Where is the Beef?

"If you don't like steak, don't go to Argentina!"
That was Doron's advice.   When he later modified his warning to "...steak or ice-cream...", and since I like the occasional steak, I felt free to go.

Walking in Buenos Aires at lunch (noon-3), or dinner (9-midnight), it is impossible to ignore the tempting fragrance of roasting meat.  Every city-block hosts at least one Parilla (grill restaurant), and the aroma floods the sidewalks.  Eventually, you succumb to the temptation, and walk in.  The food always lived up to the promise.  Even though at times, the menu resembled a class in cow anatomy, there was no worry;  whichever cut I ordered,  I was served with a large, thick, and juicy slab, that was as good looking as it was tasty.  The meat is usually accompanied by fried potatoes and a glass of wine, and the price is very kind.

However, after enjoying Argentina's beef for a couple of weeks, I have learned two things.

1. There is only so much meat I can take.   I need at least two days of a total salad diet before I can even think about my next carnivorous meal.
2. Debbie's family BBQ recipe, prepared by either father, brother, or son, (Poor Debbie is vegetarian.) can easily stand up to any of the cuts I tasted in Argentina.

I must admit that so far, I have only eaten in neighborhood Parillas.  I am working my way up to the more famous beef joints.  If my evaluation changes, I will post an update here.

Buenos Aires Blues

Blue does not refer to my mood.  It is the soulful sound of an Uruguayan drummer, two Argentinians on acoustic base and electric guitar, and an Italian (Paolo Russo) playing the BANDEON.  These musicians, first met on the day of the performance, under the auspices of the Buenos-Aires Jazz Festival.  In an intimate brick-lined bar, they created what I would describe as Tango Blues.

The audience loved them, and so did I.  I felt really lucky for several reasons.
1.  The combination of Cool Jazz and the emotional voice of the bandeon, was great.
2.  The music was a perfect fit for our first concert in Argentina.
3.  The tasty Chardonnay was only 10 bucks per bottle (and that was the more expensive choice).
4.  The venue was less than one block away from our apartment.

As Jaime, our Oaxaca friend likes to say on such occasions, "The satisfaction of having been born"

Where Have All The Gauchos Gone?

The bus departed with a roar, and left us standing on the deserted street.  We walked to town, our footsteps ricocheting off the peeling walls, while the midday sun blazed down from a deep blue sky.  This scene may have worked well for "High Noon", but not for us.  We were in San Antonio de Areco for the "Day of Tradition", a popular gaucho festival, and expected to see a crowd of celebrating cowboys, and camera-clicking tourists, not Gary Cooper.

At our hotel, we learned that three days prior to our arrival, rains flooded the town, and the festival was cancelled.  We reminded ourselves that nomads do not dwell on the could-have-been, and ventured to the plaza.  The water has receded, and the old pulperia (general store/pub) resumed operations.  In the back patio, slabs of meat, the size of a human torso, were staked, as if in a pagan ceremony, around a smoking fire.  We settled at a shady table overlooking the river, and ordered the sirloin which, coupled with a liter of stout, quickly soothed our disappointment.

In the evening, the town provided the handful of visitors, with a sample of the cancelled event.  We watched as Martin, an incredible horse whisperer, performed an intricate and sensual, routine with his horse (Yes, he did kiss it on the mouth).  We were also taught the Chacarera, an Argentina's rural folk dance.  After the weekend, we start our Tango lessons.