Photo: Nick Ballon

Dinner is booked for two for Friday at 7 p.m. at the latest haute cuisine establishment in town. Come to think of it, it's not just the latest, but arguably the only restaurant to truly belong in this category in La Paz. Of course, there's La Suisse, there's La Comedie, as well as a small handful of other restaurants which have set the bar for fine dining in the city. But this time it's different.

Barely a week after its official opening, Gustu already promises to turn the local food scene on its head. To say such a thing would be hyperbolic had Noma, the restaurant’s creator’s better-known creation, not been voted the world's best three years running: in 2010, 2011 and 2012. Which it has (no big deal).

Gustu, which means 'flavour' in Quechua, has partnered with the Melting Pot Foundation and IBIS (an NGO) to do much more than start a new chapter in Bolivian food. They've set up a training scheme for young Bolivians, many of them socially disadvantaged. Melting Pot has prepared them for the grand opening by sending these aspiring cooks to work at the best restaurants in Peru, and hopes this way to create a new generation of not just chefs, but entrepreneurs and agents for social change.

This $1.4m restaurant has a lot to live up to, and I'm not just talking about its culinary and social ambitions. Not that they knew this or have reasons to care, but at the same time the previous evening Nick and myself found ourselves at Doña Lucy's fried fish joint near the General Cemetery. For Bs.14 we gorged on the finest trout money can buy, in at least one sense of the word 'fine'. Basic? Yes. Grubby? Perhaps. The best trout we've ever had? Without a doubt, fingerlickingly so. Gustu: it's on.

We arrive at our destination and linger for some seconds outside the imposing but understated exterior; it's a good indication of what's inside. No chandeliers or petulant front-of-house staff in sight. We're warmly greeted by two young women who take our bags (we came from a photography shoot and arrive with a suitcase and a Tesco bag, though we're not made to feel awkward about this. It's not that kind of place). The reception is warmly lit by the glowless amber light from almost 200 naked light bulbs.

Our budget is $100 for two and, having told them in advance, they've already arranged for us to have the five-course taster menu, plus wine and cocktails. Before trying a single bite this already seems thoroughly reasonable; and it's reassuring to know they haven't overinflated their prices in the hope of attracting the type of clientele for whom price is a proxy for quality (drug traffickers, faux aristocrats, snobs, etc).

We're sat at our table and the singani cocktails arrive shortly after. One has llajwa and is like the Bolivian take on the Bloody Mary. The other comes with chankaka and is the superior cocktail out of the two. That, along with the chicharron snacks on the table, already give me reason to come back.

As we wait for the first course, I stare fascinated out of the large (understatement) windows which seemingly hang off the walls like picture frames, and which are tinted in such a way that it can seem like you're staring at the city from inside a fishbowl. There are also large windows into the kitchen, which reveals an interesting mix of heights and ethnicities among the staff, who can be occasionally caught looking out at the diners, a bit in the way a DJ might survey the dancefloor to see whether his track selection is doing the trick.

The first course, amaranth with cherries rehydrated in white vinegar, arrives on stone slates which at first glance look like posh rustic bathroom tiles, but on closer inspection are actually the same as the wall slates. I say ‘Nick: We're eating off a piece of wall. How cool is that?’ Halfway through the amaranth (it's a tad salty), I realise Nick's slab is shaped differently to my own; it's slightly wider and has a jagged edge. It's in these pleasing asymmetries the character of the restaurant's matted brilliance shines through. The light is slightly harsh in the main eating area, which on the upside allows you to see what you're eating.

Next up is Gustu's reinterpretation of the popular street food anticucho, traditionally made from flame-grilled cow hearts. Obviously, there's a twist. They're chicken hearts rolled in ground peanuts on swirling lines of peanut sauce, crowned with thin slivers of green tomato. ‘Chicken hearts usually taste quite irony’ Nick points out, ‘I usually don't like them’. (Neither do I). He takes another mouthful. I've already finished my plate. The anticuchos are a resounding success, if only for making us like something we otherwise wouldn't consider eating. All of the irony-ness of the hearts is gone and the tomatoes give the dish a sparkling sharp finish. The powerful and aromatic Malbec Sepas del Valle they bring with this course complements the anticuchos very nicely.

We then get another slab, this time it's llama medallions in a sauce which consists mainly of banana and Brazil nuts. It's artfully tender and works as a dish. But it doesn't transport Nick anywhere special, and it's far too reminiscent of baby food for my taste. If the amaranth was a tad salty, this one is lacking in something; can't decide whether in punch or crunch. I suppose I could add some of the cool pink salt (coarse and fine grain) on the table, which comes from Uyuni but looks like it comes from Mars. But I don't. It belongs in the 'interesting' category, I decide, so I leave my plate unfinished to save space for the next two courses.

