La cocinera

For the past five weeks I've been the cook out at Km 38. Usually there are seven or eight people for breakfast and supper--me, our Peruvian friends and fellow workers Ever and Alfredo, the four American boys, and the conference President's son, Fernando. For lunch I usually feed ten or twelve, depending on which mechanics, electricians, well digger guys, or other tractor fixers are out to work that day. And most days Jenni and the Doctor are around to eat, as well.

I go to town every day to buy food at the market. We don't have a fridge, and it is so warm that leftovers cannot be kept. Instead, we feed the leftovers to our dogs, Lola and Cheva. Vegetables don't keep very long, either. The carrots get droopy pretty fast, and the tomatoes are eaten away by fruit flies.

So I go to market. Some days I walk, which takes about an hour. Some days, if I am short on time or if it is very rainy, I take a moto, which costs 60 cents.

The people at the market know me. They know my routine, and they know what I like to buy. As I wander past the vegetable stands the ladies call out, "Miss, we have basil today!" or "Little Sister, today the truck came with fresh green beans!"

(Green beans and basil are ingredients that I like to buy, but usually aren't part of the typical Peruvian cuisine. When they come into market the ladies look out for me).

When the people in the market don't have the right small change to give you, they'll make a small cutesy comment, and laugh, and hand you an extra mandarin, or toss in another bulb of garlic.

I always buy fruit from the same older gentleman, who is a little shy but cheery. I will ask him how much lemons cost. He will tell me "Ten lemons for one sol." I will say that I want to buy a sol. He will wink at me, and put twelve lemnos in the bag. You can buy about 36 bananas at his stand for a dollar.

I like to cook, and I like to feed my friends, but sometimes I get tired of it. I work throughout the morning preparing lunch; cooking, cleaning, carrying food scraps to the chickens, and after four hours the boys and the workers come in to eat. In 30 minutes, the food is gone. And then it is time to start thinking about supper.

I've learned a lot about cooking since I came to Perú. Nothing comes in a package. Nothing is premade. When I want to cook spaghetti sauce for pasta, I have to start with tomatoes, onions, and garlic. When I want to make locro, a creamy Peruvian stew made from squash, the ladies cut two kilos off a huge green squash in the market, and I take it home, hack it up with the meat cleaver knife, peel it, scrub it, and boil it before it can be used.

I love the time of day when the supper dishes are done and I can go and get a bath at the well, and not have to worry about food until the morning.