I’m still not sure the reason, and whether this was just an exceptional period of hellish heat or some climate-changed enhanced nightmare scenario (it was winter, after all), but Cartagena is the hottest place I’ve ever been. Luckily daytime hours afforded many more convenient options, and the next day I was able to scuttle from one shadow to another to La Olla Cartegenera, an old-fashioned restaurant with an impressive, rainforest-themed backroom. Like many spots on the Bocagrande, La Olla seemed to have a Middle Eastern slant to the menu. Middle Eastern immigrants have a long history in Colombia, responsible for contributing dishes like quibbe (which pops up here and across the rest of the Caribbean, often denoted as ‘quipes,’) but I’m not sure why all these places were clustered in this one neighborhood, otherwise dominated by pale white resort towers and pizza places. Whatever the case, I skipped the falafel for a seafood sampler, hoping to get a quick overview of the local offerings. As see above, this included rock lobster, prawns in garlic sauce, some nicely marinated grilled fish and a smattering of shrimp.
I knew something was amiss when I arrived in Cartagena, the hour nearing midnight, the temperature still in the high nineties. Our hotel was located on the long strip of Avenida San Martin in the Bocagrande resort zone, and I was reasonably confident I could pick up a quick takeout dinner after landing without much fuss. The nearby picado place, however, didn’t do takeout, the hotel restaurant was a casino bar called ‘Masters,’ and the area was otherwise populated by uninspiring fast food options, from El Corral to Burger King to Kokoriko, Still, stubborn despite the late hour and the ridiculous humidity, I was determined not to waste this precious foreign meal on a ordinary burger. I ended up drenched in sweat at around one a.m., having ranged much further down the strip than necessary to land on a tiny Venezuelan takeout spot, where I purchased some mediocre arepas. I was bowed but not defeated. I’m still not sure the reason, and whether this was just an exceptional period of hellish heat or some climate-changed enhanced nightmare scenario (it was winter, after all), but Cartagena is the hottest place I’ve ever been. Luckily daytime hours afforded many more convenient options, and the next day I was able to scuttle from one shadow to another to La Olla Cartegenera, an old-fashioned restaurant with an impressive, rainforest-themed backroom. Like many spots on the Bocagrande, La Olla seemed to have a Middle Eastern slant to the menu. Middle Eastern immigrants have a long history in Colombia, responsible for contributing dishes like quibbe (which pops up here and across the rest of the Caribbean, often denoted as ‘quipes,’) but I’m not sure why all these places were clustered in this one neighborhood, otherwise dominated by pale white resort towers and pizza places. Whatever the case, I skipped the falafel for a seafood sampler, hoping to get a quick overview of the local offerings. As see above, this included rock lobster, prawns in garlic sauce, some nicely marinated grilled fish and a smattering of shrimp. Despite the name, the menu here wasn’t really that indicative of the overall Cartagenan pot. Aside from the ubiquitous fried red snapper (pargo rojo) with coconut rice, the most characteristic dish here is probably ceviche, served in a form far less pure than the pristine Peruvian version. In a move that’s strange considering the abundance of fresh catch, the raw fish gets lime-cured and then smothered in mayonnaise and ketchup, turning it into a thick, sweet soup. As for Peru, that cuisine also had an important place in Cartagena. Represented by multiple restaurants in the city’s historic Old Town section, it seemed to serve as the standard bearer for fine dining. I went in for one expensive luxury meal, interested in tasting this great cuisine relatively close to the source (albeit still over two thousand miles from Lima) and found a pretty good spread of delicacies, all of them strangely enough starting with the letter C: causa, chalacas, classic lime-cured ceviche and chorrillano. Still, despite my reservations, I found that the Colombian version can still be delicious. At the very-crowded La Cevicheria, a breezy place decorated with nautical crap on the walls and painted a calming shade of blue, it came three ways: in basic, only lightly adorned form, in a sweet/sour puree of mango and passion fruit, and blasted with a local spin on barbecue sauce. All were delicious, as was an unpictured boat full of squid served in a Thai-inspired coconut milk broth, filled out with tiny native chipi chipi clams. I also had great ceviche at Cevicheria’s main competitor El Boliche, although there they were outshone by the ridiculously juicy crab empanadas. Other local dishes were just as impressive. Butifarra sausage, tucked inside an empanada with a decidely non-native partner of basil pesto, made for a perfect afternoon snack. Suero, the tangy fermented dairy spread that tasted like a tangier crema. Boronia, a hard-to-find eggplant and plantain mixture that, like quibbe, seems to draw some definite influence from the Middle East. Carimañolas, humble yuca fritters that, like many other items here, reinforce this Caribbean city’s connection to the nearby islands. The last item also showed up daily at my hotel’s complimentary breakfast spread, another reminder that, even in 100+ degree heat, Colombians treat all meals with the same level of dedication. A fine balance between light and leaden defined a lot of the food, especially the non-seafood stuff, and seems to be best summed up by a dish I could not find anywhere, my greatest disappointment that didn’t evolve the elusive DJ Hotdog. Dubbed ‘kitten’s heads,’ this rare delicacy describes a molded ball of mashed plantain, pork skin and meat (sort of like a globular mofongo?), which sounds both cute and dauntingly dense. Two of the best dishes I had here struck a similar balance. Most impressive of these was the posta negra from La Mulata, jet black meat slabs in a slightly sweet sauce that recalled French tournedos in their complexity and tenderness. On the other side of the equation were the hard-as-leather viudas, atrophied pockets of jerkied meat containing a cheese and vegetable filling. The perverse name seems to recall the travails of widowhood, yet despite the marathon of chewing they entailed they were also strangely delicious, thanks in large part to the magnificent cooking found at La Cocina de Pepina (also the source of the above Boronia and the Sopa de Caribe from a previous post). This was my final meal in Cartagena, and proved to be a perfect sendoff from a place where the best foods are often found off the beaten path, far from the sun and crowds.
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