Y ¿Qué Tal la Comida?

Far be it for me to be judgemental about other people’s self-delusion. I have enough of my own. I defend fiercely anyone’s right to their beliefs, no matter how absurd. And I would go to great lengths to avoid embarrassing people by revealing their harmless mistakes, particularly when I am a guest in their country.

For example, one day I told my helper – who speaks no English – that I had bought but misplaced some furniture polish. I described what it was for and said it was in a spray bottle. A few days later she informed me that she had found it, no worries. It was only several weeks later that I discovered that she has been assiduously anointing my furniture with SPF 4 Banana Boat Dark Tanning Oil. I have not had the heart to point out the misunderstanding so my bookshelves are benefitting from being moisturised with aloe vera and carrot extract.

While this may indeed be skin off my nose, to me it wasn’t worth making her feel silly. But there are limits.

As any regular reader of this blog can testify, I have endured with great stoicism the national obsession with food. If I had a sol for every time a taxi driver has asked me “Y ¿qué tal la comida?” I would have a chauffeur and several personal slaves and not have to take taxis at all. I have answered politely millions of questions about the relative merits of Caribbean over Peruvian food. I have endured uncomplaining endless rants about the charms of raw fish, lime and onions; bravely sampled and enjoyed alpaca and guinea pig; and even ingested purple corn in various liquid and gelatinous forms despite rumours that the key ingredient is spit.

But there is such a thing as mass delusion which, as history has shown, is often best nipped in the bud. So if no one else will speak up, I will. At the risk of causing permanent trauma to the Peruvian national psyche I am compelled to call a spade a spade. Or rather, a roast chicken a roast chicken.

Sorry for my grumpiness but you don’t have to smile and exclaim hypocritically every time someone in Lima promises you with an arch expression the equivalent of an edible orgasm and then presents you triumphantly with yet another pollo a la brasa.

“Pollo a la Brasa,...is a common dish of Peruvian cuisine and one of the most consumed in Peru, along with ceviche, and Chifa. The dish originated in the city of Lima in the 1950s...The origins of the recipe are attributed to Roger Schuler, who devised the specific method of cooking the chicken, observing his cook's technique in preparation, and gradually, along with his business partners, perfected the recipe, creating the Granja Azul restaurant in Santa Clara, district of Ate, in Lima....Originally its consumption was specific to the high socioeconomic classes (during the 1950's until the 1970's); however its consumption later became(sic) to include the medium and low socioeconomic classes as well. The original version consisted of a chicken (cooked in charcoal and marinated only with salt) served with large french fries and traditionally eaten with the fingers, without cutlery. Its popularity became massive in the 1970's.”  (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pollo_a_la_Brasa)

With all due respect to Mr Schuler, pollo a la brasa (at least in its modern form) that reverentially named staple of Peruvian cuisine is...chicken and chips. It is not, as all Peruvians believe, uniquely Peruvian and – though I have utterly failed to convince my in-laws or any other Limeño of this – can be found worldwide.

Rotisserie chicken: the healthier alternative to KFC.

Yes, yes, I say (raising my voice to be heard over the clamour of Peruvian protest) no doubt there are differences in seasoning, but nothing so startling as to base an entire expatriate culture on, I assure you. And yet, check out this You Tube clip. When we lived in London my husband would play it over and over again late at night, salivating and sighing with frustrated desire. Watching New Yorkers sing the praises of this ethnic culinary phenomenon you would be forgiven for thinking this is a new cult founded on the Upper West Side by the Peruvian diaspora. The gringos lick their fingers and exclaim at the flavour, the juiciness. “Mah gaaad, it’s awesome!” they gush.”It’s better than sex!”

For god’s sake, it’s fucking rotisserie chicken and chips, not the long lost recipe for manna from heaven!

Now if you tell me about parihuela, the seafood soup to end all seafood soups, you have my full respect, and anyone who says that French bouillabaisse is better will have me to deal with. Revel in the fact that Peru has more varieties of potato, corn and peppers than anywhere else in the world. Boast about the artistic layering of potatoes and various other ingredients to produce the delicious causa; continue – if you must – to bore me to death about ceviche in all its manifestations; stuff me with choclo con queso and drown me in chicha but trust me, pollo a la brasa is not the best example of a national dish. Hang your sense of national identity on that and you’re in for a nasty shock if you ever visit Hi Lo Supermarket in Port of Spain or Tesco’s in London.

I’m just saying.

Oh, and while we’re setting the record straight, Chinese food is NOT indigenous to Peru even if you’ve changed the name so stop giving me that blank look of disbelief when I say we have lots of it in Trinidad too.

Here endeth the rant. Time for a pisco sour...now there’s a well-deserved Peruvian bragging right.