She travels.: Honey

I’m going to leave Peace Corps with diabetes and am considering classifying it as a work-related illness.

Like a lot of places south of the border, the sweetener of choice here, instead high fructose corn syrup, is sugar cane. In the Azuero, sugar cane fields are a somewhat common sight. My region is largely agricultural, and sugar cane is one of Panama’s largest exports, since the stuff does so well in tropical climates. Panama’s national liquor, Seco (literally dry in Spanish), even comes from sugar cane, and its largest distributor is located in the province just above mine in the peninsula.

In my opinion, though, the most delicious sugar cane byproduct is miel de cana, or sugar cane honey. It is so popular here, in fact, that people simply refer to it as miel, or honey, and specify the other kind of honey as bee honey. (Word to the wise, always specify when asking for a recipe containing miel) In my early weeks here, some friends took me to a farm with a molienda, which is the mill used to press the sugar cane into juice known as guarapo (gwah-rah-poh), which is incredibly refreshing cold. Situated next to the mill is a giant pot for cooking down the juice into carmelized, sticky sweet goodness reminiscent of grainy molasses.

People with moliendas end up with ridiculous quantities of honey. At my host mom’s family home in Las Tablas, for example, there are literally buckets full of the stuff. When I went to visit them a few weeks ago, they simply stuck a kitchen spoon in the bucket and scoped out some for each of us to munch on while we waited for lunch to cook. Giant heaps of it are the perfect finishing touch to fresh juice. Instead of salt, avocados are eaten with a side of miel (this one I have yet to try. I just like them too much with salt). You name it, someone with a mill has probably tried it with honey.

I try not to think of the long term consequences when eating sugar cane by the spoonful. Instead, I convince myself that I’m eating something natural, and pretend it’s counteracting all that corn syrup I consumed as a child. When my teeth start falling out and I’m in a coma, I may think differently. Until then, I’ll be happy in my delusion. Just don’t tell my dentist about this post.