In the U.S. we’re restricted to a few basic varieties for our snacks, mostly falling within the divisions of inflated corn things, baked wheat things, and fried potato things. There’s of course some latitude within and across these categories, especially in recent years, but by and large the American snacking populace is treated like cattle by a cartel of corporate producers with excess agricultural product to dump. I’m sure that’s the case everywhere to some extent, but no matter where you go, poorer consumers tend to bear the brunt of this uncomfortable dynamic; I witnessed firsthand the chaos wreaked by NAFTA while visiting the Yucatan peninsula, where the traditional diet, long centered around local corn products, has been eroded by an influx of high-calorie corn snacks imported from El Norte. Paired with grotesque cost-cutters like fruit substitute soy drinks, this has helped result in a dramatic uptick in obesity, among other negative health outcomes. But before I get too far off course, let’s talk about the possibility of other things. I know boutique brands have embraced alternative flours of late, but in one sense Colombia is ahead of the curve, with these cracker-ish snacks baked from achira flour, produced from a form of arrowroot plant, closely related to sago. I remember searching for these on my trip to Colombia and coming up empty, and while I would still prefer to have sampled a freshly baked version, these bagged achiras were strangely satisfying, with a bit of the burnt cheese flavor familiar from pandebono, a family of which these are technically part. Originally produced by Muisca natives as a staple, these are sometimes referred to as “Achiras Huilenses,” due to a traditional association with the country’s Huila department, another instance of the under-explored richness of Andean culinary innovation. You can also make a facsimile of these yourself, assuming you can get your hands on tapioca starch. I found one of these rare exceptions with the weird corn powder Gofio, a Dominican variant of which I secured from the mammoth Food Bazaar supermarket in Long Island City. Unlike many other corn products, which wash ashore with little organic connection to the country in which they’re being dispensed, this one at least has a native origin. Hailing from the Canary Islands, a place to which many Dominicans trace some ethnic connection, it’s left a small, dusty footprint around the Caribbean. Yet despite this long history (which likely has a tangential connection to something like Brazilian farofa) the candy stuff seems like a paltry, simplistic offshoot of a rich culinary tradition, in addition to reminding me of the pulverized residue that ends up at the bottom of a Kix box. Then again, as an adult pounding gofio cones by my lonesome inside my apartment, I’m probably missing out on most of the fun.
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The coded language of snacks, sandwiches and seasonings, in NYC and beyond.
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