Bolivia para los Bolivianos
Finally, we had identified the site of our quarry: the nondescriptly labeled International Restaurant (44-10 48th Ave, Woodside, Queens 11377), known to insiders as “Mi Bolivia.” We descended upon the restaurant in the manner of foreign investors interested in Bolivia’s lithium stores, with a bottomless capitalist hunger and a neocolonial sense of condescension toward the strangely lit décor.
We had the good fortune of encountering an empty restaurant, ensuring the complete attention of our gracious hostess/waitress who escorted us to a table next to an unattended bar and under a television playing videos primarily comprised of Bolivian pop stars performing in large arenas, with occasional dance interludes featuring children in typical Bolivian funny hats (chullos). You may notice in the accompanying visuals the eerie neon green lighting, which, though it initially only cast our dinner in an unappetizing pallor, eventually resulted in our seeing red upon departure from the restaurant. Despite the humble surroundings (or perhaps because of them?) our anticipation was unwavering.
After briefly perusing a menu free of any translation for ignorant anglophiles, we had the member of the nomads with the ability to string together more that two words of Spanish indicate to our waitress that we would like her to select five dishes indicative of traditional Bolivian fare. Our dishes were preceded by an order of saltenas, the Bolivian version of empanadas, a crisp but hearty crust filled with chicken or beef and a filling gravy, certainly not to be missed during any foray into Bolivian fare. Our meal was also accompanied by a Bolivian beer, Paceña, a light beer approaching the Bolivian version of Miller High Life.
After our highly satisfying appetizer, we sat brimming with an ill-fated anticipation not unlike Che Guevara’s dream for a proletarian revolution by the indigenous Bolivians of the 1970’s. We were soon confronted with a delicious looking plate of rice and steak covered with a fried egg…. definitely intriguing. The following platter involved a pile of french fries, sausage, steak covered with a fried egg and onions and peppers; a theme was starting to develop. Two more plates with different arrangements of the ingredients present in the preceding two plates arrived, followed by a plate of french fries with a mustard-coated grilled chicken- fried egg conspicuously missing.
As we piled our plates high with samplings from each dish, we noticed a fairly homogenous jumble of steak, fried egg, sausage, french fries, and rice which was fortunately broken up by the moist, mustard-grilled chicken. As we sat stuffing our gourds with a plate of heavy, cholesterol laden food we looked up at the television over our heads to see the heretofore unnoticed girth around the midsection of all Bolivian pop icons. We also could not avoid, in the neocolonial tradition of our Caucasian forebears, dreaming up methods of heavy investment in a chain of private cardiology clinics in La Paz.
To be fair, our redundant fare was very flavorful and rich with not-too-spicy gravies covering everything. The standout was the grilled chicken, primarily by virtue of the fact that it represented a different flavor profile from the other four. The food was extremely filling, each single plate likely adequate for two people.
When our waitress came to our table after we had exhausted our ability to shovel fried egg and steak into ourselves, she asked if we would like to take our leftovers home. “Absolutely,” I replied, “and you can just place everything in the same container.” As she returned a large bag dripping with rich gravy, I could not help but recall the rallying cry of Evo Morales as he spoke to the hearts of the indigenous electorate in Bolivia: “Bolivia para los Bolivianos!” The same may go for the cuisine. The flavors approach the quality of other regional cuisines while lacking the diversity that others have to offer.
the lighting conditions at “mi bolivia” seem ideal for performing laparoscopic surgery. for dining…eh, not so much.