I Have Measured Out My Life with Locro Spoons: A Primer to Argentine Mealtimes

Between living in Tucuman, one of Argentina’s largest, most historically significant cities and having a space as awesome as the Office, we get a lot of visitors. It was a very telling moment when we were circling the plaza, and a visitor inquired about an important looking building on the Paseo de Independencia. Selene replied, “We’re awful tour guides, but we can show you the best empanada places.”

Since our arrival in Argentina, our daily lives have been scheduled, categorized, and defined by the food. When we eat our oatmeal in the morning, we talk about where we’re going for lunch. When we’re at lunch, we discuss what we need to buy for dinner. When we are traveling, we are more interested in restaurants than museums, churches, or national parks. What started as a cheeky experiment to try some empanadas has evolved into an integral part of our cultural experience, so much so that I have unofficially assumed the ad hoc position of resident Fulbright Food Critic. Those who know me from home, especially the poor souls who had to share a house with me and endure marathons of “Top Chef,” “Iron Chef,” and “Next Food Network Star,” know that it is a role I take with great honor and pleasure (and relish…haha). As such, I have taken it upon myself to offer this comprehensive, three-part introduction to the wonderful world of Argentine cuisine.

Part I: Mealtimes

• Desayuno (Breakfast) – Argentineans are not big on breakfast. In fact, one of our biggest struggles has been finding a proper substitute for cereal, since the boxes they sell are so small and expensive, we were going through one every three days. Their version of breakfast is not particularly healthy or satisfying – a coffee with tortillas (not the ones we are accustomed to, they are more like wafers or crackers loaded with butter) or sticky croissants. If you are at a fancy establishment, you may be lucky enough to find a shotglass of orange juice. Many of our students are confused and a little disgusted by the idea of eating protein or anything more substantial than pastries in the morning. It really makes you wonder whether this notion of breakfast being the most important meal of the day (an assumption that I have taken for granted since childhood) is really just a big campaign by the FDA to sell more milk.
• Almuerzo (Lunch) – As with most Latin cultures, lunch is the meal of the day. The need for a five hour siesta in the afternoons is directly tied to the sheer, mind-boggling quantity of food consumed at this time. Many restaurants offer a menú del dia, a sort of combo-value meal which offers a set menu of courses for one flat rate. A typical menú includes bread, a side dish (usually potatoes, rice, or simple salad), a huge entrée, and possibly a dessert or coffee. Occasionally, a drink- usually Coke or some other carbonated beverage laced in corn syrup- may also be included in the price. On a sidenote, per capita, Argentineans must consume a ridiculous volume of soda -- it is not unusual for one person to clear an entire liter of Coke on his own. Ordering water is far more uncommon, and tap water is downright scandalous. Indeed, we have earned more than a few funny looks: “Agua... seguro?” ("Water...are you sure?") I have yet to determine whether the waiter is looking at us with confusion, surprise, pity, or some mix of the three.
• Merienda(Tea time?):– There isn’t an easy direct translation for merienda, since it’s not something common in American culture. In England it might be considered afternoon tea, but here it refers more to a coffee break and afternoon snack. Tea is an option, but it usually consists of the generic teabags that we can buy at most corner stores. The point is, after siesta your tummy may start rumbling again. Most restaurants do not open for dinner until at least 9 or 9:30 PM, so it is common to take a formal snack break between lunch and dinner. To my understanding, merienda is quite similar to breakfast (sometimes menus list their promotions as “desayuno/merienda” that functions for both meals), except there are a few more options. In addition to croissants and crackers, there are also a mind-numbing assortment of facturas, sticky sugary pastries that are filled with cream or dulce de leche. Another common snack is a tostado, a simple ham and cheese sandwich on white bread, pressed between what appears to be a waffle iron.
  
• Cena (Dinner)– If I am being completely honest, my knowledge of Argentine dinner is woefully limited because I rarely last long enough to enjoy it. As mentioned above, most restaurants don’t serve dinner until much later than we are used to, and it is not uncommon for people to dine well after midnight. When you tell an Argentinean what time most Americans eat dinner, it is also not uncommon for them to laugh uproariously in disbelief. The only times we usually go out for dinner is when we have company or are invited by our students, and the little exposure I do have did not strike me as particularly noteworthy. Dinner menus tend to rely on pretty common standbys: pasta, sandwiches, and pizza, and they rarely include side dishes. The only exception would be asado, which I will more fully describe in the next post.

