Oui, Oui

This jam-packed French-like bistro served up some awesome lemonade that had bits of floating mint. The hummus was meh, typically dry and lacking tahini. Still, it was a lovely spring day, sunny and breezy as swirls of foliage found their way into our hair and drinks.

Yet Another Emotionally Magnificent Experience

Checked out this cafe-cum-bookstore today in Palermo Hollywood, called Eterna Cadencia. It was so utterly beautiful--I wanted to lick every centimetre of it with my eyes. Just like Thomas' English muffins, it had nooks and crannies aplenty, one of which was an entire hideaway den in the rear. The icing on my lust cake (no, it wasn't the hot waiter whose pic I slyly snapped): the ode-to-Paul-Bowles breakfast! Not to mention, the English section was short on Grisham & ilk and long on Kundera. Thunk goes the eternal cadence of my heart. Hey, EC...will you marry me?

Java Junket: 6

Nina Café. Capuccino (w/tarta de manzana). 8.5 pesos. 10/20/07

Pictured also is a waffle with dulce de leche, drizzled warm...

Ignorum Diem: Ignore the Day

I rather like this:

My philosophy is, live life "two days at a time." One day at a time is unrelenting. Two days, well, if I drink too much or eat too much, I can just do better tomorrow, on my second day. Honestly, I don't even understand the success that "One day at a time" is having.

- From the guy who plays Toby on "The Office" (how's that for D-listing?) It reminded me of this unpithy saying I used to carry around by the Austrian writer Peter Handke. The beneficent Google's failed to get me his exact words. Damn.

Java Junket: 5

Cheat alert! Couldn't drag my lazy ass into a café so it came to me instead. The coffee, that is. Muy glorioso, the iceberg of frozen crema adrift chilled black nectar. (But what kind of tool places a delivery order for one single drink?)

Sweetie Heladeria. Iced coffee. 6 pesos. 10/18/07

Dinner Box

I now proclaim Wednesday night "Sushi Night" at casa fuse. Delivery by 8:30 (when dinner isn't even a gleam in the Argentine eye), 25% discount (todos los miercoles), adorable minimalist design (slidethru lid and groovy black tray)--what's there not to love? Well, maybe the cream cheese/salmon mainstay. Still, at 32.25 pesos for two orders, it's a done deal.

My Friend Went to Cordoba and All I Got...

... was this awesome cerveza artesanal! Supposedly, Oktoberfest in Cordoba is a must.

Who's Left?

I read today that Bush's approval rating has dropped to 24%, record breaking even his ol' self. So we're down to what now, my parents and the clinically insane? (Supposedly 25% of adult Americans believe the Sun revolves around the Earth, so...not even all idiots approve of Bush.)

Java Junket: 4

Café Borges. Café con leche y crema. 5.50 pesos. 10/17/07

(Almost ) As Good as Little Saigon, CA

Sudestada Restaurant, Palermo. I love ingenuity in the food world, like this clever lunch ticket doohickey: You hole-punch your selection in each category and hand it to the hot server without any mangling of language. This Ikea-like precision and clean, pristine decor make me want to holler for an order of Swedish meatballs... So what does this have to do with Little Saigon? Almost nothing, except everything, grasshopper. (Now where's that lingonberry sauce?)

Primera Ediciόn Limitada

Fanta Discover Tailandia (Thailand) limited-edition mango flavor. They might as well have labeled it: Lookie here, shortiefuse. We made it just for you!

Next country in line: Jamaica!

Java Junket: 3

Sudestada (not a café so no bonus...boo). Café doble con leche. 6 pesos. 10/15/07

World's Coolest Doorknob

Burlesque Tapas

Java Junket: 2

Meridian 58. Capuchino (that's how they spelled it). 9 pesos. 10/14/07

Java Junket: 1

Mark's Deli. Iced coffee mocha. 10 pesos. 10/13/07

My Java Junket: Intro

I've a self-imposed mission, should I choose to accept, which I do since...er, I thunk it. I call this ill-conceived challenge, my Java Junket. Here are the official rules:

- Take a pic of the next 50 cups of coffee.

- Every cup must come from a different place.

