Since 2021, I’ve been based in Latin America. As a journalist, I’ve covered a wide range of topics, from rock and roll history in Argentina to Southern Brazil’s craft beer culture. I even danced in Buenos Aires’ version of Carnival for Condé Nast Traveler, all for the perfect story and a bit of fun.
In 2024, I became the co-founder of tastesandtides.com, a digital magazine about good food and good surf.
South America Travel
Photography by Samantha Demangate Words by Matt Dursum Spending a day in the markets of Cusco, Perú is what I’ve always wanted. I’m at my happiest in a market. The warm conversations with strangers and merchants, the colors, smells, sounds, they swoon me. In Cusco Peru, getting lost in the markets is a rite of passage for anyone interested in the region’s food and culture. Cusco is a city steeped in history. It was home…
Continue reading
South America Travel
It’s 7am on a Saturday morning in Buenos Aires. The streets are dead other than a dog-walker and an elderly couple walking hand-in-hand across the cobblestone street. The sun lifts and a cool breeze from the Rio de la Plata penetrates the urban grid. Produce stand clerks place fruit and vegetables on makeshift stands on the sidewalk. Cafes and restaurants set up chairs outside. As the morning evolves, the city comes alive with traffic, music,…
Continue reading
Gear Review
Words by Matt Dursum As I approach two years in Latin America, I can’t help but look back at my gear choices and how I took care of things. Would I make any changes? Absolutely. Not using a hair dryer to quickly dry my merino wool boxers would be one. Like those unfortunate undergarments, most of my clothing and gear sustained unthinkable damage, mostly thanks to my carelessness and the ever changing weather and climates…
Continue reading
spirits
Words by Matt Dursum Brazil’s national liquor is more than just caipirinhas. From complex and barrel-aged to crystal clear and resembling fresh pressed sugar cane, Cachaça holds its own as one of the most timeless and versatile flavors in the world of spirits. What is Cachaça Cachaça, pronounced ka-sha-sa, is Brazil’s most popular spirit. It’s made by distilling sugar cane juice, similar to the rhum agricoles of the French Caribbean. Its cousin, rum, on the…
Continue reading
Travel
Words by Matt Dursum Sure, I’ve squatted in a chicken coop, taken a bite out of a living and squirming fish, and greeted a group of men holding machetes with a nervous smile. But why did I feel the most out of place in Oklahoma? Culture shock is a common feeling when we travel, and sometimes we even experience it at home. But what is it and why can it be so unbearable? We can…
Continue reading
South America Travel
Photography by Samantha Demangate Words by Matt Dursum Spending a day in the markets of Cusco, Perú is what I’ve always wanted. I’m at my happiest in a market. The warm conversations with strangers and merchants, the colors, smells, sounds, they swoon me. In Cusco Peru, getting lost in the markets is a rite of passage for anyone interested in the region’s food and culture. Cusco is a city steeped in history. It was home…
Continue reading
South America Travel
It’s 7am on a Saturday morning in Buenos Aires. The streets are dead other than a dog-walker and an elderly couple walking hand-in-hand across the cobblestone street. The sun lifts and a cool breeze from the Rio de la Plata penetrates the urban grid. Produce stand clerks place fruit and vegetables on makeshift stands on the sidewalk. Cafes and restaurants set up chairs outside. As the morning evolves, the city comes alive with traffic, music,…
Continue reading
Travel
Words by Matt Dursum It’s 9pm in a busy Buenos Aires pizza restaurant. Besides the heinous amounts of cheese and incessant noise, one thing bugs me the most. A man across the table, at the far end of the restaurant, is removing, one-by-one, each and every olive from his perfectly good pizza. Then, with a look of disgust, he wraps them in his dirty napkin and throws it on the dirty table for the waiter…
Continue reading
Gear Review
Words by Matt Dursum As I approach two years in Latin America, I can’t help but look back at my gear choices and how I took care of things. Would I make any changes? Absolutely. Not using a hair dryer to quickly dry my merino wool boxers would be one. Like those unfortunate undergarments, most of my clothing and gear sustained unthinkable damage, mostly thanks to my carelessness and the ever changing weather and climates…
Continue reading
Travel
Words by Matt Dursum Growing up, my parents were sugar addicts. From the Sara Lee Corporation’s refined goodies to midwestern-styled Polish pączkis, nothing was too sweet. Like most kids, I hated most of what my parents liked, and sugar quickly became my enemy. The detest I felt slowly shifted towards processed foods. And once I tasted fresh pressed sugar cane juice, it turned my world around. Sugar, when eaten or drunk in moderation, could be…
Continue reading
Photography by Samantha Demangate
Words by Matt Dursum
I’m at my happiest in a market. The warm conversations with strangers and merchants, the colors, smells, sounds, they swoon me. In Cusco Peru, getting lost in the markets is a rite of passage for anyone interested in the region’s food and culture.
