The Year of Prime and Colombia From the Hip ...
Unprecedented!
Historical!
THE Guiness Record.
Yep. I went to see a really really long chorizo on Saturday. A 1,917 meter long chorizo.
Think of it this way. It's like going up the Burj Dubai (including its spire) and down and back up a third of the way with one LONG chorizo ... Yes, making Oscar Meyer seem quite flaccid in comparison.
(I WILL refrain from any other inappropriate chorizo references because it's way too easy, expected and inappropriate, right?)
Anyway, here's the dish (literally): 900 kilos of meat, 500 kilos of fat, 50 kilos of condiments, and two-thousand meters of intestinal stuff to stuff it.
Holy heart burn, Bat Man!.
So where did this cholesterol bomb get made? Santa Rosa, Risaralda -- a small town about twenty minutes from where we live in Pereira. When Cesar told me that we'd have this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see the longest chorizo in the world, I didn't hesitate quite simply because I doubt most people will be able to say they've seen such a thing. I mean, it is kind of cool.
So we drove up to the Santa Rosa and wandered through the crowds that packed like sausages (ha!) around the haz-mat-like looking tent with the workers intently stuffing the pig intestines.
... music blared over the speakers, people cheered, signs were posted everywhere celebrating the goal of 1400 (though it ended up being 1917 meters long!) and the Santarrosano pride.
And our daughter got her first traffic ticket. Apparently, you're NOT allowed to ride livestock in a public park. Go figure. (The cow's name is Chiquitolin. Her owner battled the authorities for the right to ride. Personally, I don't think it's such a bad idea to NOT have livestock in a plaza. But, well, Pamplona and other cities don't necessarily set the best examples, letting bulls trample all over the town.) This does not bode well for our daughter's future transit future. Her first "transportation" and she's ticketed.
And after almost getting Chiquitolin, um, towed, the police let us off with a stern warning, and the owner led the cow to ... well, I don't really know where. We wandered around, checking out the chorizo progress, finding a beautiful cafe where we drank hot chocolate and decided it was time to end our adventure. The weather determined this since it started pissing rain.
Not to fear. The chorizo-lovers weren't deterred so easily. I guess we're a bit wimpy.
There's something magical about a city in celebration. I LOVE this about Colombia -- their celebrations. Colombians can find a reason to celebrate every day: music festivals, food, history ... anything worth a *cheers* gets one. And most everything is worth celebration. There's a general happiness here that I haven't encountered elsewhere. They're less broody, less gloomy, less existential angst-like. Colombians are quick to smile, quick to laugh, hot-headed but also quick to forgive. They talk loud, sing louder, interrupt each other constantly and ALWAYS are ready to tell you what they think. But there's something about this openness and sincerity that's endearing and, sure, infuriating. But Colombia wouldn't be Colombia without it.
Today in Santa Rosa, they're DEFINITELY not worried about counting calories, triglycerides and cholesterol. They're not worried about heartburn and ulcers. Hell. They have a near two-kilometer sized chorizo to eat.
And we got a chance to see it.
Historical!
THE Guiness Record.
Yep. I went to see a really really long chorizo on Saturday. A 1,917 meter long chorizo.
Think of it this way. It's like going up the Burj Dubai (including its spire) and down and back up a third of the way with one LONG chorizo ... Yes, making Oscar Meyer seem quite flaccid in comparison.
(I WILL refrain from any other inappropriate chorizo references because it's way too easy, expected and inappropriate, right?)
Anyway, here's the dish (literally): 900 kilos of meat, 500 kilos of fat, 50 kilos of condiments, and two-thousand meters of intestinal stuff to stuff it.
Holy heart burn, Bat Man!.
So where did this cholesterol bomb get made? Santa Rosa, Risaralda -- a small town about twenty minutes from where we live in Pereira. When Cesar told me that we'd have this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see the longest chorizo in the world, I didn't hesitate quite simply because I doubt most people will be able to say they've seen such a thing. I mean, it is kind of cool.
So we drove up to the Santa Rosa and wandered through the crowds that packed like sausages (ha!) around the haz-mat-like looking tent with the workers intently stuffing the pig intestines.
... music blared over the speakers, people cheered, signs were posted everywhere celebrating the goal of 1400 (though it ended up being 1917 meters long!) and the Santarrosano pride.
And our daughter got her first traffic ticket. Apparently, you're NOT allowed to ride livestock in a public park. Go figure. (The cow's name is Chiquitolin. Her owner battled the authorities for the right to ride. Personally, I don't think it's such a bad idea to NOT have livestock in a plaza. But, well, Pamplona and other cities don't necessarily set the best examples, letting bulls trample all over the town.) This does not bode well for our daughter's future transit future. Her first "transportation" and she's ticketed.
And after almost getting Chiquitolin, um, towed, the police let us off with a stern warning, and the owner led the cow to ... well, I don't really know where. We wandered around, checking out the chorizo progress, finding a beautiful cafe where we drank hot chocolate and decided it was time to end our adventure. The weather determined this since it started pissing rain.
Not to fear. The chorizo-lovers weren't deterred so easily. I guess we're a bit wimpy.
There's something magical about a city in celebration. I LOVE this about Colombia -- their celebrations. Colombians can find a reason to celebrate every day: music festivals, food, history ... anything worth a *cheers* gets one. And most everything is worth celebration. There's a general happiness here that I haven't encountered elsewhere. They're less broody, less gloomy, less existential angst-like. Colombians are quick to smile, quick to laugh, hot-headed but also quick to forgive. They talk loud, sing louder, interrupt each other constantly and ALWAYS are ready to tell you what they think. But there's something about this openness and sincerity that's endearing and, sure, infuriating. But Colombia wouldn't be Colombia without it.
Today in Santa Rosa, they're DEFINITELY not worried about counting calories, triglycerides and cholesterol. They're not worried about heartburn and ulcers. Hell. They have a near two-kilometer sized chorizo to eat.
And we got a chance to see it.
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