Happy Canada Day!

According to the interwebs, the only thing resembling a national fruit for Canada is rhubarb, which isn't exactly something I've come across here in the tropics, and besides, it's a vegetable. Today's fruit, then, is red and white and summery and exactly what everyone who's celebrating a national holiday this week will have packed away in their picnic baskets: the melancia.

I'm sure this Fruit of the Day needs no English translation, and probably not much of a description, either. I will say though that this is the reddest watermelon I've ever seen! And it was the kind of juicy where you have to wash your forearms after you finish eating a slice. Good stuff.

I've completely forgotten how much fruit costs in North America, but as a point of reference, this hefty chunk weighed in at just over 2 kg and cost just under $1, and will provide us with multiple delicious snacks.
UFF Fruit Rating:

To celebrate Canada Day, I decided to introduce the butter tart to Brazil (in square form, and with a liberal adaptation of Canadian Living's recipe). It's a non-native species, but given Brazilians' propensity for sweets, the butter tart has already found many natural predators here. In fact, there wasn't even a square left for breakfast this morning. Good thing we had all that watermelon.

Fruit of the Day: Laranja Bahía

Do you know why the cover of R.E.M.'s album "Green" is orange?

It's because green and orange are inverse colours, and if you stare at something orange for a while then close your eyes, or look at a white surface, you'll see green.

What happens if you stare at something green for a while?

I'll give you a hint: laranja is Portuguese for orange, and these are laranjas Bahía, or Bahían oranges. They're also called laranja peras, which means orange pears. Guess what's inside!

The laranja Bahía isn't the most amazing orange I've ever eaten - it's a little bit dry, not all that sweet, and doesn't have a super-strong orange flavour. But I love this fruit, because it's oh-so-pretty and orange.
UFF Fruit Rating:

P.S. The yellow melon blended with strawberry pulp was really pretty but not quite sweet enough. We still have half the melon left, and tomorrow we'll try it with a few chunks of pineapple and maybe some yogurt. Stay tuned...

They Call Me Yellow Melon

Our Fruit of the Day today is melão amarelo, which literally translates as yellow melon. We found the yellow melon in an exciting section of the grocery store, tucked in between the guava and the passion fruit. And it is indeed a lovely shade of yellow.

In a race against the waning daylight, I cut the melon open to find a pale green fruit that looks and feels like a cucumber, and tastes a lot like an under-ripe honeydew melon. Maybe we picked a yellow melon that wasn't quite ready for prime time, or maybe it's just a super-mild fruit, but either way, we were underwhelmed. We'll blend it with some frozen strawberry pulp tomorrow morning and see if that doesn't perk it up a little.
UFF Fruit Rating:

Fruit of the Day: Pinha

After trying today's fruit, the pinha, or sugar-apple, I may have to retool the UFF Fruit Ratings, because guys? This fruit is DELICIOUS. It may well be the most delicious fruit I have ever eaten.

As has been the case with many Fruits of the Day, the pinha doesn't look like much, kind of like a closed, green pinecone. When we first picked it up it was much squishier than either of us expected (we both thought it would be hard, kind of like a shell). We also had no idea what to expect from its insides, and again, they didn't look like much. The pinha is filled with hard black seeds, each of which is encased in white pulp. The consistency of the pulp is similar to that of the cajú or a soft banana, kind of puddingy. And it tastes just like custard. We took different approaches to its consumption: Ken used a spoon to scoop out several seeds at once, while I pulled out one seed at a time and ate the fruit before spitting out the seed. And we both can't wait to have another one.
UFF Fruit Rating:

Fruit of the Day: Limão

Limão is Portuguese for - you guessed it! - lime! OK, it isn't incredibly exotic, and even if you don't have one in your fridge right now, you've probably seen a lime somewhere in the last few days. And just maybe, if you're lucky, you sweet-talked someone you love into juggling a few before he mixed them up into a tasty caipirinha. I happen to be exactly that lucky.


Ken's Caipirinha (makes 2)

2 limes
2-3 heaping tablespoons of sugar
2 shots of cachaça*
Lots of ice

Cut each lime into 8 pieces and put in a mortar or other suitably heavy mixing bowl. Spoon in the sugar and muddle with a pestle until the limes are flat and the lime juice is squeezed out of the lime bits. If your limes aren't particularly juicy (hey, it happens to everyone sometimes), you can add a splash or two of water. Pour the lime/sugar mixture into a shaker, add the cachaça, fill the saker with ice, and shake it like a Polaroid picture.

Distribute between two glasses (do not strain). If you're fancy you can garnish it with a lime slice, but ours don't usually last long enough for that.

*Cachaça is alcohol made from the distillation of fermented sugar cane. Wikipedia just told me that 1.5 billion liters of cachaça are consumed annually in Brazil, compared with 15 million liters outside the country. At RS$5, or about $2.50 US per 1L bottle, I'm not surprised. Anyway, if you can't find cachaça or it's too Richie, feel free to substitute vodka and call this tasty bev a Caipiroska, like they do in Argentina.

UFF Fruit Rating:

Fruit of the Day: Abacate

Today's fruit is one that will be familiar if you've ever been to a Mexican restaurant or attended a Super Bowl party. But have you ever seen an avocado with a 14" girth?

My favourite way to eat avocado is with some salt and a spoon, and I make a mean guacamole, if I do say so myself. But Brazilians like things sweet, including avocados, and you know my stance on "When in Rome..." So, we added some lime juice and sugar and transformed this gigantic fruit into creme de abacate, or avocado cream, following the recipe on Maria-Brazil.