Cusco is a city steeped in history. It was home to powerful civilizations like the Killki, Lucre, and Wari before becoming the capital of the mighty Inca Empire. As the Inca traversed the rugged Andes from Colombia to Chile and forged a powerful empire, they created one of the most advanced agricultural systems on the planet. Terraces built into mountain slopes gave Inca farmers a multi-climate irrigated canvas for growing foods like potatoes and quinoa at high elevations, corn and greens at middle elevations, and coca and fruits at the low elevations near the Amazon Rainforest.
Even though the Inca’s empire is long gone, their legacy lives on in the culture, politics, and food of South America’s western seaboard and Andes Mountains. Taking advantage of Perú’s diverse climates, the Inca created an inexhaustible hue of ingredients. Perú is now one of the world’s great food destinations and what better place to experience the wide array of products than checking out the markets.
It’s 9am and I enter the green gates of Wanchaq Market. I make it through a sea of people. Women wearing traditional polleras, businessmen in suits, and people in workout gear grab bags full of produce, meat, and everything in between.
I enter the meat section. Here, a vast array of Peruvian cheeses stands stacked high beside me. Suddenly, a sharp smack to my right. I look over as a woman who I assume is well into her 70s chops cleanly, an entire cow head in half. This place is a cook’s dream, I think to myself.
Next, it’s time to check out my favorite part, the produce areas. The market separates the areas for vegetables, fruits, and folk medicine. Peruvian markets are full of fruit and produce grown from sea level to over 4000 meters. Nothing represents this diversity like the potato. The Inca were able to genetically modify the perfect amount of potatoes that they could grow throughout the empire, giving them close to 4000 varieties. We can thank them for our common international varieties, as well as the colorful and sometimes strange looking heirloom varieties I pile into my shopping bag.
Finally, it’s time to load up on fruit. Passionfruit, avocado, aguaymanto—the sweet berry of a species of nightshade, tropical fruits from the amazon, cactus pears from the deserts, and delectable chirimoyas. I chat to the charming vendors who seem excited to talk to a gringo. After chatting and buying the best produce I can find, I walk out with bags weighing several kilos and a smile on my face.
Nearby in the Plaza Tupac Amaru Square I visit the Saturday Market. Here, vendors from all over the region set up throughout the park. A live band tunes up and starts playing Peruvian folk hits.
I do a lap and grab a quick bite on the run, a mixture of steamed blood, greens, quinoa, and rice all covered with a spicy herb salsa. Street food is good in Perú.
I run up to the busiest fruit vendor I can find. I order a dozen meaty red bananas.”How are those? Are they better for you than those other ones?” asks an elderly woman beside me. I smile and say of course, and they’re tastier too. Not as sweet, but with more flavor. “I think you’ve convinced me to make the change, joven,” she says. “Give me two kilos!”
It’s early afternoon and what could be better than sitting down to homemade food. My girlfriend and I grab a seat offered to us by the charming host. “Dame dos causas por favor,” I say to the man. He smiles and brings us two plates of casseroles made with layers of mashed potatoes, avocado, mayonnaise, roasted peppers, and a fat, juicy olive on top.
