A heated and longstanding rivalry simmers between neighbors Colombia and Venezuela — not over politics, migration or even soccer, but over the humble arepa.
The round cornbread delight, a staple of both South American countries, appears everywhere from breakfast plates to late-night snacks, woven deeply into the fabric of each nation. Ingrained into everyday slang and popular culture, the arepa is much more than a meal.
But ask a Colombian or a Venezuelan who does it best — or where it originated — and you’ll find yourself caught in a culinary clash that transcends borders.
“Everyone defends their territory,” said Gustavo Zapata, 39, a chef at the Sancho Paisa restaurant chain, which is known for its traditional Colombian arepas in Medellín, the country’s second largest city.
The arepa debate mirrors other food fights around the world. Peruvians and Ecuadoreans argue over ceviche. Israelis and Lebanese have wrestled over hummus. Multiple Northern African countries lay claim to couscous. Australians and New Zealanders have feuded over pavlova, a meringue-based dessert topped with fruit.
But culinary disputes also have serious undertones. President Nicolás Maduro of Venezuela, for example, has tried to use arepas as a nationalist rallying point, if not a political tool, claiming the food is from his country alone. And as millions of Venezuelans have migrated over the years because of the country’s economic and political crisis, they have brought their version with them around the globe, further stoking the great arepa battle.
“I used to think only we ate arepas,” Jesús Sánchez, 34, an owner of a Venezuelan restaurant chain in Medellín named Los Chamos, referring to Venezuelans. He realized otherwise when he started visiting Colombia 10 years ago. “They’re very different.”
Arepas have been eaten for thousands of years, estimates Ocarina Castillo, 72, an anthropology professor who studies food at the Central University of Venezuela.
When Spanish conquistadors explored northern South America in the 15th and 16th centuries, they encountered Indigenous people eating the corn cakes. The Spanish adapted them, Ms. Castillo said, eventually transforming the word “erepa” from the language of the Cumanagoto people, who lived in what is modern-day northern and eastern Venezuela, into “arepa.” Other Indigenous groups ate something similar, but gave it a different name.
Centuries ago, Ms. Castillo said, the borders we know today didn’t exist and people moved freely.
“We lose that perspective,” she said, “and that’s why we insist on giving a homeland to arepas.”
With some shared history and culture, along with a 1,400-mile border, Colombia and Venezuela have been, at times, allies or rivals. (In the 1800s, they were even briefly part of the same republic, called Gran Colombia.)
Since Venezuela slid into autocracy under Mr. Maduro, roughly a quarter of its population has left, almost eight million people since 2014, according to the United Nations.
More than three million Venezuelans have ended up in Colombia, a country of 53 million where the mixing of cultures has made the arepa debate more prevalent than ever.
Arepas in Colombia often accompany a dish, such as meat or soup, and can have a topping or occasionally a filling. But in Venezuela, they are an entire meal — large and stuffed with different fillings, from cheese to plantains to beef. In Colombia, arepas vary by region, while in Venezuela there are several varieties that are popular nationwide.
Then there is texture: Colombian arepas tend to be crunchier, whereas Venezuelan arepas are usually softer. In Colombia, people often buy their arepas from stores, while Venezuelans consider that sacrilegious because they are accustomed to making them at home.
Another difference?
“The Venezuelan arepa is made from corn flour, and we use the corn itself,” explained Andrés Giraldo Rueda, 35, a manager at a Sancho Paisa restaurant in Medellín. “Corn flour is easy to conserve and transport, so they can take it to all over.”
Mr. Giraldo’s restaurant, which also has a store, offers 14 types of arepas — white corn, yellow corn, corn treated with ash, with cheese mixed into the masa — and sells thousands of arepas every day.
On a recent morning, nearly every customer was eating an arepa, either with eggs or cheese or chicharrón (fried pork).
The answer to who is winning the arepa war depends on whom you ask. Ms. Castillo, the professor, said Venezuela was in the lead because of its vast diaspora across the world.
(Venezuelan arepas even reached the White House last year.)
“Are there Colombian arepa shops outside of Colombia?” said Mr. Sánchez, who moved with his family to Medellín years ago. They started selling Venezuelan arepas from a street cart in 2015, and it has blossomed into four restaurants with 40 employees, nearly all of them Venezuelan.
Juan Manuel Barrientos, 41, a Colombian chef who has earned two Michelin stars and has restaurants in Colombia, Miami and Washington, said the arepa contest was tied because of his country’s growing status as a destination.
“We have fed arepas to a lot of tourists in the past 10, 15 years,” he said.
(Colombian arepas even appeared in the Disney movie “Encanto.”)
This year, though, Mr. Maduro, the authoritarian leader who has been in power since 2013, declared a winner: In a slickly produced video posted on his social media accounts, he proclaimed arepas as Venezuelan.
“One thing is to eat the arepa — and arepas should be eaten wherever you want,” he said. “But another thing is not to know that the arepa is?” The crowd answered: “Venezuelan.”
Mr. Maduro said his government had begun preparing an application to UNESCO, the United Nations cultural organization, to give Venezuelan arepas a global cultural heritage designation.
On social media, the arepa rivalry has sparked fervent discussion, countless videos and has even been the butt of jokes.
Angelo Colina, a Venezuelan comedian, became a social media hit in 2021 when he wrote that he thought he had Covid because the arepa he was eating had no taste. He joked that he then realized the restaurant was Colombian, which, as expected, provoked fiery responses.
“The Colombians roasted me and I honestly deserved it,” he later said.
One arepa stand — in Rotterdam, Netherlands, of all places — may provide the best illustration of the current arepa rankings.
Diego Mendoza, the owner, left Venezuela in 2015 for better opportunities thanks to his Spanish passport, which he had because his grandfather emigrated from Spain.
After working a corporate job in Barcelona, then in Poland and later in Rotterdam, Mr. Mendoza, 32, missed home and Venezuelan food. So he started making and selling arepas at weekly outdoor markets, slowly perfecting his family’s recipe.
“We are everywhere, but so are Colombians,” he said. “But because of all that we’re going through, the tragedy, we give much more importance to the arepa than Colombians.”
In May 2023, Mr. Mendoza opened his permanent spot, named Erikucha Arepera, at a large popular market in Rotterdam.
Because Colombia is easier to visit than Venezuela — and despite a Venezuelan flag displayed at his stand — he said many Dutch customers have referred to the arepas as Colombian because they recognize them from their travels. He then explains that arepas are also Venezuelan.
Mr. Mendoza, who has a tattoo on his arm of an arepa with the stars of the Venezuelan flag, isn’t bothered by the confusion, or the arepa rivalry. He doesn’t think something so yummy should divide. In fact, it should unite.
“The truth is it doesn’t matter if they’re Colombian or whatever,” he said. “What I know is that the arepa should belong to the world.”
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