C’est la Vie or “Es la Vida”

Buenos Aires life runs at a different pace than in the United States. In the U.S., North Americans focus on all of the “rules” that dictate daily life, and things often go as planned. For instance, stores open at 9 a.m. sharp and don’t take afternoon siestas; cashiers have the correct change; waiters jump to attention at any customer flinch; and food ordered for delivery usually arrives in a half hour. Here, I prepare for the unexpected and learn to move with what turns up.

Sinful Dulce de Leche

The day I ordered this concoction, I mistakenly thought my friend had ordered food. I ordered a dessert with the thought that if I ordered too, she would not feel singled out eating alone. After I received his dessert fit for a princess, I found out that she had decided against ordering. That was how I ended up eating this decadent flan with crema and dulce de leche sauce. And she would not even accept one bite!

Simplicity

Veronica’s family wraps the free range eggs in newspaper–six per bundle.

I love the spare simplicity of the packaging.

Golden

Leaves litter the sidewalks now–golden and curled. The scuttle of dried leaves even scared the tender greyhound I walked today. As I dashed through them, chasing after the lithe hound on my leash, the leaves brought to mind part of one of my favorite poems by Marvin Bell, “These Green Going to Yellow”–

This year,
I’m raising the emotional ante,
putting my face
in the leaves to be stepped on,
seeing myself among them, that is;
that is, likening
leaf-vein to artery, leaf to flesh,
the passage of a leaf in autumn
to the passage of autumn,
branch-tip and winter spaces
to possibilities, and possibility

Apartment porters repeat a ritual each day–washing the sidewalks in the morning and sweeping the leaves all afternoon. The smoke seems to have dissipated and the air is becoming fresh, fresco, one of my favorite words. The city is beginning to absorb me more each day. To me, there is no season as welcoming as fall.

Sirop Restaurant

Some expat friends and I met in Recoleta to chat over lunch last week. We stumbled into Sirop Restaurant at Vicente Lopez 1661. It is a lovely bistro, and I highly recommend grabbing a bite or enjoying a dessert there.

Pastries appear to be Sirop’s specialty. For an appetizer, my friends and I shared a plate of mini amuses–hot dates stuffed with manchego, green olives centrally nestled in buttery, hot pastry, and mini basil pizzas.

The menu was varied for meat and non-meat eaters. I ordered eggplant- and ricotta-filled raviolis with a sauce of butter, giant capers, and cherry tomatoes. It was delicious, and just the right portion for lunch. The pasta was fresh and al dente. The capers were warm with briny flavor. 

My friend R. let me try a bite of her goat cheese and tomato quiche and it tasted perfectly Parisian. The crust was sublime–flaky and buttery. I am certain to order the quiche next time. (A note for the menu–Argentines call a quiche ”tarta.”) Everyone shared a decadent slice of dulce de leche and chocolate ganache for dessert, concluding our conversations with cafe con leche.

The ambiance was quaint and warm. Sirop’s seats are sea foam green, banquette style, and the walls are pastel pinks and oranges. The French first lady, Carla Bruni, sang romantic ballads as a background to our conversation.

While the cost is higher than I would usually pay during the work week, I consider the offerings, tastes, and surroundings well worth it. Sirop calls itself a “Resto, Tea Corner, and Pasteleria.”

www.siroprestaurant.com
Recoleta - 4813-5900

Valzhyna Mort

Please indulge me in some non-Buenos Aires related news. One of my friends, an enormously talented and humble poet named Valzhyna, has a new book entitled Factory of Tears. Her second book of poetry was published by my all-time favorite press, the well respected Copper Canyon.

The press has published some of my writing “mentors” and deep imagist poets such as W.S. Merwin, Marvin Bell, and Pablo Neruda.

Valzhyna is from Belarus and writes in Belarusian. Her work is emphatic–her words are sparse, clipped, and click to the tongue. I firmly believe she is one of our generation’s best young writers and can’t wait to see what’s in store for her. The writer Franz Wright is translating her work.

