Securing a source of excellent coffee is always a priority, and our host Jairo, recommended a vendor called D’Martin Cafe who specializes in local coffees, “It’s just inside the Mercado Magdalena.”
Such simple words lead us into the mad, mad rabbit warren of twisted fishmonger, butcher, fruit stand, and housewares stalls stuffed inside a multi-block indoor/outdoor space. It seemed like the entire population of Magdalena del Mar district turned out to get their weekly shopping done, and everyone was hustling from spot to spot, haggling over produce, or eating in the aisle. We added to the madness with our frequent, gawking stops.
There was a lot to gawk at.
We tried to stay focused on Google Maps to find our desired destination, reasoning that once we achieved our goal of more coffee, everything else would be gravy. We kept on a steady track, paused for frequent photos, and actually managed to eventually find our destination. I couldn’t tell you how long it took — we’re still overwhelmed.
The next order of business was to actually order the coffee. The quick relief at finding the place quickly faded as I butchered multiple attempts to ask for local, medium roast, whole-bean coffee in Spanish. A lady waiting for her order finally stopped me to ask what we wanted, and helped us carry away a quarter kilo of un-ground heaven for s/10. I raise my cup today in her honor.
Undaunted, we decided to dive back into the fray to find every obscure fruit and nibbly that we’d been told to try, plus many things we didn’t need or know how to cook. Hell, yes.
Having learned our lesson at the coffee place, we tried a more direct pointing method. Thus we came away with scoops of olives, slices of cheese, and chunks of bacon. “Cuanto esto?” and “Que es?” got us the rest of the way there, even when we didn’t fully understand the answers. I think most vendors were happy to take our money.
Fruit and potatoes were a big part of our quest. We’d been told to find lacuma and granadilla fruits, to be found only in Peru. After a great deal of time, butchery of the local language, and crazy American smiles, I finally downloaded pictures from Google to show fruit stall vendors. That was understood.
After a couple trips up and down aisles, we came across more restaurant-style food stalls. Fried foods haunted us as we rounded every corner and we realized we would need to eat something if we wanted to continue.
I’m not sure how we settled on the place that sold a slab of meat served over fettuccine with pesto and a side of cold, boiled potato with aji pepper sauce. We probably stared too long & attracted attention. The desire to not seem goofy drove too many of our decisions. We sat down and pointed.
We ended up sharing a plate and a half of starchy goodness while turning a blind eye to anything resembling American sanitary standards. We skipped the chunky tea-like drink, but wanted more of the hurt-y salsa to take home. The proprietress said no. Oh, well.
After filling our bellies, we finished filling our shopping bags with unknown tubers, fruits, and sweet little shrimp. We eventually stumbled into the outdoor portion of the market where the pace seemed a little less frenetic and found the local park and a cab to take us home.
Next adventure? Cooking!