If there was the world championship of Porotos Granados, I would enroll in closed eyes. Chile is too small for me. The sweetness of the beans and the corn, and the aniseed tone of the basil from my terrace, simply arouse unspeakable desires. Watch the pot of terracotta so that the mazamorra (smashed corn) does not stick and, please, uncork a cheerful red like a Cinsault from Itata valley.
Subscribe to our website
Be the first to receive our good news and event offers