By James Wagner
A fierce and enduring competition brews between Colombia and Venezuela — not concerning politics, migration, or even soccer, but rather the modest arepa.
This round cornbread treat, cherished in both South American nations, can be found in everything from breakfast dishes to midnight snacks, becoming an integral part of each country’s culture. Intertwined with everyday expressions and popular traditions, the arepa signifies more than just food.
However, pose a question to Colombians or Venezuelans regarding who makes arepas better — or where they first came from — and you will find yourself in the midst of a culinary dispute that goes beyond geographic boundaries.
“Everyone defends their territory,” remarked Gustavo Zapata, 39, a chef at the renowned Sancho Paisa restaurant chain, noted for its authentic Colombian arepas in Medellín, the nation’s second-largest city.
The arepa debate is reminiscent of various culinary quarrels globally. Peruvians and Ecuadorians bicker over ceviche. Israelis and Lebanese have debated over hummus. Several North African nations claim couscous as their own. Australians and New Zealanders have clashed over pavlova, a dessert crafted from meringue and topped with fruit.
Yet, these culinary disagreements often bear significant social implications. Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro has sought to utilize arepas as a rallying point for nationalism, if not a political instrument, insisting that the dish belongs solely to his nation. Moreover, as millions of Venezuelans have fled their country due to its economic and political turmoil, they have taken their distinct versions of arepas worldwide, intensifying the ongoing controversy.
“I once thought that only we ate arepas,” said Jesús Sánchez, 34, owner of a Venezuelan restaurant chain in Medellín known as Los Chamos, referring specifically to his fellow Venezuelans. He came to this realization a decade ago when he began visiting Colombia. “They’re quite different.”
Arepas have been a culinary staple for millennia, according to Ocarina Castillo, 72, a food anthropology professor at the Central University of Venezuela.
When Spanish conquistadors ventured into northern South America during the 15th and 16th centuries, they encountered Indigenous communities consuming these corn cakes. The Spaniards adapted them, transforming the Cumanagoto term “erepa” — spoken by the Indigenous people inhabiting what is now northern and eastern Venezuela — to “arepa.” Other Indigenous groups had their variations but named them differently.
Castillo noted that centuries ago, the borders recognized today were nonexistent, allowing people to migrate freely.
“We lose that perspective,” she said, “which leads us to insist on ascribing a national identity to arepas.”
With a shared history and culture, coupled with a 1,400-mile boundary, Colombia and Venezuela have oscillated between being allies and rivals. (In the 1800s, they briefly unified under a single republic known as Gran Colombia.)
Since Venezuela descended into autocracy under Maduro, approximately a fourth of its population has fled, totaling nearly 8 million people since 2014, as reported by the United Nations.
Over 3 million Venezuelans have sought refuge in Colombia, a nation of 53 million where the intermingling of cultures has amplified the arepa dispute like never before.
In Colombia, arepas often accompany meals, such as meat dishes or soups, and may come with toppings or sometimes filling. Conversely, in Venezuela, arepas are served as a full meal — large and filled with various ingredients, from cheese to plantains to beef. Colombian versions vary regionally, while Venezuela enjoys national popularity with several distinct varieties.
Texture also sets them apart: Colombian arepas tend to be crispier, while Venezuelan ones are generally softer. In Colombia, it is common to purchase arepas from stores, but many Venezuelans view this as taboo, having been raised to prepare them at home.
What about another distinction?
“The Venezuelan arepa is crafted from corn flour, while we use the actual corn,” clarified Andrés Giraldo Rueda, 35, a Sancho Paisa restaurant manager in Medellín. “Corn flour is simpler to preserve and transport, allowing it to be carried worldwide.”
Determining who is winning the arepa rivalry hinges on whom you consult. Castillo, the professor, opines that Venezuela holds the upper hand due to its extensive diaspora across the globe.
Juan Manuel Barrientos, 41, a Colombian chef boasting two Michelin stars with restaurants in Colombia, Miami, and Washington, believes the contest is even, owing to his nation’s surging appeal as a tourist destination.
“We have served arepas to numerous tourists in the last decade and a half,” he stated.
(Colombian arepas even made a cameo in the Disney film “Encanto.”)
However, this year, Maduro, who has led the country since 2013, declared a clear winner: In a polished video shared on his social media platforms, he asserted arepas as a Venezuelan creation.
“One thing is enjoying the arepa — you can savor arepas wherever you please,” he stated. “But to not acknowledge that the arepa is what?” The crowd responded: “Venezuelan.”
Maduro announced that his administration would initiate an application to UNESCO, the cultural arm of the United Nations, to secure global cultural heritage recognition for Venezuelan arepas.
An arepa stall located in Rotterdam, Netherlands, exemplifies the present standing of arepas.
Diego Mendoza, the proprietor, departed Venezuela in 2015 seeking better prospects, aided by his Spanish passport inherited from his grandfather who emigrated from Spain.
After engaging in corporate roles in Barcelona, Spain, followed by positions in Poland and later Rotterdam, Mendoza, 32, longed for the flavors of home. He began crafting and selling arepas at weekly outdoor markets, gradually refining his family’s traditional recipe.
“We are present everywhere, as are Colombians,” he noted. “Yet due to the hardships we face, the tragedy, we place significantly more emphasis on arepas than Colombians do.”
In May 2023, Mendoza established his permanent venture, Erikucha Arepera, at a bustling popular market in Rotterdam.
Given Colombia’s accessibility compared to Venezuela — and despite a Venezuelan flag displayed at his stand — he mentioned how many Dutch customers associate arepas with Colombia due to their travel experiences. He then clarifies that they are also Venezuelan.
Mendoza, with a tattoo depicting an arepa alongside the stars of the Venezuelan flag, embraces the confusion and rivalry surrounding arepas. He believes that something as delicious should not create division. Rather, it should foster unity.
“The reality is, it doesn’t matter whether they are Colombian or otherwise,” he expressed. “What I understand is that the arepa belongs to the world.”
