Religion Mixed with Food: Turrón de Doña Pepa

By Michelle M. M. Hancock

A palette of colors, scattered like confetti decorate a signature Peruvian dessert. The flavored pastry, called the Turrón de Doña Pepa or Ms. Pepa’s Nougat, contains basic ingredients such as flour, water, shortening, butter, sugar, salt and eggs. A range of ingredients including anise, cinnamon, cloves, oranges, apples, figs, limes quince (similar to pears), sesame seeds and candy sprinkles amalgamate to create a unique flavor in this sticky October treat. The dessert originated near the capital city of Lima. According to legend, an Afro-Peruvian slave named Josefa Marmanillo, who suffered from paralysis in her arms and hands, created it in the 1700s. On a personal journey, she left her home in Cañete Valley (south of present-day Lima) to visit a black Christ painting in Pachacamilla just outside of Lima. The image, known to heal believers and grant miracles, cured Josefa. She created the dessert as an expression of gratitude to God.

Turrón de Doña Pepa dessert. Image credit: www.cooked.com July 2018.

History of Cristo Moreno (Black Christ)

Cristo Moreno’s own history emerges from Lima’s local spiritual landscape. In particular, Africans, both free and enslaved, revered his image. During the colonial era of the 1500s in the coastal city of Lima, Afro-Peruvian slaves worked the land and some converted to Christianity. As was common in the colonial era, churches and patrons often paid indigenous and African artists to paint portraits used to decorate colonial churches. In homage, artists rendered several images of Cristo Moreno. These paintings “were believed to please the spiritual forces that controlled the frequent earthquakes in the region”.[1] According to folklore, in 1651 an Afro-Peruvian slave, named Pedro Falcón from Angola, painted an image of a black Christ on the wall of slave quarters in Pachacamilla.[2]

Las Nazarenas Church in Lima, Peru. Image credit: Rafael Gómez, Flickr.

An earthquake hit the area in 1655 destroying churches and houses. In a sea of rubble the wall with the image of the black Christ remained. By 1687, locals built a chapel around the iconic image. That same year, another earthquake shook the city leaving the chapel in ruins. The image survived unscathed and endured a further earthquake in 1746.[3] These events signified a miracle and ignited a stream of devoted followers. Even King Charles II (1661-1700) of Spain issued a royal order calling the painting El Señor de los Milagros or Lord of Miracles.[4] The original painting stands as the centerpiece of the main altar at Las Nazarenas church in Lima.

El Señor de los Milagros procession in Lima, Peru. Image credit: USI.

Housed in the same church is a replica of the painting weighing two tons and is carried in a 24 hour procession once a year in October. Worshippers from all social classes dressed in purple singing hymns and praises “…accompany the image on its rounds through the oldest streets of Lima.”[5] Karsten Paerregaard states most Peruvians of African or indigenous heritage identify with the black Christ because white people have remained a minority in Peru since the Spanish conquest.[6] Processions of believers paying tribute to the image began in October 1687 and continue today as one of the largest Catholic ceremonies in the world.

Josefa Marmanillo

Josefa Marmanillo holding the Turrón de Doña Pepa dessert. Image credit: Wikimedia Commons, October 2008.

Founded in 1556, Cañete Valley, named after Don Andrés Hurtado de Mendoza (Spanish noble Marqués de Cañete), became a key site of black culture.[7] As with Pachacamilla, Afro-Peruvian slave labor dominated the agricultural valley during the colonial period. Josefa, cursed with paralysis in Cañete Valley and healed in Pachacamilla, had a dream of visiting saints. They left her with a dessert recipe that she shared with others. Prepared, sold and ate during the purple month of October, the Turrón de Doña Pepa compliments the celebrations of El Señor de los Milagros. Today, a number of bakeries, such as the Panadería las Nazarenas in Lima, sell the treat year round. It is known for its strong taste as the anise flavoring is similar to black licorice. For many it tastes better homemade. Religion mixed with food brings Peruvians in all shades of skin color to come together in October and celebrate Peru’s month of purple, passion, procession and pastry!


[1] Karsten Paerregaard, “In the Footsteps of the Lord of Miracles: The Expatriation of Religious Icons in the Peruvian Diaspora,” Journal of Ethnic & Migration Studies 34, no. 7 (September 2008): 1075.

