I'm not sure yet.
I tried not eating. That doesn't work. I got cranky, headachey, weak, tired, a loud stomach and hungry.
As my faithful readers know, there's no kitchen here at the Mirador. I'm not fully comfortable arranging dinner with the family yet. They usually like to know this kind of thing in advance and my hours and presence here are highly irregular. I'm not ready to say, "Hey, I smell food and hear tortillas being clapped into delicious shape. Is there extra food I can eat right now? I'm starving. There are are no restaurants in this town and your stove doesn't work even though it makes me all warm and fuzzy on the inside that I'm free to use it whenever I like. Muy amable." Assuming I still possessed the lingual wherewithal to translate this well enough in my depleted and delirious condition, I'm sure I would be offered all the food needed to fill me up.
There is one restaurant in town. It'd be about a twenty-five minute walk to the posh hotel on the hill and the food is probably expensive. Out of the question. I've heard about a lady somewhere in town that
"if you're hungry and you ask her, she'll make you food."
"What will she make you?"
"Whatever you want to eat"
Like you, I know that last statement is dying for some qualification. When it sounds to good to be true and all that. Here however, qualification is often thrown to the wind. I can attempt to qualify for you:
"What will she make you?"
"Whatever you want to eat that involves, on any given day, a selection from the following: tortillas, tamales, rice, beans, eggs, maybe tiny dried, salty fish, tomato sauce or ramen noodles."
It is a good list, but I haven't found the lady yet.
There is fried chicken in town. "Rostipollos y Papas". Fried chicken is the only hot thing on offer in the centro and there are three identical stands. I had a nice chat with Pablo at the stand by the tienda when I first came to town. We got friendly quickly because he's so friendly. His teeth are done up like many of his countrymen of both sexes: gold-rimmed front upper four with a gold star center two front. I liked his chicken right off the bat. It was very lean, dark and flavorsome and reminded me of the fresh chicken, as my faithful readers know, that I prepared and ate back at the Yoga Forest. If it ain't broke and all that, so I stuck with Pablo for a while. I don't do too much fried chicken even though it is crack delicious when hot, but the papas are a good snack whenever. One day Pablo wasn't around so I strolled across the little street to Maria. The sort of dejected disinterest she always showed after I walked away having gone to Pablo for food wore off as soon as I said hello to her and she too was quite friendly. I found out there that the three stands are run, one, by a father, two, by a son (Pablo), and, three, a daughter (Maria), but they are separate even though I've seen them run to one of the other stands when they come up short on chicken, fries, plates, napkins, toothpicks, ketchup, picante or bolsitas. With Maria:
"Who makes the most money?"
"Someone different each day."
"What do you do to give your chicken a special touch?"
"Nothing. The chicken and the french fries are all exactly the same. I don't know why the earnings come out different each day. It's just luck."
This seems to be the Guatemalan way. If you want to open a tienda or a tortilleria, tornilleria, libreria, ferreteria, carniceria or diarrhea, you build it with concrete, stock it with the same stuff as the other guy/gal, paint it with the same font as every other place but change the first name that comes after the type of shop. Sure, there are places that stand out among any type of business, especially the panaderias, but it's pretty standardized. Maybe there's pride or a sense of legitimacy in building something exactly the same as everyone else.
I asked Maria about her relationships with her siblings. She said besides Pablo, they were all good. Something happened a year ago and they don't really talk since. I had trouble understanding exactly everything. In fact, I understood nothing about what happened because of my lingual limitations and I was busy cleaning a leg of her delicious rostipollo. I'm pretty sure whatever caused the rift had nothing to do with the purveyance of poultry. It will be my New Years' Resolution to broker a sit-down with these two so maybe they can squash it, or at least quash it. They spend about 14 hours every day working 14 feet apart cutting the potatoes and dressing the chicken, which, before slaughter, roam free on a farm in San Juan la Laguna Atitlan, Solola, Guatemala.
