In this blog: Viva Bolivia!

In my other blog: Post-graduation college commentary, on student loan indebtedness.

I went out for Bolivian food on saturday.
To "The Bolivian Restaurant" on Chalkstone avenue, in Providence. Just a stone's throw away from the Foxy Lady, one of Rhode Island's many strip clubs.

What is Bolivian food?, you might ask.

Imagine you're a 17 year old boy. Imagine your parents are away for the weekend. And, after checking whether they left the liquor cabinet unlocked, and spanking it industriously until the brink of carpal tunnel, you make yourself dinner.

What you make yourself is probably Bolivian food. Bolivian food appears to be about three things: Multiple meats, multiple starches, and a dearth of concern about societies normal culinary rules. It is beyond delicious. Filling. Savory. Mmm.

I ordered something called "Pique a lo Macho"

It should have been called "Pulled from Hobobarista's most secret meaty desires"

Pique a lo Macho is flank steak, cut into strips and sautee'd, with red peppers. Green peppers. Sausage. Onions. Bacon. Served over french fries, with vinegar. Garnished with boiled eggs and huge chunks of ripe, raw tomatoes. The steak was chewy. The onions were perfectly carmelized, and obviously cooked in beef or pork fat. The red and green peppers were at that miracle point between too crisp and too limp. I thought peppers like these existed only on pizza. But no. Bacon and sausage added the perfect seasoning. The french fries, drenched in juice from the other ingredients, were delicious.

Mmmm.

And let me tell you about something else.

Empanadas. I like empanadas, usually. They're alright. But these empanadas were like nothing I'd ever tasted before. At the Cuban revolution, the cheese empanada is full of cheddar and unidentified white soft cheese. The crust is like pie crust, but a little bit more tender. The whole thing is heavy and about the size of the palm of my hand, and brought out with hot sauce.

At the Bolivian restaurant, the cheese empanada is about the size of a dessert plate. Brushed with powdered sugar, it is more dessert than appetizer. It is nearly weightless, and the cheese inside is chewy and mild, probably mozzerella. The crust is the flakiest, most tender puff pastry I've ever encountered. Apple turnovers would be jealous. Strudel would turn green with envy. Those grenouilles francoises de patisserie would shrivel in their inadequacy.

The boything ordered something I didn't catch the name of, but is another example of Bolivian cultural innovation. It was a steak, served over roasted rounds of potato, and under two fried eggs, sunny side up. With a sie of tasty, fluffy rice, soon stained brown from the steak.

Mmm.

I can't reccommend this restaurant enough.

Especially since it may close soon.

If you have it at all in your power, get thyself to the Bolivian Restaurant.