The lime juice wasn't such a stretch since I put that in guac anyway, but it pained me a little to mix in the sugar. In the end, we sprinkled a bit of salt on top, and it wasn't bad at all.
UFF Fruit Rating:

A Week In Brazil

We arrived in Salvador a week ago, and already I never want to leave. When we told our friends in Buenos Aires that we were planning a trip to Brazil, they universally said the same thing: "Oh, you'll love it, the people are wonderful! And be careful." There was always that warning. Our friends who had been in Rio for Carnaval said the same thing: That they'd loved the city and the people, but that it was incredibly crime-ridden and dangerous and that they had to be very careful when leaving the hostel.

Honestly, I couldn't reconcile these things. How could I love a place where I'd always be on my guard? I didn't get it. Until I spent a week here.

Salvador is a city of about 3 million people. It has an old area of town called Pelorinho, that has two levels. The Elevator Lacerda connects the two. It costs 5¢ to ride, and is the only safe way between the two levels, as the steep streets between them are considered dangerous even during the day. Cars don't have to stop at red lights at night because the risk of robbery makes it unsafe to stop. During festival nights in Pelorinho, and of course during Carnaval, you can expect to feel peoples' hands in your pockets, which is why it's better to wear shorts with no pockets and keep money pinned inside.

Why, then, is it so wonderful here?

I still don't quite understand it. I guess for one, I'm OK not bringing my camera out with me when I can tote inexpensive and very photogenic fruit back to the hostel and safely snap away there. When we go to the beach, we only bring a few reais with us for snacks, and lunch for both of us with beer never costs more than $10. Every time we go to the grocery store, super-happy Brazilian music is being played, and even the guy selling shrimp skewers on the beach is singing. Last night we went out for RS$2.50 caipirinhas, then danced Samba in our hostel, and we'll probably do the same thing tonight.

Now let's talk about papaya, shall we?

In Portuguese, it's called mamão formosa, and this fine speciman weighed in at 1.1kg and cost us all of 1.27 reais, or around 65¢. Mamão formosa isn't a small fruit (the rather handsome fruit model is included for scale), and it's filled with seeds that look like peppercorns. Papaya flesh is soft and scoopable and you can - and should - eat it with a spoon. It has a very mild flavour and isn't very sweet, and if I made it into juice I'd probably add a bit of sugar (or heck, a mango) to sweeten it up a bit.
UFF Fruit Rating:

Beach Economy

When we woke up this morning we headed straight for the beach, before the rain clouds had a chance to gather. We weren't disappointed, especially with our breakfast of beach-cheese and a coconut popsicle (which was basically just coconut and milk and sugar on a stick, and will give the grilled cheese a run for its money as my favourite beach snack). About an hour into our lounging I realized that my SPF 15 wasn't going to protect my creamy white Canadian thighs against the tropical sun. Luckily, you can buy little bottles of sunscreen right on the beach! Oh, those enterprising Brazilians. We summoned a sunscreen dude over to enquire about the prices of his wares. I pointed to the little (60mL) bottle of SPF 30 and asked how much it would cost.

Sunscreen Dude: 22 reais.
Me (to Ken): How much?
Ken: 22. [about 11 USD]
Me (to SD, in Spanish with my best Portuguese accent): No, that's OK, obrigada.
SD: OK, 17 reis.
Me: No, that's OK.
SD: 15.
Me: No, obrigada.
SD: You understand? 15 reais. [he started to write the number in the sand]
Me: I understand, but no thanks.
SD: Too expensive?
Me: Yes, it's OK, obrigada.
SD: 12 reais.
Me: No, obrigada.
SD: Still too expensive?
Me: Yes, but thanks.
SD: OK, 10 reais, so you will be my customer.
Me (to Ken): Pay the man.

My mom, with her superior bartering skills, will be proud.

Like yesterday's maracujá, today's FotD is also nondescript-looking on the outside. In fact, I bought this one not knowing anything about it except its name, goiaba (I don't think it has an English translation), and that it smelled delicious. Ken predicted that it would be red inside, and I resisted looking it up until after we cut it open to see for ourselves. Turns out it's watermelon-pink, and oh-so-pretty! Goiaba flesh is soft enough to scoop out with a spoon, so that's how we ate it. It was sweet and mild and was kind of the texture of mousse or soft ice cream. It did have a lot of little seeds, so it would probably be better pureed and strained.

Update: It's guava! Thanks Kari, and Parabens!
UFF Fruit Rating:

Fruit of the Day: Maracujá

Today's FotD is a perfect example of why not to judge a book by its cover: At first glance, it looks kind of boring and wrinkly. But inside the maracujá, or passion fruit, is the plant-equivalent of caviar. It's filled with exotic-looking and super-flavourful pulpy little seeds. We threw it all into a blender with a mango and a splash of water, blended, then strained the seeds for a yummy breakfast smoothie. No sugar required.

UFF Fruit Rating:

Fruit of the Day: Abacaxi

Today's fruit needs no introduction, except perhaps to its Portuguese name, abacaxi (pronounced abakatchi). Abacaxi is delicious no matter how you slice it. I have to confess, I've shied away from buying whole pineapples in the past, because I'm lazy and pre-sliced pineapple is usually readily available. But that ain't me no more, because now I know it takes minutes or less to peel and slice one of these babies into a delicious afternoon snack. And talk about versatile: Put a few pieces on your ham pizza and call it Hawaiian. Slice it up and layer it on the bottom of your cake pan before you pour in the batter -- in about 30 minutes at 350°F you'll have a classic retro dessert. Throw a couple of chunks into a blender with some coconut cream and a shot (or two) of rum and you have a piña colada. That's my kind of fruit.

