Bolivian Barf Bags and other food related propoganda:

Cheers to you, Bolivian cuisine. 

By and large Bolivia has been a revelation for us both.  The people, the country, both about as far removed from stereotypes as things tend to be once you get to know them.  That is all except the food.  This is not to saying we've been swimming in cesspools and doning painters mask and industrail-strength cleaning gloves to simply urinate or even going the proverbial number two at break-neck rates.  Neither is the definitive case, but both have occurred, helping distinguish Bolivian food from it's Southern counterparts.

The real problem, outside of the food safety standards of 1960s Turkmenistan if Turkmenistan was run by five year old intestinal masochist, is the quality, or better yet the diversity, of a xenophobic foodie.  The only positive long-term effect of Evo informing the public that chicken consumption makes one homosexual (1), not that there seems to be a resounding call-to-action,  is that Bolivians might consider opening up some other fast-food geared store that doesn't try to mimic KFC.  Please, enough chicken Bolivia.

I'm not finished blasphemising.  Chicken here is actually good, or generally fairly edible, if not at times downright tasty.  It is simply ubiquitous, and eventually culinarily unexciting--yes, it is true, fried chicken slowly becomes trite, even boring.  However, the real apple of my ire is arroz, or rice.  It is physically, emotionally and bathroomaly impossible to rid yourself of this food staple...more like food cancer, in Bolivia.

This is NOT to say Bolivia is without its own wonderfully creative and tongue tickling grub.  My favorites (and some that aren't), as I recall them:

- Western Bacon Cheeseburger: not Bolivian, buy goddamn tasty.  BBQ sauce makes me think of vegetables and 1988, both made threefold more enjoyable with its advent.
- Saltenas: like an empanada who just got stuffed, sexually, by one of those tasty soup dumplings from that high class Chinese restaurant.  But this is mildly sweet, as big as your palm and cost $.67.
- Piqué Machu:  a carnies nightmare, or at least profit cutter.  French fries, drenched in strips of steak, onion and bell pepper.  Finally topped with ketchup, mayo, mustard and homemade salsa.  It's served as a meal for one...or two.
- Chicharrones, aka Ricorrones (rico means delicious, in Spanish): sold in all forms, but none yet as good as Ryan farr.  I've had bags of chips and old dried giants as accoutrements to sandwiches, but I've yet to try the fresh-from-the-vat-of-oil type.  I'm holding judgement till my day of gourging, except to say what I've had to-date is subpar.

- 7 lunares chorizo sandwich:  poison though it is, still the best chorizo since Argentina.  Though it salmonella'd me in an unforgivable and ungratifying way, I forgive it because of its bold spices, saucy upbringing and picante.
- Antichuco: oh how brilliant the offal.  We north americans, I'm convinced, miss out on all the best creations because we are scared, not of the creation itself, but of its name.  Antichuco is bbq'd beef heart.  It's thinly sliced, marinated, greased repeatedly all the while roasting o'er an open flame.  Tender, juicy and melt-in-your-mouth good.
- Fruit salad: I may be a glutton, but not a fool.  5 boliviano heaps of mango (it's special, small and the best mango I've ever had.), apple, strawberry, pineapple, orange, grape and melon all topped off with nuts, cream, jello, chocolate syrup and some muesli.  Parents should take note of the fruitcream Sunday.
- Trucha: aka trout.  Near lake Titicaca it's on every corner.  Good fish, better than most white fishies.  Mainly served fried.  Tasty, but Ray Reynolds makes a better one; nothing beats smoked trout.

- Fruit drinks/Api/Hot Cocoa: fresh fruit shakes w/milk, API, a purple corn drink with cinnamon, sugar and water,and hot chocolate with cinnamon.  Amazing, except the Api, that was like purple colored hot slurpee--good when you want it, sickenigly sweet the rest of the time.

        
- Rack of Lamb: from the centrr of a massive street market, on a picnic bench, un-frenchly cut up, loaded with fat and deliciousness.
- Rice with: chuleta (thin beef), fried chicken, roasted chicken, chicken breast, orange chicken (with OJ), grilled chicken, fried eggs, wrapped in mashed taters and fried, in soup, and pretty much any other edible good.  Truly beginning to hate this staple.
- Some dish I don't remember the name of:  after weeks of chicken and rice I ordered a random dish.  20 minutes later out came a seasoned rice plate mixed with slow-cooked, tender and incredibly delicious beef.  To boot, on top sat a perfectly fried sunny side up egg.  On the side: pickled onions and peppers and some hot, fresh salsa.  I got it the next three nights.  12Bs, or less than $2.
- and lastly, Salchipollo:  It's truly salchipapas that are beloved here, which is sliced hot dog pan fried and dumped over a bag full of fries, then topped with mayo and fresh salsa.  But, some entrepreneurs take giant bits of chicken, deep-fry them and make the same "dish".  Not a revelation, but a great street food snack.

Not an exhaustive list, but a good place to start, or finish, Bolivia--a nation with food, but not foodies...  

(1) not only does chicken supposedly make you gay, but so does consuming Coca Cola.  Not Bolivian soft drinks, mind you, including its own Coca Colla (sic)--with coca leaf derivatives and all--just coca cola.  His tenuous (understatedly) argument is that chicken is loaded with hormones, I would guess estrogen-like in their ability to bloat the breast of these imported feathered-friends, which are then transfered to the eater, thus making them gay--not sure if there is a similar, and more femine-fearing tactic in play for women.  Transparently enough, or perhaps merely coincidence, apparently Bolivia imports much of its chicken and Coca Cola (registered trademark).

Bonus Material: We took this picture at a parade which featured tranvestite beauty queens on display.

Who does this remind you of?