Correction:
Posted: February 17, 2011 Filed under: Food Leave a commentI may have spoken too soon when I lamented the lack of high quality cheeses in ye ole Buenos Aires. I recently purchased an Argentine-made Camembert that, while it tastes nothing like what I think Camembert should taste like, is outrageously delicious. The brand is ‘Wapi,’ a word I love to say with as thick a Porteño accent as I can muster. I do not, however, recommend their goat cheese.
I was also recently told that Argentina makes fantastic prosciutto–a claim I personally confirmed. My life is, more than anything, an endless search for delicious cheese and pork products. If I could somehow convince someone to pay me for this task to which I devote myself with fervor, I would be (if you’ll pardon the pun) in hog heaven.
Play of the day
Posted: February 15, 2011 Filed under: Food, Mishaps, Plays of the days, Wandering in the city Leave a comment
Comrades! I spent a fine Sunday afternoon drinking maté and playing chess in the riverside neighborhood known as Puerto Madero. It was hot and sunny and Puerto Madero, particularly the area alongside the nature conservancy, is a good place to be if you can find a spot to sit in the shade at one of the parrillas there, outdoor grills or restaurants where they serve grilled meats. (It’s also a good place to eat a chory-pan, which I indeed did.)
I also purchased my very own maté gourd today in preparation for a brand new stimulant habit (I am already a terrible coffee addict but I feel varying the sort uppers I intake will assure better health). Everybody here has a maté set which includes a gourd, like the one pictured above, with a metal straw whose base serves as a filter and a thermos to keep hot water in. You fill the gourd to the brim with the tea, pour in the water, pass it around among those in attendance, repeat ad infinitum. A single gourd-full of the stuff lasts for several refills of water.
Because we were so near the San Telmo Sunday market, we took a little stroll down Avenida Defensa where I purchased a pair of vintage Argentine cowboy boots. These are exactly like my nearly-dead American cowboy boots. In addition to caffeine, I’m addicted to boots. Good thing leather is cheap in this town.
Now the play of the day to which the title of this post refers is neither my purchases, nor any of my chess moves (my game is improving, but I lost) nor even the fact of enjoying a lovely Sunday afternoon outside. No, the play of the day was not a play I made at all, but rather that of an Argentine dude I saw walking in Plaza Dorego. His was perhaps the greatest rat tail yet spotted in this city so full of them. His head was entirely shaved except for a horizontal strip clinging to the lower back of his skull, a skinny little rectangle of hair. It was more the representation of a rat tail than an actual tail, but absolutely and astoundingly hideous.
I must give proper thanks to one Nicholby Howe for spotting this atrocity. His vigilance in the realm of the rat tail is unmatched.
Of dairy products
Posted: February 8, 2011 Filed under: Food Leave a comment
Consider this post a kind of addendum to my previous list of remarkable differences between here and there. I’d like to discuss, briefly, the state of dairy products in Buenos Aires.
First off, let it be known that while I may not be a connoisseur, exactly, I really, really love cheese. Within walking distance from my apartment in Los Angeles was (and remains, though I’ve departed) the The Cheese Store of Silverlake. I was a frequent customer of said cheese shop and they had much in the way of fantastic imported and local cheeses. Now here in B.A. there is no dearth of cheese shops, little corner stores which offer Argentine-made reggiano (sometimes called reggianito here), provolone, queso fresco and–a real favorite of locals and truly delicious–queso roquefort. I must admit, though, that the quality and diversity of the cheeses you can find leaves much to be desired. Sure you can buy brie or camembert, but only President–the Kraft of France. And cheddar? Alas, not at all, unless you count the single slices of American cheese as some corrupt form of the original.
The other thing they lack is milk that doesn’t terrify me. Milk is sold here in boxes or bags and isn’t refrigerated. They even serve it at room temperature most of the time. This is entirely common throughout South America in my experience but let me tell you, as a lover of cereal it pains me to be without the milk to which I have grown so accustomed in my short life on this, the loveliest planet.
So, my American readers, in my honor I beg of you, be happy in the vast diversity of cheeses you can find in the States. Be joyous each morning as you slurp the sugary, cold milk that remains when all the Fruit Loops have been eaten and know that while we may not be France, we can really rock the magical world of dairy.
Of the hipódromo
Posted: January 31, 2011 Filed under: Food, Uncategorized, Wandering in the city Leave a comment
I spent a fantastic Saturday afternoon and evening at the Hipoódromo Argentino de Palermo–the Buenos Aires horse racing track. It is, as per the above image, a Buenos Aires institution. It is also a perfect place to watch the old, middle and upper class men of the city interact with each other while they smoke cigarettes and drink small cups of coffee. They, like most gambling men, do a lot of yelling as the horses round the bend and gallop past the crowd of onlookers at ridiculous speeds. This makes the hipódromo a great place to learn city-specific curses and to laugh at the weird mix of horse names given to the poor animals you watch. My most recent favorite: pirata perseguido, though ScorpioNYC, pronounced phonetically be the announcer as “scorpionick”, was a close second.
