Food and Culture in the the South of Chile

The cordillera in the background of some rice patties.

A beautiful view from Safari Mountain of the Pacific and Pelluhue

from the elevation of Chanco.

Cold mariscal soup.

My mountain of meat and potatoes.

A "normal" lunch spread.

I originally wanted to do this post a week ago so it was still relevant to my trip, but because of work and what not I lost the time and now have it again after handing in a project yesterday.

On my trip to the South two weeks ago, I definitely gained at least 2-3 pounds in about 2 days, though through no fault of my own. You see, the South is very famous for hospitality. For any of you that been to my home, you know that my mother keeps the pantry always fully stocked and constantly offers food. Think of the entire South of Chile as a region inhabited by Jewish-Latina mothers who see all guests as their grandchildren. The hospitality I received from Erik´s parents was unparalleled; considering they had never met me and let me stay in their home, fed me at least 4 times a day, and took time off from work to show me around all day was very kind. 

The main consistency of the diet in the South is generally fish (where Erik lives it's "congrio", also known as Conger Eel) or on special occasions, meat. On Saturday, I returned to Erik's house around 2pm to the largest "asado" (Spanish term for grill out or BBQ) I have ever seen. In addition to the five salads that had been homemade and laid out, there was home-made bread ("pan amasado"), a bunch of homemade drinks and artesian wine, and the most full plate I've ever seen. My plate contained two potatoes, a piece of steak, a home-made sausage, a chicken breast, and a pork loin. Needless to say I was quite overwhelmed. I ate as much as I could, but they just kept giving me more. After about 45 minutes of madness, I rolled out of my chair, stalked over to the couch, and eagerly awaited what I though was to be an impending heart attack followed by at least a double bypass.

The only problem with Southern hospitality is that you can't say no. If you say no, they become very offended. You can be in the poorest of homes, and they will feed you until you burst, because that is what they have to offer you, and that tradition has been passed down. And when I say offended, I mean it. Erik's mother ate like a bird (she was a tiny woman), but watched me and Hans constantly. At one point I didn't take a spoonful of one of the salads, and she looked at me and said that I hadn't tried that salad and then promptly took the spoon and served me some anyway. I was on the verge of bursting into tears.

On Sunday, we sat down to a similar spread, only this time there was a seafood soup at my placing. The soup, known as "mariscal," is a cold soup with a broth made from lemon juice, cilantro, salt, and some of the water used to cook the seafood. In it were mussels, squid, clams, fish, and cochayuyo. Cochayuyo is Chilean seaweed and is often used in stews, soups, and salads. It is one of the healthiest things to eat on Earth, and actually tastes great. In any event, I thought the mariscal was the main course, but then I was served another plate with a mountain of meat and potatoes. Then for dessert, Erik's mom brought out fresh strawberries and cream, and I was thrilled because it was the first relatively light thing I was served. But then she brought out the second dessert which was a giant glass of "mote con huesillo." This common street and home-made drink/dessert is made of sun-dried peaches that are then rehydrated in sweet water for days and then mixed with husked wheat and all served together. It was delicious but I was about to burst and barely dented it half-way.

I loved the time I spent in the South, even though I ate heinous amounts of food and rolled all the way back to Santiago. There is nothing like Southern hospitality or food, you won't find any people more friendly or proud, nor will you find fresher, more delicious food.