A few weeks ago…actually, I lie, I remember the exact date: 3 September 2014 (how could I not), I attended the World's 50 Best Restaurant Awards Latin America, in Lima at the very posh Lima Country Club hotel.
I travelled a day and a half to get to Lima (didn't expect to visit again this year), just in time to hunt down a big bowl of ceviche and a dizzying tower of crab causa, plus a glass of could-be-colder chicha morada before the awards.
Because I don't often get to attend such things, I wrestled about to get a frock and heels for the day and a half I did have spare, that at the very least wouldn't leave me tripping down the stairs in front of Alex Atala's revered free-range Amazonian python-leather clad feet. I survived, the frock performed no nip-slips, I chatted to anyone who would agree to converse with me in English (Perdon no hablo Español….*insert shameface*).
The wait staff offering glasses of champagne and Pisco Sours (in this case- Lima, and all) do know what they are doing. Accept the first glass – you need it more than you understand right now.
The chefs are imbibing as well. Or doing jumping jacks, yoga handstands or having their therapists give 'em a pep-me-the-hell-up talk etc etc. If anyone tells you they are not nervous/devil-may-care – they are fibbing. Unless it's Gastón Acurio. He is the Zen of zen kings. As you know.
If met by insistent declarations by the person you are talking to (or at, my case), that they do not understand a word you are saying/a word of English, do not feel foolish that you've just spent 10 minutes in an intimate monologue about the "future of social change being our responsibility". Think of it as drying out your throat in readiness for that second drink. Get that second drink, now.
When waiters offer you snacks, accept them. Each one has been created by a selection of the chefs on the list. I did not realise this (How?! I know..) and did not eat a single morsel, except for the Cacao Barry chocolates that twinkled like friendly (English speaking) jewels. More food to line the stomach and spleen. Less chocolate.
Latin American bloggers (or should I say those living there, writing about the cuisine) are on backslapping terms (literally) with the local journos and the chefs. Do not look shocked when you see aforementioned backslapping and cracking of witty rapid-fire one-liners. It does look a like a friendly, happy family of food lovers. Instead, hope they will sense your willingness to be absorbed into the family, and smile widely. But not if you've been eating stringy seaweed encrusted deep-fried guinea pig legs.
The awards are a little different to the London awards (from what I've seen on the live-streaming on my laptop). Yes, it is a cosier affair. People are more casually dressed, but they are also a lot more vocal. At one stage I thought the woman sitting behind me was about to lose her voice for good from all the shouting of "Bravo! Bravo!" We were at number 47 at that stage. And yes, they count in ascending order 50 -1. The man sitting next to me, delivered an excited whisper about "Latin passion" but got visibly worried by the time we got to the top ten. The crowd was pretty much on its feet by then. Rearing to go!
You may get run over by a photographer after a cover story. Hope no one saw, it was not recorded on camera and get another drink. You may have to stand in line behind Bravo woman and her parched throat. Do not let anyone cut in front of you. Unless: Alex Atala. At number 3, usurped, he probably needs it more than you.
Chefs do get a little tipsy. More than that even. I can't tell you who or when and how messy it got. But know they are human. We can all breathe a sigh a relief.
Not all chefs are as nice as we think. Not all are as conceited as we expect. Again, they are much like the humans we know in everyday life. You may like the work they produce; you don't have to like them.
The young breed of writers (specifically blogger/new media journo types) will party until an hour before sunrise, sleep for an hour and hand in 1500 words by 10 am. They may drink and dance with the commis chefs, but never get wasted. I can't generalise, naturally, but this was a 4-5 day observation. I got nothing but R E S P E C T.