After savoring the wholesome causas, we duck under the umbrellas to find something to wash it down. I grab the first plastic seat available underneath the chicha tent. Chicha, a sometimes fermented corn beverage, is likely the oldest fermented beverage in South America. Before using modern brewing techniques, people fermented it after women macerated the corn in their mouths. The chewed pulp mixed with saliva would allow the starches to convert to sugars. By adding natural yeasts and water, the mixture turned to a slightly alcoholic beverage that could preserve water for the long journeys across the Andes on foot.
On a busy weekend, few places are as teaming with energy as San Pedro Market. As soon as you walk in, it hits you. Guinea Pig, cow heads, colorful trinkets, incests, psychedelic cactus, and every shamanic tool under the sun. First the colors, then the smells, and finally the noise.
Locals and tourists rub shoulders. It’s easy to find whatever you’re looking for. I’m searching for muña essential oil, a Peruvian herb related to sage and mint that helps digestion and clears up the nostrils at high altitude.
Mercado San Pedro is one of the busiest markets in town, and I’ve had enough of the crowd. I quickly buy my muña oil and head out. But just before I rush out of the crowded market, I decide to buy some cheese. A woman smiles and shows me dozens of beautiful wheels of cheese. I can’t resist staying longer than expected to talk to her and select the perfect Peruvian cheese I could find.
It’s 7am on a Saturday morning in Buenos Aires. The streets are dead other than a dog-walker and an elderly couple walking hand-in-hand across the cobblestone street. The sun lifts and a cool breeze from the Rio de la Plata penetrates the urban grid. Produce stand clerks place fruit and vegetables on makeshift stands on the sidewalk. Cafes and restaurants set up chairs outside. As the morning evolves, the city comes alive with traffic, music, energy, and life.
Buenos Aires is like no place on earth. It’s where Parisian architecture meets South American style and soul. It’s where each street corner is teeming with history and culture and where some of the most influential music and dance styles were born. Below are the things that I value the most, living in Buenos Aires.
Nothing summarizes the soul of Buenos Aires more than music. Tango, Rock Nacional, Milonga, and underground electronica; anthems of protest, resilience, love, and suffering embody the city’s sonic legacy. Shows last until the early morning. Crowds eager to lose themselves for a night line up for hours on the busy streets. A chance to see their favorite artists outweighs the discomfort. This dedication has made Buenos Aires’ music fans and the concerts and festivals they attend legendary.
Away from the dank electronic and rock clubs are the milongas and tango bars. Their sultry and soulful servings of performers, clientele, and style bring people of all generations onto the floor and into each other’s arms. Hips draped in satin. Cigarette stained cotton shirts. Soft lighting and musicians pouring sweat with each beat and melody. This is the audio heartbeat of the city and there’s no denying it.
In the Argentine comedy, Porno y Helado, it’s revealed that the taxi drivers have been in control of Argentina’s political destiny for decades. This goofy plot is far from reality, or is it?
Every day, thousands of taxis run people to and from destinations around the city. Fairs are set upon boarding and conversation is expected unless your driver has had a hard day. Your driver will weave in and out of traffic and put your life in danger, all while talking about their family and sharing their views on politics, football, bars, and that one cousin they have in the US or Europe. The taxi ride has become something I look forward to. It’s a glimpse into the millions of lives that live in the city and a way to hear their stories. Plus, you get the latest info from the streets.
Pick a destination and go there. Aside from the neighborhoods south of the 25 de Mayo Highway, train stations, Retiro at dark, and the Villas, the city is safe as long as you keep your guard up. You can walk for miles. I love breaking up my trek by sitting at cafes to people watch or pop into bookstores and museums to get lost in the city’s culture.
