Tag Archives: cuisine

About Quinoa

The Altiplano, or highland desert, of Chile

The Altiplano, or highland desert, of Chile

The other day my friend, originally from Arequipa (in the highlands of Peru) cooked quinoa in the way that she remembers eating it when growing up, back when she used to go to the market with her family on weekends and they would scoop out the seed from barrels.

I first heard of quinoa (pronounced keen-wa) a few years ago when my sister-in-law in Canada cooked it for us. Little did I know that a few years later, when visiting the El Loa region of Chile in the Altiplano, or high altitude plains, near the Bolivian border, I would actually drive past a small, very isolated rural farm growing this grain in a field on the side of a sandy, rocky, barren hill.

This is an ancient grain (or, technically speaking, seed) that has been critical to the diets of people living in the Altiplano for millennia. What you have to understand about the Altiplano – a highland region stretching from parts of Southern Peru to parts of Bolivia and a little bit into the Chilean and Argentinian borders – is that very little grows there. Well, actually, let me rephrase that. In fact, a surprising amount grows there considering it is a dry, isolated, virtually rain-free, plant-free region of the world, with poor, sandy soil, extreme temperatures (very cold at night, very hot during the day) and intense sun.

In this highland desert of Chile, people can grow some corn, a few vegetables such as tomatoes, and herbs. They can raise some livestock (based on my observations mainly just chickens and llamas), and, at higher altitudes, they cultivate quinoa.

As you may know, quinoa has become a trendy food in North America because of its “superfood” status. It appeals to vegans or gluten free cooks because of it is a one-stop-shop for plenty nutrients. This is precisely the reason it has been such a staple food item in the Altiplano for so long: because the people living in this harsh land must have gotten a lot of their nutrients primarily from quinoa. Many people in the region still depend on it in their diet; after all, even with modern technology, it continues to be difficult to transport a wide variety of fresh, nutritious food hundreds of miles, high into a relatively isolated desert land.

Driving past a farm that cultivates quinoa, in the highlands of northern Chile

Driving past a small farm that cultivates quinoa, isolated in the vast highlands of northern Chile

Outside of the Altiplano region, quinoa doesn’t seem to be that well-known, at least in Chile. Chileans down at sea level here in Antofagasta, a mere 300 or so miles away, generally don’t know about it unless they have come across it on a vacation to the Altiplano region or in Peru.

I have been wary of quinoa ever since coming across articles about a year ago mentioning how quinoa might be responsible for an unfortunate shift in the Altiplano diet: as growers export all of their quinoa to North America, prices have reportedly been on the rise for the domestic supply and it has been said that local populations have begun to supplement their diet with cheaper, less-nutrient rich, imported options such as corn or wheat products (source). On the other hand, I have also read that the quinoa boom has been advantageous to Altiplano farmers, who are now making a lot of money off these exports, with which they can improve their quality of life (source). I’ve asked a few people who are familiar with these regions if they know what is really happening, but I haven’t found any real answers.

I suspect that the truth probably lies in a mixture of these two scenarios. I imagine local populations who are not involved in or have not benefitted from the quinoa export industry in any way may have a harder time affording quinoa for their families than they did before, and their diets must undoubtedly suffer. On the other hand, the farmers who do receive a fair price for the grain may in fact have more opportunities now to help improve their quality of life and the quality of their business. I believe the key is to somehow make sure farmers and local populations are receiving a fair price for the grain. In my opinion, it’s up to all of us to be aware consumers and sensitive to this need.

Quinoa

Quinoa (this was grown in Chile)

I’ve had two, presumably traditional Altiplanean, quinoa dishes. The first was in San Pedro de Atacama, Chile. The quinoa was fixed like risotto: creamy with plenty of freshly ground black pepper, basil and some local herbs, mushrooms and served with a sweet tomato jelly. Bread in San Pedro is sometimes made with quinoa. I’ve even heard that sweet cakes can also be made with the grain. I’ve also been told quinoa can be stirred into soups and stews (but use less than you think you will need: it expands dramatically in liquid).

