Machu Pizza – Why is good local food so hard to find?
A ‘Curate’s Egg’ is one of the more bizarre idioms of the English language. Meant to describe something which has both good and bad qualities, it has its roots in a now defunct 19th Century British satirical magazine, although the phrase itself has shown remarkable staying power.
It now crops up quite widely and I would submit that the tourism industry is one of the most rampant Curate’s Eggs that modern society affords us. Often bringing vast wealth to the area in question, tourism assuredly comes at a cost and even if loss of identity or authenticity are less easily assigned a price tag they are no less discernible.
Economists fret and fluster as to interest rates, monetary policy and quantitative easing but an obscure relic, tomb or temple is a far more powerful predictor of prosperity. A case in point is the obscure Aguas Calientes, a sleepy town nestled in the Andes in a previous life. It also happens to be the closest town to Machu Pichu, one of the 7 Modern Wonders of the World and mega-attraction for tourists the world over. Uyuni, an altogether more arid place, primarily functions as a launchpad for tourists of the Salt Flats of Bolivia.
These towns have been transformed into bustling commercial hubs where business is brisk and footfall plentiful. Dollars and Euros flood through the streets filling the registers of luxury 5 star hotels and backpacker hostels alike. Just as Kurtley and Kylie flaunt their Bondi beach bodies and beer till the early hours, Bob and Melinda’s Texan sensibilities mean their money is exchanged for Michelin Star meals instead. Not only are all of the tourists different shapes and size, but so are their wallets.
The Salt Flats of Bolivia
However, defining these towns as ‘successful’ purely thanks to the cash that cascades through their cafés is to miss the point. In truth, walking the streets of Uyuni or a town of its ilk is a fairly empty experience. The streets are crowded and nondescript, the markets’ wares a debauched caricature of local culture and the proliferation of travel agencies is bewildering. Tourists descend on Uyuni with good reason given how thoroughly magnificent the Salt Flats are but it is remarkable how vacuous such a day-tripper deluge renders the town itself. The native cuisines and customs are often far more worthwhile than the local Lonely Planet landmark but it is ironic that such traits are typically hardest to find in the tourist hub of the country in question. These qualities are sacrificed, seemingly entirely, when countless shoddy, Western worshipping restaurants and hotels are thrown together with scant consideration for the town and its locals.
Even a country such as Peru, which enjoys a seat at the top table of fine dining, buckles to the demands of the Inca Trail multitudes. Indeed I can confidently declare that the worst pizza I’ve ever had was in Aguas Calientes. The cheese was stringy and had a taste entirely foreign to mozzarrela, the base readily snapped into pieces like a jigsaw and I only knew that there was tomatoe sauce on it because of the sickly red hue it effected. Typically a bad pizza is comparable to the type that go for a dime a dozen in Tesco’s freezers but rarely are they so desultory that they actually make you crave Dr. Oetker’s frozen fare.
The fact that this is true, and obviously so (who is actually surprised to find the pizza in the Peruvian highlands to be below par?) begs the question as to why tourists insist on ordering them? Many have made a Magellan-esque manoeuvre from countries where a gamut of global cuisine is just an app away and yet when in town for the achingly gorgeous mascot of the Incas it is burgers and pizza that they crave. Supply has responded to demand to the point that ‘eating the vernacular’ invariably requires, at the very least, serious effort or at most some form of sorcery.
Such condemnation isn’t to critique the culinary capabilities of the towns in question, rather to bemoan quite how unreservedly Bill Americana or Angela Germania seek out home comforts. Lanes and paths are much more faithful to the place in question when not bedecked by slipshod pizzerias and stodgy burger joints, with waiters constantly ambushing unsuspecting tourists ready to chow down. But even if it isn’t true monetarily, such tendencies leaves places like Uyuni and Aguas Calientes poorer.
I do however, believe there to be another way.
Agra, the sweltering Indian city that is home to what has become the international symbol of splendor, the Taj Mahal, is a case in point. Should Westerners demand food that is familiar to them, better to adopt a more offensive strategy and flood their own countries with your cuisine first. Sitting in the rooftop restaurant of our hotel, we were a group of 5 with sight of the Taj and a menu bedecked with local cuisine which was both of the region and intimately familiar to us all. The table soon heaved with Jalfrezis, Passandas and Naans, beautifully cooked to a calibre we weren’t accustomed to.
And there was nobody pining for pizza when we were done.