Parrilas can mean grills or steakhouses, depending on the context. In the city, a parrilla generally means a steakhouse. In these timeless places, you’ll eat a ton of meat and maybe a few vegetables if you choose. Combined with a bottle of malbec in the summer or wine and tonic water chilled with ice in the summer, the meat-heavy portions will keep you stuck to your table for hours. And as is customary, you’re expected to take as long as you want to enjoy your meal. Maybe it’s that sense of getting lost in time, enjoying the moment and your company, that makes the parrilla just one of the many joys of living in Buenos Aires.
Over 50% of Porteños are Italian or have some Italian descent. It makes sense that the sometimes angry, sometimes perplexed Italian finger purse is so common. Argument with your spouse? Che Vuei. Goalie missed a goal? Che Vuei! Can’t pay your rent? Che vuei followed by two hands pressed together in a gesture of mercy.
Jorge Luis Borges, Silvana Ocampo, Ernesto Sabato, Julio Cortázar. So many prominent writers have come out of Argentina, many of them hailing from its capital. Literature is life in this city. To truly blend in, become absorbed in your book on the subway, in a park, or anywhere in a public place where people can look at your book title and either approve or judge you severely.
Lisbon, Paris, Tokyo, and Buenos Aires. I’m not sure which city has the most library acreage or bookstores per capita, but Buenos Aires is a bibliophile capital. From dusty rooms with barely an aperture to grand converted opera houses filled with thousands of books, you’ll find something depending on your mood.
Political dynasties, rock bands, and treasures in literature were made or at least conceived in one of the city’s cafes. The classic ones, the Bares Notables, are preserved with city funding and offer clientele a chance to travel back in time. On the other extreme are the modern cafes dedicated to making the perfect coffees and pastries. Whatever you’re looking for, slipping into one of these establishments is one of the most Porteño things you can do.
On every block, in the middle-and upper class sections of the city, there is a vegetable stand, meat market, health food store, or shop catering to whatever need you have, no matter how obscure. Often family run, these shops are dependable purveyors for the community. Familiar faces and first-name relationships keep loyal customers who would rather keep their money in their block, shopping local. This is a far cry from the ultra-packaged super markets of my country and I love it.
Buenos Aires does park-life better than anywhere else in the world. Experiences like pedaling through the rose garden on paddle boats, sneaking a Fernet and Coke, and avoiding angry geese. Or, sitting down under a towering Canary Island palm to watch squawking monk parakeets burrowing in their nests. You can even rollerblade for miles if that’s your thing. With so much green space, it’s easy to break away from the urban chaos and just steal away into nature.
As big cities go, Buenos Aires is friendly and welcoming. Sure, there are problems. But for most people moving to the city, you’ll quickly find a community that cares about you. If you’re in trouble, lost, confused, lonely, or scared, you’ll likely find someone who will gladly take the time out of their day to spend it with you. Most likely they’ll take you to their favorite cafe or bookstore. It’s a Porteño thing.
Words by Matt Dursum
Growing up, my parents were sugar addicts. From the Sara Lee Corporation’s refined goodies to midwestern-styled Polish pączkis, nothing was too sweet. Like most kids, I hated most of what my parents liked, and sugar quickly became my enemy.
The detest I felt slowly shifted towards processed foods. And once I tasted fresh pressed sugar cane juice, it turned my world around. Sugar, when eaten or drunk in moderation, could be ok. And when you factor in the finest rums and cachaças, it’s hard not to be a fan. Yet, it still has a dark side. By looking at its role in slavery and obesity and its importance in the global economy, we can come to understand this ever popular ingredient better.
Saccharum officinarum is the scientific name for the tall perennial grass known as sugar cane. This versatile crop is cultivated for its high sugar content as sucrose and is a major global agricultural commodity.
People in Southeast Asia and Oceania were the first to gather the sweet cane stalks. Around 8,000 years ago, people domesticated it, starting in Papua New Guinea. From there, it spread to other parts of the world through trade routes and colonization. In India, archeologists discovered the first scripts describing the refinement of sugar around 100 A.D.
For centuries, it remained a novelty spice, despite its growing popularity in the cuisine of the upper classes. Cultivating sugarcane was backbreaking work. It starts with planting stem cuttings, known as “setts,” into prepared fields. The setts develop into shoots, which grow into mature sugar cane stalks.