I should mention that most Argentineans can handle the late dinners, because they usually stay out much later as well. On a weekend it’s no problem to munch leisurely into the wee hours of the morning, but during the work week when I am waking up around 8 AM to go to the gym, I would rather not have 3 pounds of red meat sitting like a lead weight in my stomach. As such, Selene and I have come up with what we feel is a fair cross-cultural compromise in regards to our eating schedule. On a typical day, we will scour the city for a new, undiscovered local restaurant and split the menú del dia. It is the best time to try more new, regional dishes, since the offerings change from day-to-day. It is also the more economical option, since there are an assortment of accompaniments included in the price. In the evening, I will prepare a dinner for two (usually front loaded with vitamin-rich vegetables) that we will eat at what I consider a respectable dinner hour. After gorging ourselves with over 500 empanadas over the course of the last few months, I like to think we deserve to maintain this little habit from home.

Dance, Dance: How I Got My Groove Back

I have always thought that Sebastian was a good-looking guy. He always dressed and carried himself in a way that implied that he knew how to take care of himself. He was a student in my fifth year class, which had invited me and my roommate (a fellow gringa) to an Argentine asado, or barbeque. After stuffing ourselves with inordinate amounts of grilled meat, most of us were listening to music as we recuperated from a food coma. I remember leaning back in my chair and watching Sebastian dance with a female student. In one of his hands, he was simultaneously cradling a lit cigarette and a plastic cup of Fernet and Coke. With his other hand, he was skillfully spinning his partner. All the while, his feet were marking time to the rhythm of the music. For lack of a better word, he looked damn cool.

Even a couple months after the fact, this particular image is burned into my memory because it was at that exact moment that I thought, “This isn’t fair.” At this point, I had spent enough time with my students to determine that this confluence of desirable traits was not unique to Sebastian. In all of our social gatherings, after a couple hours of food and/or alcohol, the festivities would inexorably devolve into an extended karaoke dance party like this one.

Our first party in the Office

During this time, students would flaunt their skills and knowledge in a variety of musical styles, such as cumbia, salsa, quartetto, and reggaeton. These “lessons” regularly last into the early hours of the morning. It seemed that every Argentinean was born with a genetic predisposition for singing on pitch, dancing with coordination, and being ridiculously attractive. This holy trifecta defies both probability and fairness, considering how hard we had to rack our brains to share a reciprocal “traditional American dance.” Against our better judgment, we halfheartedly demonstrated the old wedding standby, the Electric Slide.

Once the shame of linedancing to “Achy Breaky Heart” wore off, I started pondering the roots of the prevalent “gringo with no rhythm” stereotype, and I set out on a mission to surpass it. I made some headway after attending a lecture on Argentine music with professor Dr. Juan Raffo, who utilized a variety of techniques to demonstrate the complicated rhythms in folklore music. We learned that many of these musical styles borrowed heavily from tribal African drumbeats. The cadence of these beats was in direct opposition to our classical sensibilities of Western music, which tend to place emphasis on the downbeat, or the “one” of each phrase. We had become so accustomed to this regimented style, that any deviation felt unnatural or awkward, explaining our inability to synchronize with certain rhythms.

With this newfound musical revelation in tow, I tackled the next matter of acquiring actual dancing skills by enrolling in a bi-weekly salsa class at a nearby dance academy. Each class was structured the same way. At approximately 10:33 PM, our instructor, another well-dressed, good-looking man who knew how to dance, would lead us in a vigorous warm-up that included a laughable quantity of hip rolls and pelvic thrusts. Next, he would break down the target moves for the night, and we would drill them together. At the midway point, we would switch to practicing the new steps with partners. Since salsa is a couple’s dance, you would think that we would look forward to the opportunity to work in pairs. The only hitch: the number of female students outnumbered the males in a whopping 4:1 ratio. As such, the women were asked to line-up in a pattern reminiscent of an amusement park line in order to await their “turn.” Those lucky enough to end up with a partner would typically find themselves facing a self-conscious, sweaty-palmed young man unequipped for the pressure of physically engaging a conveyor belt of women. Out of principle, my inner feminist couldn’t handle it. After a month of classes, I decided to move on.