[2] Cesár Ferreira and Eduardo Dargent-Chamot, Culture and Customs Latin America and the Caribbean: Culture and Customs of Peru (Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 2003), 42.

[3] Paerregaard, “Footsteps”, 1075.

[4] Ferreira and Dargent-Chamot, Culture and Customs, 42.

[5] Ibid., 42.

[6] Martin Mejia-Associated Press. “AP PHOTOS: Peru Venerates Lord of Miracle in Big Procession.” AP English Worldstream-English. Associated Press DBA Press Association, November 2, 2017.

[7] Roberto Sánchez, “The Black Virgin: Santa Efigenia, Popular Religion, and the African Diaspora in Peru,” Church History 81, no. 3 (September 2012): 637.

Michelle M. M. Hancock is a graduate student in the Historical Resource Management Master’s program at Idaho State University. She has a Bachelor of Arts-History from Idaho State University (2018) and an Associate of Arts-Biological Science from Arkansas State University-Beebe (1993). This blog post was written for a class with Dr. Kathleen Kole de Peralta.

 


Gastronomic and Medicinal Traditions of the Andean cuy in Peruvian Cuisine

By  Kathleen Kole de Peralta

The last thing Jesus ate was guinea pig. In his 1753 version of “The Last Supper,” Marcos Zapata painted the Andean cuy (guinea pig) as the main entrée for Jesus and his disciples. The bald, splayed carcass greets visitors and parishioners inside Cuzco’s main cathedral. But the fusion of religion and Andean cuisine marks more than an important meal: this tiny rodent has a long gastronomic history in Peru.

Marcos Zapata’s The Last Supper. Credit: Wiki Commons.

Archaeological records date its consumption at least 5000 years ago, when Andean peoples savored diets rich in tubers such as potatoes, ulluco, and mashua, along with quinoa (a protein-rich seed), maize, legumes, and meat from camelids, deer, guinea pigs, dogs, and birds.[2] In the fifteenth century, guinea pigs were considered the common person’s meat, because other animals were more tightly controlled by the Inca state.[1]

Guinea pig. Credit: The Author.

Cuyes are an efficient meat source. When compared to larger quadrupeds, they do not require nearly as much care, food, or space. Guinea pigs need only four pounds of food to produce one pound of meat (compared that to a cow which needs eight pounds of food to produce one pound of meat). And, they are small enough to raise in-house; they thrive without cages, regular meals, or controlled breeding. Some even run freely throughout their keepers’ homes, retreating to adobe huts or chicken wire cages (cuyeros).[3] A typical breeding ratio keeps 1:7 male to female guinea pigs, with the females gestating three months and bearing three to four babies at a time.

In the early-modern period, guinea pigs were used in religious rituals and and folk medicine. Guinea pig entrails could predict the future: “Inca haruspices (cuyricucc) opened the animals with their fingernails and inspected the entrails to predict future events.”[4] The Indigenous chronicler Guaman Poma de Ayala described their symbolic role in Chacra Conacuy (The eighth month in the Incan calendar, usually around July) where the Incas sacrificed “1000 white guinea pigs, along with 100 llamas, in the plaza of Cuzco, the Inca capital.”[5] Indigenous healers also used cuy to treat nerves and earaches.[6] In Shoqma, a practice still observed today, an Andean healer rubs warm guinea pig viscera on a person to pass illnesses such as rheumatic and abdominal pains from the human to the animal.

Guinea pig is also prized for its gastronomic value. What exactly are the culinary possibilities for one to two pounds of guinea pig meat? The Corina preparation combines fried bits of meat in a pot with potatoes, onion, and capsicum pepper. A soup variation uses the animal’s boiled tripe. Across these recipes, capisicum pepper appears as a common ingredient, and is used liberally when roasting the animal over a fire.[7] The cuy canca recipe is described by Daniel Gade here:

The neck is broken, then the animal is put into boiling water to remove the fur. Next the abdomen is opened and the viscera are removed, and the cuy is stuffed with such spicy herbs as mint and marigold. A stick is run lengthwise through the body, and it is either broiled rotisserie fashion over a charcoal fire or cooked on hot stones in the indigenous manner. The meat is dark, rich, and savory, but several animals are needed to satisfy the appetite of a hungry man.[8]

In urban areas like Arequipa, Peru, few families raise their own guinea pig, and most partake in restaurants while celebrating a special occasion, such as a Sunday meal out with the family, birthdays, or other holidays. Arequipa is known for two different culinary styles: in cuy chactado, the animal is squished under stones and fried and in cuy al palo it is impaled and roasted.

