Chili

Thanks to the wonderful Dr. David Berry, a Peace Corps Response Volunteer who just COSed, I ended up with many chili packets. Thinking it'd be a great Second Goal activity, I decided to make chili for my host family.

Well ya see the thing is... campo chili isn't quite the same as futbol norteamericano chili. First I went to the only grocery store in the department and perused their ground beef selection which comprised of "Special ground beef" and "Extra special ground beef." I asked the woman behind the counter if the extra special would be ok with my débil stomach. She literally laughed out loud. I told her that this is really important because I've already had amoebas and I don't want to get them again. She just smiled and said, "Cook it really well!" Right.

This is extra ridiculous because I grew up eating ground pork burgers my whole life and I didn't even know it until I got to college. Is it a good thing that the meat is red? Is that BLOOD?!

So then I spent the next morning boiling black beans. No matter how hot or how long I boiled these beans they would not cook. My host sister looked in and mumbled something along the lines of using up the gas subsidy for the month. We were not getting a good chili start.

The story wouldn't be complete if I didn't mention that we didn't have water that day, so every time I wanted to wash my ground beef hands or wipe the counter I had to haul in water from the pila. (Just a side note- we're going 3 days without water here and it's vernanito so it's back to 100 degree days. Oi ve.)

One way or another I got some semblance of chili made around lunch time. It was.... alright. I guess. I now understand why we eat chili in the winter. It just didn't taste so good when your sweat is dripping over your lips. I ate a bowl thinking "Oh well, it's not so bad." But just an hour later I was rolling around in the hammock clutching my stomach and cursing the ground beef lady behind the counter.

My host family, demonstrating the gracious yet penosa salvadoran culture, declared the chili a success and seemed to eat their full bowls. I told them the spiel about how I miss seasons, and in Chicago it gets super "chili" har har har. They didn't get it. But later that day when I was writhing in the hammock my host dad brought over a fresh coconut water with chunks of coco floating inside. "Drink this," he said. "It might help with your parasites."

It was touching. My host family is still learning about me, and I'm learning about them. Next time though, I'll avoid extra special meat products.

The finished product. 

My host dad, who actually seemed to like it. 

Belky, Aysel and my host mom. Eh, mas or menos.