It's funny being a vegetarian in a foreign country, and all countries are foreign countries because being a vegetarian is a weird thing.There's a certain level of intimacy to explaining the details of what you will and won't allow to enter your body. And at the same time there's a risk because many people feel that dietary restrictions are a matter of attention-grabbing or some other behavioral failure. As my experience with the cuy and pato show, it's not a failure. There are just limitations to what one can shove in their mouth, chew, and swallow.
I've had some time to mull this issue over because I haven't had a good crossing of Internet access and time lately. I've recently returned home from Peru where, for the last few weeks of my trip, I had limited access to the Internet. I have a theory about that. I think that the Internet in Peru cycles every 90 seconds. It's as if Peru has DC electricity and AC Internet. I hypothesize that the AC Internet allows new users an opportunity to 'tap into the stream' of bandwidth. It also means that continuous connections, like those required for talking to you wife on Skype for more than 89 seconds, get cut off and your call is automatically dropped. But, this is 'folk-science' if you will. I really don't know and there are experts out there who could set me straight. For me, this theory, however, works fine in planning my communications in Peru. I can no longer rely on Skype for calls out to the US. All cultural logics are functional logics and all logics are cultural logics.
Which raises the question: what is the logic of vegetarian cuisine in Peru? At El Vegetariano, my favorite vegetarian restaurant in Peru, the logic is something apart from our logic here in the States. Here, I live not far from one of the most famous veggie joints in the US, The Chicago Diner. Since the early 80s the Chicago Diner has been making greasy, heavy diner food fit for vegans. It's so famous I remember a band from Arizona (called North), after we played a show together in Rhode Island, calculate that they could drive from Providence to Chicago for a meal at the Diner and then return before their next East Coast date. I think they were wrong, but their heart was in the right place. In fact, a lot of tattooed alternative-types find their heart bringing them to the Chicago Diner.
But in Peru, it's not just the punks going vegetarian. It's a lot of older people. In fact, it's more older people than punks. As an illustration, I visited a curandero some years ago during a noche de shamanes behind the Sechin Museum. The curandero was actually a pair of middle-class curanderas with fashionable jackets, not the beponchoed leathery tio I had expected. But they did their job marvelously. They prepared a convincing mesa of swords and chonta-wood staffs, inhaled and sprayed floral water all over, and banged us with swords. I elected not to have my future told. But an older fellow in the group of us clients was told 'you need to eat a more vegetarian diet.'
As odd as it seems for Latin America, Peru is on a long-term health kick that promotes a lower-fat, higher-vegetable diet. As a result, there are more vegetarian restaurants than ever. And they're filled with older adults who are probably trying to control their cholesterol. As I've always said, Peruvian food is full of vegetables and non-meat items. Usually the meat is a chop or leg or filet piled on top of non-meat stuff (well, besides the lard flavoring the beans). So at good vegetarian restaurants, like El Vegetariano, they've done the logical thing; they make traditional Peruvian dishes - mostly from the coastal criollo genre - with various kinds of soy and wheat meat alternatives.
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| Ceviche Vegetariano as part of the first course in a typical lunch spread |
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| Carapulcra with rice and sarsa criolla |
Take for example this lovely meal. The first course is a ceviche - Peru's most exported dish - made essentially with tofu. Like much Peruvian food, this ceviche demonstrates that there is no limit to how much lime juice you may apply to a dish. However, note the unusual dish of red aji at 11 o'clock. Normally aji is a milled fresh pepper mixture that also includes a good dose of salt. For Peruvian vegetarians, salt might be against doctor's orders. So here, the aji is a bit sub-par, but fitting the wider interest in vegetarianism - health reasons (reasons not much respected at The Chicago Diner, what with the use of fats, sugars, and salts to enhance the 'diner-style' rich foods). Notice the camote, or sweet potato, and large chunk of choclo or Andean corn on the cob that accompanies the ceviche. Glasses of white yogurt, brown refresco de cebada (barley drink), and a tub of masamora (a sweet corn goopy dessert) make their way from course one to course two. Course two consists of carapulcra, which is a highland dish usually made of dried and smashed potatoes (chuño) mixed with spices and pork bits. In this case the pork was some kind of soy product. On the side is sarsa criolla, a spicy and limy red onion salad so common in coastal food. Finally, a molded pile of brown rice rounds out the meal.
