The Cake Run

A curious phenomena occurs near the corner of calles Bandera and Catedral, in Santiago de Chile.

This historic street corner, dating back to the 1500s, and before that to the Incan Empire, has become the heart of Peruvian and Colombian Chile. These days, among the historic buildings and ancient streets are international call centers and money changers. Per minute rates to Peru, Colombia, Bolivia, and Brazil, and currency exchange rates are advertised everywhere. On the weekends and evenings, groups of immigrants gather waiting to call home. There are a few small grocery stores and a strange, dark mall called “Caracol Peruano” filled with travel agencies and hair salons. [It’s called caracol, which means “snail,” because the several floors of storefronts inside are on a gradually spiraling ramp, like the inside of a snail’s shell.] Further along calle Bandera are authentic Peruvian restaurants, used-clothing stores, and “café” strip clubs featuring Colombian women.

On Friday and Saturday summer nights the corner is lined with grocery cart food stands. Some with ceviche, raw fish and seafood cooked in acidic lemon juice, others outfitted with a small propane tank to cook fried chicken. Imagine a boiling vat of grease suspended next to a propane tank, plus a tray of crunchy, glistening chicken, all in a grocery cart; fried chicken on-wheels.

Here, in the shade of a construction site, women sell cake by the slice. The cakes are displayed on cloth-covered boards on upturned crates and boxes. There is always one big, round yellow bunt cake. It’s huge, with a diameter of at least 24 inches.  Sometimes there are huge tres leches and pineapple cakes, also sold by the slice. Calls of “torta rica, bizcocho, bizcocho” fill the air in one continuous, melodic intonation. The last “o” of bizcochoooooooo is drawn out, as if instead of selling cake they were calling the name of someone lost in a vast forest or perhaps lost among all the traffic and pedestrians.

It is here that some days, if you’re lucky, you’ll see the cake run.

One day you’ll be walking by, lost in thought, when suddenly, without warning, the melody will stop and women will pick up their large cakes and run.

Have you ever seen someone trying to sprint with a cake? It’s hilarious and nerve-wracking.

Five-feet tall with two-foot cake boards, the women quickly and nimbly navigate the crowded sidewalk while balancing the cakes. Their accomplices trail with their boxes and stools, tablecloths flapping. At a lookout’s signal they run to the nearest refuge, sometimes hiding in a call center phone booth, other times running a whole block to evade the police. Within moments no trace remains of their business.

It’s like some strange relay race game from the US, like running with an egg balanced on a spoon. The first time I saw the cake run they whipped past me from behind – four women silently competing in race with much more serious consequences than a broken egg. I nearly knocked over a cake, and was still wide-eyed as the next runner passed me carrying a chair and shouting an apology.

They run because selling food without a permit is illegal, and Santiago police focus a lot of effort on checking street vendor permits. [Aside: Targeting street vendors, who tend to be poor and/or immigrants seems like easy pickings, apparently unlike traffic violations such as blocking intersections… *hint hint* to all the Chilean police who read my blog.] After police pass, the women return from hiding, setup their boxes, and the lookouts are re-posted. The call is resumed, “torta rica, bizcocho bizcochooo.” They continue selling, ever-ready for the next cake run.