Photo: Michael Dunn Caceres

My late Grandfather, George Howe, was a keen fisherman. He dedicated his weekends to sitting in whatever English weather came his way to provide my family and I with Saturday-night trout. He kept a small pond in his garden to make his retired life pleasurable, despite the hungry heron prowling the skies of Northumberland. I looked forward to his secret recipe, trout paté, every Christmas, which was kept in a navy blue marble pot, and is something my family now misses at the dinner table.

Whenever he wasn’t fishing, he spent his time tending to his vegetable crops. As a little girl, he reminded me of Mr McGregor (the gardener from the Peter Rabbit stories), with his watchful eye and the help of a scarecrow, we were always too scared to slip into the soil. I vividly remember the giant goldfish he kept in the pond, and how we used to feed them over the bridge and watch them disappear under us.

Some years later, I find myself on a bicycle in the dizzying heights of Lake Titicaca, with a standard journalist's notepad in my pocket. I hate bikes, especially when they don't have competent brakes and a cushioned seat. But it was a cheap way of seeing the shoreline and accessing the lake's islas flotantes , not to mention a great opportunity for getting a forearm tan.

I meet my first fisherman on the floating island of Kalakota, who welcomes me donning a hat and a thick woolly jumper, an attire seemingly impossible to wear for the radiant heat of the Andean sun. His name is Germaín Kengua Quispe, and he guides me along a wobbly walkway to show me his trout stock and explain how they cater for tourists. Drifting alongside the island is a plush lancha , used to bring tourists from Copacabana, to try the freshest trout money can buy.

Tourism is the island's main source of income, but it is the trout that gets the 'gringos' hooked. At a price of $10,000, keeping the island afloat is no cheap business. The polyester blocks that hold up the wooden floorboards, draped in totora reeds, need cutting and replacing regularly. Adding to that is the constant attendance to the trout’s every need. ‘We need a project’, Quispe says, ‘to help fund the floating islands, it is a huge sacrifice for us’.

Photo: Sophia Howe

In the wild, trouts get their pink colouring from prey, such as shrimp and crayfish. But in trout farms, however, they need to use colouring in the fish feed to imitate this natural effect, which they must import from Peru.

Over the next hill, lies the village of Chañi, hidden in a secret cove. As I descended from my bike at this new location, I meet a young couple: Oscar Condori Mamani and his lovely wife, who are very knowledgeable on the topic and quickly begin to explain what life as a trout truly means.

‘The trouts here are for national and international tourism, we don't sell to export, only for consumption’. Here the trout is sold for 30 Bolivianos per kilo and it comes as fresh as it gets; you get the chance to watch your food be caught, gutted and fried, straight onto the plate within five minutes. Bolivia's fast food at its finest.

Chañi has three types of trout, creating colourful circles as they parade in the nets. There are arcoiris, dorada and amarilla, split into their appropriately sized nets of small (2 months old), medium (7-8 months old) and large (up to 3 years old). The biggest fish boast patterned flesh and are around 3 years old, weighing up to 5 kilos each. ‘Más grande, más rico’ Oscar tells me. But these larger fish are mainly used as productores to create other juicy trout that will be eaten by hungry tourists, when they are between 2-8 months.

The productores get together once a year between the months of May to July to spawn their eggs, which are then taken straight to a river one to two hours away from the Lake. The prime waters for these huevitos are aguas vertientes , where these babies are born, only to return after a few weeks to the closed nets, or criaderos of Lake Titicaca. After 2 months, they are upgraded to the open nets of the islas flotantes , where they swim in the open air, waiting to be scooped up and fried in a pool of hot oil.

It’s not hard to spot the abundance of wooden square nets bobbing on the waters of Lake Titicaca. These are criaderos, where copious amounts of trout are kept. To my disappointment, the only fishing to be done here involves rowing to the nets and collecting the trapped trout.

My initial expectations involved putting on my yellow overalls and wellies to join these fishermen out in the depths, battling the storm and chaotic waves. But, being in Titicaca, one of the highest lakes in the world, sitting at 3,811 metres above sea level, the calm water reaches the horizon and the only waves in sight appear when a motor boat glides past. Maybe I’ve been watching too many ‘Deadliest Catch’ TV shows...

At first I imagined that I would be able to join the Titicaca fishermen out on an early catch and encounter the excitement of reeling in a monstrous fish, as my Grandfather once did. When talking to the trout farmers of the Lake, I soon realised I had confused sport fishing with the practicalities of running a fish business.