Being in Argentina, the only natural choice was tango. To get the full experience, I plunged into the heart of the beast: Buenos Aires. In this cosmopolitan metropolis, there are guidebooks and brochures dealing exclusively with milongas, dedicated tango halls. I signed-up for a class in the ritzy Palermo district, receiving the full “tourist” package: a tango demonstration, a formal class, and finally free dance. After a few minutes of audience banter involving a soccer ball and some attractive, well-dressed Argentine women who were likely very good dancers, the emcee finally introduced the 4 couples who would also be our teachers that evening. The lights around the dance floor dimmed, and the speakers were filled with the plaintive strains of bandoneon and violin. The couples marched effortlessly across the floor, their bodies aligned and in sync. In watching their movements, the rigid postures and complicated footwork seemed to follow very strict conventions of steps and form. Once we started actually practicing, however, we discovered that there was much less emphasis on actual choreography as much as spontaneous reaction to the music and your partner. A memorable “teachable moment” involved a partner with whom I initially had difficulties following. After several clumsy missteps, he told me to close my eyes. I obliged. In the absence of sight, I became acutely aware of the floor at my feet, my physical proximity to other couples, the stringed instruments in the music, even the scent of my partner’s cologne. Without any visual cues, my only choice was to move instinctively, and it was surprising how naturally I followed him. This incredibly visceral experience helped me appreciate the reactive, intuitive, and literal sensuality of the dance.

Obviously, a 45-minute tango lesson is not sufficient to overturn the “Americans can’t dance” stereotype. A month of salsa classes was also inadequate, as we painfully discovered the first time we wandered into a salsa bar. As we tried to maneuver our way through the sea of gyrating couples, we were repeatedly buffeted by an array of people spinning and turning in seemingly unpredictable directions. I was beginning to think my undertaking was a hopeless cause, but I decided to throw one last desperate Hail Mary. With nothing left to lose, I decided to show off my moves at a boliche, an Argentine disco. Although my experience with these dance halls is woefully limited, I have noticed a few universal commonalities: an over reliance on Matrix style lasers and fog machines; a large projector screen showing music videos; and a surly DJ who runs the playlist with dour stoicism. Each boliche has its own special gimmicks (a ceiling of disco balls, glow-in-the-dark ice cubes, etc), but it all reduces to the same thing: a big sweaty dance party. And if there is one dance move that Americans can claim as their own, it would be the club grind. There are no genre-specific steps nor does it require any formal training. Essentially, it involves bopping your head, swinging your hips, and moving your extremities in some semblance of rhythm. Depending on the song, it may also be acceptable to jump up and down in a steady bounce.

Can this even be correctly categorized as "dancing"?

In accordance with our gringo sensibilities of club dancing, my roommate and I started flailing and thrashing our limbs in reckless abandon. If an opportune hole opened up amid the mass of humanity, we would creep into it like auspicious Walmart shareholders, shaking our heads and waving our arms the whole way. Admittedly, there were occasions when we would lose control of our hopping and accidentally bump into our neighbors. Nevertheless, these incidents usually occurred during Lady Gaga songs, which provides full amnesty for your behavior within the duration of the song. After a particularly raucous rendition of “Bad Romance,” I made eye contact with yet another well-dressed, good-looking Argentine man who seemed to know how to dance. He leaned his face towards mine, and yelled something into my ear, but it was unintelligible over the thundering bass. After a few more tries, I was finally able to piece together “Bailas muy bien” (You dance very well). I grinned in understanding, and he raised his glass to me before returning to his respective party. At that moment, I was breathing heavily, sweating profusely, and feeling immensely satisfied with myself. Mission accomplished.

Just dance, gonna be okay, d-d-d-dance

Eso es lo que dijo ella: Office Rules

The first rule of the Office is that there is no office. Not really, seeing as how I just mentioned it in my last entry. But before Selene and I made the decision to move-in together, we definitely set some initial ground rules to live by. For no other reason than our personal amusement, we officially referred to them as “pacts.” Although melodramatic nomenclature may be unnecessary, I do adhere to the belief that having a frank discussion about idiosyncrasies and personal habits is necessary for any people to live together. In this particular situation, it was especially crucial since we would not just be sharing an apartment, but an actual bedroom. It had been years since I’ve had a roommate in the literal sense of the word, and I’d grown accustomed to privacy, as demonstrated by the “No-pants Rule” implemented in Austin. While I’m pretty sure that the success of our current living situation has more to do with compatible personalities than anything else, I thought sharing some of these random, arbitrary ground rules might shed some light onto the random quirkiness that goes on in the Office.

