South America
I was Kidnapped and Held For Ransom in Peru, Part 2
GUEST POST BY ROBERT LOUTHAN. Read Part 1 right here We left off watching Looney Tunes, which would have been a brilliant closer, except that’s not where the story ended. That same night, the villagers got together and agreed to advance their protest to the next level. I woke the
Organ Grind: A South American Food Journal, Part 11, Buenos Aires is Red Meat + Red Wine in Large Plastic Bottles
San Telmo’s Parrilla de Freddy Buenos Aires, by most accounts, is a city. Those accounts also attach various adjectives to it such as world-class, cosmopolitan, even Argentinian. One of the many criteria that I petulantly demand a city check off its scan-tron test sheet is the presence of a set
Organ Grind: A South American Food Journal Part 6, Arequipa’s Frontlawn Restaurant
Clockwise from left: heart, corn, rocoto The flower of Peru’s glory is at its highest peak of florid magnificence when the traveler steps outside the bounds of urban settlements. This can be difficult at times; the central yolk of most Peruvian cities is broken here and there and allowed to
Organ Grind: A South American Food Journal Part 4, Beef Heart of Darkness
Grill master working the heat As the latter part of the above title flat-footedly implies, this weeks article has me journeying into savage, humid environs redolent of the morally queasy atmosphere of Joseph Conrad’s most famous novel. Instead of the Belgian Congo, however, I find myself in Peru’s Amazon Basin.
Organ Grind: A South American Food Journal Part 3, Cock Soup at 11,000 Ft
Cusco’s Central Market Large, central markets situated in cities with lax or non-existent health codes always make a strong impression upon the senses of smell and sight, and, if you’re somewhat brave, taste. Peru boasts many markets and most I’ve frequented are loose affairs; no one blinks an eye at
Organ Grind, A South American Food Journal Part 2: The Eerie Charms of Mompox, Colombia.
Mompox, Colombia When traveling in a strange land with only a hazily defined sense of purpose to guide you, you find yourself pointed towards destinations based on some fairly whimsical pretexts. The one which inspired me to make a long, harsh journey over unpaved roads perched in the
Beco: A Non-Cheesy Brazilian Alternative
I’m not sure if it’s because of all those terrible Brazilian restaurants in Midtown, but for some reason, whenever anyone mentions anything about going to a Brazilian restaurant, I’ll just assume it’s going to be incredibly meat-heavy, Pan-South American (as opposed to actually Brazilian), neon-lighted, and generally horrible. UNTIL NOW.