the search for chilies
we have been craving spicy mexican food for what seems like forever (Emma notably longer than cam, as cam got a fix last week at the “california burrito kitchen,” a mexican restaurant run by americans that can be roughly compared to chipotle. Disappointingly, its fuego hot sauce, generously described as más allá de picante- beyond hot- did not live up to the title). So, we decided that we needed to take matters into our own hands, and we have set Wednesday (tomorrow) as our date to make tortilla soup.
However great our desire for the soup , our search for ingredients could be described as harder than our apartment search (at least we had some options in the latter!) An internet search for “chiles de ancho Buenos Aires” turns up not one potential vendor, and we have been all around the city looking in spice shops. Many Argentines have suggested heading to china town for chilies, but we feel somewhat unauthentic putting asian chilies in Mexican soup (and China Town has yet to come through for us in terms of food). It looks like we make have to fake it until we can receive shipments of supplies from the US.
If anyone has any suggestions for the best type of “generic” (ie, non-ancho) chili to put in tortilla soup, feel free to leave a comment… and we’ll be sure to let everyone know how it turns out!
el dia de gracias.
Thursday marked our first holiday in Argentina. We, along with two other americans from cam’s class (Preston and Zach), decided to host an “orphan thanksgiving.” Cam and Preston managed to get a turkey the wednesday before—weighing in at 10 kilos (over 20 pounds) for 4 people, which we christened “john adams” as tribute to the pilgrims. While securing a turkey turned out to be easier than we had thought (demand is obviously a bit lower here), the preparations proved to be a bit more difficult.
First, we had no recipe to follow, so early morning (well, 2pm) calls were made home to get the step-by-step directions from the “Joy of Cooking.” Second, the bird barely fit in our compact oven (and we are still relatively unfamiliar with it, which made temperature control an issue as well). Then, we needed to find a pan that could contain the meat– we were forced to borrow from our “encargador” (roughly- super), and stuff john adams into it. Then, we had to be attentive enough to remember to turn the turkey every 30 minutes (this was combined with our newly invented tradition of pina coladas on thanksgiving, which made sticking to such a strict schedule a little more difficult). Finally, we had to prepare the rest of the meal- stuffing, garlic smashed potatoes, gravy, vegetables, salad and pumpkin pie- in a relatively small kitchen packed with four people, and one tiny oven. Needless to say, we nixed the vegetables and pumpkin pie. Luckily, the turkey turned out to be golden and juicy, the stuffing perfect, and the potatoes an ideal texture.
Because the weather has been gorgeous, we decided to eat the meal on our roof. We moved our table, cutlery, and candles upstairs, and sat down for dinner. However, after about 20 minutes, a giant gust of wind blew over our wine glasses and brought with it a literal downpour. We moved back to the apartment (now covered in turkey grease, vegetable remains, and other debris) and settled in to finish our meal. Later, a French girl from Cam’s class and Emma’s three new Swedish friends joined us. Marion (the french) declared that it was the best meal she had had thus far in Argentina!
Now, if only we didn’t have to spend the next month trying to finish the rest of this turkey…
what a mess… notice the remaining turkey… yummm
Here is a link to a few more pics… Sorry Russ, I was the one taking pics.. none of me
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| Thanksgiving |
(marco) POLO!
Last weekend we attended our first ever polo mach. We decided after long debate to ditch the idea of wearing ridiculously large hats- which was the right decision, as we would have been the only ones sporting fancy headgear at the event. I guess Pretty Woman really is outdated. Sad. Anyhow, although we did not wear the hats, we still struggled to fit in. We were not quite as preppy as the other fans…but at least we wore dresses! (maybe next time we can perfect our polo attire). The games (there were two, one right after the other) were amazing to watch at such a close range. I thought learning lacrosse was hard, but cannot imagine ever playing a game while riding on a horse! These players were inspiring to watch. Regrettably we did not do our homework before the games and had no clue what was going on. Even with our lack of knowledge we were able to figure out the scoring system, or so we thought. Although we figured out how to make a goal, it was nothing to be proud of. There are goal posts, which are about 8 yards apart and when one team hits the little white ball through the goal… they get a point… pretty self-explanatory.
Later we were informed by two lively women that each player has a handicap… the highest handicap possible is a 10, which means you are the best. Supposedly there are only 10 people in the world with a handicap of 10, and they are all Argentinean. The handicaps of all players for each team are added together and the team that has a lower total handicap number gets the difference in goals before the game even starts. (See how confusing this is!) Anyhow they also informed us that the number three of the day was the very best player in the world… we cannot remember his name. There are only 4 players on the field at a time with two refs. We discovered, by the clocks on both sides of the field, that the “innings,” or Chukkas, are 7 minutes long. Usually there are 6 Chukkas… (Or so says wikipedia.. in fact if you really want to understand this crazy game just go to wikipedia).