City of Smoke

On Wednesday late evening, I looked out my window and saw smoke. The city never ceases to surprise me. I thought I was imagining things, to see a thick and sulpherous cloud in the courtyard, but it’s just pollution. Farmers are burning off their fields outside the city for bovine grazing. We get to experience the burn-off first hand.

Before my classes, I buy a small cup of coffee from a senora on Avenida 25 de Mayo. She sells medialunas and coffee from thermoses of questionable origin. 

“What do you think of the smoke?” she asked. “I feel sorry for the babies–the ninos,” she told me, “This can’t be good for anyone’s respiratory system.”

Guardian.co.uk site states:

“This is the largest fire of this kind we’ve ever seen,” said the interior minister, Florencio Randazzo. “It was started by farmers clearing land for cattle grazing, driven by greed for profit and with total disregard for human life.”

This quote should be considered in the context of the recent campo protests over tax hikes for farmers. The government has not come to an agreement with the farmers; thus, they may be using this situation to place the farmers in a negative light.

I went to open my patio door today to enjoy the moderate weather and realized the smoke was filling my lungs. So much for enjoying the last scraps of summer.

Photo courtesy of NASA’s Earth Observatory http://earthobservatory.nasa.gov/NaturalHazards/shownh.php3?img_id=14789

The Custom of Mate

Tomas mate? “Do you drink mate” Is a question I hear often as a norteamericana.

The photo is of a bombilla (the sifting straw) in grapefruit. The dry yerba mate (leafy substance similar to tea) sometimes has citrus added. Veronica suggested that we try the yerba mixed with the meat of the pomelo, grapefruit, from her stall.

The water can’t be boiling–that ruins the mate taste. The drink is pronounced “MahTAY.” The tradition is for one maté host/server to get a thermos ready and fill the “mate” (mate container) with hot water for each person sharing. After a person is finished, he or she passes the mate back to the server without saying gracias. “Gracias” is reserved for when a partaker is finished. (Yes–just like the polite finish to a tango!) It is difficult to get used to not saying gracias when someone gives you the mate. Some hosts add a little sugar to take the edge off the yerba. The host also replaces the yerba when it loses the flavor.

Serenade in La Boca

Tengo Suerte here. I am so very lucky. I pinch myself every day.

On Malvinas Day, Veronica had a holiday from work. We took a collectivo (bus) to La Boca, the colorful and poster ready Buenos Aires neighborhood. At the Barberia Tango Show cafe, we sat outside and watched two tango dancers strut on a small platform while a milonga singer crooned into a microphone. We were the only women around, so the singer edged close to our table and made moony eyes at us. My face turned beet red. He was trying to romance ladies for generous tips.

Our visit to La Boca wasn’t very long. There are three main streets geared toward tourists. It’s suggested that visitors stick with the busy streets. Though I saw plenty of foreigners, I was impressed by the number of locals enjoying coffee at outdoor cafes.

Much of the neighborhood is rundown and unsafe, particularly at night and during soccer matches. One of the local soccer teams, the Boca Juniors, has a stadium there called La Bombonera. While the colors and vibrancy make this barrio feel alive and pulsing, it’s clear that houses are flimsily constructed and dilapidated.

We walked through tourist gift shops and took pictures, but an hour was plenty of time to visit. We walked next to the stadium and past hordes of stray dogs scavenging the streets. Beautiful and at the same time devastating.

 

Introduction to Tango

I did not think I would be so lucky to tango while in Buenos Aires.

Tonight, I visited La Viruta with Veronica and another barrio amiga. The bar appears a dance hall for beginners, but it was probably the best place for me to learn. I can dance salsa, merengue, swing, waltz, and foxtrot. I had confided to Deby that I wondered if I was ready for the tango without experience. She responded skeptically. It may seem easy, but lessons are essential.

At La Viruta, classes start at 10:30 p.m. The first partner I had, Raphael, was a good dancer–very strict and concentrated. He counted each step in spanish, declaring, “cinco y seis” at the end of each pattern. My second partner was a weak lead. I had no idea where my steps were placed. He knocked me into other couples, and I might as well have been dancing with a broom. There was no sentiment. He called the female instructor over for help as if I were the problem. She kindly told me not to lead. Well, this wouldn’t be a problem if he were a stronger partner.