While in Peru, Wes and I wanted to sample the local delicacy called cuy, or guinea pig. We’d already seen them being raised in a local home. Now we wanted to get a taste of one.
Hernan took us to a small restaurant in Urubamba where we were presented with a plate of grilled cuy, complete with potatoes, stuffed peppers, cheese and corn on the cob. Three cops sat slurping soup at the table next to us, watching a midday newscast.
It took me a moment to get past the fact that the cooked critter on our plate still looks very much like a cuddly guinea pig, from its head to its curled up toes. But as I dig in, I’m sold.
Wes is underwhelmed, though he doesn’t dislike it. He compares the taste to rabbit or squirrel, though I haven’t eaten enough of either to say for sure. But one thing is certain. It doesn’t taste like chicken. The meat is darker, some would call it greasy, and it’s slightly stringy. The cuy is stuffed with the herb huacatay, which infuses it with a very distinct flavor. Later, during a hike through the fields, Hernan picks up a spring of huacatay and shows it to me, it’s scent instantly reminding me of the grilled cuy.
Hernan says some people devour two or three cuy at one sitting, washing it down with chicha (a fermented corn drink), but we’re splitting one four ways. As we finish off the cuy, Aldo calls dibs on the brain. Apparently, that’s the choice tidbit. Wes and I gladly relent.