Colombia is nothing if not diverse. My wife grew up in Bogotá, a sprawling city-in-the-mountains where the food consists mostly of stick-to-your-ribs stews and soups, fried or grilled meats, and plenty of starches. The kind of stuff you need to keep you going in the thin air up at 2,600 meters (for point of reference, that’s a good 50 percent higher than Denver). More than once over the course of visiting various family-in-law members I’ve been reduced to a whimpering, quivering mass pleading for mercy in the face of an endless train of boiled potatoes, yuca, arracacha, platanos, , and the starchy, large-kerneled local corn. And that’s before the meat, cheese, and ultra-sweet desserts even arrive at the table.
On my most recent trip, we made the journey out of Bogotá southeast to the llanos, the vast plains regions where most of the country’s excellent beef comes from. The ride is only 90 kilometers as the crow flies, but can take several hours by car along the winding roads and long tunnels that lead you 2,100 meters down through the mountains.