Sometimes gringos express confusion over the use of rice in Peru. Shouldn't it all be potatoes? But remember, Peru has been the home of immigrants from all over the world since the 16th century. Huge numbers of Africans and then Chinese came over to work in cane fields and later on railroads. Rice and sugar (neither of which are native) have been fully integrated parts of the Peruvian diet - especially the coastal comida criolla - for centuries. Rice is an everyday part of Peruvian life that fits nicely within the harsh and volatile environment.
I must admit that I miss meals like this one of ceviche, carapulcra, and sarsa criolla. I also miss the obligatory huge bowls of restorative soups that they serve in Peru, which can be very cold and unforgiving in the austral winter. Notice the fresh cut green beans garnishing this pasta and kale soup.
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| Vegetable soup at El Vegetariano, Miraflores, Lima, Peru |
So when I get home, I usually go through a period of culture shock. Or is it cultural amnesia? What is it that I usually eat here in the States? People in Peru ask me that all the time. They usually first ask about our traditional foods, as that is a critical cultural category in Peru. Every village, region, and department (like a state) has its dish or genre. What do we have in the US? We must eat a lot of comida rapida (fast food), they usually suggest.
I usually dodge this embarrassing truth by offering barbecue as a uniquely American (as in estadounidense) cuisine. And indeed it is. I try to explain barbecue, and it usually works. In fact, they have something like barbecue in Peru. There's pachamanca, which is meat and potatoes slow cooked in an underground hearth while covered with earth. There's also caja china (the Chinese box), where a pig is roasted in a metal box full of coals.
So when I come home and don't know what to eat, I just figure 'we must eat a lot of comida rapida.' Then I go eat fast food. There's a limited but consistent range of vegetarian fast food. That is, after all, the goal of fast food: consistency (and speed, though that's changing to meet cultural values of 'carefully prepared food'). Taco Bell has bean burritos that are actually vegan if you don't get the cheese. Every touring punk or hardcore band knows this because that's one of the go-to places for your vegan band mates. Burger King also has veggie burgers that are, admittedly, quite a delicious indulgence. But - like all fast foods - you gotta eat them fast. They're meant to taste extremely good for about 5 minutes while they're piping hot. After that the magic wears off and you have a lot of trouble appreciating the flavor.
I went to Burger King today and ordered a few veggie burgers, some fries, and a drink. Apparently they have new fries now that are meant to satisfy you. They're called 'satisfries.' I went with the old un-satisfries. They were fine because I ate them quickly. The burgers were fine, too, but you need to ask for a lot of pickles and onions and hope that the 'kitchen' actually remembers to supply them.
The thing that confused me most was the cup. I was thirsty and figured I could go for a large drink. It's also been very hot lately and I had walked to Burger King (a pre-emptive flagellation for the planned transgression). I was a bit embarrassed to accept such a large bucket as part of my meal. Honestly, I thought to myself, 'what am I supposed to put in here!' Then I remembered a very American cultural beverage preference: ice. In Peru you get relatively small soft drink bottles served with small glasses and no ice. Ask for ice and - like in Europe - you'll get a few cubes. (I've never had a problem drinking beverages with a couple ice cubes in Peru and the attitude on drinking the water seems to be changing along with Peru's global economic reputation). When handed a truly immense cup in the US at a fast food restaurant, a yawning tub of plastic receptacle, what do you do? Fill it with ice!
I recognize that - as was reported in Fast Food Nation - soft drinks got bigger in order to increase marginal profits for restaurants and beverage providers. But, speaking as an archaeologist now, the enormity of fast food drinking vessels must in part be influenced by the cultural practice of consuming beverages that are as cold as possible because they're completely filled with ice.
In any case, I filled my giant tumbler - a true kero for use in a very-American consumerist ritual - with as much ice as it would hold. I filled the interstices with diet Dr. Pepper (the only thing to drink at Burger King). And then I sat down for my shameful feast as a NASCAR race spun out of control on the dining room TV.
A few hours later, I'm hungry again.
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| Don't forget extra pickles and onions |
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