A taste of Chile

To me, everywhere has a taste. Vermont is crisp apples in the fall, and maple syrup in the spring (and cheese all year long). Texas is barbecue and Tex-Mex, maybe not in the same meal, but quite feasible for the same day. Chile? Avocado, wine and seafood. I know that when I leave, I will miss these Chilean comforts -- I will always head directly the Chilean section of the wine shop, and be willing to buy the overpriced, imported Chilean avocados at the grocery store. I'll be skeptical about the "Chilean Sea Bass" at a fancy US restaurant, because I suspect that it might be roughly translated as "any fish coming from south of the equator", but I'll probably still order it anyways.

Seafood lunch with Mike and Miranda visiting Valparaíso

While I'm here, I'm on a quest for the fare that doesn't normally make it out of Chile, especially the produce too delicate for export, the real Chilean culinary treasures. When I was living in La Serena in 2008, I started a challenge of buying at least one item that I didn't know whenever I shopped for fruits and vegetables. This led me into many clueless conversations at the feria (market) in La Serena, when I would ask for one of something random, then ask what it was called and what should I do with it (which parts do I eat? should I cook it?). Of course, I often understood little to none of the explanation, but took my chances anyways. I discovered lucuma, fresh figs and apricots this way.

Four years later, the quest continues. At my professor Diego's country property the other weekend, along with learning that avocados grow on trees, I rediscovered caqui (or was it mancaqui?), a fruit that looks somewhat like an orange tomato, grows on a tree, and when ripe enough yields a sweet honey filling. I tried the caqui once at the feria in La Serena, but only from talking with Diego's wife did I realize that (a) my first caqui wasn't ripe enough, and (b) you eat only the filling but not the skin.  Even my first naive gringo version, the unripe one with the skin still on, was delicious, and the later (informed) experiences were even better!

The caqui, a.k.a. persimmon.

Mystery fruit #2 was the chirimoya, my go-to flavor choice for juice, yogurt and cookies, but elusive in its fruit form. I only had a vague idea of chirimoya as a fruit based on what I had seen on yogurt and cookie packages, but when I saw one at the fruit stand the other day, I knew immediately I had found the authentic version. I neglected to inquire what I was supposed to do with it, but at least assumed that the reptile-like skin was not to be eaten. Inside was a soft, juicy filling perfect for (a) a chirimoya milk shake, (b) something to snack on, and (c) topping for my cereal the next morning. It must be a winter fruit, but it took me straight to the tropics. I'm still not sure what a Chilean would do with chirimoya, but I enjoyed it as it was!

The reptile-y outside of the chirimoya...

...and the delicious inside.

On the flip side, for the days that I'm not feeling bold enough to shop-local-and-experience-the-culture, but rather crave a taste of home, I peruse the aisles of the supermarket "Jumbo", known for its mix of local and imported brands. Potato chips from Colorado and Dr. Pepper have made guest appearances here (although I unknowingly bought some imported cranberry cookies that had "expired" in 2011, so I think Jumbo might also be where certain imports go in their retirement). My latest find was an ice cream brand I like from the northeast US, called Turkey Hill, and I went for a pint of the most gringo flavor of all -- chocolate chip cookie dough! Adding to my pleasant surprise, I discovered that this relatively cheap brand in the US also goes for relatively cheap here. So, with the money I "saved" on this treat, I decided to add a flavor of Chile, and paired the ice cream with a bottle of Carmenere wine. My end-of-the-week indulgence was complete for about 6 dollars!  I posed momentarily for a self-timer photo of my happy self, before digging in.

US ice cream + Chilean wine = happy Adele