Exploring Chilean Cuisine & Wine
I have a thing for cemeteries, and I visit them wherever I travel. They tell us a lot about the culture and history of a people and place. It was on a quiet morning stroll through the Cementario de Disidentes in Valparaiso, reading headstones from the late 1800s — Murphy, Werkmeister, Hagnauer, Fyfe, Tornquist, MacAuliffe, Rivera, Astaburnago, Morales, Figueroa — when I began to appreciate the origins of Chilean cuisine.
Chile is a country molded by immigrants as much as by its indigenous people. Over generations, as families blended, so did their recipes. While the classic stuffed pastry is called empanada in Spanish, the taste is that of a Cornish pasty. And the tradition of onces, (literally “elevens,” but partaken about 5pm) is clearly a cousin of English afternoon tea. Overall, food in Chile is less spicy than other Latin American countries, tasting more European than Latino.
Geography and climate also determine what ends up on the dinner table. Chile is almost 2,700mi long, but, on average, only 70–80mi wide — you are never far from the sea. Other than the Chilean sea bass so often featured on foreign menus, I didn’t know what to expect before my first visit. Certainly not Congrio Almendrado al Graten, a signature firm white fish with fresh spinach and almond sauce, baked au gratin. Nor cojinova (hake) over a parsley risotto, white wine reduction, fava beans, and tomatoes. Nor camarones (shrimp) and peppers in a mozzarella fondue. Nor platters of juicy ostras (oysters), almejas (clams), machas (razor clams) with melted parmesan, albacora (tuna), erizos (sea urchins), locos (abalone), calamares (squid), corvina (bass-like deep water fish), and salmon.
I was, I confess, ignorant. How could I have imagined delectable corn-fed, free-range chickens with colorful vegetables cooked in clay pots? Beef and chicken brochettes, stuffed with plums and wrapped in bacon? Marinated lamb in rosemary crust? Delicate slices of smoked salmon served over couscous with coriander oil? Eggfruit bocado with a white chocolate sauce?
I had so much to learn — and not enough time.
Guillermo Munoz is an award-winning chef at what may be the most exquisite restaurant in all of southern Chile, Latitude 42, located on the shores of Lake Llanquihue, in the shadow of Osorno Volcano. Munoz sees the gastronomy of Chile as a mirror of the cultural and political expansion underway in his country: “Our cuisine is evolving…finding its essence and identity.” He delights in integrating fresh herbs and spices, distinctive seafood, and unique fruits and vegetables with traditional dishes. “Our cuisine reflects the influences of the German, French, and Spanish people, but is not complete with the cuisine of our indigenous peoples, the Aymaras [from the north], the Mapuches [central], the Onas [south], and the Rapa Nui [the islands],” he elaborates. “Ours is a ‘mestizo’ cuisine.” When Munoz is cooking for you, however, his goal is simple: “To make happy every person at the table.” If the collective gasp from a table of 10 at the first taste of a toasted rosemary sorbet (unlike anything I’d ever tasted) is a sign of happiness, Munoz meets his goal.
