FLOOD | Page 27

I’M STANDING BY PABLO NERUDA’S BAR. Unsurprisingly, it’s as mind-bending as his surrealist poetry—decorated with a stuffed penguin, carved wooden fish, antique glassware, a hand sculpture, a vintage seltzer bottle, and a sign reading “Don Pablo Est Ici,” along with many other oddities and curiosities. Neruda was the only person allowed behind it. He liked to play bartender, preparing his signature cocktail, the Coquetelón. A buzzy blend of orange juice, dry champagne, Cointreau, and cognac, he served it over crushed ice in a chilled champagne flute. Apparently, it could be quite deadly. It turns out Neruda wasn’t just a Nobel Prize–winning poet; he was also the gifter of monstrous hangovers. His small saloon is hidden away at the back of the third floor of his onetime home, La Sebastiana, perched on the hills of Valparaíso, Chile, with a sublime view of the harbor and the Pacific. As I’ve learned on my short, self-guided tour of the five-story wonderland, the poet—who died in 1973—loved food, writing odes to onions, artichokes, oranges, and the “large tuna in the market.” This makes it a fitting starting point for my trip through the writer’s homeland, which I’m undertaking with a fellow DCist, the celebrated chef Victor Albisu, who owns the South American steakhouse Del Campo in Washington, DC’s Penn Quarter, as well as a pair of Taco Bamba taquerias in nearby Virginia. Over the course of this week in early April—which is autumn on the bottom half of the world—we are aiming to eat our way through the country in search of unique ingredients, products, and recipes, which Albisu hopes to utilize at his restaurants. It’s a tough job, but we’re determined to do it without snapping our belts or overdosing on Pepto. An epic tasting-menu dinner focused on Chilean ingredients, traditional cuisine, and cooking techniques at Santiago’s Amadeo Bar threatens on both counts, but we muscle through it with the kind of professionalism that will undoubtedly cause our cardiologists to wince when we tell them about it upon our return. FLOOD 25