Travel to Latin America in 3 meals
Noshes with Nikki
Arepas
She examined the clothes, photos, jewelry, books, and other miscellany strewn about the floor. They weren’t so much “hers” as they had been “theirs.”
But the carryon was already stuffed to the brim with these things she’d saved for last (but they were definitively not “the best”) and she’d promised herself she was going to start clean. But still fresh off her trip to Venezuela, she thought back to the street-vendor’s arepa.
If a corncake can hold an entire meal without ripping, then damn it, I can fit at least a few more things in there. Besides, these are very nice things, she thought to herself.
Upon arrival to her billowing new apartment (it seemed that even the curtains had curtains), she immediately began to unpack and her room was the first thing to fill.
But there were still the contents of the carryon…Gazing deeply into the closet, she sensed nothing of her past life lurking behind the sweaters, dresses, and skirts. No empty eyesockets of potential skeletons looked back at her.
She looked at the carryon, which seemed positively haunted. In one fell swoop, she dumped its contents into a bag which she immediately plopped on the street corner. A necklace slipped out of the top.
“Are these your things?” questioned a stranger walking by.
“Not anymore,” she boldly asserted, as if trying to convince herself more so than the stranger. She turned her back and ascended the steps.
Back inside, she was struck with the insatiable urge to eat an arepa.
Rabanada
Upon taking a bite of the rabanada, the concept of a soulmate suddenly seemed ridiculous. She’d lived her whole life never knowing what a rabanada was, but now that its sugar dusted off onto her fingers, and its eggy sweet batter squished into her cheeks, she became certain that the real meaning of life wasn’t to find the one thing you loved above all others, but rather, to discover and actively seek out all the things that you loved.
Pao de quijo
“You’re the bread to my butter.”
“You’re the pao de quijo to my mate.”
“I never know what you’re talking about, but I assume it has to do with South America.”
Her mate-stained smirk started curling at both corners, before blooming into a fully caffeinated cheshire grin. Their love was such that they at least understood what they didn’t understand about one another.
Upon taking a bite of the rabanada, the concept of a soulmate suddenly seemed ridiculous. She’d lived her whole life never knowing what a rabanada was, but now that its sugar dusted off onto her fingers, and its eggy sweet batter squished into her cheeks, she became certain that the real meaning of life wasn’t to find the one thing you loved above all others, but rather, to discover and actively seek out all the things that you loved.