The second time I had a traditional dish was the other day with my Peruvian friend. Again, it was cooked similar to risotto. It is first cooked in water, then milk and cheese is added. She said that when she was growing up, her family used to use this as a side dish for chicken or served with stew (instead of rice).

A few days ago I tweeted that I had tried this more traditional Altiplanic dish from the very region the grain is grown, and got a few requests for a recipe on Twitter. That inspired this post. My friend does not go by a recipe; she just remembers her family’s traditional way of making it. She roughly described it to me, and then I reproduced it on my own. All of my measurements are approximate, too. It’s worth noting that I am not duplicating her recipe exactly. However, I believe this gives the sense of how quinoa is fixed in this part of the world and I am very satisfied with the results. I like this warm, creamy, risotto-style approach to quinoa and will definitely be fixing it as a light lunch or side dish in the future.

Now, here’s the recipe! Be sure to see my notes below.

Quinoa cooked with milk and cheese

Quinoa cooked with milk and cheese

Quinoa Inspired by a recipe from Arequipa, Peru

Ingredients

  • 1 cup quinoa
  • 2 cups water
  • 2 garlic cloves
  • 3/4 cup of evaporated milk**
  • 1/2 to 3/4 cup of shredded or cubed white cheese of your choice****
  • Optional: flat leaf parsley, Peruvian aji amarillo powder, or a pinch of cayenne.

Directions:

  • Add quinoa, water, and garlic cloves to a saucepan. Bring the water to a gentle boil then simmer the quinoa in the water with the garlic cloves until cooked. (About 15 minutes.)
  • Take off the heat and stir in the evaporated milk. Let sit for 5 minutes, covered.
  • Remove the garlic cloves and stir in the cheese until melted.
  • Serve immediately.

Note: in “nouveau Peruvian” cuisine, more flavour is added through the addition of fresh aji amarillo (a traditional hot/sweet orange pepper used extensively in Peruvian cuisine). A sort of pesto sauce made from fresh flat leaf parsley could also be stirred in. A pinch of cayenne powder might substitute for the aji if you cannot find it.

Notes:

* The off-white variety of quinoa, which is also the most commonly found in this region and elsewhere, is the only variety my friend knew of growing up in Peru (as opposed to the red, black or other novelty varieties found on the market in North America). You may need to rinse the quinoa before cooking it; check instructions on the package.

**  We cannot get fresh milk in these regions, and the irradiated milk we do get cooks strangely, which is why I suspect canned evaporated milk is used. I imagine you could use fresh half and half or whole milk instead.

*** Shredded romano or parmesan cheese would be best. A soft, bland white cheese would also work well; I used cubes of mantecoso, which is my favourite type of white cheese in Chile with a flavor similar to monterey jack.

Enjoy!

(Note: please do not reproduce this recipe elsewhere without written permission or linking directly to this post. Thanks!)

Visiting a Vineyard in the Curicó Valley

Grapes (in progress!)

Grapes (in progress!)

During my visit to central Chile, I had in mind a possible visit to a vineyard. This goal was certainly reinforced when I rode the bus from Santiago to Talca: for most of the 3 hour journey, we passed picturesque vineyards resting in between the foothills of the Cordillera (low coastal mountains) on one side and the magnificent Andes on the other.

Chilean wine country... as viewed from the Pan-American highway

Chilean wine country… as viewed from the Pan-American highway

Although this region has a “wine route,” it is not a particularly straightforward task to explore as a visitor. After some research, we realized that unless you opt for a pricey tour (which does not necessarily guarantee a visit to all of the vineyards of your choice), visiting vineyards and wineries was going to take some effort. We discovered that (at least this time of year – early summer -) many vineyards or wineries were not open to visitors, and of those that were, many required appointments. Many did not seem to be set up for tourists: most websites were in Spanish only (if a website even existed) and therefore it would be difficult for English speakers to make the necessary arrangements. If you are dreaming of a Chilean wine tour, some locals recommended an annual wine and harvest festival, which is held every March in Curicó. This festival mainly celebrates the wine harvest, and wine producers from all over the region converge and offer wine tastings and a wine market. It sounds to me like this would be the ideal way to experience the wine culture of the region!

