Any journal of Chile would be remiss if it did not mention the endless possibilities of living in a country that has a meat called, “as” (pronounced ass). As in, I ate as for the first time today. Or, hey do you want some hot as? For those who don’t mind sophomoric humor, the possibilities are practically endless.
It’s beef served on a toasted hot dog bun, covered in various veggies and toppings (including the topping corn with mayonnaise, plus extra mayonnaise). It’s like the combination of a thick churasco and a completo. I had mine with sauerkraut, corn, green beans, pebre, ketchup, aji, and mayo.
We were celebrating that when my doctor told us I unequivocally, definitely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, have Celiac’s what he really meant was, “just the genetic marker.” He told me I couldn’t eat gluten for the rest of my life unless I wanted to risk infertility. But today he said I don’t have Celiac’s, and that I can eat gluten, which makes me think he may have consulted someone else about diagnostic procedures since we last saw him. I don’t think it was a language barrier issue because Carlos was there, too. I was annoyed, he had so emphatically insisted that I definitely have it and that the biopsy results would only show the extent of the damage.
So anyway, I enjoyed the steamy delicacy of Chilean as on a hot bun and then Carlos kissed me goodbye and said, “you taste like as.” The end. Ha ha
Pelo de choclo 