Pollo a la Brasa

In the year that I´ve been here, I´ve learned one thing: We are really passionate about our chicken. Two anecdotes:

(1) I was dining at a polleria (roast chicken restaurant) when one of the patrons suddenly went into a convulsion. Suddenly, there was mad chaos. The guy was unconscious, shaking, and bleeding from the mouth (he bit his tongue), while his family was pushing back tables trying to lay him down on the ground. Peruvians are very open about their emotions so, the woman, whom I presumed was his wife, started wailing and praying to God. (I mean, what else are you going to do when there´s no ambulance service?) Meanwhile, a crowd was forming, because if there´s one other thing we love more than chicken, it´s to know what´s going on at all times. Anyways, after 10 minutes of wailing and everyone fanning him with napkins, the man eventually comes to. Whew! The family then ushers him out (to home, I presume) and everything goes back to normal. But then, 15 minutes later, the entire family (minus the convulsed man) comes back, resume their normal places at the table, and continue to eat the chicken that they had left behind as if nothing happened. Huh!

(2) The second story involves a hostage situation that happened in Lima a little while ago. Some bloke was robbing a bank and were holding people hostage. When the police came to ask him what his demands were, he told them the usual TV hostage requests—cash and a helicopter for escape. And then to cap off those two big things, the kidnapper then asked for pollo a la brasa—roast chicken—to eat. At first, I was really judgmental about this fellow, because, number one, we´re in Peru—I´ve yet to see a helicopter here except on TV. (Chuck Norris is a second God here.) Second, pollo a la brasa as your last meal!? (And I say ¨last¨ only because bank robberies never end well here.) Like I said, I was really critical of him at first, but then I started thinking about my ideal meal and you know what? I could not get out of my head the damn image of a Santa Fe Chicken Skillet from Village Inn. (In case you are not lucky enough to have visited a Village Inn, imagine a heavenly diner-establishment where each plate costs less than $10 and the place serves as a cavern for all senior citizens to unite after Sunday mass. No seriously, there is a mad line every Sunday from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m.)

So the moral of the story is this: Chicken is part of our culture here. And, after a lot of deep soul searching, I realized that chicken has become an important part of my life as well. I mean, it made an appearance at every one of my important events last year—birthday, Christmas, New Year´s, my last meal before my accident, my go-to meal after I had just had my accident, my comfort meal after the nurses surprised me with a sponge bath (you get the point). And this year, I don´t see it being any different. Listen, I may have been a sucker for the sugary carbohydrates before (I defy you, Coldstone two layer chocolate chip cookie dough ice-cream cake!), but this year just know that I can only be bought with authentic, Peruvian pollo a la brasa!