ANNABEL LANGBEIN
Find the way to your Valentine’s heart with this tasty meal
The food of love
In my early 20s I received a marriage proposal from a Bolivian general. I was on the shores of Lake Titicaca, at the festival of the Virgen de la Candelaria, which is famous throughout South America. The procession of hundreds of people wearing grotesque masks, whistling and whooping as they dance, is like nothing you have ever seen. Entranced, I climbed on a truck to get a better view and was busy taking photos when a man came up and called to me, “Tu fui robado.” Not “I’m going to rob you,” but “You have been robbed.” I looked down into my shoulder bag. My passport was gone, all my money, everything … the bag was empty.
Sobbing hysterically, I was escorted to the general’s tent, and a bevvy of military were dispatched to find the offender. The general offered me a glass of Krug Champagne and assured me not to worry, all would be found. After a few hours my passport and belongings — less US$100 and I wasn’t about to complain about that — were returned.
By then a great deal of Champagne had been consumed and the general and I had danced a kind of a hip-hop in the town square. Things were getting very jolly.
“Deliciosa,” I simpered politely, munching on some sweet, indecipherable joint of meat that was being passed around and slurping down more Krug. “Es muy deliciosa — algo regional?” I asked. (“Delicious — is it something regional?”) His eyes lit up, “Aahh,” he exclaimed, “Si, es muy especial. Cuyol.” I gulped, faltering over the idea of eating a favourite pet.
And then out it came … I was a woman of great taste and great beauty, a woman who could bear his heir, he who would be the next Presidente. In the midst of this streaming torrent, he dropped to his knees and proposed, imploring that I accept him as my husband for evermore.
Now Krug is a drop that’s hard to refuse, but the prospect of being married to a Bolivian general, especially one who considered firearms part of his wardrobe, was not something I felt my mother, nor the children I hoped I would one day bear, would be very happy about. Especially when they came to discover that Daddy’s penchant for guinea pigs lay squarely on the plate.
In those parts of the world, one is not usually inclined to disagree with the military, and so with a racing heart, on the pretext of a bathroom visit, I grabbed my handbag with its restored contents, and climbed on to the toilet seat to remove the top louvre windows. Once out the window I made a run for a moving bus back to La Paz. In the morning I reset my compass for Brazil.
To mark Valentine’s Day, this week I’ve put together a simple menu that you can cook for your loved one – no guinea pigs required.