Above is a portrait of my host dad being amazed at my Hispanic cooking skills over Danish reality TV of what looks like nothing like Denmark. It's a true work of art.
Last week I cooked for my Host Dad and I can say with high degree of confidence that it went really well... If you don't count the actual cooking. My Host Dad asked me to cook again so this week I wanted to redeem myself. I wasn't ready to go down without a fight. And what better plate to come back full force with than a burrito!
From the first week in Denmark I got the clear memo that the Danes have no actual clue about Latin and Hispanic culture. Yeah, I'm always the spice of the party but that doesn't mean that everything we eat has jalapeños and chile. Contrary to popular belief in Denmark, the "Tex-Mex" option not only does little justice to Latin food but should be nowhere close to chili powder. The other day I ordered nachos which pretty much meant chili powder with a side of tortilla chips. I wanted "Mexican" blend cheese at the grocery store which meant a pack of mozzarella and cheddar cheese drowned in pizza-style pepper seeds. I went to the other supermarket and found, to my surprise, a feature Mexican table, which pretty much meant a table with cook book about how to make Guacamole. I told my Host Dad that where I'm from, in El Salvador and Central America, we usually eat a lot of rice and beans. He shows up to the dinner table the next night with white rice and a big pot of green beans. Which is right but also so so so so wrong. Forget about explaining to him what plantains are, or fried yuca, or pupusas, or empanadas, or tamales... If it doesn't have to do with pork, potatoes, or steak, I'm afraid the Danes will think you are talking in a different language. With that in mind, in this week's cooking I decided to venture into a territory universally-known: the burrito. An Americanized concept that has nothing to do with actual Latin or Mexican food, yes, but close enough as to open the door to conversation. Living with a Host means compromises.
We stepped away from the path of oven baked pork and beers, and I made my Host follow me into a little bit of my roots. I made and masterfully folded the burritos. I mean, you can see them in the pic, look at how beautiful they look. I also bought Guaraná, a Brazilian soda. I was hesitant to see if my Host was going to like them. So I awkwardly waited until he had the first bite and see his reaction. I'm not going to say he now calls me a "mastercook," but I think he really liked them!
It's nice to sit down with someone and try to understand and relate to his culture every night, but it is an added bonus that he is interested to know where I come from. I know I am different: colorful shirts, a golden tan, the Hispanic pronunciation of words, an affinity for palm trees, and a bolder sense of culture. He knows he is different too: two guinea pigs, a viking diet, singing in the shower, and firm views about Danish traditions.
I think in the end, it works out well.
Last week I cooked for my Host Dad and I can say with high degree of confidence that it went really well... If you don't count the actual cooking. My Host Dad asked me to cook again so this week I wanted to redeem myself. I wasn't ready to go down without a fight. And what better plate to come back full force with than a burrito!
From the first week in Denmark I got the clear memo that the Danes have no actual clue about Latin and Hispanic culture. Yeah, I'm always the spice of the party but that doesn't mean that everything we eat has jalapeños and chile. Contrary to popular belief in Denmark, the "Tex-Mex" option not only does little justice to Latin food but should be nowhere close to chili powder. The other day I ordered nachos which pretty much meant chili powder with a side of tortilla chips. I wanted "Mexican" blend cheese at the grocery store which meant a pack of mozzarella and cheddar cheese drowned in pizza-style pepper seeds. I went to the other supermarket and found, to my surprise, a feature Mexican table, which pretty much meant a table with cook book about how to make Guacamole. I told my Host Dad that where I'm from, in El Salvador and Central America, we usually eat a lot of rice and beans. He shows up to the dinner table the next night with white rice and a big pot of green beans. Which is right but also so so so so wrong. Forget about explaining to him what plantains are, or fried yuca, or pupusas, or empanadas, or tamales... If it doesn't have to do with pork, potatoes, or steak, I'm afraid the Danes will think you are talking in a different language. With that in mind, in this week's cooking I decided to venture into a territory universally-known: the burrito. An Americanized concept that has nothing to do with actual Latin or Mexican food, yes, but close enough as to open the door to conversation. Living with a Host means compromises.
We stepped away from the path of oven baked pork and beers, and I made my Host follow me into a little bit of my roots. I made and masterfully folded the burritos. I mean, you can see them in the pic, look at how beautiful they look. I also bought Guaraná, a Brazilian soda. I was hesitant to see if my Host was going to like them. So I awkwardly waited until he had the first bite and see his reaction. I'm not going to say he now calls me a "mastercook," but I think he really liked them!
It's nice to sit down with someone and try to understand and relate to his culture every night, but it is an added bonus that he is interested to know where I come from. I know I am different: colorful shirts, a golden tan, the Hispanic pronunciation of words, an affinity for palm trees, and a bolder sense of culture. He knows he is different too: two guinea pigs, a viking diet, singing in the shower, and firm views about Danish traditions.
I think in the end, it works out well.