Comida Peruana and the Beagle Brigade

Oh, the mysteries of the universe. I feel like I know a lot of stuff: The Swiss have not yet moved to the Euro and are still using their Francs, the vitamins in cantaloupe are best absorbed when it is eaten alone, Shakira has an IQ of 140, the list goes on. One thing that should be known to me is the process for making the delicious salty Peruvian corn snack that I ate last night with the brothers Maestas, who are the kind of beautiful people that make everything around them better but who agree that that particular treat stands on its own merits and would be exceptionally delicious even if they weren’t there. The corn snack is served as crunchy kernels that are airy enough to make you think that they’ve been freeze dried or almost popped; their shape is like a teardrop rather than a more traditional pyramid; they have a light sheen of flavorless oil, maybe to get the salt to adhere; they are perfect with beer and ceviche. The type of corn used to make them is different from field or sweet or popping corn, and the mechanism for drying/popping/frying them is different, too. I wish I knew how to make them so that I could smuggle the ingredients into Germany to approximate their crispy, sunshiny saltiness using only local, non-invasive species as ingredients.
I’m not even going to bother to google the subject of their preparation, because I can’t remember the name for them and I’m not willing to wade through the inevitable third grade research papers that ‘Peru + corn’ will bring me: those Inca could be brutal, man, and I don’t want to know more about the slavery and the gold-hoarding than I do already. Ooooh, I just realized that it’s not the torture chambers they built into Machu Pichu that’s getting me salty, I’m mad at the Inca for basically inventing the potato. Everything comes full circle, doesn’t it? Fucking potatoes.
Wait. Potatoes have certainly been imported to Germany from the New World, why not a new type of delicious corn? So maybe I accidentally spill some seeds, and maybe those seeds spring forth from the ground, and maybe those seedlings reach toward the sun with the fervor of Incan gold-lust, and maybe a potato plant dies quietly in the resultant shade. Maybe cows will eat the stalks and leaves and leftovers of this delicious new corn, and the methane their farts produce will change the ozone above Germany. Then the sun will always shine there, and more corn will grow and it will make more sun and I will be so happy.

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