The panadería's pudgy pauper

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio version of this blog story click here.]

A boy, about 12 years old, regularly comes into one of my panadería offices asking for food.

Unfortunately, such a scene is not unusual in these parts.

Rather than helping the bread-begging boy, are we killing him softly?

Pan out

However, what makes this particular pauper stand out from the stream of other mendicants is that he seems well, nay overly, fed and is rather neat in appearance. Also, he doesn't appear — thankfully enough, especially considering his youth — to have a drug problem.

He might, though, have a sweet-bread addiction. This would help to explain both his pudginess and penchant for the panadería.

Now, before I am accused of being both cruel and a hypocrite — I've previously documented my predilection for certain panadería delights — I'm not completely begrudging the boy of this farinaceous favour.

An occasional — occasional that is — bit of bread isn't the worst thing he could consume. And because he's plump doesn't mean he's sufficiently satiated.

One concern, however, is that if his diet consists chiefly of highly processed bread, then he's most likely facing into an adulthood of health problems.

Were I to offer him a serving of one of my vegetable stew specials, I wager he'd turn it down. (He never actually approaches me, though. I must have a mean look to me.)

So, there's a chance that he's a foti — fat on the outside, thin on the inside — but in a negative way (the standard view is that a foti is healthier than a tofi, thin on the outside, fat on the inside). This is to say, he's not getting the right nutrition. He's got plenty of company on that front.

'It's a sign that I've been in Colombia too long that I have doubts about the bona fides of the boy's begging.'

Indeed, most of the fare on offer in Colombia's ten-a-peso panaderías should come with a health warning. In addition to high quantities of salt and/or sugar glued together with poor-quality flour, the majority of bakeries use what are in essence poisonous margarines and preservatives.

The giveaway is in the shelf-life. I don't think I've ever seen panadería products go mouldy. One can only wonder what these powerful preservatives do to one's microbiome.

Beg to differ

As for eating wholesomely, some argue that pursuing a healthy diet is far more difficult for society's less well-off. Unhealthier foods are cheaper and more convenient.

That doesn't fully hold true in Colombia. Here, when it comes to diet, it's not always money that does the talking. Convenience often does the "conversing", coupled with, I guess, cravings.

This is because one can buy fresh fruit and vegetables at competitive prices all year round.

Colombia's fruit & veg: Cheap-ish and cheerful (if they're not overly laden with chemicals).

In my part of Bogotá, it's common to see a range of such foodstuffs retailing at around 1,000 pesos per pound — bananas, butternut squash, carrots, green beans, papaya, peppers, potatoes, pumpkin, tomatoes and much more besides.

Throw in the amazing avocado, regularly on offer for five for 2,000 pesos, and we've got the makings of a fairly cheap salubrious snack. (One only hopes, naively perhaps, that these natural goodies aren't laden with harmful pesticides.)

OK, fish, meat and poultry aren't quite as economical but they're not off the charts either, not when compared to what one might fork out for a nutritionally poor panadería treat.

This is why I say convenience and cravings do the conversing, not monetary concerns.

Fair enough, not everyone has access to kitchen facilities to cook food from scratch. And Colombia's worst-paid urban workers often have little free time on a typical day. Between the commute and work itself, 14-hour shifts are common.

As for my panadería's pudgy pauper, I'd have to engage in some espionage to find out his exact circumstances.

A sign, perhaps, that I've been in Colombia for too long that I have doubts, owing to his overall demeanour, about the bona fides of his begging.

Would he take a banana as readily as he takes a bit of bread? Maybe if it was deep-fried he would.
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Coming clean on my Colombian addiction

OK. I admit it. I'm addicted.

For over a year, I thought I had it under control. The discipline and routine that a full-time job gave me saw my dependence on this reduce dramatically.

However, then came the double hit. The first was self-inflicted: resigning from said gainful employment. That was followed shortly by coronavirus and the resultant quasi-lockdown.

Crossing the line

In my bid to maintain some sort of routine in such uncertain times I once again found myself drifting, nay motoring at top speed, back to this old daily comfort. 

For sure, it's as Colombian (although, not exclusively so) as coffee — indeed, the two work well together — yet for some locals, the mere utterance of its name brings forth utter revulsion. 'Is that all this country means to you these days? You disgust me.'

Of course, it's not the only thing that I enjoy — if enjoy is the right word to use here — about Colombia, but I've only ever had it in this country. And no, I didn't come here specifically for it.

In fact, and you may not believe this, but I'd never heard of it before relocating to this part of the world. I first tried it out of pure, innocent curiosity. Unlike other "firsts", I don't fully remember where I was introduced to it. I think it may have been in one of my original local haunts in the La Perseverancia neighbourhood, although I can't say with any certainty.

What I do know is that it became much more of a habit when I moved to the northern reaches of Bogotá and started socialising in Barrio Santandercito. In one particular establishment, it was especially popular and readily available, at a very reasonable price.

You could have it on the premises — no questions asked, no one would take any notice bar the odd incredulous look if you were overindulging — or take it home to have later. I preferred to have it there and then, it's just not the same doing it at home alone.

That Santandercito outlet has since changed hands and the new administrators no longer sell it — they told me, rather surprisingly, that the profit margins were quite small compared to other, more "mainstream" products that require less preparation time.

'It gives me a kick at the moment of consumption but I do feel guilty, even a little shame, afterwards.'

Nonetheless, you generally don't have to go far in Bogotá to find another place where you can get it. My current dealer is based in Barrio Nueva Zelandia. It's a little pricier here compared to what it used to be in Santandercito, but you get a slightly bigger offering.

Ideally, it'd be best sold by weight as at times you think you've been handed a big one but once you start consuming it you realise there's a lot of air in it. It still goes down well all the same.

Perhaps some bigger operators sell it — if they have it at all that is — by weight, I'm not sure. Truth is, I've never looked for it in such places, I prefer to deal with independent, family-run providers.

Snorting like a pig

I've been trying to cut down on the amount I have these last couple of weeks but it hasn't been easy. I mean I don't even have to ask for it now, it's just handed to me. When I say I don't want that much, those selling it to me typically say, 'Sure go on, it'll do you no harm. Get it into you.'

Thing is, with the doses I'm consuming, I'm pretty sure it is doing me harm.

If I could get out of Bogotá for a few days, I could at least get a break from it. Out of sight, out of mind kind of thing. But, of course, with the measures in place to combat the spread of coronavirus, I can't leave the city.

For sure, I get a kick at the moment of consumption but I do feel guilty, even a little shame, afterwards.

Another pull factor is that in its purer form it's not actually that bad — studies even suggest it can be good for our health (see item number eight on this list). How I take it, though, it's mixed with stuff that is, to say the least, not great for one's body.

It is said the first step in solving a problem is admitting you have one. I'm crossing that hurdle.

I won't let pan chicharrón (for the ignorant amongst us, this is basically bread filled with pork scratchings — or pork cracklings as some may call it — best served straight out of the oven) control me. I shall control it. There is a way.

Pan chicharrón with a dark perico (coffee with a dash of milk), pure bliss!

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Listen to Wrong Way's Colombia Cast podcast here.

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