Grandpa Howe was a traditional trout man, who searched for Rainbow Trout and Wild Brown Trout with a fly, rod and line. He wore a checked shirt with a sweater vest, always in a shade of green, and drenched in an outdoor odour. For my Grandfather, he loved the thrill of casting the line and pulling in that record 2 kilogram fish. He would always have a story about the ‘one that got away’ but for the fishermen at Lake Titicaca, survival is the biggest accomplishment.

Quinoa Under The Microscope

Quinoa, the grain-like 'pseudocereal' and sacred grain of the Incas has been a key food in Andean diet since 3000 BC. Its status as the mother of all grains was suppressed during the early Spanish colonial rule; relegated to being a food product only fit for native ‘lower’ classes. Today, however, it has been heralded as the latest superfood and is being celebrated with international recognition. In 2013 we are living in the ‘International Year of Quinoa’. Even astronauts are thinking of taking it to space. Francesa, a Bolivian company, are exporting quinoa biscuits to the US, and it’s not just humans who will benefit from this, but also dogs. In the world’s largest quinoa producing nation, the latest nutritional secrets of quinoa, along with its evolving economic and cultural significance, leave much to be explored.

Quinoa grows in the most adverse of conditions. It endures 4 months of hostile temperature changes, ranging from -10 to 30 degrees Centigrade, as well surviving a scarce and irregular water supply. It grows in a highly saline soil at an altitude of over 3600m, with the corresponding low oxygen levels. 

The southern altiplano, from Salar de Uyuni to Oruro, has a meandering route of parcelas de quinua , that have been feeding the growers and their families for centuries: but the trend is quickly changing. In recent years, the demand for the crop has soared, and with it its price. ‘Quinoa used to be the food of the people. Now it’s a luxury, even for rich people’, Virginia, the housekeeper at the BX house laments. Whilst the price of quinoa has more than tripled over the past three years, from Bs.4 to Bs.14 per pound, local consumption has drastically diminished by an astonishing 34% - according to the Agricultural Ministry.

I sit amongst a dozen families at the Feria 16 de Julio in El Alto eating pesq’e con leche and ahogado , the 35 year old dish pioneered by the partners Josefa Mamani and Javier Quella. They strive to keep the dish affordable to locals, producing it for Bs. 5, despite it costing Bs.1.20 when they started out.

Since becoming a ‘superfood’, quinoa is now sold in packets of pre-washed grain, replacing the freedom of buying it ‘a granel’, whereby buyers were free to have a bag stuffed with quinoa and pay for it by the gram. This Western-style packaging has elevated the status of the quinoa, isolating it from other staple grains such as rice and wheat.
Yet the way in which the grain is now sold has some troubling effects on the local market. A 500g packet of Quinoa Real costs Bs.15 in Bolivia, which is expensive enough for the local market, but can be exported for up to $10 (over 4 times the price) to the US. It is clear that there is a growing worldwide demand for the Andean grain. But why?

As bizarre as it may seem, the answer may well be found in outer space. For decades, NASA has provided quinoa to astronauts as a life-sustaining food. Quinoa has a complete and extensive nutritional content, high in an endless list of nutrients including the cardiovascular strengthener magnesium. In fact, it drove researcher Phillip White to state that, ‘quinoa comes as close to any other food to supplying all the essential life sustaining nutrients in the plant or animal kingdom’.

The list of proven health benefits appears varied and endless, even extending to protection against gallstones and cataracts. Dr. Absalon Pacheco, my local family physician, states that quinoa can even combat adverse menopausal symptoms: ‘Bolivian women rarely suffer from the menopause’.

Intrigued by quinoa’s bountiful list of health properties, I was fascinated to hear of current research in Bolivia into some of quinoa’s lesser known salutary effects. Paola Chavez, an ecophysiologist who’s carried out research on the grain introduced me to saponins. These infamous sugar and fat based chemicals aid plants like quinoa by deterring fungi, bacteria and animals, as well as protecting them from the harsh sun of the Altiplano (think of them as sunblock for plants). Saponins are found on the outer shell of the quinoa grain, but never listed on the back of commercial food packages. Their toxicity in terms of hemolysis (splitting of red blood cells), and bitter taste, make it customary to remove saponins by a strict 4-cycle washing procedure during the industrialisation process. But Dr. Pacheco mentions over and over ‘el poder de la saponina’, and believes it the key to preventing menopausal disorders.

