This weekend, I attempted jambalaya in Concepcion. I had to explain to my Chilean family that Louisiana has a culture all of its own, and I would give them a taste of my hometown, New Orleans, with my own kind of rice and chicken.
They must have thought the meal would be a typical rice and chicken meal because my family was not nearly as excited as I was to get started cooking. I hyped up the meal all week long, showing them pictures and reading ingredients. When the day finally came, I couldn't wait to get a taste of home.
My Chilean mother woke me up early Saturday morning to walk with her to the grocery store. I made a list of everything I would need. I had inconveniently forgotten that they don't make Creole Seasoning in Chile. I stood in the aisles at the store trying to find an equivalent to Crystal Hot Sauce or Tony Chachere's. Suddenly, I saw it. Aji de Color. It wouldn't be exactly the same as Cajun spice, but it would be a good way to combine the two cultures in the kitchen.
I searched the store for the rest of the ingredients, paid with my pesos, and head back towards the house to get cooking! My Chilean mother and sisters helped me start. We cooked the chicken and sausage and added the other possibly random ingredients into the big pot. I went to add the spice, and all three girl screamed, "NO!" I was confused. This was the best part of the whole meal: the spice. This is why Louisiana food is so famous! We needed to add it to make the food good. They gave the jambalaya a pinch of Aji de Color and stirred it in.
The family's grandparents joined us for lunch. They told me about the "gringa" that stayed with them two years ago. She made them hamburgers one night, and they were expecting something similar. I told them jambalaya and hamburgers, though both tasty, are not quite the same. When I brought the meal out, everyone took their fair portion. When one of my Chilean sisters took the first bite, she immediately drank a whole cup of orange juice. "Spicy!" she said. I thought to myself that Chileans didn't know a thing about spice. The grandmother did almost the same thing. She took a bite and chased it with her soda.
At this point, I thought I had made a huge mistake. Maybe they were right about not wanting to put too much Aji de Color in the jambalaya. I was afraid I had completely ruined the meal. I finally took a bite of my own and tasted some very bland rice. I took another bite and thought the same thing again.
The food was not spicy.
I tried to be polite and not put any more spice on my food, but I desperately wanted it. After five minutes of eating, I reached over and grabbed the container. I sprinkled the spice allllll over my jambalaya. The family looked at me like I was crazy. "Isn't it spicy enough?" one of my sisters asked. "I like my food extra hot," I explained.
When we finished eating, everyone said they enjoyed it. I thought they were trying to make me feel better because I had made their lunch too spicy. They assured me that wasn't the case though. They said they adjusted to the spice, and it was very good. "Much better than hamburgers," the grandfather told me in the little English he spoke. I smiled a smug smile. "That's because hamburgers are an American food. Jambalaya is uniquely Louisianian."
This cultural culinary experience was a great one. I was glad to bring a little taste of Louisiana with me to Chile.
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