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It was the week before our wedding, back in the era of exaggerated shoulder pads and poofy hair dos, in the summer of 1990. These were the days of a la brava and compulsory mixing and mingling of our two large families: on one side, the ultra Irish flock from Massachusetts and on the other side the Peruvians, and Cubanized-Peruvians-by-way-of-Miami, with a side order of Argentines, for good measure.
Jimmy’s brother would do a recap of the week’s culinary tromp through Peruvian dishes, “The ceviche was amazing; the potatoes with the cheese sauce…that one, I don’t really get.” I understand trying to navigate the strangeness of concoctions never seen or tasted. It took me a while to get used to the EEUUians love for peanut butter and root beer – both which I still avoid. And then there was rhubarb pie. My brother tried to sell us on the concept one afternoon at a Knott’s Berry Farm café, “It’s great. It is a root.” Nope, we didn’t want it. And Peruvians are all about roots and tubers. (In retrospect it is the rhubarb stalk, I think, not the root, but no matter.) His marketing was spot on. If you are going to sell something to a kid, odd is a good angle. It is like when Jimmy and I got our daughter successfully started on seaweed-wrapped sushi by saying to her, “It’s what The Little Mermaid eats.”
Papa a la Huancaína is a staple of any Peruvian restaurant menu around the world. It is not Papá, like dad. It’s Papa. Not Papa like the Pope, but like potato. Huancaína means it comes from Huancayo…pertaining to Huancayo – the capital city of the Junín Region, nestled 10,692 feet high in the Peruvian Andes.
Papa a la Huancaína is a universal Litmus test. You can gauge how expensive a restaurant is going to be by the Papa price. In most Northern California eateries, it is about $7.95. Restaurants love ending their prices in a 5, not a 9, to differentiate themselves from car salesmen. If you see it for 11 dollars, you know you are in for a pricey night.
I can’t think what Life would be like if my family, my daughter, didn’t love and crave Papa a la Huancaína for birthdays and barbecues and any-special-weekend-days. It would be perhaps like her not liking The Beatles (shudder). I think I would take it personally…like if she didn’t know the words to “You’re Going To Lose That Girl” or – gasp! – “Yesterday.” She once tried to explain to me when she was little that a Smiths song was “the theme from Charmed” and really got a pedantic talking-to about origins and the fabulous New Wave 80s. “How Soon Is Now?” is an anthem, not a mere theme while some cute, witchy power girls run around fixing the balance of good and evil in their world. No offense to them, and thank you for that peskily-essential endeavor. I always empathize and feel the plight of children of people whose formative years happened in the 80s. That is rough. Us New Wavers are a handful!
Lucky for me, my daughter has an inherited, almost genetic yearning for the yumminess that is this ubiquitous Peruvian appetizer.
We joke at home about how obscenely good the Huancaína sauce tastes: that you could put it on Styrofoam and be completely content eating it. At one birthday party, my daughter’s friend started a new trend by eating it off the bowl, dipping corn tortilla chips in it. And really, it could be put on anything. I have seen menus and not yet tried – are you sitting down for this? – with a spaghetti version with Huancaína sauce.
My recipe for Papa A La Huancaína is simple, trying to make the Ají and the Queso shine above all.
Huancaína Sauce
Queso Fresco – two packages
Milk (I like using…old school...Evaporated Milk) – amount as needed
1/4-1/3 yellow onion, pan seared
Aji Amarillo paste – to taste
Bijol for color – 1/4 tsp.
Black pepper – a dash
Optional: a couple spoonfuls of mayonnaise (sometimes I do; sometimes I don’t. My
Huancaína-sauce-making is very moody, like the weather.)
Potatoes, boiled – Yukon Gold are my favorite lately (I avoid Russets because I like a
little sweetness in the potatoes to compliment the spicy sauce)
Hard-boiled eggs
Olives – Peruvian or Kalamata are best
Lettuce – for presentation; Romaine or Butter Lettuce are good.
For the full effect, and since it is always easier to follow instructions when you can visualize where you are heading, I have added the recipe as a pictorial, photo-journey on a flickr album at:
www.flickr.com/photos/22996143@N06/albums/72157659754568200
And there it is: simple and delicious. The height of summer memories and laughter-drenched al fresco meals.
When you have been so used to doting for a living, it is hard to adjust to being – just being for yourself. It is like when you have been accustomed to driving stick shift your whole adult Life and then for some favor you have to drive your friend’s automatic. Your left foot feels fully silly and idle just sitting there, and your right foot is also looking for more of a calling than just the measly handling of the break and the gas. I now understand why we cook, and why we cook with our hearts. The kitchen is the place where Love can be given a physical, tangible form.
Papa a la Huancaína is our family tradition. It is the epitome of my food doting for my daughter. I watch her now, mixing and adding ingredients with ease. And I realize that the legacy has been handed, from mother to daughter, to ripple forth to the generations to come.
Songs for the one I love....
for old times' sake
How Soon Is Now? - by The Smiths
www.youtube.com/watch?v=hnpILIIo9ek
and one of the strangest, cheesiest songs about the potato that I grew up hearing in Perú
La flor de papa - performed by Luis Abanto Morales
www.youtube.com/watch?v=RJnUCYmVnyA