El 21 de Mayo - Kate Abbott

I promise next post will be about educational things, but I feel like it's time to talk about food.  

There is a mayor- sorry, major, difference between Chilean foods and other South American cuisines I’ve tried. I’m now realizing why I've never seen a Chilean restaurant in any U.S. city I’ve visited. The bread is amazing, don’t get me wrong, but what’s lacking in seasoning is made up for with mayonnaise. Like mounds of mayonnaise. Like put-your-snow-boots-on-and-get-the-shovel piles of mayonnaise.

The completo- a Chilean hot dog- is your everyday hot dog in a bun with tomatoes, avocado, and… mayo.

Empanadas are delightful (but we all knew that). My family sets their table with no less than 3 different types of mayo.

In the coastal fishing town of Dichato, I attempted to answer the question of how many clams is too many clams when presented with this dinner of machas and salsa verde. Not pictured: the side of mayo for dipping. 

Drinks remain unadulterated (or adulterated?) by the ubiquitous condiment, and wine, pisco, and mojitos have proven their excellence.

Main courses are satisfying and plain, but dang do Chileans know how to make dessert. I’ve had a triple chocolate cake, torta de mil hojas (full of caramel), and torta de merengue lucama, all of which were next-level delicious. Made a mental note to save calories on the mayo course in favor of more cake. Baking is a tertiary passion of mine and I will be begging some people for recipes before I leave. 

Saturday morning, I microwaved my milk and water and mixed in 3 heaping cucharitas-full of Nescafe. The family’s maid, Marta, is from Bogota, Colombia, and in chatting with her I had a flash of hope that maybe world peace can be found by uniting against a common enemy: bad coffee.

*I should clarify that by chatting I mean I squeeze out the one Spanish word I know that is slightly related to the topic of conversation while the other poor sap sympathetically smiles, nods, and tries to use words basic enough that I might actually know them. In general, people have been overwhelmingly patient with me and my blank stares as I burn up all my grey matter trying to listen to and understand the rapid pace of Chilean Spanish. 

Related vaguely to food, I learned today that instead of "significant other," a sweet, common phrase is "mi media naranja." So if a Chilean asks if you've found the other half of your orange, they're actually asking if you've found your soulmate. Food is love, right?

In Louisiana, I spend my time in a microcosm, with a schedule that suits me, food I like, a house, friends, busy work, and important work. I am comfortable and I know what the day ahead holds. But comfort teaches us nothing. Discomfort (and bread at every meal) mean I am both metaphorically and literally growing as a person. I wouldn’t change a thing.