Giving thanks: A Thanksgiving dinner in Paraguay

Last week we all learned where Turkeys come from. (Not the freezer section of a grocery store.) Now it's time to talk about their proper final resting place.

In my belly.

Peace Corps Fitness Challenge: December

We are in full holiday mode. This is a time for not caring what you eat, and enjoying the holidays. However, I know that not everyone wants to abandon all physical activity in exchange for cookies and cocktail parties.

Here in Peace Corps Paraguay, this marks a time for lots of travel. Life kinda shuts down in Paraguay in December and January, so there isn't a lot of work to be done. PCVs take this time to visit friends, and take vacations. We often find ourselves on a bus, or in a different town away from our usual routine. Anytime  away from normal routine makes it challenging to keep up with workouts, and especially when faced with a 6 hour bus ride that day. That being said, it is not impossible to maintain some level of activity, even if it's just ten minutes.

This month's challenge:

Death in the Afternoon: The making of a turkey dinner

Disclaimer: This post involves blood and guts and death. I think this is totally natural and even a little awesome, but I know others might not.  Read at your own risk. 

“About morals, I know only that what is moral is what you feel good after and what is immoral is what you feel bad after.”  - Ernest Hemingway, Death in the Afternoon 

 In America, every fall we come together for a mass genocide. Millions die while we enjoy the crisp autumn air, the changing of the leaves, and take in a football game. We celebrate this time of death, and even cherish it. It is a beloved tradition to be shared with family. We call it Thanksgiving.

They Really Like Me? - The Greatist Ambassador Program

I love the internet. It's power to connect people is remarkable. It really puts me at awe. However here at Sastre Desastre it sometimes feels lonely. I have all the metrics I want to prove that people see my blog, but  it is still hard to realize that people read my blog, and like it. To think these people extend beyond my friends and family is even more unbelievable. But the people at Greatist.com seem to like what I do. They have accepted me to be a Greatist Ambassador.

LAY OFF ME I'M STARVING: Making sense of my role as a "Health Professional"

This post is a little about Paraguay, but not entirely. It's about more than Paraguay and in some ways less. It's about something every person does on a daily basis, one of the most intimate of acts. Sitting down and eating a meal.

Tastes so good.

A good meal, A good day.

*NOTE: I've received negative feedback in regards to this post. I would like to clarify that this is not meant to suggest that the food culture of the US is superior other than it is the food I grew up with. Food is a matter of taste and the food here isn't necessarily to mine. I don't shy away from the words that follow, but please know that I respect that Paraguayans love their food and may dislike mine. I have posted the negative feed back and my response in the comments section. I think it best illustrates the legitimate gripes with this posts, and maybe fills in some of the gaps I left out when writing the following.*

I often complain about Paraguayan food. It's not my favorite food culture in the world. To be honest, no matter the culture, unless Jamon Serrano is a staple in the diet, it's not my favorite.

Eaten at every meal.

A weird diet, heavily centered on meat and starch, I find Paraguayan food bland and greasy.  Chipa guazu and Sopa Paraguaya are the primary traditional breads. They're the same fucking thing! And who the hell calls bread "Paraguayan soup?" They have soup here. It contains giant hunks of meat that you must gnaw at, because cutting tough meat inside a bowl of soup is really fucking difficult. Also, the pasta is gummy, and how one can love mandioca as dearly as Paraguayans do is beside me.  And then there was the whole pig nose incident, among other offenses.

Chipa Guazu, I think

Sopa Paraguaya, Maybe

 Yet we return to that recurring theme in my Peace Corps Service. Just when I think I can't take it any more, Paraguay throws me a bone.

Bien Frio: My Terere Tutorial.

Spain has Jamon serrano; Ireland has Guinness; and since everything is bigger in Texas, I'll give the lone star state the whole category of Tex-mex. Everywhere in the world has that one thing. That food or drink not only typical but rather characterizes the place and the people living there. It holds a special place in our hearts, and it can sometimes be hard to imagine that elsewhere in the world wouldn't have the same.

There are few things more Paraguayan than that.

Paraguay is no exception.

More Adventures in Vegetarianism: Baked Eggplant Chips

My most recent veggie creation, baked eggplant chips!

Normally I frown upon anything that has the word 'baked', where the word 'fried' is supposed be. Generally speaking this switcheroo happens when some near anorexic "health guru" is trying to pretend that "they taste the same if not better than french fries!" No they don't, and neither do these. My eggplant chips aren't gonna replace a good potato chip, but they are yummy independent of any comparison.

Pot Sticker Post: FOR THE WIN!

May Bourdain smite me as I say this: I like vegetables! In fact, I love them so much I've stopped eating meat. Please don't look at me that way. I know what you're thinking. "Oh, the horror she's become a VEGETARIAN!"

Well, not really. Meat is expensive here, and I don't think it tastes good. Furthermore, Paraguay and I have different definitions of "butchering." While I won't refuse meat, I don't purchase it myself. So rest assured, I won't be feeding you tempe or vegan-aise next time we meet. I still love to eat God's good creatures. 

