollo a la brasa (rotisserie chicken served with french fries) and cebiche (fish cooked with the acid of lime/lemon juice and served with red onion). Also, basically anything guisada is pretty tasty, which is stewed meat, sometimes served with a few small morsels of vegetables.

Luckily desserts aren’t a big problem for me. You can get flan, arroz con leche (rice pudding), and ice cream just about anywhere. Some Peru-specific sweets I have taken quite a liking to are:

Chupetes: Homemade popsicles that come in a plastic bag. They have a ton of different names and are called marcianos in La Libertad. They are usually made with all of the awesome different and unique fruits of Peru.

Cocadas: Think no-bake cookies, only instead of oatmeal it’s shredded coconut, and instead of chocolate it’s caramelized sugar. Okay, so it’s nothing like a no-bake, but it’s freaking delicious, and they’re sold at 50 centimos a pop.

Lucuma flavored anything: Lucuma is a fruit specific to Peru that I have yet to eat. I do however enjoy all things Lucuma flavored, which includes yogurt and ice cream. I wish I could describe it, but I just can’t.

So typical...

As I’ve said before, Peruvians love their rice, and they eat essentially an entire plate of it with a side of meat and potatoes (some people aren’t lucky enough to get the side of meat). Here are a couple typical dishes I eat that are actually decent, but I don’t love them so much I’d eat them as regularly as Peruvians do.

Cabrito: Kid goat, stewed and served with some white beans and rice. I ate this my first week at site and then got food poisoning. Needless to say, it’s been ruined for me, which is unfortunate because it’s served at every event and party.

Arroz con pollo: mildly seasoned rice with peas, choclo, and tiny chunks of carrots, and a chunk of chicken. Woohoo. A little boring, but it´s growing on me.

Cuy: Guinea Pig. Yep, that cuddly, oversized rodent many elementary students in the U.S. cherish as their classroom pet and name something cute like “Mr. Snuggles” is mostly just known as “lunch” here. Cuy is eaten in many different ways, but typically is served frito (fried) or guisada. Cuy have a high protein content and once you get past their extremely thick, fatty skin, they are pretty tasty. Although I have been chastised for not eating the skin—most Peruvian’s favorite part.

On a school field trip many of the kids brought
along a tupper of cuy and rice for lunch.

Causa: There are some different versions of this typical dish that depend on what department you are in. When I had it, it was salted fish topped with pickled onions on a plate garnished with mashed potatoes, camote, and choclo. Another version I’ve heard of was more of a layered dish, the salted fish stuffed between layers of mashed potatoes and mayonnaise.

Arroz con minestras: I like lentils, and I like peas. But ends up, I’m not a huge fan of smashed up peas/lentils on rice.

Mosemora: A desert as popular as arroz con leche, I go between being able to eat this just fine and never wanting to see it again. It is basically the warm, goopy, gelatin version of chicha, sometimes with fruit chunks in it.

Untouchable

As I said, there is good food in Peru, but I can’t always eat it. Here are some classics that I always have to miss.

Papas rellenas: fried mashed potato balls stuff with stewed meat, raisins, olives, and hard-boiled egg. It’s actually pretty good, but they roll the balls in flour before frying them. I had the opportunity to try them once because some were made special for me.

A papa rellena I helped make in my language class during
training. This is the only one I´ve eaten, since I got to
make it without flour. 

Papas a la huancaina: same mashed potato balls, only instead of stuffed and fried they’re covered with a thick sauce that contains crackers.

Chicharones: breaded and deep-fried meat. Served with? You guessed it. Rice.

Chifa: Essentially any type of Chinese food. Mostly fried rice, though. I can’t have it because it’s made with soy sauce (second ingredient: wheat) I’ve also seen it eaten with mayonnaise on top.