Today, when not eating stopped working, I tried the Tzununa Centro combo lunch, which I made up today. I was looking for a small plate of fries. I like Pablo and Maria equally (though I've never been over to the father's cart), so I chose on the basis of who would have fresher fries. Maria's were in the oil and only needed three minutes to finish. Pablo looked a bit hurt maybe but he'll be friendly next time. I went to the little overcharging tienda across the way and picked up:
2 bananas Q1
slice of watermelon Q1
slice of canteloupe Q1
slice of pineapple Q1
pan dulce Q1.25 should've been Q1 at the most
different pan dulce Q1.25 should've been Q1 at the most
I went back and asked for a Q3 plate of fries. She filled the dessert plate nicely and plenty of ketchup, hold the (disgusting, atificial, plastic) picante. With the fresh fries, I am faced with the preeminent Max Benjamin dilemma. I've told people countless times that I'm nearly incapable of traveling with food. I can either stay and eat the fresh fries, take them back to the hotel and eat there, or eat them on the way. The hotel is 120 feet away up a paved road at an 18% incline. If I eat them on the way, which I do, I will arrive at the top of the hill now short on not only calories but also oxygen. If I pass out anywhere along the way, the fries are likely to hit the ground where they'll be immediately devoured by chuchos.
With the fries Q3
we have a
subtotal Q9.5
sales tax Q0.0
for a
grand total Q9.5
With today's accurate (made up) exchange rate, this equates to $1.21USD. I was never too into watermelon back home, but I'm getting into it here. Can't say why. My favorite stuff here that's new is the papaya and the passion fruit, but nothing compares with almighty Jocote when they're in their long season.
For desert, I'm having some sunflowers seeds in the shell. Here, they come in this flavor called Sunflower Seeds. Tastes real authentic.
I tried not eating. That doesn't work. I got cranky, headachey, weak, tired, a loud stomach and hungry.
As my faithful readers know, there's no kitchen here at the Mirador. I'm not fully comfortable arranging dinner with the family yet. They usually like to know this kind of thing in advance and my hours and presence here are highly irregular. I'm not ready to say, "Hey, I smell food and hear tortillas being clapped into delicious shape. Is there extra food I can eat right now? I'm starving. There are are no restaurants in this town and your stove doesn't work even though it makes me all warm and fuzzy on the inside that I'm free to use it whenever I like. Muy amable." Assuming I still possessed the lingual wherewithal to translate this well enough in my depleted and delirious condition, I'm sure I would be offered all the food needed to fill me up.
There is one restaurant in town. It'd be about a twenty-five minute walk to the posh hotel on the hill and the food is probably expensive. Out of the question. I've heard about a lady somewhere in town that
"if you're hungry and you ask her, she'll make you food."
"What will she make you?"
"Whatever you want to eat"
Like you, I know that last statement is dying for some qualification. When it sounds to good to be true and all that. Here however, qualification is often thrown to the wind. I can attempt to qualify for you:
"What will she make you?"
"Whatever you want to eat that involves, on any given day, a selection from the following: tortillas, tamales, rice, beans, eggs, maybe tiny dried, salty fish, tomato sauce or ramen noodles."
It is a good list, but I haven't found the lady yet.
There is fried chicken in town. "Rostipollos y Papas". Fried chicken is the only hot thing on offer in the centro and there are three identical stands. I had a nice chat with Pablo at the stand by the tienda when I first came to town. We got friendly quickly because he's so friendly. His teeth are done up like many of his countrymen of both sexes: gold-rimmed front upper four with a gold star center two front. I liked his chicken right off the bat. It was very lean, dark and flavorsome and reminded me of the fresh chicken, as my faithful readers know, that I prepared and ate back at the Yoga Forest. If it ain't broke and all that, so I stuck with Pablo for a while. I don't do too much fried chicken even though it is crack delicious when hot, but the papas are a good snack whenever. One day Pablo wasn't around so I strolled across the little street to Maria. The sort of dejected disinterest she always showed after I walked away having gone to Pablo for food wore off as soon as I said hello to her and she too was quite friendly. I found out there that the three stands are run, one, by a father, two, by a son (Pablo), and, three, a daughter (Maria), but they are separate even though I've seen them run to one of the other stands when they come up short on chicken, fries, plates, napkins, toothpicks, ketchup, picante or bolsitas. With Maria:
"Who makes the most money?"
