The economy is suffering, and money woes have mixed their way into Christmas stress. What happens now? Stress eating!

And when you're reaching for something to munch on in all your stress, why not a guinea pig? The Peruvian province of Callao is trying to teach the world that guinea pigs are a cost effective and tasty way to feed yourself.

Warning: this post may offend people who like cute little furry guinea pigs.

A few days ago, I wrote a post about chicha morada, the amazing Peruvian blue corn drink. Thinking on it further, I am becoming increasingly convinced that Peru produces some of the best dishes in the world; with that in mind, I plan on writing a fair bit more about the wonders of lomo saltado, papas a la huancaina, and other treats. However, in the interests of total honesty, I also have to acknowledge the dark side of Peruvian cuisine, the surreal side, the side that dresses up guinea pigs in colorful costumes then roasts them with cheese.

The twisted tale of the Peruvian Guinea Pig Festival begins in a cute, whimsical way. In the small city of Huacho, located north of Lima, somebody came up with the bright idea of holding a regional carnival to honor the cuy, or guinea pig. Now in its third year, the event features contests for fattest, quickest, and best dressed cuy. People from the surrounding communities primp and preen their top animals, preparing them for the race and dressing them in the height of rodent fashion. It is not uncommon to see the animals dressed in bright silks and taffetas, sporting little hats and crowns, and generally looking like a cross between a fur mitten and the infant of Prague.

While the winners of the fastest and best dressed contests are spared from the final competition, the remainder of the cuy become fodder for the greatest test of all, a battle royale that pits woman against woman, village against village, and cuy against cuy: the fight for tastiest guinea pig. Amidst an orgy of stuffing, roasting, skewering and smoking, the women of Peru demonstrate their skill with one of the country's traditional delicacies.

Unlike Manhattan, which is revered for its cuisine, or Queens, which is famed for its ethnic variety, the Bronx is known for its outstanding little Italy, its collection of Puerto Rican cuchifrito joints, and little else. However, in my constant search for the ultimate neighborhood restaurant, I sometimes find wonderful little gems. A few months ago, I wandered into the provocatively-named "Pisac: Peruvian Food and Pizza." Having tried a few Peruvian dishes in college, I was eager to try some more, and Pisac seemed like the kind of hole-in-the-wall joint that ends up becoming a favorite.

Over the last few months, my wife and I have made Pisac a regular hangout. In the process, we've discovered the wonders of chicha morada, a Peruvian purple-corn drink that is simultaneously sweet, spicy, and fruity. In addition to this, it contains a dizzying array of juices that makes it into something of a Peruvian cure-all. In fact, the patrons of Pisac constantly claim that a combination of chicha, ceviche, and Peruvian lime/onion sauce can cure everything from an underactive libido to leprosy.

Meat market in Lima, Peru. From Flickr user ravakhan2.

I'm posting images of sausage counters the world over each weeknight (and occasionally weekend) witching hour until I run out. Please use the comments section to post links to your Flickr or personal site faves, and perhaps you'll see 'em posted here late some evening.

Previously-- Midnight Sausage: Saugus, MA

It seems the potato / potahto pronunciation debate is no longer the biggest debacle in the potato world. According to USA Today, Chilean Agriculture Minister Marigen Hornkohl stated that 99% of the world's potatoes derive from spuds native to Chile.

The head of Peru's National Institute for Agricultural Innovation, Juan Risi, retorted by calling Chile's potatoes mere "grandchildren" of Peru's tubers. Ouch!

Risa said that, "Peruvian potatoes that originated near lake Titicaca are the true potatoes, and their children spread throughout the Andes." Peru is said to have around 3000 varieties of potatoes. I can't even really fathom that. It would take trying a different type of potato every day for over eight years to try them all.

I'm not sure I care where the potato originated, but I'm glad that it made its way to my mouth!

Many years ago my fellow blogger Jonathan and I drove to the Bronx to sample the renowned Peruvian delicacy, cuy, or guinea pig as we call it here in the States. Soon after we were seated the waiter brought over the frozen critter, which was butterflied and sealed in a package bearing the red-and-white Peruvian flag. Shortly thereafter he brought out the finished product. The poor little rodent had been deep-fried and surrounded with some diced potatoes. I say "poor" not out of sympathy for the critter, but rather because I feel that it deserved to be prepared in a tastier fashion.

Which brings me to the subject of this post: the town of Churin's second annual cuy festival took place earlier this week. There were plates of fried, grilled and baked cuy. There was even cuy au vin. Each of these preparations was a mere $7, about a third of what Jonathan and I paid. I think I'd be partial to the roast variety, the fried one we ate wasn't so hot. The event also featured a cuy cookoff and a best-dressed contest where the rodents were decked in traditional Andean garb. In case you're wondering, even I find that last event somewhat disturbing.
[via Neatorama]

Let the record state that I am by no means grossed out by eating frog and have enjoyed it upon several occasions. Heck, I might even lick a toad to experience the so-called medicinal effects. But there is absolutely no way I'm quaffing a frog smoothie, even it's reputed to boost virility.