It really is a shame that vegetarians are soul-less, terrible people. You would think that people who sustain themselves, in fact, define themselves by vegetables would treat them better. I've been looking on vegetarian food blogs and I'm finding that most any recipe that begins with "vegetarian" is horrifying. This is all without mentioning their fetish-esque relationship with tofu. It's all very sad.

So what's a girl to do? As with all things in Peace Corps, make it up as I go along. So here is my first "vegetarian" recipe.

Vegetarian Pot Stickers! 

They were awesome. 

By "vegetarian" I mean converting something that traditionally has meat, to a meatless version without hating myself for eating it. I want to concede that there are a whole plethora of dishes that don't need meat nor even consider it and are still scrumptiliuptious. It's just when people start trying to pretend substitutions are or taste like meat, that's when things go wrong. Like Hindenburg wrong.

YOGURT REDUX: FROM SCRATCH

I did a post on straining yogurt a week ago.  While a huge improvement over the semen-esque sludge they try to pass for yogurt here, there were some drawbacks: Natural flavor was unavailable, high sugar content, low yield, and higher than necessary price. The solution, make yogurt from scratch.

Working with dairy frightens me a bit. Milk is temperamental, and if it scalds, generally there is no saving it. Yogurt, however, was pretty simple. I'm gonna give all the credit to Micheal Ruhlman, who had a great post on yogurt making, that guided me through the process. I couldn't do it step by step, but he gave enough reason behind the process so that I could improvise. I'm essentially reblogging his post, but translated for a less than ideal kitchen.

GARDEN! Ok, not yet but almost.

This isn't the most exciting post, except it is for me. I just planted seeds!

Seeds, I tell you!

Who knew seeds were pink? I think they might lose me my "organic" status.

Making Edible, Not Drinkable Yogurt in Paraguay

As Peace Corps volunteers we agreed to work "under conditions of hardship." Usually this conjures up ideas of no electricity, pulling water up from a well or a stream, and cooking over fire. Yeah, none of that really applies to me. My condition of hardship?

Drinkable Yogurt.

Maybe I'm a yogurt snob, but I like me some full-fat, super-creamy, carve-able yogurt. In Paraguay they like yogurt that can be drank from a sippy cup. I hate it. I could explore the ways I hate it but I won't waste your time. I'm just glad there's a solution.

Home is Where You Hang Your Mosquito Net.

I'm sorry, I don't have pictures today, but for the non facebook crowd I wanted to let you know I've moved. I'm living in a semi-independent room in the house of a Senora a couple blocks away from where I was living. I have my own entrance, but am sharing a bathroom and fridge in the main section of the house. On the upside, I bought a stove and now am cooking my own meals. Also, no kids live here so the average decibel level is generally lower at any given moment. This all sumounts to a higher total happiness quotient.

I want to say that I adore the the family I was living with. They were more than generous and the kids are awesome. It was just time for me to move on.

Right now I'm in the process of turning an empty room into a home. I've been finding discarded items on the side of road, mostly fruit crates, and am in the process of fixing them up to be my dresser, or kitchen counter. I'll post photos once all the handy work is done. It's shaping up to be very Peace Corps Chic.

POW: No screen on my window leading to full out Mosquito vs. Taylor war.
WOW: MY OWN PLACE!
CHOW: Cabbage and carrot salad with Lime chili dressing topped with a fried egg and cup of instant coffee.

It Wouldn't Be a Travel Blog Without a Post on Street Food.

Street Art in Asuncion.

I was in Asuncion for about 24 hours this weekend. I was running a couple errands but I found myself free on sunday afternoon. I walked around and as I got hungry I indulged in the culinary epic-ness of, and world traveler badge of honor, the a street side food stand.

As all savvy travelers know, street food is where it’s at. Every stand is someone’s grandma working the wok, or some guy who is a master at what he does, but chooses not to pursue culinary greatness for the humble pride of his truck stand. At least it will be something so bizarre that it’s strangely delicious. I’ve read a million blog posts touting the superiority of street food, and how eating it makes you a better person. It shows that you actually care about the people whose home you’re invading. Rather than using their foreignness to make you feel better about your own vapid life. If memory serves me correct, somewhere it mentioned that eating street food proves you have a soul and guarantees you access to heaven. I had solid advice and I was gonna take it.

Plaza Uruguaya where I ate my lunch. Yes, that's a tent city.

I wander upon a plaza in downtown Asuncion and decide to get me a hamburger at the cart on the corner. It sets me back 5,000 Gs, which is a little over a dollar. It‘s sunday, so there’s not a lot open anyways. This is my best bet. Surprised to see the grill man actually grab a not pre-cooked patty land on the grill and a fresh egg cracked to top it off, this looks like the makings of a good street food experience. The burger is topped off with the usual and wrapped up to go for me. A coke to accompany and I was set.