Lomo Saltado: I actually ate this before realizing I shouldn’t. It’s a beef stir-fry with big fat slices of tomato, red peper, and onion, served with french fries. It was absolutely delicious. It also has a ton of soy sauce in it (whoops). It was worth it.

Caldo de Gallina: Chicken noodle soup, often with full-on chicken feet. I hear it’s tasty with lime.

For desserts, I just try to remind myself sublime bars (chocolate with peanuts) and cocadas are just as good…

Tres leches: I was lucky enough to try this in Costa Rica before I knew I couldn’t have gluten. It’s a white cake soaked in evaporated milk, topped with whipped cream and cinnamon. Seriously delicious.

Picarones: Fried donuts made with sweet potato flour. They smell divine, but of course have regular wheat flour in them as well, so I’ll never truly know.

Churros: The classic fried-dough roll, usually filled with manjar blanco, Peru’s version of caramel.

Paneton: A classic Christmas favorite served with hot chocolate, it’s basically a fruit cake, only people actually like it.

You don’t know what you got ‘til it’s…

My host-sister helping me plate the chicken enchiladas,
black beans,and spanish rice I made for my host family.

I have been known to dream about American Dream gluten-free pizza, have withdrawals from my Mom’s homemade enchiladas, and spend way too much time fantasizing about simple foods I used to make for myself at home or indulge in at restaurants. But when I joined the Peace Corps, I made an oath: I will do the same work, eat the same food, and speak the same language as the nationals of the country I live in. Of those three things, food is definitely the hardest. I have lost all control of my daily diet, which I used to be in charge of. The only food I really make for myself here is my breakfast, which is usually yogurt and bananas, or plain oatmeal. Food has so many connections to our lives; it fills a basic biological need of course, but it also connects us to our family and to our culture. It effects our mood and energy, it’s filled with nostalgia and sometimes “made with love.” In some cases, controlling what we eat seems to be the only control we have in our lives. And when I came to Peru, I lost that control and handed it over to the family I live with. I make the occasional “American meal” for my host family, but for the most part I am at the mercy of their personal diet decisions. And to be fair, I am actually getting pretty used to it and liking it a lot more. 

Food has also been something that has helped me make stronger connections to those around me. Telling my host-mom I want to know how she makes a certain dish shows her I appreciate her and care about their traditions. Making food for my host-family helps them experience just a taste of what the U.S. is like. But when I’m backed in a corner and people want to know, “Which food do you like more? American food or Peruvian food?” I’m left with little choice but to say…

“Peruvian food, of course!”

Control

Car, bike, cell phone, and wifi.

I just listed four things that are commodities I had in the U.S. that I don’t have here. However, these things are not just commodities, but a means to which I could easily access independence and control of how I spent my time and accomplished tasks. I could decide when and where I went via transportation, I could easily call or text people to make plans, and I could access wifi at a variety of places to check news, email, look up information, etc.

As you can imagine, part of the adjustment period is getting used to no longer having these means of control and independence I once took for granted.  One way to get through culture shock and past frustrations is being able to identify what the issue is and come to terms with it. It took me awhile to verbalize or even identify what exactly was frustrating about many situations, but it was sitting right under my nose the whole time; I’m just used to having more control over things.

Transportation: Here, when I need to get from point A to point B I usually walk unless it is too far away and I don’t have time. It takes me 30 to 40 minutes to walk to the training center in the morning, which is actually pretty nice. I enjoy the walk and I always meet up with other trainees who live in my neighborhood so we can all walk together. But, if I need to go further, it makes more sense to take a combe (small bus) or colectivo (basically a taxi, but it has a flat rate fare, only has one route, and as many people as possible cram in along the way) which depending on the day, could take 30 minutes just to catch. The public transportation system isn’t on “hora Americana” (our idea of punctuality) it’s on “hora Peruana” (meeting times are more like general guidelines. More often than not, people are at least 30 minutes late).