Anyhow like we said, we met two very vivacious women. Both were in their upper 50s and looked absolutely fabulous. One was from California and owns, lives, and works on an asparagus farm while the other lives in Peru and owns a clothing business of knitted goods. We discovered that they had meet over 20 years ago in a swimming pool and had been friends ever since. Goes to show that you never know how you will meet good friends,,, also, that you should always take advantage of hotel swimming pools.
Saturday ended the “cold” streak in BsAs and the city was incredibly humid. Therefore, we had no choice but to stop off (well, immediately upon arrival) at the many Chandon stations that were scattered between food stands. We were able to get to know these two women over many mini bottles of Champagne. Needless to say there was quite a bit of laughter, especially since they would always interrupt the conversation to take pictures of “cute” men. They were both wishing that they were a bit younger and the married woman said a few times with a sigh… “If I only weren’t married.”
Although we did not stalk or take pictures of any men at the match, we were pleasantly surprised by the amount of good looking men, and especially the polo players, and it may be an added incentive to attend another game! Now we just have to find some loafers, polo shirts, and white pants….
This is pretty cool…
If you go to this link you can see the running route I just created, or just look at the location of our apt. Since we live so close to Los Bosques De Palermo, it is the perfect place for an evening jog… especially with the eye candy (mentioned below). It is usually a bit to warm in the day to run, but in the early evening it is the perfect temperature.
http://www.run.com/showroute.asp?map=313845
Which do you prefer…Transvestites or Mosquitoes?
Emmas lack of vocabulary, or possibly lack of hearing has resulted in a few embarrassing moments.
While in class I was learning about how to describe things I like and dislike about Buenos Aires.
Por ejemplo:
Me gusta la musica (I like the music).
Me encanta tomar mate (I love to drink mate).
Me molestan los mosquitos (I hate the mosquitoes).
During the classroom discussion I thought a classmate said “Me molestan los mosquitos” which by the way I do hate…as there are so many here at this time of year. Let me preface this with a little information about that classmate, David. He is from Montenegro and is a very conservative little dick, who constantly talks about how hot the teacher is and attempts to make jokes in vain. Although he is very annoying I suppose there are some redeeming qualities about him in that he is very energetic and outgoing, which is also why he is a bit annoying… either way, I’ll give it to him. In reality the Montenegrin did not say “me molestan los mosquitos” but rather “me molestan los transvestites”. I really don’t know how I got mosquitoes from transvestites, but unfortunately I did. Under this train of thought I shouted MI TAMBIEN!! as if I had just received the holy spirit. Everyone looked at me as if I were a bit crazy, then I realized too late that he was not talking about mosquitoes at all. At that point everyone thought we were both assholes. I tried quickly to redeem myself by further shouting of NO NO… ME ENCANTAN transvestites, Me molestan los MOSQUITOS! But little less than half of the class was listening to what I was saying; for now I guess I fall under the umbrella of loud/rude/judgmental (or possibly crazy) American.
Anyhow, last night I went running at Los Basques De Palermo, or more accurately: Paseo del Rosedal and as I was running toward the park, which is about 5 blocks from our house, I remembered that at night it is a hub for transvestite prostitutes. Feeling a bit anxious, I continued on my path to the park. Lo and behold I saw many a pretty lady waiting to be picked up. But the good news: there were no mosquitoes, so I was happy.
*** For more on transvestites in Palermo go here:
http://www.bloomberg.com/apps/news?pid=email_en&refer=latin_america&sid=aeymRmStf96s
Comida norteña—and the rut deepens
We recently posted about our “jenga restaurant” rut, but we need to confess that the “rut” has been re-routed to a little restaurant 2 doors down that serves food from northern argentina (READ- hot sauce). As our regular readers may note (hi mom, dad, and Liz), we have not posted in a few days because we have recently decided that we are going to be more economical… so we have been cooking in more, going out less (well, emma has)*, and gorging ourselves at that local resto. Of course, our attempts at budgeting went out the window on Saturday when we went to a polo match (see emma’s entry to come).
However, this local restaurant, which we have now been to countless times and take up witty banter with the owner, makes us feel like we are saving some money- they have tamales, locro (a corn soup), empanadas, and pizza for just a few pesos. We also learned a bit more about the owner our last visit- he is a model. Of course, he is a 50-something- year-old model that looks like he hasn’t had work since the mid-1980s, but we were privileged enough to see some of the photos books he has been in. Our decidedly favorite shot is one of him staring straight ahead, wearing a suit- and stabbing himself in the chest.
That’s all for now… we are off to the restaurant!
* Last night we hung out with some American friend’s from cam’s class at a bar called “Congo.”
shawarma… we didn’t know how much we missed you.
This weekend we went to the “feria de naciones”- which can basically be summed up as an “international day” in high school- on crack. It took place inside a convention center, and was full of booths devoted to products from specific countries- silks from India, crystal from the Czech Republic, sunglasses from Italy (all presented tax-free). They also had a food section, and our attention was immediately drawn to the smell of roasting lomo (beef) that was dedicated to making shawarma sandwiches.
