Try as hard as you like, but foodies just won’t find much to celebrate in Costa Rica, despite Forbe’s valiant attempt.
I would never hold myself out to be a “foodie.” By my calculation, the gauge by which an area is judged food-wise is by the number of restaurants, large or small, that serve a meal that is remarkable. Paris, New Orleans, Frankenmuth, Michigan, Munfordville, Kentucky, all qualify in my book.
When the national dish of Costa Rica is rice, black beans, plaintain, salad, tortilla and a small hunk of pork or chicken there just isn’t much for a foodie to rave about.
Nevertheless, this Forbe’s story goes on for a few hundred words discussing what a foodie might find enjoyable when dining in Costa Rica.
Bottom line, the fine dining establishments – both of them – import a chef to bring European techniques to the Costa Rica kitchen and futz around with local seafood and fruits.
The writer is not discouraged, raving about the endless possibilities of eating in a soda in central San Jose (really?) or how to make a dynamite tortilla. She raves how a Philly chef – spending a total of THREE DAYS chefing in Costa Rica made a very nice serving of Pork Tenderloin and chocolate. She waxes poetically about the fresh fruit, howler monkeys, agua dulce (cane-sugar water), coffee, organic vanilla, etc. etc.
Obviously under a strict word-count rule, she couldn’t write about stuff a foodie would like to read about, it just isn’t here.