It's also quite photogenic, don't you think?
UFF Fruit Rating:

P.S. Today's FotD is for Kajal, who loves abacaxi and has a photo exhibit tomorrow night in NYC! If you're in town and want to see some kickass photos for the low low cost of free (including wine and snacks!) check out her blog for the deets.

Solstice

Not only is today my birthday, here in the Southern Hemisphere, it's the first day of winter. I have to say, I could get used to having a winter birthday if I get to celebrate in flip-flops on the beach. Today Ken introduced me to one of Brazil's celebrated culinary treats: Cheese on the beach. It's the best thing ever. People walk along the beach carrying a little charcoal grill and a tupperware container full of pieces of cheese on skewers. For around a dollar they'll sprinkle oregano on the cheese and grill it up over the hot coals (somehow, like the provoleta we love so much in Argentina, it doesn't melt into a gooey mess). Voilà: a delicious salty treat that you don't even have to worry about getting sandy.

Today's FotD is the coco verde, or green coconut. On our daily strolls through Barra we pass at least half a dozen fruit stands, and all sell coco verde for under $1 (usually closer to 50¢, which is what we paid). The vendors use a big machete (is there such a thing as a small machete?) to level the bottom of the coconut and neatly cut a hole in the top into which you stick a straw to drink the coconut water. It is mild and a little bit sweet and very refreshing, and makes the perfect drink with which to toast birthdays or solstices or the simple fact that you are drinking coconut water right out of a coconut.

UFF Fruit Rating:

Relax'd

I like Salvador.

It's easy here. I've been wearing flip-flops around because it's impossible to walk fast in flip-flops, and also, everyone's sporting a pair of Havaianas here, when they're wearing shoes at all. When in Rome, you know. I don't speak any Portuguese except to say thank you, and it doesn't matter, because everyone is smiling and patient and happy. I suspect that living in a place with a daily high around 25°C in the winter will do that to a person.

Today's FotD is the manga rosa (pink mango). I'm sure you recognize her! I was kind of hoping that this mango would be pink inside, but it looks a lot like its cousin, if only slightly smaller. It cost less than 50¢, and was everything I want in a mango: colourful, sweet, and oh-so-juicy. I could eat one of these every day, and in fact, I probably will while we're here!
UFF Fruit Rating:

Fruit of the Day: Cajú

We arrived in Brazil on Wednesday evening, just in time to drink a caipirinha before the bar at the hostel closed. Yesterday we explored our neighbourhood, Barra, and picked up some fruit at the grocery store. The fruit here is insanely fresh and cheap - we bought a quarter watermelon for about 75¢, and a green coconut (that a dude on the street will hack open and stick a straw in for you) is about the same.

This is a cajú, which you might know as cashew. Did you know cashew nuts grew like that? Me neither! With only one nut per fruit, it's no wonder cashews are so expensive. The cajú was pretty cheap (around 40¢ each), but the fruit itself had a weirdly chalky/dry texture, and I wouldn't buy it again. This morning, however, we had cajú juice, and it was delicious.
UFF Fruit Rating:

Because It's Summer Somewhere

Back in mid-February after a particularly grueling week of freezing temps in the NYC, I announced to Ken that I'd had enough of winter.

He gently reminded me that I'd signed up for another one, in the Southern Hemisphere, at which point we pulled up a map of South America and decided that we would head north to Salvador, Brazil, for the winter. (Really, it's colder in Buenos Aires now: 55°F/12°C during the day, and often close to freezing at night. Great for running, but so is the beach, right?)


Not a moment too soon, either, as on Monday we learned that you can order ice cream and have it delivered to your doorstep in about 20 minutes. That is all kinds of dangerous.

1000 Awesome Things

I'm packing, which you know from many previous posts I love more than anything, if by "love" you mean "hate."

Today's internet procrastination is brought to you by a site called 1000 Awesome Things, that you should go look at. Then come back here tomorrow for updates, and also an awesome graphic (of which I am quite proud).

Hello, Bread.

Hello, Bread., originally uploaded by Kitty LaRoux.

Last night we went back to ¿Dónde me trajiste? so that I could eat this bread again. I mean, come on, wouldn't you?

Palermo Soho

Palermo Soho
Originally uploaded by Kitty LaRoux.

There's a lot of really great graffiti in our neighbourhood, not to mention the colourful doors and walls. As always, more pics on Flickr...

Besotees y Una Puerta Cerrada

One of my most favourite things about Buenos Aires is that everyone kisses everyone here. It's like a handshake or a casual wave, only it's always a cheek-kiss; right-cheeks, please. And absolutely everyone does it, everywhere, to say both hello and goodbye. At the gym, big muscly guys greet each other with a kiss. It's how I say hi to my trainer, Adrián. (I'm not complaining; it's the closest I'm going to get to making out with a 24-year-old again in this lifetime.) When we had our party a couple of weeks ago, whenever someone new showed up, it took him or her 10 minutes to make their way around the room, smooching everyone up. Just this week, I went to a spinning class*, and as I was setting up my bike the instructor came over and greeted me with a kiss. And our really really awesome Spanish teacher, Sofía, signs all her emails "un besote". Beso = kiss, and besotee is a littleBIG BIG kiss (per Sofía, who just corrected me on this important matter) - which happens to be my favourite kind.

On Wednesday we went to dinner with Sofía and a bunch of other teachers and students from her school. The "restaurant" at which we dined is a puerta cerrada or closed-door restaurant, a phenomenon pretty common here in Bs.As. It's like going to a dinner party that you pay for (the restaurant is really someone's apartment). Usually a puerta cerrada restaurant is only open 2-3 nights/week, and is by reservation only. In fact, when we visited Bs.As. in 2007 we dined at an excellent puerta cerrada called Casa Felix that had just then been noted in the NYTimes.

