dim sum yum

It was a Sunday in Lima, Peru.

On Sunday, I'm supposed to eat dim sum.

Nat and I leave our hostel in search of Chinatown in Lima. A long bus ride from posh Miraflores into Downtown Lima. A long stroll to Chinatown which included being soaked by a bunch of kids with water cannons and water balloons.

Sunday in Lima, Peru means carnaval "celebrations". That translates to kids tossing water balloons and wetting passerbyers.

We find a table at a spot that serves dim sum everyday. I hope for carts and carts full of tasty goodies that I have been craving for weeks. No such luck, however, there are two large Asian families sitting and large round tables. That's a good sign. A menu is set in front of me where I should indicate what I desire. My conundrum: the menu is written in Chinese, which I can't read, and translated into Spanish, which I don't recognize. What does JaiZow mean? The only items I could figure out were the ones I didn't want, like Chai Sow Bow.
After about 10 minutes, the only waitress that speaks some Mandarin comes by, she is obviously in high demand. I spout off the things I'm craving in Mandarin to her. We had about a 30% match rate. The dishes came one by one. I was surprised by how good the fish jook was and disappointed by the shiao rong baos. I wouldn't consider it a horrible first time dim sum experience for Natalie by my judgement, but I can't wait for her to come to the bay so I can show her what real dim sum is like.

konichiwa

UPDATE 04/13/2010: Stop commenting. I don't care what you think.

Every day at least one person either yells "Konichiwa!" at me or comments "Oh look, a Japanese/Korean". I haven't decided what irks me more, the fact that they don't assume I'm Chinese as if 1.2 billion people don't represent a significant ethnic group or the fact that they don't assume I'm American. I'm leaning towards the latter; after all I was born in California. I can almost forgive as there is a higher concentration of Japanese tourists than Chinese. But Peru, I should say Lima, has a decent Chinese population. There is even a common dish called chaufan! Saltado de Verduras means stir-fry vegetables! And I've come across Chinese restaurants even in the smallest of towns. There's my rant.

My rave. Let's go back to the time when we did our grocery shopping in markets. My grandmother might have had a word or two against this idea as she went to the market after work every day. But really there's nothing more mouth watering than stands and stands of fresh fruit and vegetables lined up right next to each other. Oh the culinary possibilities! You get the finest pick. If one stand has the nicest tomatoes but ugly spinach, you buy pretty tomatoes and move onto the next stand. Then you go to the spice section where there are freshly prepared sauces and salsas, potato bags full of brightly colored curries, peppers, dried leafy things beautifully arranged for your eyes to feast on. Even the flies-ridden meat market has its charm. I imagine that I'd develop a good relationship with a llama guy and he'll keep the best cut just for me. I'd get special prices on mangoes...
I know, there is a good reason why there is such thing as a grocery store now. Even now, these street stands are all concentrated in a place called Mercado Central. In a few years it'll be called Wal-mart...Let me be a romantic for a little while.

In location news, I'm currently in Nasca, Peru waiting to fly over the mysterious Nasca lines (crop circles in rocks and desert). For any who think that I have been frolicking in warm weather beaches, I assure you that I have been clinging dearly to my Patagonia fleece for the last three months. In fact, a good chunk of my travels have been spent in altitudes over 12,000 ft. It's cold up there.
Anyway, I have finally arrived in the land of sun and heat and elegant desert. I'm sweaty. Uck. :P