Miguel Torres winery

Miguel Torres winery

We finally settled on a visit to the Miguel Torres vineyard just outside of the town of Curicó, which I had seen from the bus window on the way to Talca. This particular vineyard was Miguel Torres’ first in Chile, acquired in 1979 by the Spanish family. We arrived at the visitors’ centre, located just off the Pan-American highway, on a warm and sunny Saturday morning. The centre was pristine and charming: wood buildings built in a traditional Chilean architecture mingled with very modern facilities. A chicken coop housed some beautiful feathered specimens, which were vigorously pecking away on the grass and in between the vines. (This served a functional purpose: they kept down the population of insects!)

Why did the chicken cross the road? Why, to eat bugs!

Why did the chicken cross the road? Why, to eat bugs!

We had scheduled a tour for noon, and our tour guide walked us through the facilities where the grapes are brought from their vineyards throughout Chile after harvest and the process of winemaking begins. We also stepped into the wonderfully scented cellar, where the red wines and Chardonnays are aged in hundreds of French wood barrels. We also learned a bit about the bottling process and how the different lines of wines are marketed to the various parts of the world.

wine tasting

The tour was not complete without a tasting!

After, we had a tasting of some of the estate’s Santa Digna line. My travelling companion and I selected the Gewürztraminer and Carmenière to try. We were also given a small taste of the estate’s Manso de Velasco, which is hands down the nicest red wine I have ever sipped. But more on that in a moment.

I think that Chilean white wines are the best white wines in the world. I am a huge fan of the Sauvignon Blanc – and the Santa Digna is certainly a nice one. But at the tasting, I tried the Santa Digna Gewürztraminer, which quickly became one of my favourite white wines I’ve tried in Chile. Fruity, floral, perfumed… it was the perfect wine for the hot early summer Saturday afternoon! When we ate at the Miguel Torres restaurant after the tasting, I ordered another glass of this to go along with my elegant fish lunch.

carmeniere

Carmenière vines

Next, we tried the Santa Digna Carmenière. Carmenière is essentially Chile’s trademark red wine; one of the world’s oldest grapes, the type of grape was thought to be extinct in the late 19th century when a plague hit it in Europe. Little did anyone know, it had been confused for the Merlot grape and was already widely planted in Chile. It was then “re-discovered” in Chile and has been recognized as a distinct variety since the late 1990s. Chile now grows more of this variety than anyone else in the world. The Santa Digna Carmenière was very pleasant, with flavours of berry and a light vanilla/oak taste from the ageing process.

The real standout wine we sampled was the Manso de Velasco, named after a former governor of Chile. Made from Cabernet Sauvignon, this had such a deep, rich flavour, I suppose reminiscent of “jam” (as described on its website; of course, I am not used to reviewing wines so I lack a bit of the proper vocabulary). It had an incredible aftertaste, very fruity and refreshing in a way that many red wines don’t have.

Miguel Torres cellars

Miguel Torres cellars

Visiting this vineyard was probably my favourite experience of my week in the region. I learned a lot and it was an excellent way to pay hommage to Chilean wines.

*Note: I visited the Miguel Torres winery independently; I am not affiliated in any way with the winery or the wines described here. This is my own, independent review & opinion of a pleasant Saturday afternoon visit!

A Taste of Chile: Pisco (& Mango) Sours

Well, well, well. Who knew that to overcome blogging writers’ block, all I had to do was write about food? Last week, I provided you with my overall impressions and observations of Chilean foods and that seems to have gone over quite well. For this week, I originally had in mind to do a sort of virtual “recipe dump” with links to all kinds of Chilean food recipes, but the post grew longer, and longer, and longer… and I received more questions from Twitter about food, so I decided that maybe I should slow down and make highlighting a few classic Chilean foods a regular feature instead. (Also, my first draft was accidentally deleted, but I won’t go into that.)