Anyway, on Wednesday we went to ¿Dónde me trajiste? which translates to "Where did you bring me?" - so named because the restaurant/apartment is on a quiet street and doesn't have any signs outside to indicate that you might be in the right place. We had a lovely meal of red-pepper and eggplant bruschetta (served on the bread of my dreams, seriously, if I ever find the source of that bread I will need more than spinning classes to save me), homemade pasta with a rich olivey sauce, and a panqueque (crêpe) filled with apples and served with perfectly-whipped cream. We were treated to the guitar-and-vocal stylings of Tango not for export con la Orquesta Onírica, and their invited guest, Pablo Fayó.

All this, with wine and fellowship, ran us only 50 pesos (around $15) each! Oh, and totally worth the cost of entry was sitting beside Ceci (one of Sofía's co-teachers) and learning that her best friend (also named Ceci - confused yet?) lives in - get ready! - WATERLOO. Yes, that Waterloo. El mundo es chico, indeed.

*I actually went to 5 spinning classes this week (dig my bad self!), which was a direct result of Adrián making me weigh myself on Monday morning. Let's just say, I guess it doesn't matter how many vegetables you eat if you slather them in dulce de leche.

P.S. Having my own puerta cerrada, wherever we may end up, is my current #1 dream. Dare I say goal? OK, I'm going to say it. It's my #1 goal. Hello, Universe!

The Recap Post

I can count on one hand the number of rainy days we've had since arriving in Buenos Aires, and today is one of them. Our cleaning service comes on Saturdays around 11, and this morning when they arrived I reluctantly pulled myself out of bed to join Ken at one of our favourite local bars for breakfast. After breakfast we parted ways, and as I walked to the grocery store I found myself wanting to just go home and drink mate.

In just over two months we've stopped dreading leaving the apartment for fear that someone will ask us a question. We've changed our default language settings on our computers to be in Spanish. Our personal training sessions are almost all in Castellano, and we've both read books and magazines in Spanish. (I even have a favourite Argentine mag, OHLALÁ!.) Using our mad Spanglish skillz, I've taken a cooking class and Ken has played Ultimate frisbee. We've even made enough new friends to have a party.

We've more-or-less stopped going out for dinner at 7 p.m. (when we need to eat that early, which we still mostly do, we cook at home). We figured out where to buy cheap eggs and chicken, and now have empanadas-on-demand at home. We've even deciphered the grocery store coupon system well enough that we save 15% on our grocery bill every couple of weeks. We've gone to a couple of wine-tastings that were conducted completely in Castellano, and weren't completely baffled. We're getting over our timidness about disputing erroneous charges at bars and restaurants, and yesterday after the tech came to fix our internet, we even argued in Spanish about whether we should have to pay.

I still struggle with what to do with all this free time. While I've been taking more pictures and cooking/baking more, I've also been watching a lot of old Veronica Mars episodes, then worrying about whether I'm spending my time productively enough. When I thought about that this week, I wondered if what I should really consider is letting myself be still, without trying to do and go all the time.

Luckily, I have time to try that to see how it fits.

Southern Exposure

Some of my photos have been making their way around the interwebs!

Norma, who taught me how to make grandma-worthy empanadas (are you sick of hearing about that yet? Hee) last weekend, has updated her flyer to include some pictures I took during the class:


Valeria, another of Norma's students, runs a service called Spare Rooms Buenos Aires to help n00bs to the city find a room to sublet during their stay. Great idea! She also has a blog with info for foreigners, and last week added a couple of photos from our trip with Adrián to the parrilla a few weeks ago.

More pics in our Buenos Aires Collection on Flickr.

Party Time! Excellent!

I used to gauge how "settled" I felt in a new city by how long it took me to find a reliable catsitter - not someone I was paying, but someone I considered enough of a friend to entrust with a set of keys and the feeding of my beloved furry orange beast. Since said beast is living the life in Canada these days, we had to figure out a new measure of successful integration here in Buenos Aires, so we decided to host a little fiesta for Ken's birthday (which is on Tuesday, should you want to send small-yet-expensive gifts). We've only been here for two months, so a not-insignificant portion of our guest list involved Spanish teachers.

Parties and other outings here in Bs.As. start late: Ken recently found an ad for a club that on Tuesday nights has free admission until - get ready! - 2:30 a.m. But let's face it, I'm old, and accustomed to going to sleep before the sun comes up. I still prefer to think of 4 a.m. as something that exists *in theory* and I don't feel any particular need to experience it for myself. We compromised with a 10 p.m. start time, which of course meant that at 10:05 I was convinced that nobody was going to show up. I needn't have worried: Ken is well-liked here in the Southern Hemisphere and by 11:30 we had an apartment full of people from Argentina, Mexico, Peru, the U.S. and Canada (holla!) eating empanadas as good as an Argentine grandma's and speaking Spanglish, my current favourite language.

Around 3 a.m., when there were just a handful of guests remaining, we convinced Ken to break out his guitar and play some of the Argentine folk and tango he's learned since we arrived. And I guess the traditional birthday rum cake (made with Cuban rum!) worked out just fine, because there wasn't even a slice left for breakfast this morning. I'll have to settle for an alfajor. Tough life, indeed.

Empanada Cred

Tonight we had a party for Ken's birthday. More on that later, but for now, you should know, a guy from Buenos Aires told me that my empanadas, i.e., the empanadas I made, reminded him of his grandma's.

His. Grandma's.

Really, does it get any better than that?

