Colombian Arepas: My Gateway Drug to Deliciousness (and Midlife Crisis?)

Let's be honest, at 47, my metabolism resembles a sloth on Xanax. Yet, here I am, fantasizing about Colombian arepas at 3 am, the siren song of crispy corn pulling me towards the kitchen like a moth to a flame (or, more accurately, a hungry middle-aged man to a pantry).

I blame it all on a recent trip to Cartagena. Sun-drenched beaches? Sure. Enchanting colonial architecture? Of course. But the real MVPs were these ubiquitous cornmeal cakes, stuffed with everything from melty queso fresco to shredded beef that could put a Texas churrasco to shame.

Now, I'm not some culinary adventurer. My usual repertoire revolves around cereal and takeout. But there's something about arepas that speaks to my soul. Maybe it's the simplicity – just cornmeal, water, and a little salt. Maybe it's the versatility – a blank canvas for flavor explosions. Or maybe it's the sheer indulgence – who doesn't love warm, pillowy bread stuffed with goodness?

My wife, bless her patient heart, rolls her eyes at my newfound obsession. "It's just cornbread, honey," she sighs, shaking her head. But let me tell you, there's a world of difference between a crumbly triangle from the boxed mix and a perfectly griddled arepa. It's the difference between watching reruns and binging a prestige drama – both involve carbs, but only one leaves you wanting more.

So, yes, I'm probably having a full-blown arepa midlife crisis. And you know what? I don't care. Between the crispy exterior, the fluffy interior, and the endless filling possibilities, these Colombian cornmeal wonders have won me over. And who knows, maybe they'll become my new healthy obsession (don't tell my wife).