I am not really a foodie, nor would I ever attempt to be a food blogger… I’ll leave that to people who are more keen on stirring, mixing, and snapping millions of photos of ingredients at all angles. But, with that said, here is the first (of hopefully many) attempt to share with you some of my discoveries.

For my first foray into the food blogging world, I am making pisco sours 2 different ways. The first is the sweet, frothy, lime-infused pisco sour, traditionally served at parties as aperitifs before dinner, and the second, a variation with sweet, tropical mango. I have also tasted many variations of the drink that use other fruits native to Chile, such as the chirimoya (which is a fruit from a tree related to the paw paw), and all are delicious. Although I’ve talked about them before, the pisco sour is a natural start to a series on the food and drink of Chile; plus, I like them, and I have learned how to make them!

There is a bit of a controversy surrounding the origins of the pisco sour: some say that it originated in Peru, others say Chile, and yet others claim… an American invented it! Or so Wikipedia says. (I haven’t heard that version of the story here, to say the least.) Whatever you choose to believe its origins are, it doesn’t matter: they are all delicious. The flavour is vaguely reminiscent of a margarita, but feels more refined and goes nicely with finger foods before dinner.

By the way, when googling pisco sours, I was surprised by how many variations of the recipe there are, and yet none seemed to be the way that northern Chileans have told me to make them. I have tried both of the recipes below at home, and can attest to the fact that they are every bit as good as you would find in northern Chile.

Mango sour

My favourite variation of the more traditional pisco sour, the mango sour can be made with fresh or frozen mangoes or frozen mango pulp (which is what I get here in Chile).

Ingredients: 3 parts Chilean pisco, about 1-2 parts pureed mango (see notes), 1 part simple syrup, .5 parts fresh squeezed lime juice, ice.

How to fix: in a cocktail shaker, shake all ingredients with some ice. Strain out ice and pour into glass. Alternatively, drop ingredients in a blender with a few ice cubes and blend until smooth.

Notes:

  • In Chile, pisco and mango sours are served in a chilled glass that looks a bit like a champagne flute like this one from Ikea, but a small white wine glass would also work.
  • To make pureed mango, put cubes of fresh or frozen mangoes in the blender and pulse. You may need to add a bit of water, but the result should be like a thick juice.
  • Traditionally, the pisco sour is also made with egg white, but I don’t think it is necessary in the mango variation.

Pisco sour

Ingredients: 3 parts Chilean pisco, .5-1 part simple syrup (see notes), 1-2 parts freshly squeezed lime juice (see notes), ice, a bit of egg white per portion (optional – if you don’t want to use raw egg in your drink see notes).

How to fix: Shake ingredients with ice in a cocktail shaker and strain ice before serving. Alternatively, drop ingredients in a blender with a few ice cubes and blend until smooth (ice should be melted). Serve in champagne flute.

Notes:

  • Since raw egg doesn’t always float my boat – but is essential for an authentic pisco sour – or if you have health concerns about using raw egg, I have found you can get a similar thick and “foamy” effect by using a bit of confectioner’s sugar and pulsing the mixture in your blender.
  • The limes we use in Chile are called pica limes, and cannot be found in North America. A close alternative would be the key lime, and I’d highly recommend those over the larger limes. If you don’t use key lime, you may need to increase the amount of simple syrup.
  • Finally, a drop of bitters is sometimes added to the top as garnish before serving.

P.S. Thanks to the magic of the internet, this post is going live while I am traveling in Argentina! Next week, I’ll tell you all about my trip to the city of Córdoba. Baroque architecture, Jesuit monasteries, meat and Malbec… Cheers! Here’s a preview photo that I took this week:

Comida Peruana – A Taste of Peru

Ceviche

In the United States, many of my acquaintances inexplicably think I am in Peru. (Is it because Peru is one of the more travelled-to destinations in Latin America thanks to Macchu Picchu? Or, perhaps Peru just rolls of the tongue a little easier than Chile...)

I do, of course, correct them, but at least they would be pleased to know that I have access to some Peruvian culture here in northern Chile: namely, the food.