1. Spanish – The primary reason that had any doubts about living together had to do with the fact that we both wanted to improve our Spanish and learn more about the Argentinean culture. After all, sequestering the two sole Norteamericanas in Tucumán doesn’t sound like a particularly immersive cultural experience. As such, we made a strict resolution to speak Spanish for an allotted time every day. Usually, we started in the morning when we were most awake and out running errands. The minimum was 4 hours a day. This requirement has slackened since we’ve started work, partly because we see each other less, but mostly because we’ve started hanging out with students and locals. A typical weekend night involves us sitting at a table full of beer bottles and chatting with Tucumanos into the wee hours of the mornings. That counts.
2. La Ruta de Empanada– When we all arrived in Buenos Aires for orientation, each becario received a welcome packet from their respective province with an assortment of maps and brochures. Most included information on the arts and culture of the various touristy activities. Tucumán provided us with a couple maps (which we’ve used to great effect) and this pamphlet called “La Ruta de Empanadas,” which is this list of the top 25 empanada eateries in the city. Since my proposed Fulbright side project was to learn as much as I could about Argentine cuisine, this endeavor made perfect sense. Eager to take on a new, silly project, we decided to follow this Ruta, which has been no easy task since it is laid out in an inexplicably spiral pattern which has had us running around the town. We’ve hit our share of setbacks, but the end is near, and a detailed review of the experience is to come. I’ve even finally managed to refer to the project as “academic in nature” with a straight face.
3. Health – One commonality that Selene and I immediately noticed was our desire to stay fit and healthy during our time here. In reference to the item above, this goal was particularly pointed since a diet consisting of empanadas is not particularly conducive to leading a healthy lifestyle. In many ways, the Argentine diet and lifestyle is in direct opposition to everything I consider conventional wisdom regarding healthy and good habits, let alone everything I’ve been taught as a fitness instructor. From the sad little nutrient-less breakfasts to the midnight pizza dinners, it was like being a slovenly college student all over again. Case in point, during the first week I was Couchsurfing with Mariana, I’m not sure I ate any vegetables. Just big slabs of meat with a carb or starchy side – I’ve never craved a tomato more than I did that week. Naturally, I was a gracious guest that cleaned my plate (eventually), but I was very much looking forward to having a kitchen where I could have some control over the portion sizes and quality of ingredients. Having a roommate who was on board definitely made it easy to accommodate. Also, having a gym buddy is effective when you don’t feel like getting out of bed at 8 AM.
4. Cell phone – And now we come to the biggest, baddest pact of all. For reasons unknown even to myself, I thought it would be a fun challenge to see how long I could last in Argentina without a cell phone. In the past, whenever I have lived or traveled abroad, I was never gone for enough time to warrant purchasing a travel phone or SIM card. With technological advances such as Skype, wide internet access, and Facebook, there were always different ways to get around it. Surely there are occasions where a phone call would make things more convenient, but at the same time, the work-arounds listed above can be hardly described as inconvenient. On top of that, I have always wanted to attempt a dramatic social experiment such as living out of a backpack, living a 100% sustainable lifestyle, 1 paragraph e-mails, etc. In the States I never used my phone that much anyway, so it seemed like a challenge I would have the easiest time transitioning to. Having a “fresh start” in a new country (no prior contracts, no local contacts, etc) seemed like the perfect opportunity to try it out. Luckily I have a roommate who is game for just about any of my random vagaries, so I’ve got a companion who has embarked on this fool’s mission with me.
   
   At this point, it’s been 2 months and counting, and we’re still going strong. More than anything, the external reaction to this pact has been more fascinating than its actual impact (or lack thereof) on our daily lives. For example, Argentineans are always shocked (“Imposible!”), because they are a culture that relies heavily on texting and phone calls. The reaction from home, however, has been surprisingly encouraging. I guess I never noticed it while I had a phone, but being separated from one has given me a fresh perspective. There was a surreal moment last week where I’d be sitting at a table of four. At one point, three of my friends were having three separate silent text message conversations with absolutely no interaction with the present company. Obviously, being without a phone, I was the odd one out. But as an objective observer, I’m not sure that I really want membership to this particular club.

At any rate, I’ll be sure to keep you guys posted on the status of the cell phones, and every other pact. In the meantime, we can finally share the beauty that’s the Office. The visitors that come always have a good time (That’s what she said!).

D

Defenders of our Apartment

Rocking the burnt orange on my side of the room

Panoramic view of the living/sleeping/work area

Our House: Finding an Apartment in Argentina

Prior to my departure, everybody kept asking me whether I had secured a homestay, apartment, dormitory, etc in Tucumán. Typically I would respond with a shrug and tell them I would figure it out once I arrived. In retrospect, I must have come off as downright cavalier about what is arguably the biggest concern for people traveling abroad. Still, between helping international students find housing in Austin and hopping around the city finding adequate housing for myself, I’ve just seen way many too many people get burned trying to arrange their housing prematurely. On top of being exceedingly difficult (can you imagine trying to do lease paperwork online?!), it isn’t a particularly reliable method. There are simply too many variables: how safe is the area, how far is it from the center/work/nearest grocery store/bus stop, what bills and utilities are included, what is the actual condition of the apartment etc. I would gladly pay for a week at a hotel and be homeless for a few days over finding myself stuck in a dodgy place and having to deal with that for 8 months. Thankfully, I didn’t have to pay for a week at a hotel… I didn’t actually have to pay for anything. Here’s how I did it:

