February at Andina

February 12, 2010

Un romance de otros tiempos

A romance from another time

On Valentine’s Day we celebrate a most powerful feeling, one that makes the strong vulnerable, and the weak strong. Our human love. When I visit tables in Andina, and see signs of romance and celebration, I am always attracted to ask couples old and young, how they met, and the answers are so diverse and so peculiar, they confirm a simple truth for me: we can find love at any time, any where, and many times, without knowing it until it’s already “too late”. Lately I am hearing more and more that people find love through social networks on the Internet. As the story goes, you submit a description of who you are and who, in general terms, you are looking for, and that information then travels around the city, state, country, and even the world. Sometimes it finds a response, someone who is also looking for a partner or soul mate, and many times the miracle continues: these two human strangers then meet each other and marry. I have met couples—Americans (usually men) married to Peruvians—who never met personally, but found each other trough the Internet. It’s amazing to me! As you see, love comes by the way that it determines for itself, and is as unpredictable as it is mysterious.

Following the same line of thought, and eager to show how love touches lives in ways that we never can guess, I am going to describe an Old Fashioned Romance that happened in my own family. A romance between my father (Victor) and my mother (Clarita).

To help you to travel in time and distance, I need to tell you that both of them were “shilicos” (from Celendín a province north of Cajamarca), and were born in two different but very close villages, my father in Sucre, and my mother in Jose Galvez. They were also distant relatives of one another, as virtually all the people in those villages were; however neither of them knew of the existence of the other.

My father was the eighth and youngest child of his family. By his own will, he left Sucre when he was 12 years old, seeking an education with the help and guardianship of his oldest brother, Elias. Elias had become a wealthy merchant selling straw hats, and lived at this time in the city of Huamachuco, far away from his home town.

My mother remained in Jose Galvez, living with her mother and sister. Her father had died when she was 14, poisoned by a serpent on his semi-tropical farm close to the Maranon River. She and her sister were considered by their village to be good looking, fine and virtuous young ladies. My mother was the town “modista” (seamstress). She sewed beautifully, and my aunt embroidered, cultivating this traditional skill and artistry. They were reaching the proper age for considerations of marriage, and there was more than one suitor in the village ready to ask the hand of either of them.

After finishing high school in Huamachuco, my father traveled to Trujillo (a colonial coastal city, not so far from Huamachuco) to study Law. He would be the first professional in his family, all of whom were either farmers or merchants, men of the cloth or idlers. Becoming a lawyer was a matter of pride for all. One magic day, my father was at the Main Entrance of the University, located on one of the four corners of Trujillo’s main square. He was waiting for the next lecture with a group of his classmates when he saw, not far away, three ladies strolling and looking around, as if they were foreigners to the city, which in effect they were. The three ladies were my grandma and her two daughters—my mother and my aunt. The three ladies were simply passing time before continuing their trip to Lima, Peru’s capital. Their bus had had a technical problem, and the driver was obliged to enter Trujillo for repairs. He had left the passengers in the Main Square, and recommended that they stretch their legs for a bit, and this was the reason why my grandmother and her daughters had been strolling around the plaza.

As the three women came closer to the group of the students, one of my father’s classmates (who happened to be another “shilico”) recognized them as his aunt and two cousins, and completely surprised went to greet them.

My father directed his sight to the women, and he saw my mom! …. Something leaped inside of him. He knew that he was smitten as he had never been before, and that the young lady he beheld was the cause and source. His soul and his heart awoke under the magic of first love!

My mother was completely unaware of even my father’s presence. She and her sister and mother were very happy to see their relative, and after a brief conversation, they returned to the bus to continue their trip. My father remained entirely enamored, and asked his friend any and everything related to my mother—who she was, where she was from, what she was doing—and the responses pleased him. He learned that she was from the same region as he, that she was traveling with her mother and sister to visit Lima, due to a gracious invitation from one of her uncles, who encouraged them to know a little about life in the big city. He also learned that it was for them the first time they traveled far away from home, the first time they would be visiting Lima, and that my mother came from a strong and good family, and that she had the affection of everyone in her home town.

