The return of the Chef

Ok, this time I promise, I'm back for real. At least until the next bought of travelling upsets my routine. After I was in chicago for christmas and new years, I had a couple weeks to get a lot of work done before my trip to Paraguay. I was in Paraguay for three weeks, where I did some cooking, but didn't take any pictures (unfortunately I had to travel without my photographer).
The food related aspect of going to paraguay is always great. To begin with, Paraguayans keep a somewhat Hobbit-like eating schedule. Breakfast is early in the morning, followed by the media mañana snack around 10am. Then comes the day's large mid-day meal around 12:00, merienda or a late afternoon snack around 5pm, and finally dinner around 9:00 or 10pm. While all these calories may be necessary for strenuous manual work in the campo, in asuncion these customs are maintained simply by a love for food--one that I certainly inherited.
When we go to paraguay, our family there always greets me with all of the comida típica that we either can't make or can only approximate in the U.S. Chief among these is chipa guazu, a sort of corn bread/souffle made from sweetcorn, eggs, onions, and cheese. It is both sweet from the corn and savory from the cheese, somehow firm and creamy at the same time. I would count it among latin america's greatest contributions to human happiness. While my sister makes some pretty phenomenal chipa guazu using illinois sweetcorn, it is a lot wetter than the corn in paraguay and you've got to add cornmeal to make the consistency right. Mbeju, on the other hand, is nearly impossible to replicate in the U.S., because the yuca starch available here is too refined to make these flat, cheesy pancakes, and they require a lot of experience and skill to get the consistency and texture just right, the sort of experience that usually only wise old ladies have. Too wet, and they are tough, too dry and they crumble into dust and taste mealy. When its just right, the starch forms a thick pancake that is crispy on the outside, but cheesy and steaming hot on the inside, with a really rich comforting flavor from the mix of animal fat, yuca starch, and strongly flavored paraguayan cheese. Since Ña. Eugenia left, the maid in my grandmother's household for probably over 3o years, good mbeju has been pretty scarce. This time, I discovered a dirty secret though, a cafe in downtown asuncion actually makes the best mbeju I've ever had in my life.

Another favorite is chipa de almidon and chipitas. These are bread made from yuca starch, cheese, fat, and anise seed. They are probably the food most associated with paraguay, and with the women that sell them from enormous baskets balanced upon their heads as they wander city streets, set up stands in public markets, or flag down the many buses that carry travelers across the country's main transport veins. Chipa is a crucial part of breakfast and merienda, and every time one of us goes to paraguay, we return with a suitcase full of chipa to appease pent-up demand. This time, david threatened to eat all of the chipa I'd brought back for my mother before I had a chance to mail it, so I ended up attempting to bake our own. We kept revising the dough with each batch that went in the oven, and by the fifth tray we got pretty close. We've been munching on these all week accompanied by cocido quemado, or tea made from yerba mate leaves, caramelized sugar, and hot milk. This was today's breakfast.
But nothing can compare to the chipa I had this time in paraguay. The sun had not yet come up when we arrived in the southern city of encarnacion, and the bus station was strewn with bleary-eyed vendors preparing for the day or taking advantage of the early morning quiet to nap on benches and lawn chairs that later would seat their customers. In the morning's darkness, the air was still cool and a woman offered boiling hot water and yerba for mate to the few travelers present. Just beyond the lights of the station, by the road, a man on a motorcycle played an endlessly looped recording which advertised the 'best chipa from coronel bogado.' Freshly baked in one of the igloo-shaped, wood-burning brick ovens or tatakua that accompany most rural households, these chipa had been swaddled in clean cotton towel and kept warm in their enormous basket nest as they were sped by motorcycle to the bus station. The man, who sat on his motorcycle drinking mate with two female companions from the bus station, might as well have advertised them as the best chipa in all of paraguay. It was outside was crisp and toasted while the center was doughy and stringy with cheese that steamed in the morning's coolness. They were perfect.

On the other hand, it is great to cook for my family in paraguay, because I always love to introduce them to new ideas and flavors that are not common in paraguay. This time we made grilled pizza, using the large built-in grills that are common in wealthier homes accustomed to holding asados. We lined the grill with left over terra cotta floor tiles which got smoking hot over the coals and produced a crispy and bubbly crust. I also showed them how to make carnitas, or mexican slow-cooked pork that is both fall-from-the-bone tender and crispy from browning in its own rendered fat. This is probably David's all-time favorite from everything I've ever cooked for him, and it was a huge hit in paraguay.
I'll try making more typical paraguayan recipes to familiarize you and the world to the comforts of paraguayan food. I feel this need more urgently after searching the internet for chipa recipes and discovering the horrible bastardizations of my homeland's culinary traditions that presumably instruct adventurous high-school spanish club members who are weary of pan de meurtos. So I'll end with a note of caution, please, if you have found this blog randomly or out of your interest in food or latin america, do not trust any of the Paraguayan recipes posted on the internet! If you really want to taste these recipes, let me know and I'll invite you over or maybe organize some culinary tourism of paraguay for you.