For most of the twentieth century, nibbling on this rodent’s limbs communicated culinary preferences as well as social status: as both indigenous and poor. These stereotypes, however, are shifting. Susan DeFrance found in Moquegua, Peru, that upper class families widely consume cuyes, even preferring those with a rare genetic mutation causing six (versus five) toes on their feet).[9] And recent trade data indicates that U.S. commercial kitchens are importing more prepared, frozen guinea pigs than ever before. For American consumers they offer a cheaper alternative to beef
and a nostalgic nosh for Peruvians living stateside. Today, guinea pigs are one of many delicacies distinguishing Peruvian cuisine internationally.

Cuy Chactado

[1] Christina Zendt, “Marcos Zapata’s Last Supper: A Feast of European Religion and Andean Culture,” Gastronomica 10:4 (2010), 10.
[2] Christine Ann Hastorf, The Social Archaeology of Food: Thinking about eating from Prehistory to the Present. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 158.
[3] Daniel W. Gade, “The Guinea Pig in Andean Folk Culture,” Geographical Review 57:2 (1967): 221.
[4] Daniel W. Gade, “The Guinea Pig in Andean Folk Culture,” Geographical Review 57:2 (1967): 217. And Daniel H. Sandweiss and Elizabeth S. Wing, “Ritual Rodents: The Guinea Pigs of Chincha, Peru.” Journal of Field Archaeology 24:1 (1997): 50.
[5] Ibid.
[6] Bernabé Cobo: Hitoria del Nuevo Mundo (2 vols.; Madrid, 1956), Vol. 1: 360 in Daniel W. Gade, “The Guinea Pig in Andean Folk Culture,” Geographical Review 57:2 (1967): 217.
[7] Bernabé Cobo: Hitoria del Nuevo Mundo (2 vols.; Madrid, 1956), Vol. 1: 360 in Daniel W. Gade, “The Guinea Pig in Andean Folk Culture,” Geographical Review 57:2 (1967): 217.
[8] Daniel W. Gade, “The Guinea Pig in Andean Folk Culture,” Geographical Review 57:2 (1967): 223.
[9] Susan D. DeFrance, “The Sixth Toe: The Modern Culinary Role of the Guinea Pig in Southern Peru,” Food & Foodways, 1 (2006): 3-34.

Additional Resources

Archetti, Eduardo. Guinea Pigs: Food, Symbol and Conflict of Knowledge in Ecuador. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997.

Morales, Edmundo. The Guinea Pig: Healing, Food and Ritual in the Andes. (Tucson, University of Arizona Press, 1995).

Dr. Kathleen Kole de Peralta is an assistant professor of environmental-health and Latin American history at Idaho State University.

 

How to Make an Inca Mummy

Christopher Heaney

 

As any National Geographic reader will tell you, the Incas and their predecessors in the Andes made mummies, that category of deceased being whose selfhood is artificially or environmentally preserved. In the sixteenth century, however, learned Europeans weren’t sure of anything of the sort, given that ‘mummy,’ or momía, mostly referred to dried flesh of the ancient Egyptian dead that had been ground up to become a materia medica. Admitting the Incas to the Egyptians’ company meant an expansion of medical prowess, and civilization, well beyond the allowances of the day. In Les vrais pourtraits et vies des homes illustres grecz, latins et payens (1584), the French cosmographer André Thevet challenged Claude Guichard—a cataloguer of funerary customs who had claimed that the Andes yielded “mummy”

to ask merchants who deal at the Lyon merchant-fairs to enquire whether any of these good Mummies are found by these drug peddlers in these parts [Peru] and in that case (otherwise I presume that, had he known, he would never have dared publish such a lie) he will learn that there is no trace, any more than there is in his Lagnieu [Guichard’s hometown].

For Thevet, mummies came only from Egypt.

