Origins
If there is one dish that divides Cartagena into two camps —those who love it and those who don't understand its fame— it's the arepa sucia. It's not just any arepa. It doesn't have butter, fresh cheese, or anything resembling the paisa or santandereana version. The arepa sucia is a greasy, street-side breakfast, full of flavor and, above all, loaded with history. But where the hell did it come from?
The official story, if one exists, has two versions. The first places the dish's birth in the old San Diego prison, which operated until the 1980s in what is now the Centro de Convenciones. The prisoners, with limited resources, started frying corn arepas and filling them with whatever they could get: egg, hard costeño cheese, and an improvised hogao. The mixture, falling onto the stove, left the arepa "dirty" with grease and residue. Hence the name.
📌 Transparency
This article contains sponsored/affiliate links. We may receive a small commission at no extra cost to you.
The second version, more popular among Getsemaní vendors, claims the dish was born on the neighborhood's streets in the mid-20th century. Doña Matilde, a vendor at the Plaza de la Trinidad, began serving fried arepas with egg and cheese to port workers. Since there were no plates, the arepa was served on paper and eaten by hand, leaving greasy fingerprints. "Dirty" for how it looked, not for lack of hygiene.
What no one disputes is that the arepa sucia is a Cartagena invention, born from the necessity and creativity of popular kitchens. It's not gourmet, it's not Instagrammable (unless you like visual chaos), but it's a piece of local identity.
Timeline or historical milestones
To understand how a street food went from being workers' food to a tourist icon, you have to look at the evolution of the arepa sucia over time.
- 1950s-1960s: First oral references to fried arepas with egg and cheese at the Plaza de la Trinidad, Getsemaní. They were sold for 10 cents.
- 1970s-1980s: The San Diego prison becomes a center of forced gastronomic innovation. Prisoners perfect the technique of frying the arepa in recycled oil, giving it its crispy-on-the-outside, soft-on-the-inside texture.
- 1990: With the prison's closure, several former employees and street vendors move the recipe to the streets of Getsemaní and the Centro Histórico. The first known fixed stall is born: "Arepas La Sucia" on Calle Larga.
- 2005: The tourism boom in Cartagena leads restaurants in the Centro to start offering "clean" versions of the arepa sucia, with imported ingredients and plate presentation. Purists complain.
- 2015: The arepa sucia is included in international food guides as one of the must-try street foods of Colombia. Versions with shrimp, lobster, and even black truffle appear.
- 2020-2022: The pandemic hits traditional vendors hard. Many close. But a rescue movement is also born: young local cooks begin documenting the original recipe and supporting historic stalls.
- May 2026: Today, the arepa sucia lives a dual life: the original stalls struggle to survive against gentrification, while "artisanal" restaurants sell it for $25,000 COP as if it were an exotic delicacy.
Key figures or events
Don Ramiro, the corner arepa man
Don Ramiro has been selling arepas sucias for 32 years on the corner of Calle de la Sierpe and Calle de la Media Luna, in Getsemaní. I met him on a Tuesday at 7 in the morning, when the sun wasn't yet beating down and the smell of oil already filled the block.
"Look, I started with my mom. She had a wooden cart, the kind you can't find anymore. The arepa sucia of before wasn't like it is now. It had egg, costeño cheese, hogao, and nothing else. No sausages, no chicken, none of those weird things," he tells me as he flips an arepa on the iron budare.
Don Ramiro is a legend among early risers: taxi drivers, construction workers, students from the University of Cartagena. His secret, according to him, is the hogao: "I make it with chonto tomato, onion, garlic, and cumin. No cilantro, that's for other things. And the cheese has to be costeño, hard, the kind that scrapes when you bite it."
But Don Ramiro is also a witness to change. "I used to sell 200 arepas a day. Now, maybe 80. Tourists walk by, take a picture, but don't buy. They prefer to go to the restaurants on Plaza de la Trinidad, where they put the arepa on a china plate and charge them $18,000. I sell it for $5,000, but people think cheap is bad."
The original recipe vs. the artisanal version
Here's the crux of the matter. The original arepa sucia has a simple but precise composition:
- Corn arepa: Made with white or yellow corn masa, without milk or butter. It's fried in hot vegetable oil until golden and crispy on the outside.
- Egg: Broken directly onto the arepa while it fries, so it cooks together with the masa.
- Costeño cheese: Hard, salty, coarsely grated. Added at the end, just before serving, so it melts slightly with the residual heat.
- Hogao: A thick sauce of tomato, onion, garlic, and cumin. Spread on the arepa before folding it.
The "artisanal" version sold in restaurants like La Mulata or El Bistró de la Trinidad usually includes extra ingredients: mozzarella, serrano ham, avocado, garlic mayonnaise. Some even serve it with sautéed shrimp. Is it tasty? Yes. Is it an arepa sucia? No.
The three classic stops
If you want to try the original version, there are three stalls that have withstood the test of time:
- Arepas La Sucia (Calle Larga #10-25): The oldest still in operation. Open Monday to Saturday, 6am to 12pm. Price: $5,000 COP (May 2026). Don't expect luxuries: it's a cart with a canopy, but the taste is like it used to be.
- Doña Cielo's Stall (Plaza de la Trinidad, northwest corner): Doña Cielo is 68 years old and still makes arepas like her grandmother. Her hogao is legendary. Open Tuesday to Sunday, 7am to 11am. Price: $4,500 COP.
- Don Ramiro's Cart (Calle de la Sierpe con Media Luna): The one I mentioned before. Open every day, 6am to 1pm. Price: $5,000 COP. Bring your own thermos of coffee, he doesn't sell it.
Current status
The arepa sucia is at a crossroads. On one hand, mass tourism has created a demand for "improved" versions that have little to do with the original dish. On the other, historic vendors struggle against rising rents in Getsemaní, public space restrictions, and competition from restaurants that can afford Instagram advertising.
In May 2026, there are at least five restaurants in the Centro Histórico offering "artisanal arepa sucia" on their menus. Some are honest and call it "modern arepa sucia." Others, like the restaurant Alma del Mar, sell it for $28,000 COP with lobster and passion fruit sauce. Purists, like Don Ramiro, simply say: "That's not arepa sucia, it's something else. But if people pay, let them pay."
However, there is hope. In the last two years, a group of local cooks called "Sabor Costeño" has been documenting original recipes and organizing food tours that include traditional stalls. They have also created a downloadable infographic with the history and exact locations of the five oldest stalls. That infographic can be downloaded for free from their website (saborcosteñocartagena.com) and is the best guide for anyone who wants to eat the real arepa sucia, not the tourist one.
A curious fact few know: the original arepa sucia is eaten without utensils. It's folded like a taco, wrapped in a paper napkin, and bitten from the side. If it's served on a plate with a fork and knife, it's not arepa sucia. It's something else. And if the cheese doesn't scrape, it's not either.
The next time you're in Cartagena, walk to Getsemaní before 10 in the morning. Look for a cart with a canopy, the smell of hot oil, and a line of taxi drivers. Order an arepa sucia with egg and costeño cheese. Don't ask for chicken, don't ask for shrimp, don't ask for anything else. Eat it with your hands, let the grease run down your fingers, and understand why this street food has survived prisons, pandemics, and gentrification.
And if you want to take the story with you, download the free infographic 'History of the Arepa Sucia' at saborcosteñocartagena.com. There you'll find Doña Cielo's original recipe and the five stalls that still keep the tradition alive. Don't miss it.