I frankly don't know where to begin here... nor how to end! It's
one thing to travel as a tourist through the Andes. It's quite another to live
there... for 15 years and dedicate oneself to emersing, identifying and
adapting to the plethora of cultural mores, do's and don'ts involved. What a
challenge, as well as an amazing privilege! It was no different when it came to
food.
Did you know that there are "warm" foods and there are
"cold" foods among the Quechuas? "Of course, Randy!" No, I
don't mean heat or temperature, but rather foods which are classed togethepr and
are more digestible when served together. For example, one does NOT eat corn
with cheese. But asking "why?" is seldom useful. The typical answer
is a shrug and "It's just our custom."
The picture I include is in honour of Alquilina, our comadre of Cajay and Reyna Aguirre's
mother. In the beginning of our stay, after a few months of living in her
family's home (previously reserved as a barn/food storage), Alquilina and her
husband Erpidio, blessed us with allowing us INTO HER KITCHEN (see picture).
This is a privilege only reserved for family. From that time forth we were
considered by the community as the gringos
of the Aguirre Jara Family.
Ah, the pungent smell of burning eucalyptus wood and the ardent
warmth it brought us during long, cold rainy days. A Quechua farmhouse
challenges the 5 senses of all foreigners who venture within its domain. I'm
convinced that language and cultural adaptation requires a re-education of
smell, sight, sound, touch and taste-- and sometimes ALL AT ONCE! My
Peruvian-American-Canadian boys (Peruvian conceived, born, and bred) are
permanently and (now!) gratefully affected by the Andean sensory delights of
their first 14 years of life.
But to this day they draw the line at... SOUPS! They have had all kinds of
foods in the mountains: Rabbit, lamb, beef, chicken, and LOOOTTTSSS of pork,
and of course the delicacy—guinea pig— basking in a spicy peanut sauce with
its eyes and claws emerging from the pool “just begging you to chomp
down!” However every morning soup was
the unending order of the day, something which a North American typically never
does, just having roused himself from slumber. But it's so practical! I mean,
it's hot, a great way to spread out the meat you have left before shopping at
the market on Sunday. And for sure all the ingredients are well-boiled, well, despite
the fact that, at 3,000 metres high, water boils at a mere 70 Celsius (about
158 F), never higher, unless it's pressurized.
Now I did mention those critters served to us on a plate. Well, Quechuas
are fastidious in the way they save, utilize, and guard their food; all during
the year-round agrarian calendar. But for protection the fields and homes need
rock and tapyal walls to keep away two
and four-footed intruders. In Peru, a wall is like planting your flag,
squatter’s rights if you will, saying, “Someone’s owns it; stay away.
North American real estate salesmen have the answer even when it
comes the Quechua ideal—“Location, location, location!” In other words, if you
have farms situated close to a river, corn and wheat are the crops of choice,
in addition to the garden veggies, usually plotted close to the house (for
protection and convenience). Higher up means rockier more arid soil and the
need to irrigate. One staple has controlled the history of these fields:
Potatoes. There are literally thousands of varieties of potatoes in the Andes:
Spuds for frying and those meant for boiling and some even for fermenting into toqosh.
By and large these crops together formed the staples of Conchucos
Valley from our experience. The “lupin flower and bean” (tawri) was also jealously guarded and the sweet-pea fragrance of
those flowers attracted the famous “African bees” which select few bee-keepers
diligently maintained in their white-boxed hives nearby.
So there was always a fire blazing and a pot steaming across those
mountains. The saying was just as true for the Quechuas as it has been for farm
communities globally: “A woman’s work is never done.” Always preparing,
shopping for, or serving some meal, all-the-while spinning wool on their stick,
oh, not to forget breast-feeding their youngest.
Meanwhile the men also worked… hard! Their small parcels of land
were expropriated from the traditional landowners, parceled out and gifted to
them during the Marxist military reform of the mid-1970s. So they assiduously
worked every square inch of the land, for seed or hoof print. Working alongside
in community minkas or invited by
Alquilina’s family, was as much of a joy as it was intimidating to me, a former
suburban Californian. One lunch hour, after barbechakuy
(weeding) we 12 men sat down in front of a two-foot wide-mouthed black caldron
of boiled potatoes, tins of tuna, avocados and ají amarillo. A middle-aged man then asked me, “Gringo, do you know
how to eat potatoes?” Can you imagine? I grew up eating potatoes in California.
Not rice or beans surely! So I said sarcastically, “Yeah, you chew them!” They
thought I was funny until I stopped in the middle of lunch after eating ONLY 8
very large potatoes! “Ah, Gringo, you DON’T know how, do you!!” I then watched as
this man finished off 24 potatoes!! They work hardy, eat hardy, drink immensely
(the finest home brew being jorapa aswa
or corn beer in a clay pot or aswana),
while offering their efforts, family, and future to the spiritual powers that
be. Coca-chewing (chaqchay-öra) was a daily farmfield ritual at the beginning
as well as the end of the working day, many soliciting help and guidance from
the powers of those mountains and their Maker.
Yes, a RE-EDUCATION indeed!
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| Alquilina making ASWA Corn Beer |
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