Also, the balding, khaki-short-wearing Argentine men sometimes bring their grandchildren, who are more fun to bet on than the horses. They run half the length of the track as faux jockeys, whipping all the while their imaginary horses with rolled-up newspapers.
This was, actually, my second visit to the hipódromo. There is something particularly pleasant about spending time at this track in the muggy Porteño summer. It is close to the water and near one of the city’s largest parks so the winds for which Buenos Aires was named are palpable and cool. It’s also lovely that the minimum bet is so low. For two pesos, the equivalent of fifty U.S. cents, you can bet on any race. I’ve lost everything I’ve put down so far. Entrance is free.
An important fact about the hipódromo: the snack bar is terrible and overpriced. The worst hamburgers and hot dogs on earth are served at the aforementioned bar. You can’t disguise the foulness of these disasters with the salsa golf, essentially a mayonnaise-heavy Thousand Island dressing that they freely offer. The beer they sell is non-alcoholic. The ham and cheese sandwiches are an abomination. Bring your own food and beverages if ever, my dear comrades, you find yourself at the B.A. tracks.
Of apartments, tuna-fish and the Guia T
Posted: January 22, 2011 Filed under: Food, Mishaps, Wandering in the city 2 CommentsLadies and gentlemen, I have an apartment! Yes, a little studio in Recoleta (which is the Beverly Hills of Buenos Aires. Not my first choice given my deep commitment to proletarian aims, but after a week of searching I had to take what I could get). It’s a studio. Spartan but lovely, with hardwood floors and a tiny kitchen with a two-burner electric stove. It has a bathtub and lots of natural light–its two greatest selling points. I am paying a bit over a third more than what a Porteño* would to live here. This is the cause of some frustration, but I have accepted the cost as one of many that come with outsider status. And it is still half what my rent was in Los Angeles. Pictures of my fine domicile will follow once I figure out how to say “I’d like a card reader for my digital camera” in Spanish without sounding like an idiot. I imagine it would sound something like the following sentence if I try today: “Hello. I am looking for a thing that I can use to take out photos from this card that exists in my camera so that I can put them on my computer. Do you understand me?” Serviceable, but so awfully clunky.
I moved in today and shortly thereafter walked a block down my street to the CarreFour grocery store. I purchased the following: six eggs, one loaf of wheat bread, one large bottle of water, butter, mayonnaise, mustard, two peaches, a bottle of cheap Malbec and a can of tuna-fish. (The tuna was by far the worst decision I’ve made here thus far, excluding perhaps the canned mushroom sandwich I ordered two days ago. Yes, that’s right, canned mushroom sandwich. With canned asparagus and crappy cheese. ‘Fracaso total’, as they say. It was, in my defense, an attempt to avoid yet one more disastrous jamón y queso concoction. God they love ham and cheese here. They make lasagna with it, sandwiches, empanadas, pizza…everything).
And now, dear readers, I am sitting comfortably at my table sipping from a mug of wine, writing this little post and attempting to decipher the Guia T. The ingenious Guia T is the guide to the complex bus infrastructure in the city. Buses, unlike the ‘subte’ (short for subterráneo), run all night and from my neighborhood, they are by far the superior form of transportation to any other section of town. You find where you are in the city and then where you want to go and see what bus numbers correspond to both. The guide comes as a little booklet “de bolsillo” and a new addition is put out every year. Every other page has a map of one section of the city divided into 24 squares, corresponding to 24 squares of bus numbers on the page preceding it. My problem: I have absolutely no idea which direction the busses should be headed when I catch them. None. My cardinal directions are always bad but have moved from bad to non-existent during my time in Buenos Aires. Luckily, a friend of mine gave me a spectacular compass before I left. I’ll have to keep it around my neck to have any chance. Another fun fact about the buses here: When you hop on at a stop, you don’t tell the driver where you are going, you tell him how much you want to pay. I have yet to meet anyone who can tell me exactly how one decides how to gauge the appropriate cost. The consensus seems to be to just say 1 peso and 20 centavos and assume this will serve you well.
Its nine now, so still a good hour before the porteño dinner hour. That’s how long I’m giving myself to figure out how to get from Recoleta to Palermo, a barrio I would liken to L.A.’s Silverlake. Wish me luck.
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*’Porteños/as are Buenos Aires residents.
Itinerant Me 
