OCTOBER 2011

Celebrate your holiday party at Andina

The holidays are upon us. What better way to celebrate than in Tupai, one of Portland’s liviest and most versatile private event spaces. Located directly above Andina, Tupai is perfect for a seated dinner or a cocktail party. Andina’s three other private dining rooms accommodate smaller company parties, social gatherings and special events. For a tour or to reserve one of these spaces, please contact Special Events Director Jennifer Anderson at 503.228.9535 Ext. 206 or e-mailjennifer@andinarestaurant.com.

Andina, un mundo pequeño

Andina: a small world

I had always believed that the probability of encountering relatives or past acquaintances diminished with the increase of distance and time. Living in Oregon for many years, far away from my country of origin, I expected to experience this phenomenon in full. But, life has lately been showing me how wrong I was. I discover this whenever I visit tables at Andina and engage in conversations with our guests. It is there that I have learned how at any time, past relations can emerge into our present life unexpectedly, leaving us bewildered and in awe. Is it serendipity? Or is it something that was meant to be? Or is the truer law of probability? I don’t know. But it is happening to me with frequency.

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It was maybe three years ago that, passing by our hostess stand one evening, I saw a middle-aged couple waiting to be seated. I decided to approach them in order to thank them for being patient, and to reassure them that they would be soon be seated. The couple politely responded that they were doing very well, and mentioned that they were waiting for their son to join them.

They were from Texas, I also learned, where they had lived for many years. The gentleman was an engineer, and his son was coming from Astoria, where he was posted in the Coast Guard. Just as I was preparing to leave, the man asked me if I was Peruvian. When I said yes, he said that he too was Peruvian, and that, having decided to meet their son in Portland, they were happy to have found a Peruvian restaurant.

The next question came spontaneously from both sides: “Where in Peru do you come from?” From Cajamarca, I said. Surprised, the man said he was born in Lima, but that his grandfather and father were from Cajamarca—not precisely from the city of Cajamarca, but from the province of Celendín, Now I was the one surprised. I said to them that both of my parents also came from Celendín, and the man in great good humor said; “So, you and I are Shilicos (the nickname for the people of Celendín) by our roots!” Continuing with the story of his origins, he said that his grandfather and father were not born in the city of Celendín itself, but in a small village. I absolutely could not resist my temptation to guess the name of the village: “Is it Sucre, perhaps?” The man was in turn unable to restrain himself from complete surprise and excitement, and said: “How did you know?” To which I responded that I had guessed the village because my own father was born in Sucre, and my mother in a nearby village called Jose Galvez.

At this point the laughing man said: If your father was from Sucre, and your mother from the town close by, probably you and your family have heard of a man named Nazario Chavez. “Of course!” I said. “He was my uncle, and a very close cousin of my father” And, I started to recite all the memories and anecdotes I knew about Nazario Chavez. I told him that my family had been immensely proud of him; that besides being a writer and poet, he was always interested in politics, to the point that he went to jail for his principles in favor of the rights of the indigenous people. Moreover, he never denied his humble origins. I also knew that eventually he became a congressional representative for Cajamarca, and ascended in his political career until he became the Official Secretary of Manuel Prado, the President of Peru! As I finished my story, the man spoke in a broken voice and with great emotion as he informed me that Nazario Chavez was his grandfather! Coming close and embracing me, he said: “We are close relatives! We are cousins!”, and continued: “Who in the world could imagine that coming to Oregon from Texas, I would find not only another Peruvian, but one with whom I share the same roots, the same homeland, our beloved Sucre. Dear cousin, we are extensions of the same family that carries the some blood and the same pride in our ancestors.” In that instant I realized how life can surprise us with discoveries as unexpected as they are welcome. This was an experience that both of us will be sharing for the rest of our lives.

When his son arrived, I was introduced to him as his new aunt. They dined at table 43, and loved their dinner, I visited them periodically and through our conversation I became acquainted with their lives. I learned that I have another cousin (the father’s brother) in Chicago, that both brothers came to the United States sent by their father Pompeyo Chavez, the son of Nazario Chavez, to be educated. One brother became a physician and moved to Chicago, and if some day I go to Chicago, I will feel that my extended family is there for me. I won’t be a stranger in a strange land.

Yet another occasion confirmed for me how life can unfold with complete unexpectedness. This occasion also occurred when I was visiting tables at Andina.

It was late in the evening, and before my husband and I went home, I decided to pay a last visit to the few tables that still had guests. I went to table 30, where a couple was finishing their dessert, and after a brief greeting I asked them what they thought about our food; they looked at each other and smiled. The man said: “We are Peruvians, and we know our food very well! The food of your restaurant transported us to our homeland. It is very good!” And he continued telling me how they came to Andina to celebrate their anniversary and that they were having a wonderful time. Animated and feeling a little flattered I asked them my classic question: Which part of Peru are you from? The man replied that he was from Huacho (a province close to Lima ) and that his wife was from Cajamarca. Because I am also from Cajamarca, I was happily surprised. But the gentleman continued. They met and married in Lima. He was an engineer and graduated from the UNI (National University of Engineering), and together they came to the USA thanks to a scholarship that he had received from the University of Illinois. He had since obtained his PhD in Physics, and upon graduation looked for a job and found it at PSU (Portland State University). That is how he ended up living in Portland.