After my mother returned to her home town, she began receiving letters written by my father, still a complete stranger to her. Those letters were poetic, romantic, and sincere. In each letter, my father urged my mother to write him back, but she didn’t respond to his request. For her, all that was happening was so strange! Letters from a man who said that he loved her since the first moment he saw her?! And that he was from the same region; however he didn’t live there, and she never saw him?! What kind of man was he? Was he lying to her? Who was he? Perhaps a “vivo” or a “Don Juan”? She was afraid and suspicious! and decided not to answer him. Perhaps too, she needed to show him that she was a strong and decent woman, ready to love and to be loved, but not by a courting stranger.

For many months she did not answer him; but as an old proverb says: “The constant water sculpts the stone”. And one day my mother, encouraged by her sister, changed her mind and wrote a reply. Her first letters were very formal, short, and a little cold, but little by little they became warmer and warmer. She was, as time would show, falling in love. Both got to know to each other more and more through exchanged pictures and by sharing their dreams and plans in successive letters. Nobody in town knew my mother’s romance, only her sister. Her mother was a little concerned by the apathy that my mother showed to potential suitors. Many times my grandma encouraged my mother to be more friendly, but my mother ignored her advice; instead, she spent long hours sowing, and guess what she was sowing? Among the dresses and blouses of her clients, she was also preparing her “ajuar” (her wedding and marriage ensemble): bed spreads, sheets, pillowcases, towels, tablecloths, napkins, night gowns, dresses, blouses, and all of them embellished with my aunt’s embroidery.

Of course letters came and letters went, and time was passing too. Do you know for how long my mother and father continued writing to each other? You are not going to believe it! They kept writing to each other for 5 years, which was the time my father needed to finish his law studies. During those 5 years, my mother never lost her faith and confidence in my father’s promises. She waited until my father became a lawyer, and when that day arrived, my father was ready to fulfill his promise. He resolved to return to towns where both he and Clarita came from, and finally to meet and marry his beloved! He and his oldest brother traveled from Huamachuco to Sucre, their home town. It was a long distance, but I can only imagine that great anticipation made it short. And I imagine how my mother’s heart must have pounded, when she heard the sound of horses that passed by her town on their way to Sucre. For she knew that on one of those horses was my father!

The following day, my father went in the company of his cousin to visit my mother. For my mother it was going to be the first time she would see and know him in person! My aunt recalled how my mother saw two men entering the town at a distance, and was nervous that she would not be able to tell which was my father. My aunt, more serene, gave her logical advice, saying, “The one that smiles at you and comes straight toward you. He will be Victor!” And she was right! My father came straight to her smiling, bowed and shook hands. My mother, quite red and confused, offered them a refreshment, “naranjas balseras” (fresh oranges from her family’s finca near the Maranon River).

My father invited her to go for a walk, the two of them alone. As they strolled the main square of Jose Galvez, side by side, people in the town noticed that my mother was walking with a stranger. Who is he? Some said:” I think he is one of her cousins.” The others said, “No, he is not! I know all of them, and even so, he doesn’t look like one of us!” In a few hours, gossip inundated the town: Clarita had walked the plaza with someone! And her mother was absent (for my grandmother was harvesting fruits on the Maranon).

My father expressed to my mother that he wanted to meet her mother as soon as possible, in order to formally ask for her hand in marriage. My grandmother, obliged by the circumstances, and shocked by the news brought by a messenger, didn’t have any other alternative but to come home immediately to meet the man who was proposing to marry her daughter!

The day of the proposal arrived. My grandmother and my mother were well protected in the presence of the governor of the town (a cousin, of course). My grandmother needed to show my father that even being a widow, without a husband, she still had powerful people in town to protect her and her daughters. My father arrived with his father and his oldest brother; he too wanted to show to my mother and grandma that he had the support and the approbation of his family.