Cooking the Argentine Way

I love food. I love reading about food (including reading cookbooks and recipes), I love watching cooking shows on TV and instructional cooking videos¹ on the interwebs, I love food preparation from chopping to sautéeing, and I love baking. I am also passionate about eating. In short, food is my favourite hobby, and having a year sabbatical I have been hoping to spend more time on this hobby. So far I've mostly focused on the eating part (see: +1.5 kg). Aside from one (successful) foray into the world of empanadas a few weeks ago, I hadn't cooked any traditional Argentine fare until yesterday, when I attended the lovely and talented Norma Soued's Argentine cooking class.

Before we moved to Buenos Aires I searched² for cooking classes, but only found classes taught in English and geared to tourists (read: expensive). A few weeks ago when I was perusing Craigslist³ I came across Norma's ad. I wrote to her to ask for more information about the class, and to confirm that she would, in fact, teach in Castellano⁴. Yesterday I went to her sunny apartment in Belgrano to learn how to make empanadas, guiso de lentejas (lentil stew), and alfajores.

I was very excited about the alfajores, as the only recipe I have seen for these delicious treats was in a Martha Stewart magazine, and it was insanely complicated (surprise surprise). I'm pretty sure it involved milking your own cow to make the dulce de leche.

Norma's class was great. She and the other student, Valeria, both speak English fluently, but since I really wanted to practice my Spanish they graciously (and patiently) agreed to speak Castellano. (Patience, for real: My brain on Spanish is Windows 98 on a 386.) We prepared all three dishes together, and everything was very well explained and hands-on. When we finished cooking, we enjoyed the delicious delicious fruits of our labour with a glass of red wine in Norma's beautiful dining room.

Taking a cooking class was a great way to further my burgeoning Spanish skillz, and happily I am now all set to make empanadas and alfajores⁵ for Ken's birthday shenanigans next weekend!

P.S. Norma also offers a Middle-Eastern cooking class that you can read all about over on her blog. I haven't taken it yet but if I do, you'll be the first to know.

¹ Before I made empanadas the first time, I watched a bunch of videos on YouTube to figure out the technique of sealing the empanada called La Repulgue. In my searches I came across this empanada video that is totally worth 6 1/2 minutes of your time if you like things that are awesome.

² I have since searched en español and found many more schools and classes that I'm interested in. Hooray!

³ Craigslist isn't so huge here. Most of the postings are for bars showing NBA games.

⁴ Latin American Spanish. Castellano:Español = English:British

⁵ Some alfajores will be filled with jam, because Ken doesn't like dulce de leche. I KNOW. [Candace: This is what is wrong with him.]

Cost of Living

30 Pesos
Originally uploaded by Kitty LaRoux.

In an effort to lose the 1.5 kg I've gained since we moved to this fair city, I now stop regularly at the verduleria (veggie stand) after I go to the gym. This morning's haul included 2 avocados, 2 grapefruits, 2 red peppers, a shredded salad (I like to mix that with balsamic vinegar, salt & pepper, and a little chimichurri powder, and throw a boiled egg on top for lunch), 1/2 kilo of cherry tomatoes, 1/4 kilo of green olives, 6 bananas, and the hugest bunch of broccoli I've ever seen. The grand total was 30 pesos, or around $8US.

While beef is super cheap here (we can get 2 T-Bone steaks for around 12 pesos, or $3.50), chicken and eggs at the grocery store are pricey (we've seen eggs at upwards of 20 pesos, or $6, per dozen). On Saturday we passed through a very small farmer's market in Plaza Armenia with a booth selling various meats. They had boneless skinless chicken breasts for 16 pesos/kilo ($2/lb) and 30 eggs at the bargain-basement price of 10 pesos (less than $3).

We have instituted a Sunday brunch tradition of steak-and-eggs, which means our cholesterol levels are rising proportionally to the happiness of our taste buds.

Cinco de Mayo

For The Soul
Originally uploaded by Kitty LaRoux.

We spent the weekend in Mar del Plata, and on the 5 1/2 hour bus ride there we both caught colds. I spent most of Friday tilting my head awkwardly in an attempt to clear out at least part of one nostril through which to breathe. Saturday we located some psuedoephedrine, which helped matters greatly.

In other news, we left our Spanish school that was in the Centro (a neighbourhood that's more or less Manhattan's midtown--read: crowded, unfun). We now have a private tutor (Sofía) with whom we are both slightly enamoured. The lessons are fun: Yesterday we made up a whole story about a lawyer named "Mauricio" who used to be a hippie, and today we played the Spanish version of "Clue"!

And tonight, in honour of Cinco de Mayo and our waning illnesses, I cooked us up some Chicken Soup with Lime and Avocado.

Finally, I've started running again. Hooray for me! I ran an 8k race two weeks ago and finished in around 47 minutes. I have a few more 10k races lined up, and I've started training regularly with two lovely American expats who will be here to keep me going for at least another month or two.

Learning the Ropes, Again

When our afternoon Spanish class finishes, we usually go to a restaurant two doors down from school for café con leche and medialunas, and lately I've noticed just how tired I feel at that time of day. More often than not, I want to scrap any ideas either of us has had for the evening and go home to our apartment to read or watch a movie. This afternoon, though, I had non-negotiable errands to run: I had a notice to pick up a package at the post office, and since it's right beside the main bus terminal (Retiro), I was also going to buy bus tickets for our planned weekend excursion to Mar del Plata (the beach!). Ken was off to watch a soccer match, so after our afternoon coffee I was on my own.

These errands were really no big deal. I have picked up dozens of packages and purchased a whole bunch of tickets in my day. But doing these things in Spanish is a whole different ball game. Before I say anything to anyone, I have to think carefully about the words, the pronunciation, the conjugation of verbs. (I've already sent one email about meeting someone to go running in which I wrote, "I will wear an orange shirt. Maybe I can look for me?") I try to smile and be friendly, but I'm also hyperaware that I don't look (or speak!) like a porteña and those things make me feel vulnerable, so I also try to look confident, and like I know what I'm doing. Ref: Elle Woods.