Once sugarcane reaches maturity, it is ready for harvesting. The traditional method involves cutting the stalks manually using machetes or specialized harvesting machines.
Refinement starts with crushing the stalks to extract the juice. This nectar is rich in sugar, as sucrose and contains water, fiber, and other nutrients. Farmers then clarify the juice to remove impurities and evaporate the liquid by boiling it. From here, workers separate the pure sugar crystals from the leftover syrup, known as molasses. Eventually, these two products fueled a global food craze and the most brutal industry in human history.
Madeira and the Canary Islands became home to Europe’s first sugar plantations after Europeans colonized the islands. The colonizers enslaved the indigenous people, forcing them to work on the new plantations.
The Portuguese and Spanish were the first Europeans to set foot in the Americas and it wasn’t before long that sugar and slavery began happening there too. Initially, the enslaved indigenous people worked the colonies’ plantations. However, Europe’s growing appetite for coffee, tea, and sweet beverages and deserts made the demand for sugar hard to satiate.
Photo by Velik Ho on Unsplash
In the late 16th century, Portugal, Spain, and other European nations started the trans-Atlantic slave trade. The cultivation of sugarcane required extensive labor. To satisfy the demand for sugar, slavery from Africa went hand in hand with the sugar industry. Sugar became one of the key drivers of European expansion and colonization in the Americas, Africa, and Asia. In the 17th century alone, over a half a million Africans were enslaved and brought to the Americas to work on the plantations. Enduring unimaginable suffering, generations of enslaved peoples worked tirelessly. Because of this, cheap sugar continued to flow into the homes of Europeans and white Americans.
It didn’t take long before distillation technology made it to the shores of the Americas. In Brazil, fresh pressed cane juice was fermented and distilled to make cachaça. In the rest of Latin America, distillers preferred to use the byproduct molasses as the vessel for fermentation. Once distilled, this new spirit took on the name rum.
Photo by C D-X on Unsplash
To make rum, distillers use either unsulphured raw molasses, sulphured and blackstrap molasses, or occasionally fresh cane juice, known as rhum agricole. The original rum was distilled from naturally fermenting cane waste in Barbados.
As the drink’s popularity spread, traders and navies brought rum and its recipe to the world. The terms rumbullion and rumbustion, all meaning hell-raising, were thrown around initially to describe the drink; thanks in part to the effects of its high-alcohol strength. Soon, people began shortening these terms to rum.
The drink soon took over the Americas, especially in the North American colonies. New England colonies started producing and shipping the spirit and British privateers got in on the action. When some of these privateers entered the risky yet lucrative business of piracy, their taste for rum remained strong. Thus, the image of rum-guzzling pirates came to be.
After European countries finally abolished slavery, other forms of sugar hit the markets. Honey, maple syrup, and sugar beats were the first. Then came the artificial sweeteners of the industrial age.
Sugarcane remained a valuable source of sugar in the tropics. Even today, sugarcane accounts for around 80% of the world’s sugar.
The cane itself has several non-food applications. It’s a key source of ethanol, a renewable biofuel that can be blended with gasoline or used as a standalone fuel source. Another use is producing bagasse, a fibrous residue left after the juice extraction process. Bagasse is a renewable energy source and makes paper, pulp, and bio-based products.
Photo by Josh Withers on Unsplash
Aside from its industrial uses, sugarcane remains a beloved food for many people in warm latitudes. It’s hard not to visit tropical Asia, Latin America, or Africa without ordering a glass of freshly pressed cane juice.
Sugarcane has undeniably caused a lot of societal problems. From slavery to colonization, our cravings for it have forever scarred our societies. This isn’t even including the health risks. Around the world, over consumption results in obesity, diabetes, and many other health problems.
