I did not come here for fried chicken - Neal

As I sit on my companion’s balcony, unwrapping what is my third order of fried chicken in two days, I begin to wonder where I went wrong and started the trend of eating  American food in Bolivia. I think I started to let my stomach get the best of me when, at a restaurant my second night in Bolivia, I ordered the hamburger, along with extra portions of ketchup to aid the meager preexisting serving. Looking back I can now accurately pinpoint this as the moment my brain relinquished all power to my stomach over my diet for the duration of the trip. Unfortunately it seems that the problem has only gotten worse and two weeks later, hungry and disappointed, I have apparently still not learned that the burgers here are not for me. While it’s pretty easy to identify a problem, it’s a whole different thing to combat it. As we walk or drive by a fried chicken stand, the smell will undoubtedly find its way to my nose, causing a catnip like effect. The abundance of the stands is another problem. All of them have the same red base with a glass top and heating lamps, and you can find them no matter where you are in this country. One could wake up in a small and mysterious village unknown to them. It could be completely void of running water and electricity, and I guarantee it’s still only a maximum three block walk to the nearest fried chicken stand, gas burner and vat of oil, just waiting for the next American to drop by.

                Though I’ve eaten more than my fair share of Bolivian candy, it doesn’t seem to count in terms of expanding my diet. A chocolate wafer is basically the same wherever in the world you go. When visiting a Bolivian family, we ordered a pizza, which did nothing but reinforce my American eating habits. I did at one point adopt the viewpoint that because I’m buying the food from Bolivians it still counts, but even a four year old could see through that logic. However, I did not come here to eat fried chicken.

At this point I still have a little time to try different things like dried llama meat, and any number of traditional dishes. At the moment, it is my goal to return to the U.S. and start hunting down more exotic food. I’ll try to go to small markets and bargain for the precious spices and different cuts of meat. I could share the delicious recipes of the indigenous of Bolivia or anywhere else with friends and family. Still though, it’s only a matter of time until I regress, and retreat to my local McDonalds. But at least then, I will no longer take for granted my ability to eat a god damn cheese burger without being pressured to stop and try the 50 cent llama jerky.