In short, I get all anxious. And sweaty. And all that anxiety and sweat are exhausting.

I wondered today if I felt this way, this *tired*, when I first moved to New York, and I think the answer is yes, I think I did. I probably went home from work and watched TV with a glass of wine and sometimes my boyfriends Ben & Jerry dropped by. And maybe that lasted for a month or two before I started to feel more comfortable exploring that particular city, before I felt comfortable with New York's own foreign language of subway maps and taxi drivers and giant inflatable rats.

This afternoon at the post office, I successfully retrieved the package, which was was a box of FIVE, count 'em, FIVE, different varieties of chocolate chips, compliments of Candace. I don't know if increased happiness implies better language skills, but I'm pretty sure that super-thoughtful box of chocolatefriendship from Wisconsin helped me successfully purchase our bus tickets as well.

And starting next week, I plan to distract people from my misplaced pronouns with superior chocolate chip cookies.

Our Imminent Downfall

A couple of weeks ago, Ken and I passed by a restaurant/bar on the busy corner of Santa Fe and Juan B. Justo, about a 15 minute walk from our apartment. We were captivated by the outside counter with its window looking into the kitchen and three little stools, on one of which sat a guy drinking a litre of Quilmes under a sign advertising choripán for 4 pesos. Ken expressed our mutual sentiment best when he said, "I want to go to there." Moments later, we too were sitting at the window, doing our Spanish homework and enjoying a 10-peso litre of beer served by a sexy porteña. We've been back a few times since, and now when we walk in, our lovely porteña brings over our beer and two frosty mugs without us uttering even a word of broken Spanish. We don't even know if the restaurant has a name - we just call it the place on the esquina (corner).

When we stopped in tonight after school I noticed one of the guys working there was making a sign that read, "Lunes-Jueves, Quilmes 4x1." I immediately reported the sighting to Ken.

G: Do you think it could really be? 4 for 1 beer?
K: Four days per week? That's insane.
G: I know, but that's what the sign said! Go look at it.

He went to the washroom and came back a few minutes later.

K: Yeah. That's what it says.
G: So... that would be 4 litres of beer for 10 pesos? That's better than the grocery store.
K: Yes. It's better than the grocery store.
G: And someone serves it to you in frosty glasses, AND you get peanuts?
K: Wait, that's insane. That's like... 4 litres of beer for under $3. That's 70¢ per litre. That's 35¢ per pint.
G: ...Go ask them if that's what it really means.

A few persuasive words later he went to ask if the deal really was that good.

K: So... I think it means 4 for 1. Litres.
G: Four litres. For 10 pesos. Are you sure?
K: Well, I asked, "Four of what?" And she said litres. And the guy looked at me like, "Yeah, it's nuts right? But that's what it is."
G: This place just got four times better!
K: Too bad we didn't know about this deal when Frenchy and Dutchy were here. We would have saved a lot of money.
G: Or been a lot drunker.

That Cat Sure Can Type

Memphis here---sending you an update on the state of the union. I'm getting along quite well except for those confounded DOGS. They really don't go after me it's just that I can't help swatting at them if they come anywhere near and then that little brat Duke really goes after me. Oh well it adds a little spice to the day. Otherwise things are going along tickety boom. Get fed in time, poop tray cleaned times two per day, played with on the chair, threatened with a swat if I try to push my way out the door, brushed every day. [don't know where this different type came from but it's kinda purdy] S is very chuffed re having wheels and is enjoying every minute. So my dears I gotta go and see if I can figure out how to send this epistle to you. love you and miss you MEMPHIS

Read Memphis' last update.

P.S. These Memphis updates are my favourite thing ever.

Saturday Afternoon

Saturday Afternoon
Originally uploaded by Kitty LaRoux.

This afternoon I walked around our neighbourhood, enjoying the sunshine and feeling intensely grateful for all the experiences we've had here so far. I also went to the Botanical Garden to pet the cats.

We've Moved!

Amidst all the weekend festivities, we also moved down the hall into a sweet apartment that is approx. 3x the size of our old place, has many windows, a bedroom, a bidet (!), and--get ready!--NO ROACHES! Woo! Pics on Facebook.

P.S. Come visit!

The 12th Player

BOCA JUNIORS X CRUZEIRO (LA 12)
Originally uploaded by LUCHO :9.

On Saturday between Meatfest 2009 and meeting friends for dinner (I honestly don't think I've ever been *less* hungry before a meal), Ken and I were in our natural habitat: lying on bed and surfing the internets. We'd just heard from another expat friend that he'd scored coveted tickets to the Boca Juniors-River Plate football match at the Bonbonera on Sunday, and Ken had fan-envy. The UK Observer lists this match as the #1 sporting thing you must do before you die and here we were, a short bus ride away from the stadium, sin tickets. So he did what any capitalist-loving American would do: Hit up Craigslist for people selling tickets at exorbitant mark-ups.

A few emails later, Ken received a call from an English-speaking guy (Martin) to tell us that his (non-English-speaking) friend, Uli, had tickets for sale at 500 pesos each. They arranged for an exchange the next morning, wherein Uli would come to our apartment on his motorcycle and give us the tickets and we would give him half a months' rent. I was... suspicious. I agreed to play bad cop and called Martin back to ask him how we'd know the tickets were real. He sounded nice, I guess, and sincere, and he said, "Oh, they're real, don't worry. My friend is a member of the... I don't remember the word in English, but it's the guys who are the fighters, you know, the fan section?" I hung up feeling OK about the transaction, and a few minutes later Martin texted Ken with: "hooligan. thats the word, haha- enjoy-"

I was not reassured.

