Christmas cook-off

I think Christmas celebrations in Uruguay only really kicked off with a festive cook-off between myself and a Mexican couchsurfer on the 23^rd. The whole nation was clearly waiting with baited breath.

Alejandra, our host, after a few too many beers and a bit of bragging, invited her friends around to try the exquisite cooking of her British couchsurfer (yours truly). All well and good until her friend Santiago, who was hosting a Mexican couchsurfer (Greta), categorically stated that his couchsurfer could cook far better than hers. And so a cooking competition was born.

Without much say in the matter, Greta and I had been cornered into a cook-off the following night. Our only pre-requisite was that each person cook something typical of their nation, moderately priced, able to feed over 12 and better than the other person’s.

Being an avid fan of spicy Mexican and an unpatriotic disapprover of British cuisine I had no idea how mild mannered and quite bluntly crap British cooking could hold a candle to whatever Mexican fireball Greta had up her sleeve. 'Bubble and sqeak' compared to kickass guacamole?!

My chef hand Jim and I set off to the supermarket the following day nervously discussing the merits (and pitfalls) of typical British dishes: bangers and mash, Yorkshire pods and gravy, shepherds pie… All of them seemed vaguely obscure and inappropriate on a warm summer’s day.

Then when a sprightly bunch of coriander caught my eye in the supermarket, inspiration hit. The most typical British dish of them all… curry! Hopefully the holy trio of ginger, chilli and lime could give the Mexican dish a run for its money.

Setting off to work in the kitchen we had, with apparently typical British punctuality (I don’t know where this reputation came from), everything prepared on time before the guests arrived. 1 point to Blighty.

Greta, in apparently typical Mexican form, arrived an hour late with her Mexican helper and raw ingredients in hand. Minus 1 point to the Mexicans. So they set off cooking and the race was on. While we kicked back and waited for the beans to cook we, in typical British fashion, got our eyes taken off the game by a few persuasive bottles of media y media (half wine, half cider and surprisingly not half as dirty as it sounds). Britains back to zero. In typical Mexican fashion, they joined in with plenty of ‘cerveza’. Mexicans minus two.

By the time anyone got to eat anything, at least three hours later, it was all delicious… Brits and Mexicans love all.