“The food of the soul of the earth.”
We were in the epicenter of Mayan civilization, and it felt like that. A sense of awe is inevitable in Guatemala. So is hunger. My traveling partner, the venerable El Don of Estylo Magazine (and sometime contributor to Women & Wine), and I were there to tour the Tikal ruins, Guatemala City, and Antigua … and to eat, eat, eat.
Our able and affable host was Carlos Santos, Delta Airlines regional manager of Latin America, the Caribbean, and U.S. Hispanic. Delta had recently opened a direct flight to Guatemala City from Los Angeles and was celebrating with a brief press tour, on which I was fortunate enough to be invited.
Our trip to “la alma de la tierra,” began as we touched down at the Guatemala City airport and caught a cab to our hotel, the wonderful Westin El Camino Real. After a (very) brief rest, we pried our eyes open and met Carlos downstairs. We were greeted effusively by our guide, Tony, of Clark Tours—our walking, breathing, Guatemalan Encyclopedia Britannica.
Our bus rumbled past earthquake-damaged streets that were beautiful in a unique way—adorned with old, weathered signs and Spanish Colonial architecture. A herd of goats, bleating and bobbing their heads passed by, driven along the cobbles by a boy with a stick. “He is selling fresh milk on the streets,” said Tony. “If anyone wants milk, he will stop the goats and squeeze some for them.” We were amazed that this could happen right in front of Payless Shoes, one of the Guatemalans’ favorite American chain stores (another being Hooters). I leaned out of the windows of the tour bus, snapping photos happily, until my stomach began to distract me, forcing me to take shots of McDonald’s and roadside vendors selling handmade tortillas, puposas, and hotdogs. Interestingly enough, Guatemalans claim to sell the very best hotdogs on earth—perfectly grilled sausage tubes of high-end beef (no evil byproducts for them) nestled in a grilled bun, with grilled onions, relish, and piles of guacamole.
Fortunately, it was indeed time for lunch, and we bustled off to Kakao to meet the tourism board and have some authentic Guatemalan cuisine. The restaurant was spectacular, with a high thatched roof, broad-beamed wooden floor, wait staff wearing colored uniforms made from the country’s famed weaving, and a wall of carved angels with serene eyes, holding drippy candles. Another wall had a diorama of marimbas—the country’s official musical instrument. Everything formed a wonderful collage of rich colors and textures. The food was delicious: potato tamales stuffed with shredded chicken and green chili, draped with tomato purée; pork tenderloin marinated in Adobo sauce; and Suban-Ick, a ceremonial dish of Kakchiquel royalty from San Martin Jilotepeque. Don’t ask me what all that means, because I have no idea—I only ordered it because if something’s come down from royalty, it has to be very, very good.
The steaming bowl contained a mixed grill of meats: chicken breast, pork loin, and smoked ribs, all swimming harmoniously in a broth of tomato and sweet peppers. It was divine. All dishes were served with guacamole, and what was unquestionably the most incredible black bean paste I have ever had. All over Guatemala, these little dabs of black bean paste left me spinning in my seat. I harangued plenty of chefs and servers, but they would just shrug and look puzzled. “No, you don’t understand,” I would say wildly. “This is amazing and I MUST know what’s in it!” No answers, just demure headshakes and a shyly muttered, “Frijoles …” Some things are destined to remain a mystery.
El Don, Carlos, and I enjoyed our lunch immensely, and I was brought into the kitchen to congratulate the chef personally. He stopped his chopping and gave me a beaming hug. The cheerful kitchen was full of pots of boiling peppers, happy staff, and lots of sunlight.
