Eating Out in Bolivia: A Vegetarian's Perspective

By and large, South America on a whole has exceeded my meatless gastronomical expectations. In Argentina and Chile, that (happily) meant alot of cheese and potatoes and in Brazil,  who can complain about black beans and rice? Supplemented by the much-appreciated hostel kitchen, my body was balanced, happy, and relatively healthy.
   

 

 Not our pictures, but in case you needed help imagining the feasts.




Enter Bolivia. I'm not sure what happened, but I think the Spanish must have took all the chefs and recipe collections with them back to Spain in 1825.  And When Bolivians designed hostels, they left out the kitchen, perhaps wondering why anyone would want to eat something besides the white rice and fried chicken stands that fill tge streets at a 2:1 ratio to the amt of people in town. As a result, i was forced into a Bolivian love affair, becoming rather intimate with two simple but hardy men,  mr white rice and fried eggs.

It wasn't so much about love, or even passion, rather than necessity. They could give me what I needed: calories.

Our times together were simple. They almost always included no frills, like condiments or sauces and Mr. Fried Egg  had old habits that died hard: he pretty much refused to be scrambled or hard boiled,  let alone deviled or poached. We met several times a day, as a threesome for every lunch and dinner (although for breakfast I sometimes snuck around with Eggy alone in the form of a fried egg sandwich, but please keep this on the dl.)

Soon, it was really about habit more than anything else, so when the time came to call it quits at the Peruvian border, I put on a sad face to spare their feelings (after so much time together, I felt I owed them this courtesy), but on the inside i was beaming with the excitement of the unknown... A new woman with a newfound sense of freedom... Brimming with Fantasies of  what delectable little offerings Peru might hold...

If the American Heart Association recommends eating no more than three of four eggs a week, by my estimation, I should not eat any more eggs (or cholesterol) for 94 weeks.

See you in 2012,  Mr. McMuffin!