- No repeats (same place) or newpeats (different order at same place)

- Bonus for cafés over restaurants

- Double bonus for new neighborhoods

- List place, order, price, date.

That's it! Stay tuned.

Word Freak

I've been sifting through my backlogged subscription to urbandictionary.com and chuckling over the entries below. For you visual learners, here's a photo caption for one of the words: This morning at the Palermo artsy-fartsy paper store, I witnessed some fine man standing in the front courtyard.

Enjoy these word droppings. (Remember the vocabulary test is Friday...)

- infoporn: information that serves no purpose and consumes valuable space inside your head. (Lordy, I have too much infoporn...like this entire post, for example.)
- foody call: a phone call, page, or conversation aimed at getting free food from a partner in a no-strings attached, no-conversation meal. (I'd rather have a foody call than a booty call.)
- man stand: the act of a man standing outside a shop while his wife/girlfriend/partner shops inside. Man standing involves looking into space, at other women, or in the case of multistory shopping centers, leaning on the railings of an upper floor watching the people below.
- peasantvision: the TV channels you get without a cable or satellite TV subscription. (I hate what Cablevision has to offer and am thinking of peasantvisioning it--that or get a Slingbox.)
- conswervative: a conservative politician or other public figure caught doing things that he has denounced on record.
- butt dial: when your cell phone accidentally calls someone you did not mean to while on your person.
- work hot: a person that may or may not be hot, but is the most attractive person in the set of people you work with so you lust after him/her.
- ignoranus: a person who is not only ignorant, but is also an asshole. (such efficiency in a word!)
- pregret: the feeling of regretting something you're about to do anyway. (rendering the phrase "I know I'm going to regret this" obsolete?)
- iPerbole: the hype surrounding any product Apple unveils.

OK, I'll stop. Your homework: Use one of these urban words in a sentence today.

Taxi Driver

He may not be Robert De Niro but like most taxi drivers in Buenos Aires, he's just as formidable. Anyone who's ridden in a taxi here knows what I'm talking about: The path from where you are to where you want to be is fraught with near collisions, split-second lane changes, and breakneck maneuvering—all helmed with more testosterone than you can shake a stick at.

I've so many notches on my taxi-riding belt that I've decided to compile the most common, though not discrete, psychological profiles of these guys:

(1) The Political Dilettante: These drivers have passionate world views, whether on Kirchner, that awful Cristina who’s being shoved down everyone's throat, or Bush. For those keeping count: Kirchner, 0; Cristina, 0; Bush, 0. The problem with this type is they just.can't.stop.talking, oftentimes swerving back to beseech agreement from their audience, creating what I call "the cell phone effect" or multitasking peril. (Or maybe the phenomenon should be dubbed, DWP, driving while politicking.)

(2) The Maverick: What is this “lanes” thing that you speak of? Also, red lights are for suckers, as is staying in one lane for longer than 4 seconds. If a cab ride with these guys doesn't put hair on your chest, nothing will. Sadly for my health and longevity (not to mention chest hair sitch), this is the most prevalent profile.

(3) The American Idolizer: Once I answer that I’m from California, the floodgate of questions...she openeth, often end-resulting in some CD being waved in my face. Te gusta The Ramones? si, Rod Stewart? no, The Cure, si? etc. etc. And Tom Cruise. Why is that turd so well loved? (My question, not theirs.)

(4) The Intellectual: Occasionally, you come across a guy so well versed in the nuances of Argentine society that you marvel at your luck in meeting this social scientist. I wonder how many taxi drivers actually fit this profile, since I can only sniff out the English-speaking ones due to my muy malo Castellano.

(5) The Ladies' Man: As the name implies, they try to charm their way into...well, whatever... by showering you with compliments. Don't worry, I'm immune. (I got the booster shot when I got the work visa.)

Strudel

When you hanker for a baklava, you could do worse than these triangulos de nuez y miel.

Street Find

My fascination with street hawker food is limitless. While the champion will forever remain those Thai-iced-tea-in-a-bag accessory drinks that you get near Khaosan Road, Bangkok, I've a soft spot for anything on a stick too. This comes close: a French baguette whose innards are smothered with some kind of butter/cheese concoction, speared and roasted over coal.