To our surprise, they bring us two desserts, one after the other. The first is chancaca and tumbo ice cream with singani. It's outrageously creamy and outrageously good, and gains a place in the evening's hall of fame, standing proud next to the anticuchos. This is followed by a coconut cake with crumble, passion fruit and cacao sorbet. Also great (though merely great, no hyperbole required). Both are accompanied by a sickly sweet Kohlberg dessert wine, which in my case doesn't need topping up (though I've never liked dessert wines so I'm the wrong person to judge whether it was any good). But two puddings? Really? Head Chef Kamilla Siedler later reveals that she knows Bolivians have a sweet tooth. A sure way to someone's heart is to give them sweet things, they say. It sure worked with me. At the end of the meal I was sated and verging on full, but it felt just right. 

Aside from some flavours, a few questions linger on my mind after the meal. How does this compare to Doña Lucy's Bs.14 fried trout? Do these experiences even belong in the same category? Is this even a fair question to ask?

Eating Doña Lucy's trout can only be described as a fishgasm. Perhaps her food was unique not despite it's simplicity, but because of it. The unsubtle flavours and extravagant fat contents surely appealed to our inner neanderthal, not our inner intellectual. Doña Lucy offered us an authentic Bolivian experience without knowing, or needing to know, what it was doing. Its authenticity was it's essence, a property only unintentionally achievable. (Besides, you can make pretty much anything delicious by deep-fat-frying. Ask any Scot.)

Photo: Nick Ballon

The corollary of this question, and at the root of any fine dining experience, is whether it's justifiable to pay twenty times the price for something which isn't guaranteed to elicit an experience of this sort? Or even forgetting about the price, what is it one's supposed to expect from a restaurant which, before it has even opened, is lauded so overwhelmingly, or whose precursor is ranked in such categorical terms ('Best', #1, etc)? It's a hard expectation to fulfil, and this is unfortunate and unfair.

If Gustu doesn't yet epitomise the elemental mouthwatering feeling even pre-linguistic infants can recognise (if not verbalise), it must do something else. And it does. When dining at such a place (and it's worth being explicit about this in a place such as Bolivia which doesn't yet have such a haute cuisine culinary tradition), you're engaged on several levels, of which food per se is but one element. At a place such as Gustu you're invited to revel in the aesthetic set of experiences unfolding across all of your senses, in the history of the ingredients and the social dimensions of what's being cooked up beyond the kitchen.

The question you, the reader, probably want answered is whether you should go and eat there. So here's what I think you should consider.

What really sets Gustu apart from its local competitors is its integrity, it's philosophy, and vision. Here are people trying to create something truly new and unique, and while doing so they aim to transform an entire society and culture. More than a restaurant, it's a movement. The scale of their ambition puts them in a league of their own. La Suisse is certainly commercially successful, but what's a Swiss restaurant doing offering an uninspired Sushi on the menu? Or why are you sometimes made to feel the owner is doing you a favour by allowing you to dine at La Comedie? Both of the aforementioned establishments are without a doubt professional and well run. Why, the food's even consistently good. What they're lacking is heart and artistry, and this is something Gustu has, unequivocally so. Even in the décor you can sense that extra attention to detail and craftsmanship, through which the restaurant manages to be obsessive without being fastidious. You should go. It's an imperative.

The last set of questions on my menu is speculative. In Noma's footsteps, Gustu does a good job at establishing itself as an experience restaurant. Everyone should go at least once, sure, even if only to be intrigued and amazed at the exotic creations. Yet to succeed commercially it will need to do more than this. They will need repeat customers who go and seek out the same succulent signature dishes time after time; where gluttons and aesthetes alike can find something to return back to. Somewhere you can go to irrationally. Thankfully, the menu is continually evolving. Head Chef Kamilla Siedler tells us they're experimenting with aloe vera: 'It's kind of disgusting. It's slimy. It's weird'. Chuño ? 'Haven't cracked the code yet'. Gustu is a research facility, and their basement bakery definitely has a laboratory air to it. There's even a large glass separation which you can draw on with board markers like a nutty professor. Going back to Doña Lucy, Kamilla acknowledges that 'without a doubt the best food here is street food'. It's clear this is the challenger to beat, not the other fine eateries in La Paz.