Only after inhaling our sandwiches in about 1 minute (actually, that was only Cam) we realized that we have been craving Arabic food sooo much… and we’ll really need to get out and find some restaurants. Our mouths are watering just thinking of Hoda restaurants in Portland (I wonder if they can ship…)
We also bought some throws for our beds, a teakettle, and a few other things at the feria, So all-in-all, it was definitely worth stopping by.
jenga really is the best game on earth….
We have fallen into a rut. A decidedly delicious and very fun rut, but a rut nonetheless— we are now obessed with taking new people we meet to our jenga restaurant-bar. In a city of thousands of amazing restaurants, we have been to our little hole-in-the-wall 3 times in less than a month. And, sadly, we do not know the name or the cross streets to locate our little gem- we have to get dropped off 1-2 blocks away and walk. (Whether this is to prevent potential stalkers who want to know where the place is from figuring it out, or because, once we get to the corner and see the restaurant we break into a run out of sheer excitment, we are not sure)- however, ANYONE that comes to BA needs to go here, and we will be happy to take them (because we for sure can’t tell them where its at).
Obviously, we went again this weekend, and we closed the bar. The waitresses have also begun to recognize us.
**Editors note: Emma also wants to clarify that we use this bar as a venue to test/judge new friends by their jenga playing skills. The good news is that if you are good: we like the creativeness… and if you are bad: we like to win. Pretty much there is no way we wont like you based on jenga… unless you have a bad attitude or don’t take your losers shot… (Cameron… I’ll let it slide this once, but next time I’m gunna be more hard core no matter how much you have had to drink!)
boliche la france: a pedophile’s dream?
Last night we decided to grab drinks at a hotspot that Cam used to frequent called Milión. It is a bar housed in an old mansion, complete with a cobble-stoned entry path, tall arched ceilings, and a large back terrace. Also to be expected are somewhat snobby, American-priced drinks…
We met up with a friend that both Cam and Em knew from the states, who has been living in Córdoba for the past 3 months. He arrived a little after 2, and Cam was able to utilize her power of persuasion in Spanish to get him and a friend in the bar after “closing.” However, we did not stay long- we headed off in search of another one of Cam’s former haunts, a hiphop club known as Fugees 99.
After driving around in a cab for what seemed like hours, Cam realized her memory was not as good as she thought (a theme to be repeated later in the night), and we were forced to abandon our original plan. We drove by two other clubs that were closed (two rare strokes of bad luck in Buenos Aires, of all cities) and drove by a club that Cam announced she had been to before.
After paying cover and walking into what looked like a giant auditorium, Cam realized that her memory had betrayed her once again. And, even worse, we experienced a feeling that we didn’t think would come to pass for at least a few more years—we felt ancient in the club. It seemed literally to be packed to the brim with 16 year olds. However, after paying a cover and receiving drink tickets, we thought that we would consider it an important cultural experience and we stuck it out.
What came to pass was a “desfile,” or “fashion show” (I choose to keep this in quotation marks) of select “chicas lindas” – freshly plucked girls (we are unsure if they were from the club) that paraded around in lingerie on a catwalk. There was also a select male model that got quite a bit of attention from the giddy teens. The remainder of the night featured bruises that were received from fits of awkward teenage dancing, a boy half-bumping Emma off a platform so he could take his place dancing in front of the crowd, and the occasional run-in with a group of fighting porteños. I suppose it is what we should have expected from an Argentine teen club.
La Recoleta Cemetery: It’s like a town for small people…
… or more accurately: Dead people
A little more than a week ago, Cameron and I stumbled upon La Recoleta Cemetery while exploring a fair in Recoleta. Most famously known as the burial place of Evita, La Recoleta Cemetery has many other mausoleums of rich and/or famous dead Argentineans. We passed near Evita’s mausoleum but were unable to get too close because it was swarming with tourists (you all know how much we… like the Australian woman “hate tourists”) and we were unable to get a good look. There were however some very old and unique graves that I found just as intriguing. Each mausoleum was unique and had a captivating aura about it. As we were walking through the cemetery Cameron pointed out that it looks very much like a creepy village for little people… adding a bit of eeriness to the situation. Some graves were very well kept and in perfect condition, adorned with fresh flowers while others (possibly forgotten by family members) were left in ruins…. another reason to just get cremated. For example we found quite a few with smashed in windows, toppled caskets, and full of cleaning supplies. Cameron was on the quest to find the oldest graves… but every time she was sure she had found one, it was only about 50 years old. After a while we realized that we were in what seems to be the newer part of the cemetery. If we learned something from this little exploration is that you cant tell how old a mausoleum is by the looks of it, which is why it is so convenient that they have dates and names displayed near each door. We spent a good hour and a half wandering around before the cemetery closed. Words of advice, get there with plenty of time, because it closes early, and take a camera. Overall I would recommend visiting the cemetery to anyone passing through Argentina.
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| La Recoleta Cemetery |
