Part 2: The Knot

In the following months, I asked myself why there was no such legume in Colombia, and why we did not eat it. My vague answer linked the idea that in Colombia there was a greater reduction of indigenous people than in Ecuador, and that there was no Incaization in Bogotá, therefore the Incas never brought their food to that Andean area and that is why there are no records of this plant, nor mass consumption, nor recipes for this legume in the diaries of the Spanish colonizers, nor current recipe books.

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From Colombia, I received messages from friends who expressed concepts that devalued Ecuadorian culture. They never considered themselves racist, nor do they know they are, but they did show me that we are not a country with a decolonial conscience. In general, the educational system in Colombia and other Latin American countries has not thoroughly revised the colonial vision of classes such as History, Geography, Democracy, and Literature, taught in primary and secondary school. We cannot know that we are colonized individuals unless we do some reflection based on situated knowledge, or for example, by working for some fundamental right or through academic literature. In other words, it is not easy to realize that one is a colonial subject.

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Eating ceviche was, at first, an epiphany that would lead me to travel down this difficult path of deconstruction.

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A process that is neither linear nor constant, but that ends up revealing the structures in which we live and need to become aware.

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Food is also a way to unravel the colonialism that inhabits us. In my case, decolonizing the palate has been a long process that began in Quito and that continues to challenge me in Bloomington, and the cooking classes of the Food and the Body class have rearticulated my interest in understanding why I reject certain foods.

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My rejection of indigenous ingredients made me understand that my palate was colonized, that under my schemes I couldn't taste and appreciate the indigenous world.

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How could I have come to think that chochos were horrible? Taste is a cultural construction and in this case, the appreciation for food of Spanish or mestizo origin made me think and believe that the flavors and ingredients of Indigenous origin were bad, tasteless, poor in nutrients, and without cultural meaning, when in reality they had been poorly valued by the colonizers, the lack of knowledge about the technique to remove bitterness could have influenced their consumption, and the evident strategy of colonialist expansion that invalidated epistemic and cultural systems made that today Indigenous cuisines are thought of as second class.

 

Part 3: Realizing

The colonial impact is felt primarily by the indigenous populations of the Americas who suffered the systematic elimination of their cultures, the violent displacement from their lands, the reduction of their habits, and the disdain for their knowledge.

 

The violent displacement from their territories created crises such as famine.

 

Without a place to plant crops, there was no food, and little by little, knowledge about the cycles of the earth, the ways of producing food, and the relationships between members of the community also began to die.

 

For several decades now, there have been movements demanding the return of their lands, the recognition of their rights, social justice, and food sovereignty, among others. However, for those of us who do not belong to Indigenous communities, for those of us who do not see this impact firsthand, we cannot answer the question:

 

how does colonialism affect us?

 

It seems that we do not have the responsibility to take on these decolonial struggles, which is why neither my friends, my family, nor many people I know would be interested in being part of these movements.

 

Colonialism affects us, mestizos, by giving us an inferiority complex and persecution for looking European, denying our Indigenous roots, stopping us from speaking native languages, dressing in colorful clothes, and not eating what nourishes us because we do not want to look like the subalterns. However, I do believe that by recognizing the power of this indigenous ethos we will begin to heal this relationship with the past.

 

As for the colonial impact on food, it affects us all.

 

It is not only the change in nutritional practices of food systems but also the loss of ancestral dietary knowledge, which was in line with the close relationship between land and food. And therefore, the idea of ​​eating healthily, which today is co-opted by scientific authorities that are still colonial.

 

The palate is also colonized because a colonial food system has been imposed on us.

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Dietary changes affect our bodies. During colonization, indigenous peoples had to adapt to new foods, and their immune systems also changed. Not to mention that the violent displacement from their territories made their spirits sick. Immune vulnerability increases as a long-term consequence of the colonial food imposition. So, even though we do not belong to Indigenous communities, these diets also affect us and become more visible in diseases such as diabetes, hypertension, hypothyroidism, and heart disease, among others.

 

To exercise a decolonial palate, one must recognize the importance of knowledge of the indigenous world; that is to say, other epistemes are possible… and necessary.

 

One must disassociate oneself from the logic of modernity and the current structures of knowledge, free oneself from the bases of power centered in Europe and create new structures.

 

In other words, challenging colonial impositions implies an internal review of the aspects that bind us to the structure. However, explicitly decolonizing thought through food practices implies re-learning to eat with ingredients that were discriminated against. Eating cevichocho, even if it is a recipe that may contain ingredients from different origins, gives prominence to this forgotten legume and helps us connect with that Andean identity.