Guatemala: A Culinary Melting Pot

I’ll admit it -- I’m a picky eater. In fact, I’m probably the pickiest person you’ll ever meet when it comes to food. As a child, during mealtimes my mother would set the timer and say, “If you’re not finished eating by the time this goes off, you’ll __(insert punishment here)__.”  

It didn’t work. Needless to say, I endured a lot of __(insert punishment here)__  just to avoid eating whatever was on my plate. I wasn't going to eat what I didn’t like. And there were a lot of things I didn’t like.

Tick-tick-tick-DING!

This is what I do to eggs when I have Sharpies nearby.

It’s a wonder I didn’t grow up with an eating disorder. (Does “Pain in the Ass Picky Eater” count as an eating disorder? Someone look it up in the DSM-IV book.) 

As an adult, I’m still picky. I don't like butter. I don't like sour cream. I don't like mushrooms. Or olives. Or liver. I don't like eggs, although I'll eat them here only because they are cheap and plentiful and I can draw on them first. 

I recall going to dinner with my dearest darling wonderful friend, Melissa, and ordering nachos. But, much like Sally from When Harry Met Sally, I wanted them my own way -- just chips and cheese. None of that nasty green guacamole (reminds me of The Exorcist), no sour cream (oooh, yucky), no tomatoes (too slimy), and definitely no jalapeños. When the waiter brought our food to the table, he announced what was in his hands, “Ok, who gets the regular nachos and who gets the boring nachos?”

These nachos are not for me.  More for you!

Boring nachos! Ohhh yeeeeah. Come to mama.

I respect those people who can go to a potluck lunch and try a little bit of everything. Mark my words, you will never hear me say, “Oooh! Someone made Eggplant Squash Succotash with Squid Nuggets and Peas! How interesting! I’ll take some of that!”

Basically, if I can't recognize it or name it, I'm not gonna eat it. Nope. No way. 

Eating mystery food is my version of hell.

Last week, I ran into my friend David and we went out to lunch. David is from Puerto Rico, a very talented jewelry/furniture/home designer and is wonderfully gay. He calls me “ChaCha.” It’s fun hanging out with him because if an attractive man catches our attention, I will ask, “Your team or mine?” I have to ask because I was born without the Gaydar gene. I only assume a man is gay if he comes up to me and introduces me to his partner. Or if he is on the tv show “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.” Or if he knows (and sings) a lot of show tunes. In high school one of my best friends, Robert, was gay and I had no clue. (In my defense, Robert didn't know he was gay, either, until he was in college and then it was all gay, all the time.) During high school Robert dated my friend Deborah, and I thought it was soooo cool of my mom to let Robert spend the night when I had slumber parties. She said she knew Robert was gay and nothing would happen if he spent the night. (And it’s true! Nothing ever happened! EVER!) My mom has a very accurate Gaydar. Heck, even my grandma knew Robert was gay! I was clueless.

Ahhh, but I digress...

Anyway, so David and I were trying to figure out where to eat and he said, “Oh, ChaCha! There’s this new Mediterranean place that is supposed to be excellent!” And a sort of grunting/gurgling sound escaped from my mouth – the sort of sound you’d make if you were playing poker and were working on a royal flush and you just picked up an ace from another suit and had to throw it out. Yeah, that kind of sound.

David looked at me and said, “What? You don’t like Mediterranean food?” And I ‘fessed up and said, “Ehhh, I've probably never tired it.” And then he said what people have been asking me my entire life:

“How do you know you don’t like it if you’ve never tried it?”

Well, because... It sounds like it could be slimy. Or gooey. Or squishy. Or made of unfamiliar ingredients. Or have meat in it that I can’t identify.

Let’s face it, I had no good reason for not liking Mediterranean food. And David’s peer pressure was killing me. *sigh* Ok. Fiiiiiiiiine. Let’s go to that Mediterranean place.

*siiiiiiigh*

Here's a picture of Zoola's cool interior.

The place was called Zoola and it’s actually a hostel. A really COOL hostel! And a really CLEAN hostel, for anyone who is in the market for a place to stay in Antigua. It had these giant pieces of fabric covering the roof and these low low low tables and big pillows and straw mats on the floor. In other words, no regular tables and chairs, so plop your bootie on the floor and get comfie! I felt like at any minute, a live camel would come walking by. It was awesome!

Zoola is run by a brother and sister from Israel who cater to Israeli students who want to travel abroad. They also have another location in Guatemala near Lake Atitlan but they wanted to branch out in Antigua. (I’m glad they did!)

David asked if I liked falafel and I was like, "Nooo…? Well. Maybe? I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I’ve never had it." Honestly, I had no clue what falafel was. All I knew was it had the word AWFUL in it. Then again, it also contains the word LAWFUL, which means my brother (who is a cop) would probably like it. Falafel sounded like something that would be covered in alfalfa and be made out of pygmy goat or alpaca or mashed-up grasshoppers or something. Regardless, David ordered the falafel for us. The waiter described it to me as “balls of meat with a dressing on top.” Needless to say, I was nervous. Balls of meat?! Dressing?! Oh, what food hell was this??? I started to sweat and began to plan what I’d be eating after my lunch with David was over.

Falafel! It's not awful! 

And when it arrived… I checked it out like a cautious dog circling a hissing cat. And then I took a bite... And... It was AWESOME! It was crunchy! I like crunchy things. It was flavorful! I like flavory things. It didn’t have too much dressing on top! I don’t like too much dressing. It had cucumbers! I like cucumbers. I’ve been craving it ever since. Score one for the picky eater! Woop-woop!

Interesting that my first falafel experience was in Guatemala with a man from Puerto Rico, served by people from Israel, while sitting on a straw mat. (No camels, however.) (But there was a very shy dog who lived at the hostel.) (She licked my nose when I met her.) 

It was a truly unique experience.

Mmmm... pizzaaaaaa...

On that note, I have to say my new favorite place to get pizza here is a tiny dive called “Gourmet Express” which sounds like a cheesy little fast food Chinese place, right? Nope. It’s run by a very opinionated German guy named Roland and his sweet Guatemalan wife, Ana Maria. And when I say it’s a “tiny dive” I really mean it – there are two tables in the whole place. I invited a few friends to meet for dinner one night – there were nine of us – and we took up the entire restaurant. Oooh, and now I’m craving pizza.

Nom-nom-nom.

So, if you're in Antigua and you want Mediterranean food, eat at the Israeli restaurant. If you want Italian food, go to the German guy’s place. Oh, and be sure to try Roland's German beer -- it's very strong and it'll make a man of you. JAWOHL! 

And until we meet again, stay thirsty (and hungry) my friends!

-Jennifer