Asado and Tango

This is the worst place in the to world to be a vegetarian.  

Parillas (steakhouses) on nearly every corner, the smell of asado wafting from someone's backyard.  Although it is autumn in Buenos Aires, there is always time for a barbecue, as patios and yards are I outfitted with giant rotisserie grills.  Our little charcoal Webers and oversized gas grills have nothing on the grilled meats culture here.  And bless them.  Friday night we dined at La Cabrera, which was filled with locals and tourists alike.  How best to start off the trip with our first major meal as the national pastime. We began with a beef empanada and blood sausage - morcilla - which oozed from its casing when coerced with a knife, served with a side of chimichurri.  It was one of the strangest items on the menu so of course it had to be on our plates.  This was heavenly.  More so than I had expected.  I do hope I can find this in Chicago. If you can get past the appearance, name, and texture, the taste is worth it, but this is no beginner's meal.  My ribeye arrived, along with Carrie's rump roast, served with numerous tiny sides: marinated mushrooms, mashed potatoes, salad, creamed zucchini, baby corns, pumpkin mash, sun-dried tomatoes, marinated red peppers with creme, and more chimichurri.  Spectacular.  Despite my lacking appetite and inability to consume much quantities of food in recent months, I had no problem downing my entire steak and most of the sides.  Despite the sound of the quantity of food, it wasn't American portion sizes, thank goodness.  We accompanied with a lovely bottle of DV Cabernet-Malbec blend from Mendoza and were decidedly content for our single activity of the day.  

Saturday was going to be our major power day of sightseeing, shopping, and dancing.  We navigated the subway ($.30!) to Recoleta Cemetery where BA elite rest in eternal peace.  This had the familiarity of Pompeii, with the cobblestone alleyways and aisles upon aisles of mosoleums of assorted design: baroque, art neauveau, Art Deco, classic, Greek, Egyptian.  Some tombs were broken upon, glass shattered, and some were actively attended to with fresh flowers.  Groundkeepers quarters were tiny shacks tucked between structures.  Thanks to the Rough Guide - our guidebook of choice -  we easily found our way to the tomb of Familia Duarte where Evita is laid to rest.  This cemetery was also our first encounter with other tourists.  We have noticed here the lack of Americans and lack of English speakers.  Usually there is more English spoken as a second language wherever we have traveled, but this we were more dependent on spanish than ever.  Luckily the accent isn't thick or rapid so I have and more success with comprehension and communication than usual.

We strolled through the Recoleta neighborhood en route to our next stop, nestled in a passageway of boutiques, up some back stairs, and rang a buzzer.  This is the home of Comme Il Faut, the tango shoe of note and fame.  It is one single room with the appearance of a French boudoir.  I gave the lady my shoe size and preferred heel height, and shortly nearly 20 boxes of shoes appeared on the carpet at my feet.  Yes, it is true that I just started to tango, but I've been dancing salsa for 10 years, so these shoes were going to play double duty.  Salsa shoes tend to have a shorter heel below 2.5" so I was pleased that she had 7cm/3" heels available.  The only selection available to actually see was a small glass case on the wall of their latest designs.  The rest of the shoes are tucked away in a back room, and I was at the mercy of the lady who brought out every variation of styles in my size and height.  I ended up with two amazing pairs, one in teal and red, and a spectacular pair in black suede with a silver snakeskin strap.  Two silk shoe bags and a tote and we were merrily on our way.

We happened across an English tea shop called Smetterlings on the way over so we popped back in for a spot of tea and a treat.  I have been trying to taste new things here, and although I am not a fan of caramel, I did sample the dolce de leche mousse cake that Carrie picked out.  I didn't dislike it, but sweets just aren't my style.  However, the black tea with lime hit the spot and was a nice respite from the activities of the day so far.  Onward to lunch!  Yes, we did have tea and dessert before lunch.  Whatever.  We found another parilla called La Cholita and stopped in because they had choripan on the menu.  This is chorizo split in half on bread with chimichurri.  Oh this was spectacular.  It was a must-eat on our list.  I do believe we may return for another meal, as the men next to us had ordered a slab of ribs.

