Beware: The Worst Soup in the World

Knowing there was no other option; I smiled sheepishly, tried my hardest to block my nose from smelling the pungent smell, and put a spoonful of the saltiest, thickest, absolute worst soup I have ever tasted into my mouth. Swallowing quickly to put an end to the suffering, I could feel my stomach churn almost immediately. For a split second, I thought I may just regurgitate the soup all over my wonderful host mother. Luckily for both of us, I was able to hold it down.
After almost 8 months of living in rural Ecuador, I was sure I had completed all of the necessary culinary experiments required of a gringo. Guinea pig, roasted pig ears, ceviche, and an array of exotic fruits. Little did I know that as part of the Easter festivities, I would be invited to sample the (in) famous Fanseca soup of not only my host mom, but my girlfriend´s mother, and my host dad´s mother. At each house, I was told by a beaming woman that I respected deeply, that her soup was the best in Ecuador. Understanding there was no way to decline, I painfully obliged, slurping my soup as fast as possible without being too fast to encourage a second helping. I did my best to ignore the disgusting smell, ignore the numerous fish bones swimming throughout my soup, realizing my discomfort was a small price to pay to see those wide smiles of genuine pride in culture, tradition, and family.
Before this experience, I really didn´t understand the close ties between culture and food. Food is so much more than a way to power your body. Food is a way of expressing yourself. Food is a way of welcoming and connecting with people. Food is a way to honor those who have come before you.
Throughout the rest of my time in Ecuador, I soon began to realize the willingness and insistence of people inviting me over to dinner and preparing a feast while barely able to make ends meet. It was never really about the food, but about the sealing of a friendship. Ecuadorians are certainly not renowned for their culinary achievements, but you won´t find a people more willing to share their food.
And so it was a bowl of soup, or perhaps three, that taught me how much you could learn about a culture through their food. But make no mistake; you will never catch me in Ecuador again around Easter time.