Peruvian cuisine is well known throughout Latin America mainly because several famous chefs have come from the country. Throughout the past decades, it has become a sort of fusion cuisine, taking a lot of influences from Asian and European cooking.

Last week I finally tried a Peruvian restaurant which had been recommended by a few of my friends. The restaurant was packed at lunchtime (which you will recall is the time of day most Chileans eat their main meal). This is always a good sign.

Lomo Salteado

The menu had a plethora of choices; all different types of ingredients and flavours were highlighted. My three companions wanted a ceviche as an appetizer; I’m not usually a fan of ceviches, so I opted for a corn bread type appetizer. The ceviche features pieces of fresh raw seafood that had been “cooked” by being marinated in a lime juice-based sauce. The ceviche was also served with toasted corn kernels and slices of cooked sweet potato and a few onions and vegetables, a presentation we were assured by one of my companions – a Peruvian – that was authentic. My corn bread-esque appetizer was served warm, stuffed with a bit of chicken and with some diced tomatoes, onions and cilantro on top.

Parihuela, a seafood soup

For the main course, all three of my companions had a lomo salteado, a very common dish in Peru, which is essentially cuts of beef stir-fried with red peppers and onions, served on a bed of french fries with rice. You can certainly see the influences from Asian cuisine in that dish – the french fries adding an unusual twist to a stir fry!

I opted for a traditional seafood soup called Parihuela. Cooked fish, mussels and scallops in a tomato and wine-based broth with cilantro and a dash of lime juice. Very fresh, rich and delicious!

It was nice to have a little taste of the eclectic Peruvian cuisine as a welcome diversion from the much more straightforward Chilean food.

Slices of bread with a sweet red pepper sauce

The Humble Chilean Empanada

By now I have spent a fair amount of time in Chile, but until Saturday I had not yet tried one of the most basic staples of Chilean cuisine: the empanada.

Thinking of empanadas reminds me of the scene in the Motorcycle Diaries when the two guys – a young Che Guevara and his friend – stumble into Chile, broke and hungry (and thirsty), and charm some Chilean girls into buying them a few Chilean empanadas (and wine). The scene shows a little slice of everyday life in 1950s Chile, the youthful exuberance of a few young kids and the friendliness of the locals, before the movie delves continues on to some deeper issues. But those issues couldn’t be addressed until after Che had been nourished with a Chilean empanada.

Empanadas (or some variation of them) can be found throughout South America, Europe and even Asia. I have also discovered it is a loosely regulated term, at least in Chile, often applying to various kinds of fried pastries with a stuffing of some sort.

Empanadas look deceptively simple: plain pastries on the outside, either baked or fried, the shape of a half-circle. But they are concealing a burst of flavour and energy on the inside, with fun fillings consisting of meat, cheese, seafood and more.

It seems every country has their own take on the empanada. In northern Chile, I believe they are most commonly stuffed with ground beef and lots of onions. I have also seen them frequently offered with a seafood filling and in a baked variation with cheese.

On Saturday afternoon, we were looking for a little snack and decided to stop into a nondescript restaurant located in a large wooden house that appeared to be about a hundred years old and possibly transplanted from the Wild West. The building, with its wood floors, panelling and beams (I wonder where all of the wood originally came from?) contrasts starkly with the more ubiquitous giant concrete buildings in the area. To add to the “yesteryear” ambiance, inside, traditional music was playing softly and tables were set up with red tablecloths underneath lanterns that for a moment I thought might have been powered by kerosene. The restaurant served the most standard Chilean fare, including, of course, empanadas.

We decided to try one meat filled empanada and one cheese filled empanada, along with some fresh cut french fries (no processed frozen fries here).

The empanadas were very large, nearly the size of the plate they were served on. (I have heard that neighbouring countries usually make their variations smaller.) They were very simple: the first was filled with meat and onions, in a tasty and perfect proportion with one another, baked inside the pale pastry shell. The other was stuffed with tons of chanco cheese, which is an extremely mild Chilean cheese and is comparable to the American colby cheese, and fried. I was definitely a fan of the cheese empanada.