We'd both read much about the dangers of attending a Boca game; about how the fans were just crazy and that a couple of years ago at this same match some fans were shot. We'd read not to bring more cash than we'd need and to leave our cameras at home. When we mentioned to our porteño friends on Saturday night that we might go, the general reaction was, "Es muy peligroso" ("it's very dangerous").

Later Saturday night Ken emailed Martin to ask him more about the logistics of the game - how we'd get in, etc. The response:

I just talked to Uli and in case you end up not understanding each other tomorrow morning he wanted you to know that if interested (cause some people are obviously not ) he'll be meeting all ticket buyers at a McDonald's in Almirante Brown St. & García Av. ( this is a few blocks away from the stadium) to get everybody inside using his friend's van. I know this might sound scary since you don't know him yet, but that's just why; I'm sure you'll end up really liking him tomorrow when you meet up.

He was right: Giving someone 1000 pesos then meeting him in a McDonald's parking lot to get in his friend's van DID sound scary since we didn't know him yet.

Uli showed up at our apartment at 9 a.m., as promised. Ken gave him 1000 pesos for the tickets which we then learned was a mere SEVENTEEN TIMES the face-value of 30 pesos. He gave Ken advice on what to wear to the game (Boca colours: blue or yellow) and what not to wear: jewelry or anything that looked Richie. Since we we'd spent mucho dinero to go to the game and weren't even sure if the tickets were real, we figured, what the hell, and decided to meet him at McDonald's. On the way to the bus I said to Ken, "Do you think we should have called our parents?" He laughed nervously in response.

We arrived in the parking lot at noon sharp, waited for about an hour, and even tried to call Uli to no avail. Finally, we walked to the stadium.

The first line (well, crowd) we ended up in was for members of the club only, and we made it to the entrance only to find out that we were in the wrong place. We walked another couple of blocks, past a few choripán stands and dudes selling empanadas for 1 peso (about 27¢!) until we found the line for people with tickets only. The crowd there was calm and we passed security without incident. We found our gate and climbed into the stands to learn that the general admission seats were not actually seats - just a bunch of steps that we'd stand on for the game. We crammed in with the other fans and watched the reserve players scrimmage for about an hour until the game started.

The game start was one of the most phenomenal things either of us has ever witnessed. Just before the players came onto the field, people near us were handing out wads of torn newspaper which we would later throw as confetti. In the stands directly across from us was the Jugador N^o 12 - the fans who are the 12th player (the team has 11 players on the field at any time). It was fandom beyond any that I've ever seen, with giant banners and flags and amazing, contagious chanting and drumming. We didn't bring a camera but there are lots of photos online that capture the energy of this section. Toward the end of halftime blue and yellow balloons were distributed in our section, and as the second half began we released them into the air (and onto the field).

Boca scored in the second half, and the crowd's reaction was indescribable, and that, along with the festivities that opened the game, made the experience well-worth the money we'd spent. Unfortunately, River Plate answered with a quick goal and the game ended in a draw, which might actually have been for the best in terms of our safety walking back to San Telmo to catch our bus.

Carne Times

Vegetarians, caveat emptor: This post contains a lot of meat.

A few weeks ago at the gym, our trainer, Adrián, proposed a trip with us and our friends Dave and Mersal to what he deemed the "best parrilla [grill/BBQ] in the universe." Of course I agreed that Ken and I would love to go; after all, who am I to argue with a porteño about meat? (It didn't hurt that he also said that we wouldn't have to count any food we ate at the parrilla. Free calories!)

The parrilla in question was Los Talas del Entrerrianos, located about 45 minutes from our neighbourhood. Adrián arranged for a taxi to drive us there and wait while we consumed copious amounts of meat. Los Talas started out as a choripán stand for labourers and grew into a huge, comfortable restaurant that feels kind of like an Oktoberfest tent. Apparently all of the meat at Los Talas comes from their own estancia (ranch).

We started with house-made chorizo sausage, then ordered the lechón, or suckling pig. It's the specialty of the house, and it was beyond delicious. We sampled some of the crispy skin of the pig (which Adrián called the "galleta" or cookie) - it was crispy and salty and very, very yummy. The chicken was the best I've had so far in Buenos Aires - cooked just perfectly to be tender and juicy all the way through. We shared an order of mochillas (sweetbreads), then moved onto the beef: vacío (flank steak) and asado. While asado refers to roasting or barbecue in general, it's also used to describe a cut of meat (short ribs or spareribs).

Suffice to say we were pretty much sweating meat by the end of the meal. The ol' meat sweats didn't stop us, however, from sharing a couple of desserts, and we managed to squeeze some ice cream into our bellies somewhere between the pork and the spareribs. I swear the taxi groaned a bit when we piled back in for the drive home.

More pics on Flickr.

El Mejor Estudiante De La Clase

Since we started Spanish classes four weeks ago (minus a weeklong Easter holiday), our class size has dwindled: The first week, there were eight students, and the second week we were down to five. We started this week with only three, but the third student was only in class on Monday and so for the rest of the week Ken and I had Alejandro all to ourselves. We both, but especially Ken, became much more comfortable speaking in such a small group.

To mark the end of our third week of classes, yesterday we had our first exam. I've been (very gently) teasing Ken all week for making flash cards for his iPhone, and generally nerding out about (read: studying for) the test, but guess who got perfect?



¡BRAVO! indeed! ¡Qué bellisimo! I got 88, and next time I'm going to give him a run for his dineros.

