Tatán + Caracoles Chilean Home Cooking and Twenty-Nine Switchbacks: Santiago to the Andes

Patagonia. Santiago to Ushuaia — the southernmost city on earth. Picking up from Santiago, Chile: How to Arrive Properly. The series starts here: Some People Collect Stamps. We Collect Roads.

One of the best ways to understand a country is through what its people cook on an ordinary evening. Not restaurant food dressed up for tourists — real food, made at home, with the stories that go with it.

Just the three of us in Tatán’s apartment. We started on the deck as the sun dropped over the city, drink in hand, getting to know each other in that easy way that happens when the setting does half the work. Tatán had been to New Zealand. And Uzbekistan. His Pisco Sour was exceptional — the kind that makes you reconsider every one you’ve had before.

Then into the kitchen. First, a Pomfret fish ceviche — bright, clean, and perfectly balanced. Then the main event: Pastel de Choclo, a traditional Chilean beef and corn pie, exactly as comforting as it sounds. It passed every test.

We spent the rest of the evening around the table — good red wine, conversation wandering between food, travel and politics. The kind of evening that sneaks up on you.

All too soon, the driver was waiting.

The name alone should have warned us. Paso de los Caracoles — Pass of the Snails. Twenty-nine switchbacks carved into the Andes, each one tighter than the last, winding toward the Argentine border like a road that couldn’t make up its mind.

Daryl had been eyeing this stretch for weeks. Getting through Santiago first was the warm-up act — a city of six million, left-hand turns, and lanes that don’t forgive hesitation. We have a system: righty tighty, lefty longy. It sounds ridiculous. It works. Mostly.

The first real test came early — a police car, lights blazing, sliding in hard right in front of us. Daryl braked cleanly and didn’t miss a beat. After that, the city felt manageable.

Then the road opened up, the altitude kicked in, and the switchbacks began — one, then five, then twenty-nine. The Andes don’t ease you in. They simply appear, and then they are all there is.

At the top, the Argentine border. Below, Santiago had already disappeared into the haze. Daryl’s wish, finally fulfilled, we cruised back to Santiago.

Tomorrow: south toward Puerto Varas. After that, the roads need a 4×4.