This constant preparation to be somewhere on “hora Americana” while the rest of Peru is on “hora Peruana” makes things difficult, especially when meeting up with someone. We do not have cell phones and won’t receive them until the end of our service. So, if someone waits for 20 minutes not knowing you’re still waiting for a combe, or you got sick and can’t make it, that’s just how it is.

Poop: Missing appointments and meetings due to sickness happens, a lot. Some people have lost control of their bowels. Yes, people have already pooped their pants. I’d like to think we all laugh together about it, but I’m not sure I’ll be laughing when it happens to me. I have a feeling it will be unavoidable. Talking about poop has become as common as asking how someone’s day is going. Some people can’t poop, others can’t stop. It’s a big mixture of different diet, different routines, different bacteria, etc.

Routines: Not sure if I even have a routine here, yet. Running used to be a big part of my routine, and now I’m lucky if I run a couple minutes a week. I couldn’t run very much after my marathon because of my hurt achilles tendon, but I have hardly tried to run here. Some people do it, and I am actually pretty jealous. My achilles is still recovering so I don’t want to push it, but I also just don’t feel as comfortable. I like running by myself or with someone with a similar running pace. However, I don’t even have the option to run alone here. I still don’t feel quite safe enough, and that is mostly because of the dogs. I have had to throw a rock or two to get them to stay away from me. Something about running just triggers their “attack” mode.

Comida tipica: Food is my biggest struggle here. For example, if I wake up and want pancakes, too bad. Not because pancakes don’t exist, but because I have to find alternate means to make those pancakes (I am gluten-free) and I then have to talk it out with my host mom who thinks pancakes for breakfast is just bizarre (that much food for breakfast? Without rice? Unheard of!). In general, I’m not allowed to make my own food. We compromise at times and I will make a meal here and there for the whole family (which so far they’ve loved) but I’m not making daily decisions on what I eat, when I eat it, or how it is prepared. Of all the losses in independence, this one is the hardest for me. It is hard to give up control of what I choose to eat, and part of that is the different concept of nutrition. Vegetables make you sick (or, that’s what a lot of Peruvians think), white rice is the number one staple, and drinking plain water is very uncommon. If you happen to be eating with someone who believes cold drinks make you sick (many Peruvians do) then you’ll be drinking hot fruit juice, hot tea with lots of sugar, or just plain warm soda. Soda is the most popular option.  Meals consist of white rice sprinkled with MSG (yes, MSG is just another seasoning here, and a popular one at that) topped with potatoes, and sometimes a side of meat. And rice isn’t just for dinner, oh no. It’s for every meal, in every form. Sometimes we just eat rice and milk—with lots of sugar in it. Needless to say, I am starving within an hour (rice and potato are the top-two foods on the glycemic index) and snacks are a little harder to come by since I can’t eat crackers or bread. I eat a lot of candy, because my blood sugar drops like a rock and I just need something to keep me going. It’s also a “comfort food” thing, so I think I’m going to have to seek out more fruit.

However, I am already adjusting to many of these things. I make sure to plan ahead of time and always leave the house 30 to 40 minutes before I have to be somewhere. I don’t run, but I do yoga everyday and have little exercises I can do in my room. I carry toilet paper with me at all times, and a plastic bag in case lunch decides to make a reappearance (you just never know). Many things are becoming commonplace, and sometimes I forget about quirks and differences to tell people back home because I’m so used to it already.

And food, well, that will probably be hard until I get to site and have a little more freedom to cook some of my own meals. I dream of pizza and Indian food, and wake up praying I can have something normal for breakfast like eggs or oatmeal. But, it’s all in vain. My stomach is slowly adjusting to the simple carbs and in the end it is all part of the cultural experience. I am seeing how the other part of the world lives, and if that means rice and potatoes and no veggies, then I guess that’s what I’m eating. It is a humbling experience to have to rely so heavily on others, and while I don’t particularly like it, it is all part of the process; the process of letting go of the control I didn’t even realize I had.