"Someone different each day."
"What do you do to give your chicken a special touch?"
"Nothing. The chicken and the french fries are all exactly the same. I don't know why the earnings come out different each day. It's just luck."
This seems to be the Guatemalan way. If you want to open a tienda or a tortilleria, tornilleria, libreria, ferreteria, carniceria or diarrhea, you build it with concrete, stock it with the same stuff as the other guy/gal, paint it with the same font as every other place but change the first name that comes after the type of shop. Sure, there are places that stand out among any type of business, especially the panaderias, but it's pretty standardized. Maybe there's pride or a sense of legitimacy in building something exactly the same as everyone else.
I asked Maria about her relationships with her siblings. She said besides Pablo, they were all good. Something happened a year ago and they don't really talk since. I had trouble understanding exactly everything. In fact, I understood nothing about what happened because of my lingual limitations and I was busy cleaning a leg of her delicious rostipollo. I'm pretty sure whatever caused the rift had nothing to do with the purveyance of poultry. It will be my New Years' Resolution to broker a sit-down with these two so maybe they can squash it, or at least quash it. They spend about 14 hours every day working 14 feet apart cutting the potatoes and dressing the chicken, which, before slaughter, roam free on a farm in San Juan la Laguna Atitlan, Solola, Guatemala.
Today, when not eating stopped working, I tried the Tzununa Centro combo lunch, which I made up today. I was looking for a small plate of fries. I like Pablo and Maria equally (though I've never been over to the father's cart), so I chose on the basis of who would have fresher fries. Maria's were in the oil and only needed three minutes to finish. Pablo looked a bit hurt maybe but he'll be friendly next time. I went to the little overcharging tienda across the way and picked up:
2 bananas Q1
slice of watermelon Q1
slice of canteloupe Q1
slice of pineapple Q1
pan dulce Q1.25 should've been Q1 at the most
different pan dulce Q1.25 should've been Q1 at the most
I went back and asked for a Q3 plate of fries. She filled the dessert plate nicely and plenty of ketchup, hold the (disgusting, atificial, plastic) picante. With the fresh fries, I am faced with the preeminent Max Benjamin dilemma. I've told people countless times that I'm nearly incapable of traveling with food. I can either stay and eat the fresh fries, take them back to the hotel and eat there, or eat them on the way. The hotel is 120 feet away up a paved road at an 18% incline. If I eat them on the way, which I do, I will arrive at the top of the hill now short on not only calories but also oxygen. If I pass out anywhere along the way, the fries are likely to hit the ground where they'll be immediately devoured by chuchos.
With the fries Q3
we have a
subtotal Q9.5
sales tax Q0.0
for a
grand total Q9.5
With today's accurate (made up) exchange rate, this equates to $1.21USD. I was never too into watermelon back home, but I'm getting into it here. Can't say why. My favorite stuff here that's new is the papaya and the passion fruit, but nothing compares with almighty Jocote when they're in their long season.
For desert, I'm having some sunflowers seeds in the shell. Here, they come in this flavor called Sunflower Seeds. Tastes real authentic.
Dear Cousin Max,
ReplyDeleteVery exciting things on the horizon for you! I loved the reprieve report but I love El Jocotel even more and I look forward to hearing about its inception. Fresh papaya and pineapple and delicious rostipollo sound out of this world. Maybe you're not eating as much as those of us residing in North America, but you are eating well! Congratulations on your land purchase. As Tim Blake Nelson says in 'Oh Brother Where Art Thou', "You ain't no kind of man if you ain't got land." Good luck turning it into what you imagine. And let me know immediately when you have ducks. As ever, Beth. bethcallis@shaw.ca