Each was large enough to pass for lunch, but my enthusiastic husband ate the better part of both in mere minutes. The empanadas were hearty, but not ridiculously so. I can see why they are often served at parties or eaten as a quick dinnertime snack, as they are compact, easy to manage and filling.

As you may recall from my earlier blog posts, I have had a difficult time adjusting to the Chilean diet, but I wouldn’t mind “adjusting” to more cheese filled Chilean empanadas in the future…

Fishy Business

Antofagasta is a coastal city. In fact, its proximity to the ocean is significant to the national economy: the Port of Antofagasta is the exit point for the country’s copper destined to markets around the world.

A side effect of the city’s proximity to the ocean is the importance of seafood in the Antofagastino diet. The freshest fish in the city can be found at the Fish Market, located, of course, practically on the ocean in a little inlet.

Each day fishermen bring their catch to be sold at the market. The market only supplies locally-caught seafood, which includes mussels, oysters, crab, sea urchins, and a small variety of fish, most prominently the two ubiquitous fish caught in the region: the tragically ugly congrio and the modest reineta.

Visiting the fish market, a small building next to a tiny inlet, is not for the faint of heart. First you have to walk past the various abandoned dogs and cats that congregate on the steps of the market, waiting patiently for scraps tossed away at the end of the day. Then the overwhelming smell of wet seafood hits you like a ton of bricks. Before you can catch your breath, the various merchants began yelling at you, approaching you and generally demanding your attention. It is in startling contrast to most other places in Chile, where sellers are generally quiet, soft spoken and definitely not loud.

In the center of the market, there are small counters where you can opt to eat the freshest catch of the day, prepared before your eyes. There are endless bowls of ceviche, the traditional dish from this part of the world (coastal Northern Chile/Peru) that consists of raw fish marinated in lemon juice and vinegar and tossed with fresh herbs and vegetables. Around the perimeter of the market, fish mongers are gutting and filleting fresh fish right before your eyes.

I avoided the stands where the fillets were already sitting out in the afternoon sunlight, being enjoyed by flies, opting to head to the back of the market where a woman was masterfully fileting fish at the speed of light while calling out to advise her patrons of her day’s catch. Noting her clean, fly-free counter and always eager to support fellow female business owners, I bought four hefty filets of congrio for about $7, which she wrapped in wax paper and handed over in a slightly wet plastic bag. I pan-sautéed the fish in a light batter with a bit of fresh parsley and served it with a salsa of mango, line juice, onion, garlic, fresh radish and mint. It tasted exactly like fresh, good fish should: no “fishy” odor or flavour, just pure, delicate white flakiness.

Sea lions beg for scraps outside the market

I’m looking forward to more seafood in the upcoming months. I think razorback clams are on the menu for Christmas…

Wining and Dining in Chile Part 3: Ceviche and Pisco Sours

Happy Labo(u)r day to everyone up there in North America!

It is strange that as everyone back home is celebrating the unofficial end to summer, we are just starting to head into summer. The days here are growing longer, the afternoons significantly hotter and brighter, and I’m starting to hear crickets at night.

On Friday night, Alex wanted to try out a Chilean restaurant. The restaurant we visited had decor and a name from the highlands area that is inland a few hundred miles near the border with Bolivia.

Alex, who has been to San Pedro, said that the restaurant’s decor was reminiscent of the places he’d visited in the town, with its wood-burning fireplaces, wood beam ceilings and traditional weaving decorating the walls and tables. The overhead lighting was even interesting, with capiz-style shades but instead of shells, what looked like small pebbles.

Alex wanted to order an appetizer. He asked the waiter what he recommended, and the waiter suggested ceviche. Now, I had seen this dish on the Travel Channel (thank you Anthony Bourdain = sometimes I wish I had your stomach,) but was very wary about trying it. It is basically raw fish, “cooked” via a chemical process which involves marinating it in an acidic lemon/lime juice. Before I could explain to Alex what it was, he’d told the waiter to bring us that.