The burial of Huayna Capac Inka in Cuzco (379-380)
The body of Huayna Capac Inka, being carried from Quito to Cuzco. Felipe Guaman Poma, Nueva corónica y buen gobierno (1615). Credit: Det Kongeliege Bibliotek

In other words, before we recover the sacred and medical indigenous recipe of how “ancient Peruvians” made mummies, we must understand how Europeans made mummies Peruvian. That latterly recipe, centuries in the crafting, had two key ingredients: the sixteenth century study by Spanish chroniclers and natural historians of the means by which skilled Inca made embalmed bodies—embalsamados—of their emperors; and the Atlantic celebration of that recipe by half-Inca chroniclers, English translators, and French encyclopedistes, who made embalsamados into mummies.[1]

That the Incas and other Andean peoples preserved their elite dead to make sacred and still-living ancestors, illapa, or mallqui, is well-established, having intrigued the earliest Spaniards to the Andes. In 1533, when the first two Spaniards to Cusco found the breathless bodies of Huayna Capac, the last undisputed emperor of the Incas, and a second person—likely his principal wife, Coya Cusirimay—they described them as “two Indians in the manner of embalmed dead.” By the late 1550s, the chronicler Juan de Betanzos had learned—possibly from his wife, Angelina Cuxirumay Ocllo, formerly betrothed to Atahualpa—that Huayna Capac’s lords “had him opened, and all his flesh removed, adorning him”— aderezándole, which implies the use of a substance—

“so that no damage would be done to him, without breaking a single bone; they adorned and seasoned him in the sun and the air, and after he was dried and seasoned, they dressed him in expensive clothes and placed him on a litter.”[2]

Subsequent Spaniards declared that this was embalming, a distinction that credited the Incas’ medical expertise—and possibly advertised the New World balsam that to this day bears the name “balsam of Peru”—but also limited speculation that their preservation resembled the grace of Europe’s saintly dead. To further control their meaning, the Spanish in 1559 confiscated the illapa and displayed the best-preserved among them in Lima’s most sophisticated center of European healing and botanical knowledge—the Hospital of San Andrés. Once there, the Jesuit natural historian José de Acosta studied them, deciding (1590) that their “astonishing” preservation owed to the use of a certain resin or bitumen: literally, betún, a word redolent of associations with the Egyptian dead.

November, month of carrying the dead (258-259)
The eleventh month, November; Aya Marq’ay Killa, month of carrying the dead. Felipe Guaman Poma, Nueva corónica y buen gobierno (1615). Credit: Det Kongeliege Bibliotek

The Incas’ embalsamados only became mummies, however, through the process of celebration by their half-Inca heirs, and their interpreation by the English and French. In 1609, “El Inca” Garcilaso de la Vega remembered touching the finger of his great-uncle, Huayna Capac, which “seemed like that of a wooden statue, it was so hard and stiff.” Responding to Acosta, Garcilaso suggested that it was a combination of betún and the dry Andean environment, which the Incas had harnessed to “leave the bodies as whole as if they were still alive and in good health, lacking only the power of speech, as the saying goes.” The translator of Garcilaso into English in 1688 took the embalsamados to still greater heights, claiming that “these Bodies were more entire than the Mummies”—that is, the Egyptian dead. And in 1749, the French naturalist Jean-Marie Daubenton simply included the Inca dead as mummies, alongside those of the Egyptians.

Daubenton’s contemporaries had to take it on faith, however; the Inca illapa had long since disappeared, likely having deteriorated in Lima’s damp climate and been buried somewhere in the hospital. Hope remains that their bones might be someday be found, but until the means of their owners’ preservation is recovered via new archaeological studies of their contemporaries, our recipe for their making is as colonial and Atlantic as it is indigenous.

 

[1] This post draws from my recent dissertation, Christopher Heaney, “The Pre-Columbian Exchange: The Circulation of the Ancient Peruvian Dead in the Americas and Atlantic World” (Ph.D. Diss, University of Texas at Austin, 2016), Chapter Four.

[2] Juan de Betanzos, Suma y Narración de los Incas, Ed. María del Carmen Martín Rubio (Lima: Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos, 2010 [Cuzco: 1557]), 235 [1557: Pt. I, Ch. 48].