missloukins's journal

Steam swirls from the edges of my tiny cup of espresso and drifts into the erratic bustle of pedestrians and impatient cars. Lighting a cigarette, the man across from me closes his eyes and grins. “Argentine is synonymous with lover of wine, fútbol, music, gossip and steak,” he declares, “But, if you pay attention, the wine and the steak will teach you everything.”

Having recently arrived in Buenos Aires, Antonio has made it his job to educate me in the art of being porteño. And sure enough, I will spend the next year learning the intricacies of life here through an incredibly edible lens. Exchanging little quips about populism with the weathered baker at the local empanada shop. Discussing the history of tragedy and recuperation along busy avenues, inhaling the mouthwatering scents of sugar-roasted peanuts and chori-pan. People-watching in the park over yerba maté sipped from a shared gourd.
Every new friendship here is accompanied with a deluge of mid-afternoon dates for crumbly alfajores dunked in café con leche. But during these meriendas, the food is interrupted by passionate gesticulations, satirical political commentaries and the eventual shrug and proclamation, “¿Qué sé yo?” What do I know? It is this lazy interval in the otherwise busy day that teaches me to measure time in sips and nibbles, and question what I know of the flavor of life.
It is sitting down to an Argentine meal ‘a la parilla,’ however, that turns observing into understanding. By candlelight, and through the steam of sizzling vegetables and savory steak, the Argentine is transformed. With a glass of velvety Malbec in hand, qué sé yo becomes less of a question, and more of an acknowledgement that nothing matters more than the present moment. Ambient noises fade in and out, and in sensory overload one begins to blur tastes and smells with the sounds of fervent camaraderie. What Antonio never mentioned is that Argentine is also synonymous with connoisseur of life, in all its delectable forms.