Belated Easter Greetings

¡Hola amigos! As life settles down here in Buenos Aires and we feel more like we're living here and less like we're on vacation, I've become a bit remiss in my blogging. I've invited Ken to join the festivities here at UFF as a contributor, but as he has yet to put pen to paper, so to speak, you're stuck with me. Suckas.

As last Sunday was Easter and I have latent Catholicism, I'd planned to attend Mass. However, we spent Saturday evening with the aforementioned Frenchy and Dutchy (aka The Europeans) and on Sunday morningafternoon when I woke up I was in no shape to be awake, which is usually a requirement, at least to get to a church. Also, Mass was over. So we leisurely started our day with oatmeal and coffee, and just after 1 p.m. Audrey called to tell us they wanted to go to the Feria de Mataderos, which I'd mentioned the night before as a possible Sunday activity.

Against all odds (odds that included hangovers and miscommunicated meeting places) we managed to meet the Europeans at the Retiro train station and find the bus that would take us to the feria (market). It was about an hour from the city centre. Once we arrived and found our way into the market we were not disappointed. In addition to the usual market stalls, there was a large group of Argentine folk singers, and another group of folk dancers who looked like they were having a grand time. We watched them for a while, then continued our tour to find a gaucho horse racing contest called Carerra de Sortija, or the Race of the Ring. The Buenos Aires Argentina Guide describes the race:

Gauchos race their horses at breakneck speeds towards a small ring hung onto a raised metal frame overhead. The gauchos stand up in their stirrups as they race, and try to spear the ring, which is no larger than a normal piece of jewelry, with a small pointy stick.

See the little pen-like thing in this guy's hand?He was trying to put that through a ring about the size of a keychain that was hanging just above his head as he galloped by. Not only did some of the cowboys actually achieve this feat, we didn't see one person fall off his horse!

Despite all this excitement, the best part of the day, and maybe of our whole time in Buenos Aires so far, was our chance wandering into a restaurant beside the market. As we were walking by we noticed a couple of guys playing guitars inside, and since we were looking for a place to eat, we thought it might be a good bet. The place was pretty full but the waitress found us a table at the back, and we sat for hours listening to the most beautiful Argentine folkloric music. To top it all off, a litre of beer cost a mere 10 pesos (about 2.72USD/3.28CAD). I'm not sure the short video I took will do the music justice. The main performer had both amazing guitar skills and a powerful, operatic voice, and he was joined in rotation by other people in the bar. The guy who we think was the head honcho welcomed us openly and tried to explain the meanings of the lyrics to us (pain, love, and imprisonment were amongst the themes). He even insisted that we pose for a photo!

Finally, I can assure you that this guy's reaction was not representative of the rest of the crowd: He'd obviously just been taking advantage of the 10-peso beers.

A Frenchy, a Dutchy, an American, and a Canadian Walk Into a Bar

During our first two weeks of Spanish classes we had the pleasure of meeting Audrey, a woman from France who is traveling with her Dutch boyfriend, Eric. (When they're not touring the globe they both live in Amsterdam.) We had dinner with them one night a couple of weeks ago and got home at 4 a.m. Since then we've shared countless* bottles of Quilmes, stories about our homes and native lands, and maybe one or two pizzas calabresas. Audrey and Eric are leaving Buenos Aires tomorrow to continue their travels into Uruguay, and last night I convinced Eric to retell his story about ordering a cheeseburger in France. With Audrey's permission, of course.



*On Saturday night we put down 15L of beer. I think they're trying to kill us.

Merienda

The honeymoon is, as they say, over, at least when it comes to enjoying delicious Argentine foods like steak, empanadas, choripan, and provoleta. This afternoon when I put my jeans on I noticed that eating so much beef over the last few weeks has caused me to develop some beef of my own. On my thighs.

Both Ken & I have professed to wanting to lose weight, and today, our trainer Adrián sent us a spreadsheet to keep track of what we eat. The spreadsheet has space for meals and snacks:

Desayuno (breakfast)
Snack
Almuerzo (lunch)
Snack
Merienda
Snack
Cena (dinner)
Snack

As soon as Ken looked over the spreadsheet, his eyes lit up. "Oh! Merienda! What is this?" A few seconds passed, then he read joyously, "'Merienda is a midday meal had in Spain around 5:30 p.m. to fill in the meal gap between lunch at 2:00 p.m. and dinner at 9:00 p.m.' I am going to like merienda!"

I'm not sure this spreadsheet is actually going to help us.

Steak & Eggs

A day that starts out with this breakfast - at 2 p.m., no less - can't be all bad, now, can it?

No Entiendo

Last night after sharing a few chunks of bife de lomo, a bottle of wine, and several (read: about 10) litres of beer with a couple of new friends from school, we hopped in a cab in San Telmo to get back to our neighbourhood. Full of liquid courage, I decided to try to carry on a conversation with the taxista (driver). At first it was going OK - he asked where we were from, and told us about a few places he's been in the States. He spoke very quickly and I was having some trouble hearing him from the backseat, so at one point I asked him to speak more slowly so I could understand.

The taxista said 2 or 3 words at a slower pace then sped right back up. I listened as intently as I could (it wasn't easy, being both meat- and beer-drunk) and mostly tried to pick out words that were important for me to my end of the conversation, like "dónde" or "por qué." Ken & I took turns participating in the conversation, because I really didn't understand most of it, and saying, "No entiendo" ("I don't understand") over and over gets old fast. I guess it didn't go too badly because by the time we were back in Palermo the driver (Hugo) was playing his favourite tango CDs for us and even gave us his business card so that we could email him if we had any questions about Buenos Aires.

At least, I think that's why he gave it to us.