What happened next was always related to my siblings and me in a funny and festive mood. As soon my grandma saw my fathers’ father entering her living room, she stood up and with a big surprise reflected in her eyes and voice, exclaimed: “Tio Jose!” (“Uncle Joseph”), “what are you doing here?” And my grandpa said: “Are you really asking me what I’m doing here? I am here because my son, Victor, plans to marry your daughter, and he asked me to witness his proposal. That is why I am here!” Then, looking toward my mother he said in a very sonorous and ceremonious way: “Daughter, you will be leaving your house and entering into my house; from now on you will belong to two houses”, and after that he allowed my father to propose to my mother. With tears of love and anxiety in her eyes and red cheeks, my mother said yes. Their engagement was celebrated with hugs and laughter, and with an official “brindis” (toast) made by the governor of Jose Galvez!

My grandma’s doubts and concerns dissipated: my mother was going to marry a member of our extended family, whose father was her distant uncle, a man well-known for his rectitude. My father was a man who had demonstrated in his long courtship that he really loved my mother. So my grandmother was satisfied!

My father’s dreams were fulfilled. He would have as his wife and companion the young woman who had been his first love. And after her initial strong reluctance, my mother also came to believe that some day she would marry my father. Her long waiting was paying her back! Soon she was going to be the wife of a man who had persevered in his courtship, whom she had learned to love through letters! Their romance led to a happy marriage. They deeply loved and respected each other, and their love gave fruit: they had four children. But as always happens in life, nothing lasts for ever, and their happiness, though real and wonderful, was relatively short, My mother died when I was 12 years old, while my father survived her until his death 5 years ago when he was 94, But for him and for all of us, love makes the ones we love immortal—they live in our hearts for ever!

Happy Valentine’s Day to all! Viva el Amor!

Mama Doris.

Wine texture and weight

KEN COLLURA, WINE DIRECTOR

I’m a pretty flexible guy when it comes to wine. I like ‘em in all sizes, from XXL down to S. Each category has its place on the table, the spot where wine fits in the best.

How do we determine where to “put” a wine? What should our criteria be when we think about matching wine with food? Often, reviewers stress size, using descriptors such as huge, gargantuan, massive and fat. Or sometimes it’s the aromas that excite them, and they float off into the ozone on rose petals, cherry blossoms and spice.

I don’t know why, but I rarely think of musk, sap, oak char, underbrush or road tar when I taste wine. The main thing that I try to assess when the juice hits my palate is texture. How does it feel on my tongue? The texture of wines, i.e., how rich they feel in the mouth, says a lot about how they will match with foods. To put it simply, some wines are light, some medium-bodied, some full. Once you gauge a wine’s “weight,” it becomes infinitely easier to pair it with your meal.

The other day I noticed a group of people at dinner drinking a rich California Cabernet with their grilled shrimp appetizers. I thought it an odd combination, but I was totally floored when the main course (steak and lamb chops) arrived, and the party switched to Beaujolais and sweet Riesling. I’ve always said to each his own, but it appeared to me that every element in that meal had been forced to dance with an inappropriate partner, and therefore was diminished.

Below is a listing of which wines fall into what “weight” categories. With a little bit of pre-planning, it’s simple to choose the right style to pair with the meal you envision. Keep in mind that there are exceptions to every rule, and the world of wine is particularly vexing. Describing how each tastes and what to expect from them is difficult at best, so use this listing as a general, rudimentary guide.

LIGHT WHITES Austrian Gruner Veltliner or Riesling; German Riesling; French Sauvignon Blanc and Chenin Blanc; almost any Italian or Spanish white, such as Pinot Grigio, Soave and Albarino.

MEDIUM-BODIED WHITES Alsacian or American Riesling; Alsacian or American Pinot Blanc; American or New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc; French Chardonnay (Burgundy); Oregon Pinot Gris.

FULL WHITES American Chardonnay; Australian Chardonnay and Semillon; American or French Viognier or Gewurztraminer.

LIGHT REDS French Beaujolais (Gamay); French Pinot Noir (Burgundy); French Loire Valley reds, such as Chinon or Bourgueil; Italian Dolcetto and Spanish Mencia.

MEDIUM-BODIED REDS California or Oregon Pinot Noir; American Merlot; Chilean Cabernet and Merlot; French Bordeaux; most traditional Italian or Spanish reds, such Chianti Classico, Barbaresco, Ribera del Duero and Rioja.