Just in case you think you misread I'll say it again: frog smoothie. Perhaps smoothie is the wrong term since the so-called "Peruvian Viagra" is a warm beverage. Start by adding three ladles of hot white bean broth, some honey, raw aloe vera and a generous portion of maca to a blender. Oh, I almost forgot, add one freshly killed and skinned frog, and set your blender to frog frappe. The steaming amphibian brew is said to not only to increase virility, but also cure asthma, bronchitis and sluggishness.

The drink is common in Lima's central highland city Huancayo. For now I'll stick to a somewhat more palatable creation of that city papas à la Huancaina. And when I want Peruvian Viagra, I'll stick with my old standby, a nice fresh bowl of ceviche de pescado, picante por favor.

Peruvian cuisine's myriad roots, including Chinese, Japanese, Spanish, African and Italian, make it one of the world's first fusion cuisines. It's also highly regarded. Famed French chef Escoffier ranked it third after French and Chinese. It's certainly in my Top 10.

Last spring the Peruvian government announced plans to popularize Peruvian cuisine in the U.S. "We want our food to be as well known as Thai is in this country. ... We want Peruvian restaurants everywhere," Alejandro Riveros the head of public diplomacy for the Embassy of Peru, told The Washington Post.

The above video by Prom Peru, the country's tourism board, is part of the publicity effort. It's loaded with stunning shots of the Andes and the country's coast all set to traditional music.

I was quite excited to find the pictured bottle of chicha morada in a South American grocery in my native Queens today. This was the seventh straight day that temperatures rose above the 90-degree mark, the mercury hit 102 today, or about 150 on the Is-DiStefano-gonna-die index. I must admit that beyond the refreshment factor I was somewhat intrigued by the label.

For those of you haven't heard of it chicha morada is what I like to consider the national soft drink of Peru. It's a sweet, refreshing concoction made from purple corn kernels, cinammon, cloves, nutmeg, and brown sugar, among other ingredients. Just thing the to quench one's thirst during a heat wave. Until today, I've only had it in restaurants.

Sadly, the only interesting thing about the bottled version was the label. It lacked the complexity of the homemade version I've had in restaurants. When I read the ingredients I understood why: water, purple corn, sugar and potassium sorbate as preservative. I'd love to know if anybody has tasted a decent bottled chicha morada.

Lemon verbena is growing in popularity, seemingly by the minute. A few years ago, it was almost unheard of to the home cook, then it rapidly spread from the pages of upscale menus to Gourmet to Cooking Light and to Better Homes and Gardens. It is a perennial herb, native to Chile and Peru, that has an unusually strong lemon scent and flavor to it. The lemon scent comes from an essential oil known as citral, which is also found in lemon, lemongrass and other plants.

Verbena is not a popular herb in traditional European cookery, though it was commonly planted for ornamental reasons in European gardens after it was introduced in the 18th century. The plant grows best in temperate climates, with plenty of water and sunshine. It will produce beautiful, small flowers in the late summer and fall. Its aroma is strong and can perfume a garden easily.

Although it's a few years old, a Christian Science Monitor story about Peru's diverse yet dwindling variety of tubers is still fascinating. In a scenario not uncommon to "heirloom" produce, the thousands of varieties of potatoes developed by Andean farmers over the last 8,000 years are falling out of favor due to newer varieties that are cheaper and easier to grow. The CSM cites a few varieties whose names translate to things like "flat like a cow's tongue," "like a woman with the colors of a condor's neck," and "makes the daughter-in-law weep." The latter apparently refers to a very bumpy potato used to test a prospective wife's peeling skills. The International Potato Center, based in Peru, is one of the main forces trying to conserve the region's tubers. Their Potato Park is one example. According to the CSM, the Center also maintains a gene bank with over 8,000 different potato specimens, half of which come from the Andes.

One of my favorite LA-based blogs, LA Ritz, was on a bit of a post pause over the Holidays as Jessica took off for South America for vacation. I can't tell if she is back in LA or not, but she has posted a little review of her pisco sour tastings around Peru, with everything from the very bad ones she had on the plane ride over there, to the one that could have been a contender served in the lobby bar of the Monsterio Hotel, to her winning Pisco Sour at Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde.

Jessica tells us that the Pisco Sour is the national drink of Peru. It's made with 2 parts Pisco, a brandy from the region in Peru with the same name, 1 part lemon juice (though when I've had Pisco Sours, I recall lime juice), 4 parts simple syrup, and an egg white for every 2 servings. The whole thing gets shaken with ice so that the egg white foams up, and then garnished with a dash of Angostura Bitters.