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My dad is from Bolivia, but his side of the family travels. And that wanderlust and love of all cultures is a deep part of my own culture too. I have an uncle in Thailand, an aunt in Hawaii, a cousin in Russia (last I heard), and yet another in Brazil. As such, my family has recipes from everywhere, language from everywhere, culture from everywhere.
Then there’s my dad, who grew up in seven countries before graduating high-school. He meant to be a doctor, but somewhere down the line became a lighting director for dance and theater companies. Touring with them obviously came next, wanderlust in his culture and blood.
So when my family makes pukacapas like my grandparents ate in the Andes it’s the pukacapas that you make working in the theater.
First, the grocery run.
In New York, it’s to the place seven blocks over, under the bed bath & beyond. Anywhere else, it’s whatever grocery is within walking distance. Most don’t sell specialty foods, so we improvise. (See anecdote of my extended family’s spice-splotched cookbook saying “add spice till smells like mole, then add chocolate”).
Premade biscuit dough in tubes that pop like bubble wrap.