In Good Comfort

This afternoon I received my order of homecooked Indian meals, work delivered by this expat who really should open a restaurant of her own. The grub is fantastic, fresh, and flavorful, and such a good bargain compared to what you'd get dining out (esp. with the insane inflation). For about U$S 62, I got all this:

Each batch serving 4 -6:
- Chicken Makkhan Curry
- Mattar Paneer (mmm...homemade cheese balls)
- Kheema Kofta (mmm...homemade vegetarian meatballs)
- Chicken Tikka
- Pork Curry

Also,
- 12 naan (retoasted in my panini grill...amazing)
- 12 potatoe samosas (great with below chutney)
- 8 oz coriander chutney
- 12 ras malai milkballs in rose syrup (blah looking, tasting only slightly better than blah, the only dud order in the bunch)
- 12 pistachio/almond fudgethingie squares (omg...clearly the standout!)

So with my new groovy grub in tow, I came home to fresh laundry and a spic-n-span house and backyard, my maid and gardener having just left. Never thought I'd love bourgeois living so effin much. To steal a line from that Korean company, Life is good.

Isabel's Jugs

About a year and a half ago, John Waters put together a movie festival in Palm Springs provocatively titled "Films That Will Corrupt You." Being easily provoked and desiring to meet Mr. Waters as well as catch Fuego, an Argentine film (1969) about a nymphomaniac torn between her husband and lesbian lover starring the frectual Isabel Sarli, I managed to toss two victims kickin' and screamin' into my car (OK, so I made one of the victims drive) for what was arguably the worst traffic crawl in southern California: the west LA to Palm Springs drag--on a Friday night no less. Did I have some major cojones or what?

As fate would have it, we missed the nuancely moustached director himself (sob) arriving like a bazillion hours behind schedule. But before you feel too sorry for us, we still managed to catch every mama-maulin' second of Fuego so the evening was far from being a bust.

Isabel Sarli (sobriqueted "La Coca" for her addiction to the soft drink) was this supposed screen legend in Argentina in the 60s and 70s. I say "supposed" because not everyone I've asked here has heard of her (I shudder to think that 30 years from now, not everyone in America will know who Pamela Anderson is), though one friend did enlighten me with this quintessential quote de Sarli: "Que es lo que quiere de mi?" (You have to say it with your girls all smooshed up in a va-va-voom way.) Edit: I've just been informed by another that the septuagenarian Sarli is rumored to live in the Zona Norte! Holy bazookas, that makes us neighbors! Gotta spit-n-shine my stalker kit.

In short, Fuego had everything: hilariously bad, exaggerated acting and campy dialogue, production quality just two notches below your average YouTube, a John Waters endorsement, plus tons of self-massaging of ginormous funbags by said screen siren. It was unmitigated, cheesetastic fun with just a touch of drivel thrown in for, well...extra fun! If I hadn't been already corrupted, that might've done the trick.

Anyway, all this word vomit is really to show off my awesomely awesome score(!) from San Telmo this past weekend. Ladies and gentlemen, please admire and covet my Fuego poster (sadly, just the one on top). What?! You now have that Divinyls song "Touch Myself" running through your noggin too?!? And you picture Divine dancing to it too?!? GMTA!

Don't Sweat the Small Stuff

In my version of a Utopian Barnes & Noble (is that an oxymoronic concept?), nary a shelf would be set aside for daft New Agey titles such as DStSS. Still, I feel I could stand to read a page or two from it tonight, as I am sitting here sweating bounteously over itty bitty subjects that look suspiciously like dead horses.

Sigh. I think I'll pour myself a bowl of Chocapic and escape into la fantastica experiencia del chocolate.

Um...Blancaflor?

"It is not, nor it cannot come to good."

It's a tragedy indeed when something with so promising a name can taste like giant donkey balls. I can count on one hand worse indignities in candyland: Whatchamacallit, Boston Baked Beans, Baby Ruth, Cadbury's Fruit & Nut, and Sweet Tarts.

All is not well, Hamlet. All is not well.