Late one evening, in the centre of La Paz, I meet with research scientist, food engineer and dietician Guillermo Tapia. He introduces himself as an Orureño who grew up eating saponins every day, praising these compounds and their high levels (of up to 8%) in quinoa. He claims the antibacterial properties of saponins protected him and his friends from stomach infections during childhood, and cites his own vitality as an example of their incorrect labeling as toxic. He backs this up with the 2007 EPA conclusion that saponins are only toxic if injected directly into blood stream. Within minutes his energy and excitement for saponins has intoxicated him, and the secrets of saponins start pouring out.

‘El secreto de la juventud’, ‘the secret of youth’, can be traced to the high antioxidative properties of saponins. He talks of the therapeutic, rather than nutritional, properties of this compound, listing four major diseases for which saponins can be beneficial: diabetes, cardiovascular disease, cancer and arthritis. His research also sheds light on its antiviral properties. Saponins have the capacity to stimulate a response of the immune system and in this way they make strong formulations for HIV and therapeutic cancer vaccines.

Why, when there is such a diversity of therapeutic benefits, do major quinoa producers like ANAPQUI (The National Association of Quinoa Producers) continue to remove 80% of the them? The bitter taste? ‘This can be eliminated through cooking skill’, jokes Guillermo.
The problem comes back to a lack of understanding about the salutary properties of saponins. A market seller proudly promotes the superiority of her black quinoa over white, brown and red varieties, by boasting its higher vitamin content, though she wasn’t able to give further details. Guillermo aims to start a campaign informing the quinoa producers to change the industrialisation process of quinoa to cease the elimination of these wonder chemicals. ANAPQUI continue to receive pressure from its importers to remove saponins due to the scaremongering and desire for neutral taste. Guillermo is hopeful that within two to four years enough faith in saponins will have developed to change this.

Regardless of this, the quinoa industry is booming in Bolivia. Wandering through the streets of La Paz, numerous products stand out; from quinoa biscuits to chocolates, yoghurt, juice and even pizza. The government is introducing schemes to increase local consumption, and a law to ensure all schoolchildren eat quinoa as part of their breakfast diet is soon to be passed.

It will be interesting to see how quinoa production in Bolivia will change. Will saponins become another major selling point of the golden grain? Will the process of industrialisation adapt to incorporate saponins? Will the public grow used to the ensuing increase in bitterness? It is hard to predict. One certainty however is that the optimum climate of the Southern Altiplano of Bolivia, along with the experience of its quinoa growers, places Bolivia at the forefront of whatever changes are to come.

Nutritional Properties of Quinoa

Vitamin E
An antioxidant, which protects cells against free radicals that are known to contribute to ageing and cancer development

Polyunsaturated fats
Help reduce cholesterol levels and lowers the risk of heart disease

Iron
Mineral needed to make haemoglobin, the major oxygen carrying component of red blood cells and key to our energy release, hindering the development of anaemia

Selenium
Trace mineral with antioxidative properties

Zinc
Trace mineral, critical for correct functioning of our immune system

Essential Amino Acids
The building blocks of proteins needed for the growth and repair of body tissues

Mauro Scrafton isn’t too impressed by potatoes, believing they look dull, taste bland, and have underwhelming nutritional properties. Will the pride and insistence of locals win him over?

Potatoes might just be the most boring food on the planet. They taste bland, look uninspiring and have pitiful nutritional properties. As you are now hopefully aware, I am not a fan. And I find it hard to believe that Bolivians don’t share the same view. So, how and why are potatoes still the most important food in the Bolivia and the Andes?

It was over 8000 years ago in the extreme north of Bolivia that this starchy, tuberous crop was first domesticated and became the staple food of this part of the world. In Bolivia, potatoes are everywhere. Cultivation mostly takes place on the Altiplano—the great expanse of high plateau stretching from Lake Titicaca to the Argentinian border—but they are grown countrywide from the Andean valleys to the tropical lowlands to the east. Unbelievably to someone brought up on the simple Maris Piper, I have discovered there are some 4000 different varieties of potatoes grown in the Andes.

Ok, so far we have established that the Andes are the birthplace of the potato and that they’Re locally overabundant, but I still don’t get the hype or particularly like them. Yet, for some unknown reason, Bolivians do. A lot.

So why do I bother? Here’s the thing: I am in fact Bolivian (half at most) and that is why I have snatched at the opportunity to try a variety of common, popular and unusual potatoes in the hope that I will be won over. Maybe, just maybe, I will be able to understand why they’re so important here. And by doing so I can also prove to my dad that I’m worthy of being called ‘Bolivian’, as I would probably be disowned as a son if I admitted the truth—I detest Chuños and strongly believe that anyone who enjoys their dry, weird taste deserves a straightjacket.