Famished, I open my little package and shovel the burger into my face. As the pangs of hunger begin to wear off, I suddenly realize that something is very off. The patty is rubbery and certainly not juicy, but it’s not dry either. It’s watery? While I start to think about what I am actually tasting, I take a look at my patty. Cooked beef is not this color. Raw beef is not this color. This is not beef. This did not come from one of God’s creatures. If there was any meat, it was just enough to bind together the rehydrated soy stuff known as “carne de soja,” essentially dried out soy paste that some people like to pretend tastes just like meat. Usually these people are called vegetarians and have no soul. On this unfortunate occasion it’s my amigo with the stand trying to increase his profit margins because Paraguayans don’t tolerate price increases.

That's not meat.

Honestly, I should have known better. Meat is expensive here and 5,000 Gs is cheap no matter how little overhead you’re woking with. But let’s be realistic here blogosphere, cheap food is often cheap for a reason. That maybe someone’s grandma working the wok, but she’s also a business women, and apparently with grandchildren to feed.

All in all, it wasn’t that bad. Ok, it was that bad. It was awful, but there was lettuce and tomato, not to mention the egg, a standard on Paraguayan burgers. This burger sucked but the cheese didn’t smell like cow, and that’s a first in months. Plus, I can pretend this affront to God and all things holy was healthy. I didn’t stuff myself with a hamburger. I ate a veggie burger!

But the friendly blogger people told me food stands always had great hidden gems. That was how a true traveler was supposed to sustain themselves. What am I to do now? I know, the truth is hard to accept.

I am not saying to avoid street food. Food carts are awesome. They do have hidden gems, and unexpected awesomeness. However, the newly minted street food travel snob needs to back the fuck off. I know you’re all Anthony Bourdain disciples as well, but I’ve read too many articles and blog posts that scoff at the idea of restaurants, claiming street food is the only way to know a people and it’s culture and just as good as anything in a restaurant. We’ll get back to that part about “knowing a people and their culture” in another post,  but in regards to street food, sometimes it sucks. It’s cheap. It’s fast. What do you expect? You never know what you’re gonna get, but that's all part of the adventure. Maybe that’s what makes the good stuff that much better.

Rock Bottom? Or a New Level of Awesome!

Boxed wine and Chili. Lunch of Champions.

Drinking boxed wine laced with sprite and ice out of a reused yogurt container. Congratulations, you are one step closer to hitting rock bottom.


POW: Getting the stink eye from a stray cow in the yard all day.
WOW: House sitting for my site mate and taking care of her dog.
CHOW: Vegetarian Chili and Iced Wine. 

A Week's Worth of Nervous Break Downs

While I know you all want to hear about all my awesome, fun, delightful, and pleasant adventures, sometimes the dice just don't land that way. I don't know if anyone mentioned this, but Peace Corps can be hard, even difficult. This is not for the reasons you think. Sure I yelled at my shower out loud the other day, but that was merely a symptom of a week's worth of suckitude. It's not that much went wrong this week. It's that nothing went right.

Last weekend was so incredible! I went rock climbing, and ate awesome food. Basically two of the top three things I love in this world. Then back in site, I wake up with a serious case of the Monday's that lasted all week.  It rained this week, so I didn't do much. I really miss living alone, and the one place available right now has a dirt floor and no windows. The city hall office wants to work with me, but I'm not sure on what. And this week's food has been, well, greasy. The acne on my face should be a good indication of how much fried food I've consumed. My host family is so concerned about my face, they keep asking what bit me or if I'm having an allergic reaction. NO, IT'S A ZIT!

Acne, not bug bites. Now stop pointing them out!

This is all with out mentioning the cultural mine field I found myself in when I admitted to having lived in Boy's-Town during my time in Chicago. Paraguay has a predominately Catholic culture, and you can imagine how homosexuals are received here. It's tricky to not insult my gracious hosts opinions while at the same time showing my support for the LBGT community. FYI: Boy's-Town is what it sounds like. A predominately gay neighborhood in Chicago. SOOO much fun. Great Brunch. Halsted's! WHAT?!

A little cultural aside on the topic of diversity in general: America is by no means a bastion of cultural acceptance and equality. I don't want to address this topic with any level of depth, but there is one thing I have noticed. In general, Americans seem more used to diversity. We are accustomed to walking down the street and seeing multiple walks of life. Even the most redneck Texan (to use my favorite stereotype) probably knows a few words in Spanish and drinks Mexican beer. We are comfortable with difference, even differences we don't like. I'm learning this level of comfort is not universal, and it gets me in a little bit of trouble here. Nonetheless, it is becoming a secret point of pride for me. Perhaps that's all false and I'm romanticizing America. Either way, I'm speaking to my experience.

So there it is. A day in the life. It's not glamorous, nor exciting. I don't know why I'm always surprised at how normal life is everywhere. Some days are boring; people can be frustrating; and I don't do well living with others. This week will be better, and if it's not, we'll shoot for the one after that. American optimism comes in handy, even for this hardened cynic. 

PS: Next time I go climbing I'll take pictures. It's way easier to tell that story with the visual. Plus the area is go gorgeous, I could never do it justice with just my words.

Today's Adventure in Eating

Wanna know how to freak out an American in Paraguay?
Feed them a dish of unidentifiable cow innards with rice.

Wanna know how to freak out a Paraguayan?
 Put Siracha on unidentifiable cow innards with rice.