Yet, sugarcane remains an unchallenged ingredient in our modern lives. For me, even though I shun away from the processed sugars my parents loved, I still sip on caipirinhas or rum old fashions. I enjoy caramelized flan, and guzzle fresh-pressed cane juice like an addict. I may be able to say no to refined sugar, but that sweet grassy goodness of pure sugarcane gets me every time.
Brazil’s national liquor is more than just caipirinhas. From complex and barrel-aged to crystal clear and resembling fresh pressed sugar cane, Cachaça holds its own as one of the most timeless and versatile flavors in the world of spirits.
Cachaça, pronounced ka-sha-sa, is Brazil’s most popular spirit. It’s made by distilling sugar cane juice, similar to the rhum agricoles of the French Caribbean. Its cousin, rum, on the other hand, is usually made with molasses, giving it a richer and heavier taste.
For cachaça to be called cachaça, it needs to be distilled in Brazil from sugarcane juice and bottled at an alcohol volume of 38% to 48%. Most cachaça never leaves Brazil, although mixologists around the world are waking up to its potential and hunting for the premium stuff.
Like rum, the birth of cachaça lies in slavery and sugar. Sugar cane, Saccharum officinarum, is the tall tropical grass grown for its sucrose-rich stalks. Native to Oceania and Southeast Asia, the perennial plant was soon cultivated in India, China, Polynesia, and eventually the Middle East. However, the cane was notoriously difficult and labor-intensive to cultivate. This kept the crop little more than a global novelty spice.
The biggest problem for the Europeans, other than the labor requirement, was sugarcane’s low tolerance for cold. Few places in Europe could support the tropical plant. Madeira, the Portuguese island off the coast of Morocco, became the most suitable home.
Fast forward to the colonization of the Americas when the Portuguese began taking stalks of sugar over the Atlantic. Soon, a vicious cycle was forged by enslaving people from Africa and forcing them to work on the grueling sugar plantations. The refined sugar and molasses from Brazil and the Americas would wind up in Europe and North America, fueling an insatiable appetite for the substance known as white gold.
It was in these coastal sugar plantations where cachaça was born. Using aguardente stills, likely brought from Madeira, enslaved people began distilling the fermented sugarcane juice and Brazil’s National drink was born.
Clear cachaça is beloved in bars and beachside kiosks across Brazil. Yet, like rum, cachaça holds up to age and wood very well. Unlike rum, which is often aged in sherry casks or white oak bourbon barrels, distillers in Brazil age their cachaća in a variety of casks made from native wood. This gives the spirit a wide flavor profile that’s just now being experimented with by artisanal distillers.
For many small craft distillers, the complex flavors and aromas from indigenous wood are only part of cachaça’s powers of infusion. Herbs like Jambu, a mouth-numbing Amazonian plant, impart new flavors that are unlike anything found in other parts of the world. Today, cachaças infused with botanicals from the Amazon and the Atlantic Forest are becoming hugely popular.
Throughout the country’s bars and distilleries that serve the beautiful drink, known as cachaçarias, there’s a growing popularity, especially among the country’s youth who are falling in love with its versatility and the culture surrounding it. Inside amongst the live samba is usually an assortment of jars full of various homemade cachaças to choose from. Balancing plastic shot glasses in hand, customers maneuver through dancers and jovial crowds to get to their table and enjoy their half-spilled drinks.
Take two limes and cut them into quarters. Place them in a glass and muddle the soft flesh. Make sure to muddle at least a little bit of the skin to release the citrus aromas. Next, add the sugar. Two to four teaspoons of organic white sugar or how I like it, raw unrefined cane sugar works. Muddle the lines and sugar together and pour in the cachaça. One, two, three, even four shots is acceptable depending on the size of the glass and your schedule the next day. Finally, fill the remaining space of the glass with ice and shake. Serve in whatever glass you like, turn on some samba, and enjoy.
Cassava, Yuca, Manioc, no matter what you call it, Manihot esculenta is one of the most important sources of carbohydrates in the world. It’s also delicious and versatile.
Cassava is a tuber vegetable, similar to potatoes. Growing just below the soil surface, its tubers store nutrients and water for the plant to feed off during the next season’s regrowth. The plant itself, tall and lanky, produces edible leaves and can survive some serious periods of drought.
