Earthquakes in The Flea's Nest; Pork Chops at the Vega

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Perhaps it was for my sake. Or hers. Or his. But whatever the reason, Tia put Antoine on a plane in NYC and sent him to Santiago. This is remarkable because of Anaïs (age 2 and change) and Noémie (8 months or so). In my experience, no one willing sends their genetically obligated care-taking partner on vacation to see me. So due to Tia fabulawesomous, I walked back from class Thursday morning to find a Frenchman in my apartment.

In a wholly lame effort to reciprocate Toine’s tour guiding in Paris and New York City, we wandered around and looked at stuff. Santiago is a nice quiet backwater of a national capital. It has a few old buildings that the earthquakes haven’t yet gotten, some strollable greenish parks, sittable plazas, pedestrian walkways, a decent pre-Colombian art museum, two horse tracks, a couple nice urban hills with breathtaking views of the pollution and the smudgy mountains out beyond the brown, but it’s not Paris or NYC. Few places are. That said, I think Chileans are unique in their absolutely rabid enthusiasm for the hot dog. This national passion, on par with soccer and free marketism, is most gloriously displayed at Portal Fernandez Concha, or as I refer to it, Hotdog Alley. Located on one side of the Plaza de Armas, it is noteworthy for its absolutely revolting 'food' displays, and the fact that the twenty or so stalls all sell the same mayonnaise and avocado smothered hot dogs to an inexhaustible and insatiable clientele. Strangely, the guidebooks make no mention of this culinary delight, while Anthony Bourdain chose to extol the delicacy of fried cow udder instead. Having traumatized our appetites, we crossed the Plaza de Armas. It was filled with the usual Thursday afternoon bench sitters, millers, tourists, nappers, evangelical preachers, and idlers. From the plaza, it’s a short walk to the Vega. The Vega is mid-town Santiago’s version of Latin America. Though the dictionary says that la vega is a fertile lowland or a tobacco plantation, the Vega in Santiago is a sprawling covered market filled with people, cats, dogs, fish mongers, butchers, offal, delightfully stacked fruit and vegetables, bustle, commotion, and local eateries. The latter are centralized in the Vega Chica; Local 115 was our destination. Local 115 looks just like stall 114 and 116 and probably serves more or less the same 10 things. However, I was intially introduced to Local 115’s pork chops, and I have yet to find any reason to go elsewhere or eat anything else. For about $2, the old lady behind the stainless steel counter fries up absolutely delicious garlicy pork chops with a tomato onion salad and mashed potatoes. It might be the best food in Chile. Most importantly, it is consistently served without mayonnaise. After lunch, we found a cafe and watched the afternoon pass.

That evening, we revisited the ‘things-to-do’ list, and went to La Piojera, the flea’s nest. It is so called because in the 20s, President Allesandri showed his admiration for this working class institution by demanding, “Why have you brought me to this flea’s nest?” Although no doubt pretty reflective of the rampant classism in Chile, Señor Allesandri wasn’t too far from the truth either. La Piojera is filled with sturdy wood benches, graffiti covered walls, and hoards of people tightly packed together in various stages of extreme intoxication. The primary cause of this artificial revelry is the famed ‘terremoto’. Terremoto means earthquake, which belies its innocuous ice cream floaty appearance. The terremoto consists of sweet whitish wine, pineapple ice cream, and some mysterious brown liqueur. This delicacy is served in a plastic cup with a straw and tastes pretty good once enough of the ice cream has melted and you have resigned yourself to having to drink it. Obviously, as the night unfolds, enthusiasm increases, the bathrooms become swampier, the floor stickier, and the smokiness choking. When eventually you Wade through the hot drunken press of jabbering, grinning Chileans, you emerge into the sudden crisp coolness of the Santiago night; less sober than a few hours ago, but certainly, more cultured.

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Comments

[camille]

memories
both the completo and the terremoto were brought up in conversation last week. glad to see an homage to the some of the grossest/entertaining parts of santiago.

[Judy]

Not good enough for parents and sibs??
So, how come we didn't get to sample these pork chops and pineapple drink? :) It would probably have been better than the lamb. :)