When I heard his story, my initial surprise gave way to a wider curiosity, in this case related to my husband. I remembered that, when both of us were living and working in Lima, he visited the National University (UNI) many times and knew some of the teachers very well, notably those with whom he had collaborated in developing effective ways to teach Physics. That was his job as part of the Educational Reform initiative for which the Peruvian Government had hired him.

Feeling that my husband needed to hear what I was hearing, I brought him to meet the gentleman, and together they discovered even more. Both knew the professor who had had a strong influence on this particular guest’s decision to become a Physicist, for he was the same professor who was one of my husband’s closest collaborators and a good friend as well. Both remembered clearly his name: Engineer Valqui. In addition to that professor, others were likewise recalled: Professor La Torre, Professor Hernandez, Professor Meerovici. With each shared name and memory, their excitement grew. It seemed unbelievable that at a restaurant in Portland an ex-Peace Corps volunteer and a Peruvian physicist had found so many things in common. They felt that from now and for the rest of their lives they were bound by their calling for Physics, by common friends, by a country they loved.

And yet there is more to this story. This time, the shared history belonged to the gentleman’s wife and me. After we learned that we were both from Cajamarca, our surprise was even greater when we realized that our parents were from Celendín, and not only from Celendín, but from the tiny village of Sucre (yet again!). Her grandfather’s name was Francisco Chavez Aliaga, and my grandmother’s name was Isidora Chavez Aliaga. Both of them had the same last names! (I started feeling goose bumps). Could we be relatives who had never met before? She mentioned that during her childhood she lived in Sucre, and so I asked if she remembered some of the names of her family. She mentioned tío Octavio (uncle Octavio), who happened to be my first cousin! She also knew, through her parents, about my grandparents, knew personally my uncles and aunts who were also her uncles and aunts. She knew exactly the street and the house where all of them lived. Both of us remembered out loud the place names and streets of that small village; and of course we talked about our Carnavales (Carnival), one the year’s most wonderful occasions, where all shilicos, old and young, returned home and gathered in Sucre, to celebrate life with food and dances, and incommensurate affection.

We shilicos are famous in Peru for being wanderers. You can findshilicos in any part of the world, including the “moon” (a popular joke about us). I feel that the presence of my relative and I that night at Andina, in Portland, Oregon, far away from our homeland, made us living testimonies of this fact.

In celebration of what life had had in store for us, which was our unbelievable discovery that we were cousins, we hugged each other, feeling and just about knowing that we came from the same roots, and belonged to the same family. She called me tia (aunt); and I called her sobrina (niece).

These are only some of the experiences that I have had visiting tables at Andina. They and others like make me realize and believe that by sharing something that is precious to us, in this case our food, we are opening an opportunity to meet a rainbow of people: some, like those in my stories, to whom we discover we are related or with whom we share a common and cherished past; but also to others, formerly strangers, who, once we have been bold enough to share something of ourselves, are no longer strangers. On such occasions, we are inviting each other to do create a bond that transforms our older worlds into one, significantly smaller world.

Here’s to sharing what we have, and making our world a better place in which to live.

Mama Doris.

The future of wine descriptions

KEN COLLURA

Throughout my career, I’ve often been at odds with how wines are described, both verbally and in the wine press. These descriptions can be overly floral and densely convoluted, to the benefit of no one. Therefore, after much rumination, I’ve decided to step forth and create my own lexicon of descriptions. Hopefully they will assist in helping the way one describes a wine, with concision supplanting convolution. I am petitioning countries around the world in an attempt to make my glossary universally accepted as the day-to-day norm. I’m pleased to say my wine descriptions are poised to become the accepted verbiage by the governing wine authorities in Greenland, Namibia and Fiji. And this is just the beginning. Here is the list of my descriptors, and please feel free to start applying them right away: Happy, Joyous, Confused, Sullen, Chameleon, Angry and Confrontational.

1) Happy. A Happy wine is bright, both in color and on the nose. It’s juicy and zingy as it bounces out of the glass and onto your palate in a conga-line of flavors. The acid, tannins, alcohol and fruit are in harmony. All is well with the world and smiles abound as you pour another round.

2. Joyous. Taking Happy to a higher plane, a Joyous wine adds both complexity and power to the mix. It is basically flawless, pushing every vinous button. Thoughts of one gorgeous food pairing after another cross your mind as each of the multidimensional taste sensations dances in your mouth. One rarely encounters such amazing bottles and never forgets them when they do.

