Un viaje a otro tiempo

Un viaje que fue un poco al pasado y otro tanto al futuro. Con un libro por completar y un corazón por nutrir, partí el fin de semana pasado a Boquete, un pequeño poblado anidado en un valle a las faldas del Volcán Barú (el punto más alto de mi país) en la provincia de Chiriquí. Con sus angostos caminos de montaña, sus parajes de fantasía y las escenas de antaño que a diario se atestiguan en sus calles, Boquete se sentía como el lugar perfecto para tomar un descanso de la ciudad. Dos compromisos, uno al principio de mi viaje y uno al final, funcionaron como mágicos apoyalibros de una experiencia profundamente espiritual y enriquecedora.

En futuros posts sobre este corto viaje quizás hable un poco sobre la maravillosa oferta gastronómica –a todos los niveles– que tienen Boquete y sus alrededores, pero hoy solo los llevaré a caminar por sus senderos y sus calles de otra época, de donde fui sacando con cada paso una historia que contar, un recuerdo inolvidable, un retazo de belleza cotidiana.

The Journey.

First glance at the Caribbean from the ocean-to-ocean 
road to Bocas del Toro, Panama.

Sometimes we embark on journeys of self-discovery, whether this involves physically traveling or not. Very often, we ourselves don't acknowledge we did so until the journey has ended, leaving us with answers or perhaps even more questions. Questions different than the ones we had originally. 

Traveling always involves having meals outside of our routine. If the trip is one as I have referred to above, it becomes almost impossible not to associate the food we had outside of that comfort zone with the emotions we were dealing with at the time. You don't even have to have the same meal, or even feel its aromas. A simple mention of it, and the flavors will begin to magically (or chemically!) appear in your senses, and chances are you will be transported to that place, that situation, that feeling, that emotion, that tear running down your cheek, that candid smile in public; the kind of smile that will make a stranger's day when passing you by on the street on their way to work.

Lambretas in Bahia.

Brazil. Every corner, an opportunity for an unforgettable meal. Whenever people ask me about Brazil, I always open with the food. Yes, there are beaches. And breathtaking natural beauty. But I must admit that every time I get on a plane to go there (to anywhere in Brazil, really), I always begin to fantasize about food. I've had so many wonderful meals there, and with such fantastic people. Brazilians are kind and generous hosts, and they are proud about their food. I have recently come back from a trip to four cities in Brazil, including my beloved Salvador, the capital of Bahia. First thing I thought when my flight was confirmed: Lambretas.


Hard to explain what these are, except for saying they seem like a cross between a clam and an oyster, and they are much loved in Bahia. They are much larger than clams and their meat is so savory and with a sensuous texture. They are usually prepared steamed and boiled with onion and often in chicken broth; then served along with a spicy sauce (a kind of pico de gallo, if you will), and hot lemon-lambreta juice. You can also request a more spicy sauce if you are into heat.

A Lambreta pot, with the warm broth (up, right)
and my Pineapple Caipirinha (down, left) 

In this visit, I was invited by my Bahian hosts to one of the most famous lambreta joints in Salvador, in the street of Mouraria. Here, plastic tables are set literally on the street, while servers walk in and out of the small kitchen with their mammoth servings of the steamy stuff, and your choice of cocktail or tall beer. We chose Caipirinhas, of course!

When you see your first lambreta, with its white proboscis sticking out of its body and its somewhat artless demeanor, you may think it will be the grossest thing in the world to eat. But once you are pass that and put one in your mouth and feel its ironically soft/firm texture, its strong but exquisite flavor, and the juicy richness of its broth, you are in love. Then you start adding the spicy sauce, and drop lemon and the hot lemony broth on top of them before you eat them, and you just want to let that complex flavor evolve inside your mouth, as the elements combine, but never quite coalesce. Pure magic, dear readers. You keep asking for more and more pots of it.



Dressed in white (as tradition says you should in Bahia), we managed to go through four pots of lambretas, a plateful of pasteis de queijo (cheese flour empanadas), and generous cocktails. Meant for sharing, the lambretada is a tradition that binds people, invites them to avid conversation, promotes the sharing of ideas and stories while you share a meal. We certainly did that with our wonderful hosts, and had a magnificent evening at Mouraria. I have a feeling it won't be the last. And yes – there will be more posts on this trip soon!