Eat Colombia
From the Soil Up.

Three kinds of potato, shredded chicken, a handful of guascas — the herb that gives ajiaco its grassy, almost medicinal depth. We eat it before 7am at a family stall in La Candelaria, the steam rising into cold mountain air. This is Bogotá's soul food, born from the meeting of indigenous and Spanish kitchens. Don't skip the capers and cream on the side.

Don Camilo has been at Paloquemao since before the city woke up. His arepas are the plain kind — corn, water, salt — but the coal grill gives them a char that no griddle can replicate. He serves them with a fruit ají made from lulo and ají amarillo. 900 stalls and this is where we start.

Colombians eat soup for breakfast. Specifically this one — beef ribs, corn, potato, cilantro, a splash of lime. Caldo de costilla is what you drink after a long night or before a long day in the mountains. At 2,600 meters, it makes sense. The cold here is polite but persistent.

She's been selling ceviche from this spot on the walls for eleven years. Shrimp pulled from the bay that morning, cured in lime, dressed with a splash of hot sauce and served in a styrofoam cup with crackers. The sun drops behind the sea. The walls go amber. This is the meal that makes people cry.

The secret is toasting the coconut milk until it breaks and the fat fries the rice. Sweet-savory, sticky, with a caramelized crust on the bottom of the pot called pegao. Afro-Caribbean technique, Spanish rice, African palm. This is what colonialism and resistance taste like when they've had 400 years to reconcile.

Beef braised for four hours in panela, tomato, and spices until the sauce is almost black and sweet-savory-sour all at once. Posta negra is the dish Cartagena cooks when it wants to show off. Served with coconut rice and sweet plantain. The color alone is worth the trip.