After lunch our wanderings brought us to July 9th Avenue, which is considered one of the widest boulevards in the world.  We had passed the Teatro Colón opera house, then onward to the famed obelisk in the middle of the boulevard, where of course a picture was in order before it was time to head back to prepare for the next adventures of our day.

What is more Argentine than meat, wine, and tango? Our next stop brought us to Anuva Wines, a wine loft run by a man named Diego than was in the Palermo neighborhood behind an unmarked door.  It opened up to a marvelous loft with spiral stairs, a veranda, and of course a giant grill for asados.  We sampled five wines from the country: three malbecs from Mendoza, a torrentes white from Salta, and a sparkling extra brut.  All were accompanied by tapas.  Once the official tasting was complete, we were free to finish off the bottles.  And perhaps open more. The conversation really began to flow around the table with other travelers from São Paulo, Scotland, and New York.  This was an excellent sales tactic as we were properly lubricated from polishing off the bottles, so eye decided to purchase a few more and ship them back home.

Our plan for the day had been to take a quick nap after this before heading out to tango.  Back at the room I was able to snooze for about an hour while Carrie typed away on her iPad.  She isn't a night owl so this may may be a challenge for her as Buenos Aires is known to be a nocturnal city.  Although I am normally up very late on weekends, we did have an early start and this start and this may be challenge for me as well.  I grabbed a pair of my newest shoes and headed to a community center of sorts, into the basement, where we managed to find a table we had reserved earlier.  Thank goodness we did this as it was nice to have some space to claim as our own.  The evening began at 11pm with group lessons.  I didn't join in at first, but then I saw a young man standing by the wall alone because he didn't have a practice partner.  I approached him and we joined the lesson together.  He had been dancing only a couple weeks longer than I so I didn't feel as awkward as a beginner.  We changed partners a few times, I danced with a few that were more experienced than I but held up well.

At 12:30am the lessons ended and the dance floor opened up for practica, the open dance for all.  I sat back down with Carrie as we ordered a bottle of cider.  Two gentlemen next to me ask me to dance, to which I stated as a precaution that I was just learning, but one asked to save a dance for me later.  We happily sat watching the dance floor fill with dancers and marveled at them twirling around the floor.  Eventually the music changed to swing style, and another gentleman asked me to dance.  Goodness, haven't danced swing in years, but why not.  We got a couple dances in and I started to loosen up.  The next song rotation was salsa.  Salsa! I was now in my element.  Not many men here danced this, but I managed to find one who did and we hit the dance floor.  It was marvelous. I was as though I was back in Chicago spinning and kicking my way around the floor.  I felt fantastic and my partner was good.  We stayed out there for a couple salsas, and for one bachata.  He seemed nice enough, and was kind to ask me for a tango next when the music rotated again.  

Throughout the evening we did find that next to no one here spoke English. I was able to hold some conversations in Spanish with the table next to me and with the people I danced with during the lessons.  The partner i found for salsa and tango spoke English so it was easier for him to teach me a few new tango moves. We must have been on the dance floor for 3 more songs.  He seemed more interested in chatting with me than dancing, but I did learn a few things and held my own well on floor. Eventually I had to escape his grasp and return to Carrie because he was starting to get intrusive.  I really do enjoy partner dancing, but too much talk can turn into someone getting too friendly and that becomes uncomfortable.

By 2:30am I was ready to go.  The later the evening went, the more experienced local dancers hit the floor and I wasn't about to be held captive by the man that I had danced with.  And my dogs were barking.  So as we walked back to the hotel at nearly 3am, the city was in full swing.  We passed nightclubs with velvet ropes, long lines, and sharma stands.  Some things never change in many countries.  Greasy meat at 3am always hits the spot.  By the end of this day, I no longer recognize my feet.  Swollen, blistered, torn, and scarred from the events of the night and day.  We will feel every bit of this in our bones tomorrow.

For now, I couldn't be happier.  Dancing in Buenos Aires with the locals.  Tasting the marvelous wines of the region.  Eating the best beef in the world.  Experiencing this beautiful city with tinges of French and Italian influence.  More exploration lies ahead.