The waiter brought out a large bowl, the size of a salad bowl. In it was basically what looked like a seafood stew and smelled lightly citrusy. The waiter then brought us a small cup of what looked like freshly squeezed lemon juice. Paranoid that he brought us the juice because the dish had not marinated in enough citrus juice already, I dumped it in, but not until after Alex had scooped up a whole bunch of the ceviche onto his plate. I put the citrus juice in the rest of the bowl. I took a small spoonful, and gave it a whirl.

Picture of ceviche that I found on Wikipedia (I didn't have my camera with me); generally, ours looked like this.

It’s really hard to describe what it was like. The flavor was incredibly mild. It didn’t taste fishy at all, which I figured was a good sign: must have been very fresh. It was lightly citrusy. The general effect wasn’t all that different than eating some cooked, chilled shrimp or crab legs. It wasn’t terrible, but it was really the texture that threw me. Everything tasted quite rubbery. There were tons of little pieces of fish and shrimp in there, and very little else; just a light broth and a little chopped parsley and a few bitter greens.

Chileans and Peruvians are very proud of their ceviche, so I suppose someone who visits these areas and is very interested in tasting traditional cuisine would have to try the dish. But to be honest, I wish I had not. It has a rubbery texture, very little flavor, and overall offered very little, I thought. And the lingering fear of food poisoning kept me too distracted from giving it more of a chance; I’m far too accustomed to enjoying my meat cooked.

Alex, who usually likes any type of food, was more or less in agreement with me. He called the ceviche a “biology lesson.”

In all fairness, we were later told by some American women who have lived in this area for a while that ceviche is traditionally a Peruvian dish and it should be tried “on a beach” in Peru. I’ve read that Chileans do make good ceviche, but I’m not sure we found the best that the city had to offer on Friday. This assessment was therefore perhaps not entirely a fair one.

On a much happier note, we also ordered pisco sours to have with our appetizers. I had the mango variation, and Alex had what they called a Peruvian sour, another variation. I mentioned pisco sours on a previous post, but figure it’s time to go into a bit more detail.

Alex's pisco sour

The Pisco Sour is an incredibly popular drink here in Chile. The story goes that both Peru and Chile claim to have created the drink, and both regard it as a sort of national drink. Regardless of who came up with it, it has a long history in this part of the world. According to Wikipedia:

The roots of Pisco itself reach back to the 16th century and stem from Colonial rule. The Spaniards brought the grape to the Peruvian region from Europe, but the King of Spain banned wine in the 17th Century, forcing locals to concoct a different kind of alcohol from the grape.

Pisco is therefore a type of liqueur made from the grape.

Then, there are two stories as to where the Pisco Sour drink came from. Again, from Wikipedia:

According to the Morris account, in the early 20th century the Morris Bar of Lima, Peru, created and popularized the drink Pisco Sour. The bar’s owner, Victor Vaughn Morris, was a bartender born in the United States… Morris created the drink as a variety of the whisky sour.

(hmmm – maybe there’s an American claim to it, too?!) Here’s the other – the Chilean – side of the story:

According to the Stubb account, the origin of the pisco sour story told of an English steward of a sailing ship named “Sunshine”. In 1872, Elliot Stubb obtained leave to disembark in the port of Iquique, which was a Peruvian city at the time prior to it becoming a Chilean city in 1884 , with the aim of settling in the city and opening a bar. In his bar, he experimented with many aperitifs and drinks, of which one would become the Pisco Sour.

The pisco sour contains:
Pisco
Sugar
The juice of a type of lime that commonly grows here
Egg white
Sometimes other fruit, bitters, herbs, leaves, etc. are also added

The overall effect is a light, fruity, refreshing drink. It’s neither too sweet nor too bitter. It’s usually served in a champagne glass or small wine glass.

I have had the regular version (which has a lime taste similar to a margarita minus the overwhelming taste of tequila), mango (which includes mango nectar) and a version with chirimoya fruit (which has a light, almost pear-like flavour). All have been good and are a nice treat for sipping mid-afternoon or as an aperatif.