Pronto Delicatessen by Alan Pierce

Photo: Alan Pierce

Initiation to Pronto Dalicatessen’s Italian fusion is like getting back together with an old flame. The culinary experience sparks an effortless mix of the familiar, paired with the unexpected pleasure of the totally unexpected. The Italian purist in me quivered at traditional offerings of pesto pasta or a tantalizing tiramisu, while my more adventurous taste buds tingled at the possibility of a llama carpaccio or quinoa ravioli. Bathed in romantic candlelight, the surrounding décor for this breathtaking and very complementary union of ingredients is less eclectic, although equally as unique as the menu. As the restaurant’s name alludes to, almost the entirety of the interior is dedicated to the works of Spanish surrealist artist, Salvador Dalí. Yet, while one eats under his famous Persistence of Memory, savoring the unforgettable embrace of Italian and novo andino flavors, any feeling of overreaching culinary surrealism quickly blends away, replaced exquisitely with a tummy full of gratitude for the courageous blend of flavors that is Pronto Dalicatessen’s Italian fusion.

Address: Pasaje Jauregui 2248 (between 20 de Octubre and 6 de Agosto. La Paz)

Facetious Felicitations: A Tale of Frantic Devotion by Robert Noyes

‘Café Mocha, por favor?’ These words elicit more pleasure, excitement and relief than any other combination of Spanish words I will ever learn. When I left my job at The Gorvett & Stone chocolate shop to follow in the footsteps of Che Guevara and travel through South America, I assumed I would never love again. The lonely evenings spent rocking myself to sleep like a baby in the early days of my trip reminded me time and time again that life was tough. Truth be told, I considered going home. Life just wasn’t quite the same without the silky, salacious beauty of the Gorvett and Stone mocha. And then I met Alexander.

Alexander works tirelessly throughout the day, smothering customers with his ever-changing wifi-coded love. Sliding thin green notes of adoration under my empty coffee at irregular intervals—surprises let me know he cares. Alexander cares not for a return of gratitude—he loves freely (at an average minimum consumption of Bs 20). He envelopes you with his wide, welcoming arms between 7 a.m. to 8 p.m.

Sure, Alexander isn’t the richest, nor the most handsome (though at least I think he is). But damn, he makes a mighty fine mocha. Sitting in front of me is my muse. From top to toe, she is a pure miracle of creation. Crisp crests of cream ebb and flow, betraying the mythical labyrinth enclosed within Davy Jones’ locker. Once the spoon has surreptitiously slipped into the deep, the inevitability of what’s to come strikes, so mouth-watering I think I may drown in my own sultry saliva.

Blindly swimming down to recover the wreckage of the sunken submarine of chocolate at the bottom is a tantalising experience at the best of times. Some mix in this submarine with their coffee. By doing this, the mystery of the sunken vessel is lost forever in a whirlpool of chocolatey espresso. Unthinkable. Any regular knows that the only way to drink it is to dunk into the pit and scoop up the submarine: Don’t Postpone Enjoyment.

Philosopher William Paley once had an observation when he stumbled across a watch. He decided that the watch, being a most elusive wonder of beauty, must have a creator. As such, he resolved that the world, also being a complex matter of extreme, striking attraction, must have a creator—God. I like his argument for design. It seems appealing. Yet surely he made a mistake in stumbling across the watch before the muse staring back at me from the table. Paley’s watch argument would surely be more compelling if only it focused on the perfect design and completion of this exact, golden, mocha.

Or. Or, it’s just a coffee and I really should get out more. Either way, this dangerous chocolate, coffee and cream concoction is still smiling silently, patiently waiting for me to grab a spoon and plunge carefree into its pool of oblivious perfection..

Address: Alexander Coffee (multiple locations in La Paz): Plaza Avaroa Av. 20 de Octubre, Multicine, Calle Potosi, Av. 16 de Julio, Calle Montenegro, Calle 21 de Calacoto

Doña Lucy by Sophia Howe

Photo: Jonathan Coubrough

With the historical exceptions of Coca-Cola and the heavily regulated pharmaceutical industry, the use and consumption of coca outside of South America is generally illegal. This is due to an alkaloid which can be obtained from the plant: cocaine. But, after seeing the huge cultural significance of coca in Bolivia, I set out to explore the benefits of the indigenous plant when used in food and drink, and to discover what, exactly, the rest of the world is missing out on.