Photo by Vrlibs Studio on Unsplash
In its native range in South America, indigenous communities have harvested it for centuries. Today, cassava plays a vital role in the diets and economies of many countries around the world, with West Africa leading the world in production.
The tuber is truly a global food. Everywhere from tropical and subtropical Africa, Asia, and Latin America to parts of Europe have fallen in love with it. It’s little surprise that a plant as hardy, nutritious, versatile, and adaptable has become so infused in cuisines around the world.
A key advantage is its ability to withstand drought and thrive in marginal soil conditions. This makes it an important staple crop in places where other crops struggle. In countries with low rainfall and poor soil fertility, it’s become a lifeline for farmers. This makes it especially useful in areas affected by climate change.
Photo by Vrlibs Studio on Unsplash
As useful as it is as a crop, cassava is a multidimensional super ingredient. It comes in many forms. In most countries, cassava consumption involves cooking the roots and sometimes the leaves, either by boiling, steaming, or frying them. Many dishes rely on boiled cassava as the main carbohydrate for soups and stews. The root also finds its way into the fryer for cassava chips, fermented and used as cereal, like in West African Garri, or processed into a flour and fried like Brazilian farofa.
If you look at it from a nutritional perspective, cassava is the perfect source of carbohydrates and energy. It is rich in fiber and has essential minerals like calcium, potassium, phosphorus, as well as vitamin C and folate. Plus, it’s gluten-free.
On top of its food uses, cassava makes one hell of a plant based industrial material. Factory workers around the world make everything from paper and biodegradable packaging to textiles or even biofuels and pharmaceuticals out of this useful plant. Need to feed your animals or make fertilizer? Cassava can do that too.
That said, there is a dark side to the plant. Cyanogenic glycosides, compounds that can release cyanide, are present in the tuber. However, over 50% is contained in the inedible skin and if you peel them, soak them, and cook them, they’ll be perfectly safe. Just don’t eat them raw.
Another possible dark side to the plant stems from its usefulness itself. Cassava is such an important staple in ecologically vulnerable areas that many experts are concerned that overpopulation and malnourishment will drive massive deforestation and mono-cropping. Yet, if yielded correctly, cassava could actually help solve these problems while providing a useful food and industrial bio-product.
So, will cassava continue to be around in the future? Absolutely. Better get used to enjoying this magnificent ingredient. It may be more important for our survival than we think.
What’s one way to make this South American ingredient feel right at home on a North American dinner table? I’m pretty sure Brazilian cheese bread or pão de queijo is the answer.
Photo by rodolfo allen_ on Unsplash
This toasty, savory, and filling food is found in some form or another all over South America. But in Brazil, it’s consumed with abandon.
Words by Matt Dursum
Sure, I’ve squatted in a chicken coop, taken a bite out of a living and squirming fish, and greeted a group of men holding machetes with a nervous smile. But why did I feel the most out of place in Oklahoma?
Culture shock is a common feeling when we travel, and sometimes we even experience it at home. But what is it and why can it be so unbearable?
We can describe culture shock as a feeling of distress and discomfort when confronted with a culture, attitude, or way of life that’s different from ours. This can also happen when our values are challenged. According to research and my own personal experience, this feeling can be prolonged and broken down into five stages, as first described by anthropologist Kalervo Oberg.
In 2009, I packed up and relocated to rural Japan. I spent the next four years riding the wave of emotions that comes from being an expat. There were times of immense pleasure, extreme loneliness and anger, and a feeling of understanding that can only be described as feeling at home.
Oberg’s first phase of culture shock is the addictive Honeymoon Phase. This is the romantic feeling of being somewhere new. Everything is exciting. The foods are special; the people seem warm, and the landmarks are striking. Your senses are on overdrive and dopamine and adrenaline are flowing freely in your brain.
