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Enjoying a Peruvian dinner party
Nancy, Matt's Peruvian friend from the AIB, had mentioned that her mother had invited my three traveling companions and me to a little dinner, before we were to leave on our plane from Lima to the U.S.
We were excited to have the opportunity to actually visit in a Peruvian home, and pressed our driver, Antonio (Nancy's brother-in-law) as to the details of the party. Since our plane was not scheduled to leave until midnight, we were concerned that we might overstay our welcome that evening.
"No, you do not understand," said Alberto. "My mother-in-law has set aside the entire day for your visit. When you check out of your hotel we will go to her home, no later than 2:30 pm! We find it best not to argue with my mother-in-law."
A seven-hour dinner party? I'd never heard of such a thing. But we were to find that such a party was not unusual in Peru.
Poverty is widespread in Peru. In Lima we found extremely poor dwellings side by side with what appeared to be nice homes. We were relieved that the home where we stopped was in a quiet neighborhood -- a large, two story house, with a small, fenced, front yard, so that a car could be parked inside a locked fence. There was also a comfortable back yard, completely enclosed by a 10-foot high concrete block wall.
Even though the neighborhood was quiet and we could lock the car, when we arrived the entire family came outside to bring our luggage into a locked room in the house. Nothing of value is ever left in an unattended automobile in Peru. Thievery is rampant.
The introduction of the extended family took quite a bit of time. There were three families, seven people, living in that home. Additionally, the families of two other siblings were visiting -- 15 people, all eager to welcome us to their Peruvian home. Two of the daughters in the family were doctors -- good jobs, certainly, though not the road to riches guaranteed by similar positions in the United States. Both their husbands had held important positions in high tech companies, till the collapse of the high tech industry had forced the men to accept other jobs at a fraction of their previous pay.
Isabel Fiestas Paz, a widow, was decidedly the matriarch of the family. As soon as introductions were completed she passed glasses of wine for the first of many toasts -- to the American visitors, to improved relations between the US and Peru, and to most of the individual members of the family.
Mrs. Paz spoke no English, but we were made to know that she was welcoming us to her home, and she proudly showed us her dozen canaries -- her children -- which she had bred and raised and which greeted us with full song. We were told that Mrs. Paz filled her days now, with her birds and her flowers, which adorned her back yard like a picture out of "Home and Garden."
Mrs. Paz had been raised in an aristocratic family, where servants had taken care of everything, and where "cooking" had been a household chore, considered beneath the dignity of the girls in the family.
Nevertheless, Ms. Paz had secretly learned the art of food preparation from the family cook. She still loved to cook traditional as well as exotic meals for family and friends. She and her maid had spent the day, prior to our arrival, preparing a typical Peruvian meal, which consisted of spicy chicken over a seasoned bed of rice, tamales, rice and beans, and a purple corn drink (non-alcoholic), called "chi cha miranda," plus a couple of kinds of dessert, made with tropical fruits. We didn't need to pretend that we enjoyed the meal. Everything was very tasty, but we had to decline when second and third helpings were urged upon us.
Mrs. Paz insisted that we accompany her to her kitchen so that she could show us just exactly how she prepared the "chi cha miranda." A couple of ears of Peruvian corn, purple in color, (cob and all) are placed in a clay pot and covered with water, flavored with cinnamon, cloves, sugar, and lemon. This is brought to a boil, then simmered until the kernels crack and fall away from the cob. After several hours the corn is strained out, and the resulting liquid is clear, and purple in color. The drink is served at room temperature. It looks and tastes a bit like grape koolaid, though not as sweet.
While we were in the kitchen Mrs. Paz insisted that we learn how she makes Peruvian coffee. We found that the process is a ceremony, not unlike the way the Japanese make tea.
Mrs. Paz performs this ceremony each day. A cup of dry, ground coffee is packed into a cylinder, which is placed in a clay pot. Two cups of water are placed in a pan on the stove and brought to a boil. Boiling water is poured, an ounce at a time, through the coffee, each time brought back to a boil. The process takes an hour or more. Then, the super strong coffee, which has seeped into the pot is placed back into the pan on the stove, and again, an ounce at a time, is poured through the grounds, each time bringing the liquid back to a boil. This again takes an hour or more. The result is a thick, very strong liquid coffee in the clay pot, which is transferred to a small bottle (like a vinegar cruet). Now the coffee is ready for consumption. The concentrated coffee (perhaps an ounce) is placed in a cup. Hot water and/or cream and sugar are added to make a palatable (and delicious) drink. Mrs. Paz consumes this drink throughout the day.
As the sun went down, while we were still in the "back yard living room," two of the men in the family brought out guitars and began to sing Peruvian folk and popular songs, in beautiful, rich, baritones voices. Soon all of the family members joined in the songs, and before long they prevailed on the Americans to add to the musical selections.
At one point we noticed that all of the female members of the family had gone inside the house. They had gone to move back the furniture, and had turned the living room into a dance area.
A CD player burst forth with Latin rhythms, and the ladies led everyone back into the house so we could dance. It didn't matter that some of us were not skilled in the South American dances. We had good instructors, and before long we were caught up in the "Handkerchief Dance," and the "Samba," as well as the American two-step. Everyone was having a whale of a good time, Americans and Peruvians alike. Mrs. Paz no longer danced, but sat in her chair and beamed in the joy of her family.
Trying to communicate with folks who speak another language is a strain, and I had rather dreaded the fact that we were going to be spending seven long hours with strangers with whom we did not share a common language.
But I needn't have worried. The time passed magically, and it was a surprise when someone mentioned that we must hurry. We just had time to make the trip to the airport for our flight back to the U.S.
If it had taken a long time to meet the family members when we arrived, all strangers, it took twice as long (and with reluctance) to say goodbye, to the same people, who were by now our friends. Mrs. Paz, ever the gracious hostess, presented each of us with a small Peruvian silver spoon, adorned with an ancient Peruvian (Mother earth) symbol, plus other gifts of cookies, cake, and Peruvian bread from her son's bakery.
Even though the Peruvians were not wealthy by American standards, they were rich in the joy they felt in being together as a family, and they successfully extended that feeling to include their American guests.
The seven and a half hour dinner party, with strangers who spoke a different language, which at first we dreaded as a marathon affair to be endured, if not enjoyed, ended up to be the high point of our journey to Peru.