Tuesday, December 29, 2015

The Sancocho incident

One of the dishes Colombia is famous for is sancocho, especially in the northern part.  It is a chicken soup that I had wanted to try it, so I asked the guy working at the front desk.  He told me there was a cart not far from the hostel, near the cathedral.  I knew the area, I had been twice for dinner on previous evenings.

I wandered over to the area, and asked a fellow at a stand where I could find sancocho.  He pointed me over to the corner on the other side of the street where there were two carts.

I walked over and asked the first cart if they had sancocho.  There were three women there.  One said no; another said yes.  I asked again whether they had it, and one replied affirmative.

So I ordered a sancocho soup.  As the third woman was ladling it into a cup, I thought it looked like mondongo (beef-tripe soup).  I asked her again if it was sancocho or mondongo.  She said it was sancocho.  So I bought it and left.

I sat out in the church square and started on my soup. It sure tasted like mondongo (or, mierdongo, as a taxi driver remarked to me once).  It was definitely mondongo.  It was not good.  It was not the worst thing but it was definitely not what I wanted or asked for.

I walked back towards the stands, and I watched what the woman in the other cart was ladling.  Hers was different, with chicken in it.  It was sancocho.  I asked her to confirm, and she said yes.  I asked her about the cart next to her, and she replied that they had mondongo.

I was so annoyed that I stomped off.  Those mondongo ladies knew exactly what I asked for, and knew exactly what they did.

I debated confronting them, but figured it wasn't worth it.  But shameful business.  A crime against gastrodiplomacy.

But I will have my vengeance:

If one will stoop so low as to lie about your soup, the soup nazi will come for you....

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