More on What I'm Eating, Have Eaten, Plan to Eat

Despite my somewhat dire previous posts, all is not inedible here in Chile. In fact, I've had some lovely meals but that's mostly because I had kind and generous visitors who are used to, umm, a step above my slummin'style of travel. As I mentioned before Mamma and Greg journeyed down here in the beginning of April. Our first foray into Chilean cuisine was at a lackluster little cafe, no that's being kind, cafeteria rather, on Plaza de Armas in Santiago. Mamma tried the congrio, which is the local fish about which Pablo Neruda waxed poetic. Neruda was also a fervent Stalinist so maybe that should be an indication that not all of his tastes are in line with mine. Anyway, it was oily, heavy and had an off-putting texture. Yuck. Greg got chicken a la cognac and I still have no idea what that says about the preparation because it looked like pretty regular chicken to me. I got the standard fried fish and mashed potatoes and then we all shared a most disgusting salad of iceberg lettuce and canned corn.

Things picked up on Day Two when we went to Bellavista, which is one of my favorite Santiago neighborhoods. It kind of reminds me of New Orleans but I say that about nearly every Spanish colonial city I've ever visited. Anyway, it's low-slung buildings with narrow doorways and decorative ironwork with a decidedly bohemian feel. At La Boheme (a French-Chilean fusion place and if you think that sounds weird, it is), I was proud to introduce M&G to the pisco sour. Pisco tastes to me like grown-up white grape juice, so naturally I love it, as anyone who remembers my White Grape-Peach phase would understand. A good pisco sour incorporates the spirit, lemon juice, egg white and sugar. It's simple, it's sweet, it's tart, it's fantastic. It's a bit like drinking lemon meringue pie, well, not quite as sweet but it uses the main ingredients of the oh-so-delicious dessert. I already know that I love the traditional pisco sour so when I have the opportunity to try a different iteration, I take it, obviopo. I had a chirimoya sour that might well be one of my favorite sour variations. What's chirimoya, who knows, google says its a custard apple, which doesn't illuminate matters much for me.



We also had a splendid rendition of moules frites after spying the colossal beauties on a nearby table. Later that night, we dined in a near-empty restaurant with fabulous Oriental rugs and Cher playing on a huge screen, to my mother's great pleasure. We started with OSTRICH carpaccio, which was delightful. Texturally, it reminded me of fresh tuna but flavor-wise, it was bigger and beefier. Speaking of beef, my cumin-rosemary scented filet was the main course hit. We were all too full for dessert but somehow Mamma managed to make enough room for a bag of potato chips once we got home :)

Sidenote about my mother. When I was 13, my best friend moved two blocks away on Ashland and Potomac, scary 'hood, right? I was thrilled to have my bestie so close but less-than elated when my 4 ft. 7 inch mother insisted on walking me there. I'm not sure why she thought that it was safer for her to walk alone than me, since I have about 2 feet and a million pounds on her but argue not with a Sicilian mother! They make no sense! Just do as they say! Anyway, I bring all this up to say that once we got home to our apartment in Santiago, my mother had a craving for potato chips. I, being the fabulous, attentive daughter that I am, suggested I run across the street to fetch a bag. Literally, I could step out of our doorman-attended building and spit on the store but my mother acted like I was suggesting donning some Lycra and going out to work the Alameda. She physically barred the door. I thought she was joking but once she let her guard down, I scooted out the door and could hear her wailing "Greg, STOP her! Nooooooooooo!" Upon my return, about 2.5 minutes later, chips in hand, I opened the door on a very somber Mamma, who immediately let out a huge breath, clasped her heart dramatically and said "LAILA!" Does my mother not know I have been out on streets at night before? Does my mother think this is the first time I have ventured solo in Chile? Is she crazy? Yes, yes, she is. She is so cute. Anyway, that was a long note, moving on...

Well, the next few days, we dined sumptuously on machas a la parmesean and sipped pisco sours on various patios overlooking the beautiful bay. We had some seriously amazing Greek food, odd, I know, in a restaurant owned by a Chilean, whose family fled to Switzerland during the political upheaval in the 1970s, followed by time in the US to attend culinary school. As Greg put it, "My man is full of beans" and he was definitely a smooth-talking bullshitter. More on that in another post. Regardless, the moussaka and baklava were outstanding, as was the ouzo sour.

Other standout meals, or dishes of the week included the broiled clams with ginger and lime, duck ravioli with port and dried cherries and salmon ravioli with curry and spinach at Pasta E Vino. In fact, we liked dinner so much, that we went back again the next night, although the clams weren't as tasty and I got strawberry gnocchi with a champagne sauce and clams. Does that sound revolting? Because it was. Over at one of my favorite blogs, 101 Cookbooks, Heidi, who I have the utmost respect for, traveled to Chile last year, ate at Pasta e Vino and apparently enjoyed said ravioli. This did not sound like a winning combination to me for a number of reasons. Can you really transport the ethereal, fresh taste of strawberries into a ball of dough? I think not. Also, I love champagne, but let's be honest, any time it is used for something besides drinking, it is absolute pretentiousness. And finally, strawberries, champagne and CLAMS? Christ, I hope I don't need to explain why that is completely abhorrent. Heidi, you let me down, don't let it happen again! I kid, I kid, in fairness, she did not say they were delicious, I'm sure she had them clam-less as she is vegetarian and her post is actually about making peach gnocchi. But whatever. The nice thing about this meal was that a wine we had by the glass the night before and LOVED was unavailable but once the sommelier was summoned, a call was made and the bottle appeared at our table within minutes. I felt very special and would also like to note that I cannot afford restaurants in the US with sommeliers on staff.

We had lunch at the Greek's the next day and I had this tres leches cake that I would gladly eat for the rest of my life. Sadly, I'll never have it again because I went for dinner there with some friends a few weeks back and the Greek was in fine form, or rather he was pissy drunk and extremely scary. A terrified employee basically told us to get out after we heard plates crashing and saw waving fists so I don't think I'll be going back there, not even for that wonderful cake.

That's it, I think I've been writing this blog for the past two hours and I still haven't gotten to what I am currently eating. So it goes with blogging, I start out one way and it turns out another. You'll just have to wait until next time for more exciting adventures involving fried eggs and Nutella.