FULL REDS Australian Cabernet and Shiraz; Argentine Malbecs, California Cabernet Sauvignon, Petite Sirah, Syrah and Zinfandel; French Rhone Valley reds, such as Hermitage, Chateauneuf-du-Pape and Gigondas; wines from regions in the south of France, such as Languedoc and Midi, and most Washington State varietals such as Syrah and Cabernet.

Try some experiments with the above list. One in particular that I like is grilling up some chicken breasts and then matching them with a light, medium and full red. You’ll be surprised how quickly it becomes apparent which pairs up the best. This is not rocket science, nor is it a poetry contest. All it’s really about is what tastes good.

LEFT: Along with sacred objects, royalty was often buried with their pets, many of which were Peruvian hairless dogs. RIGHT: Remains of attice walls from the Chan Chan compounds.

Fishing at Chan Chan:
Andina’s homage to an Ancient Empire

NINA LARY

500 miles north of Lima, Peru, in the stark coastal desert outside of Trujillo, lay the remains of the largest city in Pre-Columbian America. Chan Chan, a sprawling complex of 10,000 buildings that once covered close to 10 square miles, was the capital of the Chimu empire, a pre-Incan civilization that reigned over a vast section of Northern and Central Peru from A.D. 850 to the late 1400s.

According to legend, a man named Taycanamo floated into the tiny fishing village of Huanchacho (see “Andina’s Coastal Influence”) on a fleet of balsa wood rafts and decided the desert to the east would make a nice dry seat for his up and coming empire. With its proximity to fish-rich oceans fed by the Humboldt current and an average rainfall that would hardly fill a bathtub, it was indeed an ideal location for what was about to become the world’s largest adobe city.

Chan Chan’s construction began in the 9th century and continued to expand until the Incan army conquered in 1470. Chan Chan’s common folk, including a large population of artisans, lived in barrios or neighborhoods outside of the ciudadelas, walled palace-like compounds that housed the aristocracy. Archaeologists speculate that Chan Chan was ruled by a succession of ten kings—each within their own ciudadela. When the reigning king died he was buried in an elaborate ceremony that often included sacrifice of those closest to him, including young women and even royal pets. This solidified his position in the afterlife. When the new king took over, he had his own ciudadela built, from whence he ruled and would eventually be buried.

At Chan Chan and many of the area’s surrounding ruins, you will still encounter the descendants of the pets who stood by their kings in life and into death. The Peruvian Hairless dog, one of which was recently offered as a gift to U.S. President Barack Obama, is a shockingly naked dog. Their images have been discovered on early Chimu pottery as they enjoyed royal stature long before and well into Inca rule. Today they are treated as common scavengers, but continue to roam the perimeter of Chan Chan assessing each visitor with a watchful eye.

Protecting a city made from mud is a thankless job. Chan Chan’s importance can hardly be discussed today without mention of its deterioration. It stands as a priceless archaeological site, but one that was put on both the UNESCO World Heritage list and the UNESCO World Heritage in Danger list in the same year. El Niño storms, which once occurred only every 25 to 30 years, are increasing in frequency and are a lethal threat to the fragile mud complex. Peru’s Instituto Nacional de Cultura is working with a shoestring budget to maintain the ruins, but with erratic weather threats and increasing acts of vandalism that the INC doesn’t have the staff to mitigate, Peruvians are rightly concerned about the future of Chan Chan.

Though Andina, meaning “of the Andes,” clearly represents the perspective of owner Doris Rodriguez de Platt’s youth deep in the Andes, it also pulls inspiration from diverse cultural and culinary traditions across Peru. When it came to designing the restaurant, the Platt family wanted to embed subtle nods to the nation’s most significant architectural and historic elements throughout. They paid tribute to the ancient city of Chan Chan by building the honeycombed wine storage wall on the dining’s room west end. In Cidudadela Tschudi, one of Chan Chan’s most well restored palaces, the same lattice-like design leads visitors away from the sanctuary where human sacrifice took place. Its interlocking diamond shapes represent the fishing nets that were integral to sustaining Chimu life.

This stark juxtaposition of life and death wouldn’t have struck the Chimu as morbid, but as elemental and unavoidable. With the future of Chan Chan gravely uncertain, the Platt’s homage may turn out to be more significant than they could have ever imagined.