Peruvian Diner Experience

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It is ten until 6:00 pm and I'm eating at what must be a Peruvian Diner. I just ordered an "hamburguesa clasico con huevo y papas." Loosely translated that would be a classic hamburger with egg and fries. It feels so very White Spot for those of you who have been to Charlottesville. On the counter are homemade dessert cakes and glass jars of cereal. The whole place has to be no bigger than 15 feet wide by 35 feet deep, including the kitchen, sink, microwave, grille, dessert display case, a full-sized refrigerator and seating for 14 at 18-inch deep counter space lining the walls.

Red and green padded-stools hug the blue bar counter around the walls while the husband and wife team run the place with a familial professionalism. Over the diner speakers plays "Maneater" by Hall and Oates. This burger is no thicker than a #2 pencil, yet somehow the wife was able to grill it and still keep it pink on the inside. It's topped with lettuce, onion, tomato, pickle, a fried egg, and this diner's version of fries - "papas" - thin, short, slices of fried potato.

The menu consists of two black chalkboards with a list of available items written in multi-colored chalk. The husband erases one of the combos either in preparation for the late rush of customers tonight or to save himself some time preparing tomorrow morning. Maybe they are waiting patiently for me to finish eating, stop writing, pay, and leave so that they can close up. What leads me to this assumption is the fact that the original restaurant to which I was heading was closed. As I walked along looking for a different place to eat I came upon several more in the process of closing. Mind you - this was near 5:45 in the evening!

That burger filled me up nicely, but part of me wants to end one of those slices of cake gracing the counter. I'm sure the slice will double my bill and as I've quite contentedly rid myself of my hunger (hambre) and am generally on a tight budget, I must pass. I'll let the husband and wife lock up their Peruvian Diner and go home. Now let's see if I can understand the number they're about to give me...

... Yup, I understand "cinco soles." He even held up five fingers just in case. Sure Mr. Peruvian Diner Owner, I'll pay cinco soles or about one dollar and seventy cents for a Gus Burger with mini-fries and a bottle of water. That's what I call a deal! Gracias. "Hasta luego," he says. "Buenas tardes," I respond, which I quickly realize is used more frequently as a greeting (good evening) than it is a salutation. Ah well.

As for dessert, why don't I pop my head into this little roadside soda and candy stand? I pick out a nice piece of caramel-filled chocolate and then ask the attendant, "what's the best?" Then I say, "dulce," which I hope lets him know that I want something "sweet." He looks at me like he's paralyzed with indecision. It's as if he half doesn't understand, and half is scared to give the wrong answer. I ask again; half to make sure he heard me and half to make sure it sounds right in my head. He gives me the same facial expression but at least I notice him looking over his selection of candy as if he's at least considering answering my question. What do you say to a foreigner wearing an orange Orioles jersey asking for "the best" at your candy stand? Coming in for the save is the customer in the suit to my right chowing down on some chips. This guy points to the chocolate that I had picked up and informs me that it is, in fact, "the best"... "dulce." I need confirmation if he is in fact pointing to the candy I had handled, so I handle it again and say "este?" (this?) "Si, es muy rica," (yes, it is very rich) he confidently responds as he shoves another couple chips into his mouth keeping his jaws continuously moving. I'll take it! Cuanto cuesta? (How much?) Fifty cents. Here's a sole. Your change. Gracias, nos vemos! And I walk away with my single piece of caramel-filled chocolate that cost about 15 cents American. And the chip-eating suit-man is an honest chip-eater at that. It is indeed "rica" and hits my sweet tooth just like I like it.

Now I'm sitting outside of... what is this?... a hospital. The hospital seems like a social place tonight with people coming in and out with a few groups standing around outside chatting it up as if a bunch of sick people aren't 15 feet away from them. People are walking by looking at me, thinking "what is that foreigner in the orange shirt doing? Why is he sitting outside of the hospital writing in a book and eating a piece of caramel-filled chocolate?" Yes, it's moments like these that make me appreciate life.

Okay, it's starting to cool down a bit. I'm going to walk around a bit more and then head back to the hostel. So far - I like Peru, but I bet that the remainder of my experience here will differ greatly from what I'm experiencing right now. Not that it will be worse - but I'm sure I'll be in a different mindset in the coming weeks - less carefree. This is the last bite of my caramel-filled chocolate. Next stop - Pisco.

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Photos

Dessert
Caramel-filled chocolate

Chili's in Peru
No, I didn't eat there.

Street in Mariflores
Down the street from the roof of my hostel.

My Orange Orioles Shirt
My dad and I eating Boog's BBQ at Camden Yards the night before my flight to Lima.

Roof of Hostel
I'll tell you about it later

Comments

[charles]

thanks for spelling grill with an "e" in the first paragraph.