The world—our new "global marketplace"—is becoming more and more homogenized it seems, sometimes at the peril of cultural integrity. Fast-food chains have invaded the hallowed culinary grounds of Paris, Rome and Florence. And visits to faraway nations that once challenged travelers to find a plate of familiar fare now routinely yield only tidbits of true, local cuisine, untainted by the influences of tourism.
Nonetheless, most global cultures have maintained many of their culinary traditions, despite the dilutions of modern, global commerce. I confirmed this on a recent trip to Peru, the emerging "second-world" nation of 28 million on the Pacific coast of South America. One need to look no further than to the celebrated Peruvian dish of "cuy chactado," grilled guinea pig, to realize that authentic traditional food is still alive and well in and around the equatorial Andes Mountains.
It is said the most popular dish in Peru is ceviche, fresh seafood marinated in lemon juice and chili peppers, but the real staple of the Peruvian diet is the potato. The fertile land in the foothills of the high Andes produce nearly 4,000 varieties of potatoes, including some that have a unique purple flesh. Many villagers relish a tasty dish called "papa a la Huancaina," a boiled potato topped with a creamy sauce composed of cheese, oil, hot pepper, lemon and egg yolk.
In the meat category, chicken is clearly king. Commercial chicken is raised on sprawling farms in the desolate coastal-desert region north of the capital city of Lima. Throughout the country, small restaurants called "pollerias" dish out large quantities of grilled chicken, and little else. On the streets of Cuzco, the former capital of the Inca Empire, less-fortunate children routinely ask for chicken breasts instead of money.
Inhabitants of rural areas raise their own chickens for eggs and meat, as well as pigs, goats and limited numbers of cattle. One popular traditional beef dish is called "lomo saltado," a delightful concoction of grilled strips of meat topped with sautéed onions and tomatoes, and then french fries, all over a bed of boiled white rice. However, the true "beef" of Peru is alpaca, the smaller relative of the llama revered for its fine, soft wool. Alpaca beef—once you get by your inhibitions—is a rich and gamey delicacy, somewhat akin to venison.
At the high end of the dinner menu is "cuy," a whole or a half guinea pig that might be grilled or deep-fried. The dish, which can run $40 to $50 in high-end restaurants, is hardly a tourist gimmick (the head, legs and feet are left intact). Many locals raise the rodents in their houses and cook them only for special occasions or holiday meals. "It tastes like chicken," one of my traveling companions noted half seriously. He was right.
Other popular, unique dishes include "sopa a la criolla," a hearty and somewhat spicy noodle soup with meat, milk and peppers—sometimes including alpaca meat. "Roccoto rellena" is a hot bell pepper stuffed with spicy ground meat.
One of the most traditional forms of cuisine in Peru comes from a "pachamanca," or "earth oven." This laborious-but-rewarding endeavor involves digging a pit in the earth, building a hardwood fire in the pit to establish a bed of coals, and then using the coals to heat large stones. Copious amounts of poultry and meat—perhaps a whole, butchered lamb—and numerous tubers and vegetables are placed among the hot stones to cook. The oven is enclosed during cooking, often with potato sacks covered with soil and vegetation.
The results are astounding—after a little more than an hour, the pachamanca yields savory, smoky vegetables and sumptuous, tender meats. It's all washed down with a fine Peruvian wine (not Chilean; the countries are fierce rivals) or sips of coca-leaf tea.
Outside of Lima—a sprawling, noisy urban center—the maintenance of such traditions is carried out by hard-working farmers and family ranchers, many of whom cook with only one thought in mind: making the most of the limited food they have. Their cuisine is clear proof that pragmatism does have a place in the kitchen, and the cultural differences the world does still have truly do provide the spice of life.
Gregory Foley