Eduardo Garcos sits behind a large desk in his office in El Alto, its walls lined with fat bags stuffed with coca leaves. He is the administrative manager of the Pukara restaurant group, which has branches in La Paz and El Alto (the El Alto location is vegetarian, and features many coca products). Eduardo tells me that most of his customers buy coca for its health benefits. The coca products sold here include biscuits, bread, pasta, and pastries.

‘The use of the coca leaf is ancestral’, Garcos explains. ‘Pijcheo allowed the farmers to have perfect teeth, thanks to the calcium. It helps considerably when you use it in the right way. When you use it in the illegal way, it is bad’.

Garcos is a member of a coca producer’s association in charge of creating coca products for the Bolivian coca industry. ‘We buy the coca leaves from the market, but Pukara has its own miller, so we can grind it ourselves. We don’t trust much of the ground coca that is sold on the market’. He then shows me an enormous Swiss roll made from nearly 1 kilogram of ground coca mixed with wheat flour and sweet chocolate.

I ask him whether he thinks that coca could become popular outside of South America. ‘The coca leaf could be popular. Coca is not cocaine’, Garcos says. ‘Coca tea is used to treat stomach pains, the pijcheo calms hunger, and it’s also a household remedy—it’s a very old medicine’.

Garcos does admit that it’s not for everyone: ‘Not everybody likes the taste—a lot of people don’t. But coca is used far more now in cities such as Santa Cruz, which is not a region where people traditionally use coca. It’s in the valleys and rural areas of the altiplano where the use and knowledge of coca is a tradition passed through generations’. So, perhaps, this shows that a foreign market can be receptive to coca’s culinary potential.

My quest brings me to a back street in the Sopocachi neighborhood of La Paz. A nondescript door opens into ‘La Costilla de Adan’, ‘Adam’s Rib’, a bar covered from wall to wall and ceiling to floor in trinkets and memorabilia—electric and manual typewriters, toy soldiers, soda adverts are arranged artfully. I flop down onto a large old leather armchair and am given an ‘Evaristo’, an elegant drink made from coca liqueur. It’s sweet, like coca mate mixed with syrup, but it’s got a strong after-kick from the alcohol. It’s not to my liking, though, so I leave the bar to try to find a more appealing coca treat.

Even though I didn’t like the taste of my Evaristo drink, I hope that I at least absorbed some of the coca’s health benefits. From my research, I learn that 100 grams of coca leaves can fulfil the recommended daily dietary requirement for calcium, iron, phosphorous, and vitamins A, B, and E. In fact, the Incas put so much faith in the leaf that two of their emperors’ wives were named after it.

Two posters of President Morales watch over Roberto Ramirez as he sits in his underground office and proudly tells me, ‘I have been regularly consuming coca for the last two or three years; I didn't catch the flu this year’. Ramirez is chief of the Industrialisation Department at the Ministry for the Coca Leaf. The department aims to promote the coca leaf by finding new uses for it.

Ramirez believes that the political classes in countries outside of South America are aware of the beneficial properties of the coca leaf. ‘They will not decriminalise it because it is not in their interests, or the interests of industry in their country, as coca is only produced here in South America’, he says. He believes that it is for this reason that the public is not told of the plant’s beneficial effects, and that governments use the bogeyman of cocaine to tip the scales of public opinion against the plant.

The Industrialisation Department has been responsible for the development of a soft drink, painkillers and even a sweetener, all made from coca. Ramirez says that while the department’s budget is limited, it has big plans. ‘We want to bring back Cocadent [a toothpaste]. We also want to develop bottled coca tea, aphrodisiacs and condoms’.

While talking to people, I heard of a coca myth in which God told the Andean people, ‘When you feel the sting of pain in your heart, hunger in your body, and darkness in your mind, take coca leaves to your mouth and softly draw up its spirit, which is a part of mine. You will find love for your pain, food for your body, and light for your mind’.

I heard of similar effects from almost every Bolivian I talked to, that the coca plant brings many health benefits such as quelling hunger, alleviating pain, and curbing general sickness. These days, one might think that the global market is ripe for another natural healing remedy. But cocaine—made from the alkaloid comprising only .25 to .8 percent of the unprocessed plant—continues to be the only thing associated with the plant outside of South America.

The legend continues, and rings true: ‘But if your torturer, who comes from the North—the white conqueror, the gold seeker—should touch it, he will find in it only poison for his body and madness for his mind. For his heart is so callous and his steel and iron garment. And when the coca—which is how you will call it—attempts to soften his feelings it will only shatter him as the icy crystals born in the clouds crack the rocks and demolish mountains’.