This feeling can be addictive, which is why many travelers choose to visit a destination for only a week or less. For me, the honeymoon phase of my life in Japan was filled to the brim with exploration. A new culture, new food, and an unfamiliar landscape enchanted every part of my soul. I was in love with a place and felt like I was on a constant high.
Just as you start to get used to your awesome new home, it all comes crashing down. During the Rejection Phase, Oberg points out that we begin focusing on the worst parts of our new environment. Whether it’s the societal flaws, the weather, or the food, anything associated with that place makes us cringe.
Unfortunately, this is when many people choose to leave. I experienced horrible crises just shy of completing my first year in Japan. Social issues like whaling to the never-ending feeling of being stuck trying to learn a language—Japanese being one of the five hardest for English speakers, brought me to my limits of patience and acceptance.
We know this stage as regression. After the horribly uncomfortable Rejection Phase, the Regression Phase brings you on a search for the familiar. When people hit this phase, they tend to seek the company of others from their home country, eat familiar foods, and satisfy their homesickness.
During this phase, roughly around the beginning of my second year in Japan, I rediscovered Hip Hop. It wasn’t hamburgers or American TV that brought me home. It was gritty New York MC’s or the smooth funk of Outkast, or the West Coast melodies of The Pharcyde and Ice Cube.
The Adjustment Phase is where the negatives and positives balance out and you start to feel at home. I hit this stage roughly a year and a half into my life in Japan. Through surfing, I started making a lot of friends and best of all; it was genuine. I knew this because they hated English and our conversation was purely in Japanese.
This also meant that my Japanese was finally good enough to make friends. I had almost given up. Yet, I busted my ass and learned a language that today I speak and use several times a week.
From here, I made my community. Relationships with neighbors and coworkers blossomed, and I got to experience a lifetime’s worth of experiences along the way. Japan felt like home. I felt at home driving there, touring around unfamiliar parts of the country, talking to strangers. It was like I was Japanese, minus standing out like a polar bear in the desert.
Were there negatives? Yes, absolutely. But everything felt balanced. I ended up spending a total of four years living and working as an English teacher in Japan. This experience changed me and wouldn’t trade it for anything.
When I came back to the USA, I was shocked. I remember arriving in Chicago. Everything was big and loud. I felt intimidated. It took me about 2 days and a few Chicago craft beers and warm hugs from my friends to get me back in the swing of things.
When you become familiar with the ways of doing things elsewhere, coming home can feel strange and foreign. This is called Reverse culture shock. It happens when people have difficulty re-acclimating to their home country when they return from overseas or experience parts of their own country with values and cultures just a little different from their own.
Fast Forward several years, and I was on a road trip through the Midwest, taking my time driving through Oklahoma. I couldn’t explain it, but I felt like I was far from home, even though I was in my own country.
Experiencing culture shock in your own country is actually a common experience. Oklahoma is full of American charms, nice people, and beautiful areas that are as quintessentially American as you can imagine.
However, growing up in Michigan and California, my subconscious feeling of home is far different. Oklahoma lacks large bodies of water. Many towns lack my favorite comfort foods, like taco truck tacos, ramen, or smoked lake fish. Even salads were hard to find. The omnipresent religious billboards and open spaces free from mountains did me in. Oklahoma subconsciously felt like the most foreign place I’ve ever been.
Culture shock is a funny thing. I’m sure my friends, born and raised and still living in Oklahoma, would be shocked that I felt this way. I, too, would love to challenge my strange internal feelings. Maybe they would feel the same way about my home state?
In my opinion, experiencing culture shock is a good thing. It challenges your biases and pushes you out of your comfort zone. Most importantly, it shows you what your “comfort zone” really is. By challenging culture shock and experiencing its different phases entirely, you may even acquire a new found home or learn to appreciate your own.
Words by Matt Dursum Like many national dishes, Brazil’s Feijoada comes from humble roots. In this hearty stew, beans, spices, ….(read more)
During the recent stay-at-home order, I’ve noticed many people on social media posting amazing photographs of creative recipes. Some, although ….(read more)