3. Confused. Wines that are Confused hesitate to choose a path. They have yet to decide their future: Will the tannins soften or will they remain rough? Will that funk on the nose blow off, or will it worsen? It staggers about, bumping into walls, looking for the door that will unleash its true self. Years can pass before a Confused wine emerges into something like a condition of clarity. 4. Sullen. A Sullen wine does not answer when you ask it to come out and play. It crouches, brooding and unresponsive. No manner of coaxing will bring the Sullen wine out of its shell. You’ll find no nose to speak of, and the flavors will be muted and vague.

5. Chameleon. These wines don’t care if you think they are Pinot Noir, Grenache or Barbera. They are so “internationalized” that they appear to be all things at once. Rarely does a Chameleon taste like what it says on the label. It can say it’s from Spain, but it could be Australian or Sicilian. They are baffling and eminently forgettable.

6. Angry. An Angry wine is clearly not pleased to be entering your glass. Harsh in every way, the tannins and alcohol state the degree of this wine’s inner turmoil. There is very little one can do when encountering an Angry wine. Decantation or aging won’t do the trick, as it can’t be placated.

7. Confrontational. In the same manner as Joyous relates to Happy, Confrontational raises the bar for an Angry wine. This wine will pop you one in the solar plexus, and then step back, arms akimbo, and ask if you’d like another. Black and muddy in color, ludicrously high in alcohol and devoid of any saving grace, the Confrontational wine will leave you shocked and bruised.

So there we have it. Boldly going where no one has gone before, we have reached the Future of Wine Descriptions. As my emissaries, I hope you will feel compelled to contact the appropriate wine authorities and demand to see these descriptions instituted worldwide. It will only be a matter of time before the Floral and Convoluted of yesterday become the Joyous and Sullen of tomorrow!

Making every day extraordinary

NINA LARY

I used to date a guy that saved everything. Like once when his sister came home from a year in Guam with the Air Force and brought him home a six-pack of her favorite beer.

“Are you ever gonna try this beer?” I asked him months after his sister had come to visit. “It’s special,” he said. “I’ll drink it when the time’s right.”

Three months later, he still hadn’t cracked a single one. “Seriously, beer doesn’t last forever,” I said. “You should at least try it. She brought it for you to drink, not look at.”

“I know,” he said. “When the time is right.”

I didn’t understand all the ceremony over a six-pack, but I’d said my piece and kept my mouth shut after that. He finally pulled one of the beers out six months later. It was flat. That beer that his sister had packed and carried 3,000 miles—across the globe—for her brother, went to waste.

“I guess sometimes you have to make the right time instead of waiting for it,” I said. He just nodded and drank his flat beer.

Three years ago Jels, Andina’s general manager, approached me about writing for the Andina newsletter. I’d be the official in-house reporter, he said, digging up Andina’s inside stories. An interesting prospect I thought; but, like most freelance writers, I was working at a restaurant part-time to supplement my writing, so payment was naturally the big question. Jels offered to pay me in wine.Wine? I thought. Well I do drink it, and it would be fun to have something better in stock than 2-buck Chuck. Some of my writer friends balked when I told them the deal, demanding I not work for less than XYZ amount. But the way I saw it, I’d drink two bottles and stash two away each month, eventually amassing a mammoth wine collection that would grow ripe with age and impress the hell out of those same friends, whose general criteria for picking out wine was “a pretty label.”

***

Three years, 36 columns and some 144 bottles later, I’m writing my last newsletter column and have about 13 bottles of wine stashed in a dark corner of my basement storage unit. Not exactly the stockpile I’d envisioned. So I start thinking about where all that wine went, and remember giving some as a present for a friend’s engagement, nursing another friend back to sanity after a rough breakup, toasting a pregnancy, a new home. I provided champagne to celebrate new jobs, spicy reds to pair with roast lamb for my supper club, sparkling rosé for Sauvie Island picnics. Everyone special in my life drank that wine at sometime in the past three years.

I didn’t hoard it, collect it, like I thought I would. But I shared it, which in the end was my true payment for being a part of this newsletter for the past three years. Not only did it gain me a rep as the friend with good taste in wine, but also it reminded me that the good things, even the very best things (don’t worry Ken, I didn’t have access to that side of the list) are empty unless they’re shared. If you fight to save things for a special occasion, you risk them going flat. In this way and more, that’s what writing this column has been about for me: making the everyday extraordinary.

Jels saw all the unique stories just lying in wait at Andina and tapped me to explore them. Each one I uncovered removed the work face that we all put on for each other and showed that there was much more than small talk between co-workers. Jels hired each and every one of his staff because beyond doing their job, they all have extraordinary experiences to bring to the everyday of Andina. But we’d never have known about them if the stories – like all that wine that flowed so freely out of my supply – hadn’t been shared, relished.

I give my thanks to the Platts for starting such an incredible restaurant; to Jels for running it and always urging me to think big; to Victor for meticulous editing and thoughtful dialogue; and to Tatiana, for the endless patience and technological savvy it takes to put this newsletter out each month. Most importantly, I thank you readers, eaters, Andina lovers.

Let the wine flow,
Nina