Early one Friday morning I headed to the largest market in La Paz, the bustling Mercado Rodriguez; an ideal place to get my hands on a good variety of Potatoes. After purchasing a bagful of dirty, dull-looking papas, my challenge was underway. And for the first time in my life—whilst strolling out of the market with a bagful of potatoes— I felt like an authentic Bolivian.

Usually if I want to carb-load, I go for pasta or rice instead of potatoes. Every time. This time however, was an exception. I wasn’t preparing for any energy-demanding exercise but instead, I was aiming to find my roots. I tipped out all the 20-something potatoes onto the kitchen table and admired the plainness of every single potato before dumping them into a large 5L saucepan of boiling water. (Yes, you caught me out. I did forget to wash them. Schoolboy error, I know. I blame my non-existent potato-cooking experience.)

After thirty-or-so minutes they were ready and spooned into a big dish. The next step was to introduce each one of them to my uncultured taste buds. I had hoped my tongue would eagerly welcome each new forkful. But being a realist and a self-confessed-potato-hater, I was rightfully apprehensive. After sampling the first three (Papa Imillia, Holandesa and Pureja) without noticing any distinguishable difference, I fell back into my initial prejudice that all potatoes are boring, bland and insipid.

My next encounter was with a large piece of chalk. After some investigation I discovered this was actually the Chuño’s big, white brother: a fist-sized Tunta. Produced in a similar way to its black counterpart, the large dehydrated potato is given a wash down and dried off in the sun, after being freeze-dried for a few of nights. Anyway, I finally gained enough courage to take a mouthful. It sat like an IED on my tongue. I knew as soon as my teeth chewed down, it would explode its unpleasantness into every corner of my mouth. I took the plunge. Each one of my three chews resulted in a grimace. It didn’t just taste awful but it also possessed a strange moisture-robbing texture which left my mouth feeling uncomfortably dry. ‘Mouthwatering’ my ass! Who would wish this experience upon anyone?

Next up was the most eye-catching potato in my possession, the snazzy Papalisa. With pink and yellow splashes covering this stone-shaped potato, my buds were expecting an exotic flavour to match. I had one bite of lisa and before coming to the disappointing realisation that looks can be deeply deceiving—even when it comes to potatoes. The spud offered a sickening mushy sweetness that lingered long after I tried to wash it down with a glassful of water.

I was becoming paranoid and suspicious, even conspiratorial, convinced that Bolivians lie about their love of potatoes solely for patriotic reasons. Yet I persevered. Perhaps combining (read: masking) their flavour (or lack thereof) with other ingredients would do the trick.

I gathered the half eaten remains and selected a few simple sauces which I could try.
I was quietly optimistic. I began to melt a wedge of the Bolivian San Javier cheese on to my old foe, the Tunta. The white cheese was then smeared all over the large chunk to ensure none of the Tunta’s surface would touch my tongue.

It was a complete shock beyond my most loco dreams. Far from merely bearable, I enjoyed it. The strong flavoured San Javier was the kick it needed, the rubberiness of the cheese and the dryness of the potato somehow combined perfectly. To be sure it wasn’t simply the cheese that I loved or that my mind was playing a sick trick on me, I dug in for seconds, this time with a smaller amount of cheese. I experienced the same pleasure. Unbelievable. Who says you can’t polish a turd eh?

With the radical transformation of the white Chuño I couldn’t wait for what the Papalisa and Imillas had in store for me.

A combination of chilli, onion and tomato puree were fried with the sliced-up papalisa. The smell on its own made me salivate (probably just the chilli). Frying enhanced the texture as the Papalisas’ overwhelming juiciness was reduced to a reasonable level. It was undeniably nicer. Each ingredient complemented one another amazingly. I’m slowly beginning to understand what Bolivians see in potatoes.

Call potatoes whatever you want: bland, starchy, hard to swallow. All true, though it’s also true that their unique differences in taste and texture can be manipulated with the right sauces and knowhow. I set out my quest to fall in love with the potato and become a worthy Bolivian. I may not have achieved either but I feel slightly closer.

There is much more to potatoes than just the taste. You don’t have to love the potato’s taste to appreciate what it has done for the Andean culture since its domestication. The potato is still an essential part in the ‘trueque’ economy in many rural areas and its ability to grow just about anywhere and easily is why it is relied so heavily upon.

Since the potato’s introduction to the rest of the world its impact has been phenomenal. Reports show it has been responsible for significant population growth worldwide and is now commercially grown in three-quarters of the world’s countries. Call the potato boring, but we couldn’t live without it.