1. Talk to people – I remember trying to explain Craigslist to some locals, and they just sort of chuckled. “No existe.” It quickly became evident that my traditional methods of house-hunting weren’t going to fly. So I asked them how people in Argentina find housing. Their reply: “Contactos.” My primary contactos were a group of Couchsurfers and students who told me to check out the bulletin boards at the various facultades sprinkled around the city. Sure enough, on our first try, we hit the mother lode of ads for roommates, tenants, boarders, and everything in between. Later on when I had a list of prospective locations, they gave me valuable, honest feedback on which ones were a deal/rip-off, what was a good/dodgy area, etc. You can’t get that type of service from a realtor.
2. Maps, Maps, Maps - I know I sound like a Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs song, but I cannot stress the need for a good, detailed city map. Usually the tourist office or information center should be able to provide you with one. Use it, mark all over it, and treasure it. Google Maps is a useful tool, but sometimes it’s just helpful to get a panoramic view. For example, at first glance, Tucumán is laid out in a very intuitive way: a gridlike system of numbered one-way streets. Its only idiosyncrasy (and it’s a big one) is that at various intersections throughout the city, the streets change names. Somebody who wasn’t aware of that minor detail could have wasted a lot of time walking in circles.
3. Lace up your walking shoes –I find that if I’m riding as a passenger on a bus or a car, it’s very easy to zone out on your location. On foot, you have to take a much more active role in where you’re going. Distances have always been hard for me to gauge abstractly. Walking provides a concrete way to conceptualize the time it takes to get from Point A to Point B. You get a better view of the street signs and numbers, which in turn helps you familiarize yourself with various landmarks and places. Additionally, when you’re on foot, you can start, stop, rest, eat, and drink at your leisure. As we were traversing the city, whenever we were tired or hungry we would pop into the nearest café or heladeria as needed. While seemingly trivial, this step was crucial in preventing burn-out. Finally, there is the practical house-hunting aspect. When we were on foot, we passed by several residences with “For Lease” signs. By keeping half an eye out, you’ll find a lot more prospects.
4. Know where you are- Arguably, one of the most frustrating things about house hunting is communication. There is nothing worse than finding the place of your dreams, and then having to wait for a response on its availability, price, etc. That is one of the shortfalls with e-mail and doing things online. As mentioned above, Argentines don’t put as much stock into doing things online. Every ad and flyer we found only gave phone numbers. This just became a matter of being strategic and knowing about the culture. We figured that most people would be at work or school during regular business hours. For this reason, we made all of our phone calls during the siesta hours, when we assumed everybody would be at home. In the period of 30 minutes, we made over 10 cold calls, and I would venture to guess about 90% of them answered. We were able to make appointments to visit the places within the next day. I was shocked – I don’t think that type of return would ever happen in the States.
   
5. Couchsurfing – I know I’ve talked it up a lot in the past couple of posts, but Couchsurfing has really been my saving grace during my stay here. The entire first week, I crashed with one of Tucumán’s most active members. In addition to making me feel right at home (pretty much, I freely came and went at my leisure, including one day in which I was completely bed-ridden ), she introduced me to her friends, family, and workplace.
   
   On top of that, it was through Couchsurfing that I actually landed in my current apartment. A few weeks before leaving, I posted a brief introduction on the message board and solicited any leads on housing. One of the responses was from a gentleman whose elderly mother rents office space. A room had recently become available, and for safety/security reasons, they thought it might be worthwhile to rent to a student as opposed to a business. Long story short, we visited the place, fell in love with it, and now we live in “The Office” (more to come soon).

I don’t make any illusions about my method being stress-free or surefire, because it was still a lot of work, and I was pretty beat-up by the end of the week. Still, I talk to some of my fellow Fulbrighters who have bounced around from hostels to failed homestays and had to deal with no gas, hot water, or electricity. All things considered, it’s kind of embarrassing how easy the transition was for me. Interestingly enough, I found that an old-school approach was the most effective: tapping all the resources and contacts you have readily available (using a little creativity and string-pulling as needed), calling on phones (payphones and landlines, no less!), pretty much just getting on the street and talking to people. I guess sometimes retro is the best way to go. At the very least, it’s true for 80’s music!
Our house it has a crowd There's always something happening And it's usually quite loud