Excerpts from the Peanut Gallery

Yep, we had a good time. No, we had a GREAT time. But I don't want to spoil the magic (or the forthcoming bestseller) so I will summarize in point form:

- Get up

- Drink coffee at trendy cafe

- Wander charming park, sit on bench,

- Drink coffee at trendy cafe

- Wander charming streets, sit on bench

- Eat steak and drink Malbec,

- Sit on bench

- Sleep (not on bench, but at nostalgic-if-somewhat-frgid hostel in early 20th century art-deco architecture apartment building).

- Repeat

There were a few deviations, most often for photo opportunities at which point I would "kindly ask" Steve, my aussie partner-in-crime for this adventure, to do something rather embarrassing in public (see for example facebook photos of Steve running through a flock of pigeons or wearing gold lame hat). And by "kindly ask" what I suppose I really mean is "plead and badger shamelessly" until I got my photo.

However, as you may surmise from the list, most events either entailed happily wandering or happily eating. The former usually provided surprises tucked around each corner: booksellers in a park or a magnificent cathedral, just sitting there, minding its own business. The latter was a bit more ostentatious. Buenos Aires knew she was fine and she did not mind showing you so. Let's take, for example, the evening we went to a place called La Cabrera. We should have known from the start: we arrived and figured we should get our names on the list that was for an empty restaurant (apparently was booked full with reservations). We were skeptical about all this upon arrival until... The girl out front didn't even take my name or how many were in our party. She just handed us two glasses of champagne. Not kidding.

We would have been content to just sit at the table on the sidewalk-patio at which we sat to wait to see if we could enter (still a bit baffled that they were holding out on us, seeing as there was about 8 other people mingling on the sidewalk and no one inside except a few waiters). However, within about 10 minutes of sipping our bubbly, they allowed in the VIP guests who materialized out of thin air and cobblestone (who were legion, after all. Moral of the story: reservations, who knew?). We were ushered past the red curtain on the door and seated. The hitherto empty dining hall was now crowded with beautiful argentines. We were seated rather close to an all-american family (oh yes, beautiful argentines and that one american family) who's headship was loudly proclaiming that what we have here was a prime example of the Real Argentina. The family was also about as fresh off the plane as they come - having arrived earlier that evening and so they would know. The big kahuna's slightly sullen 15 year old son didn't seem impressed. We'll give the young lad the benefit of the doubt and assume he was jet-lagged. But for all the father's gusto, he was right. He hadn't seen nothin' yet.

What ensued was quite possibly the most encredible meal of which I have had the honour to partake in all my quarter-century on this earth: Carmelized garlic, fresh artisan bread, sautéed mushrooms in a brillant sauce, creamy garlic potatoes, sundried tomatoes and olive oil.

Most of all: Steak. Steak like you never imagined steak could be. Steak in all its bountiful glory. Steak that noble heifers would willing give up their lives to become, knowing that their sacrifice makes the world a more beautiful, a more peaceful, a more wonderful place to live for all. Steak that makes you - for the first time in your life - mindful of those precious little buds lining your tongue: 'Oh THAT'S what those were made for!'

Really, I like writing, and I'm not one to toot my own horn, but I know I am not horrible at it.

Nevertheless, on this subject, words just don't work. Suffice to say, that it is WORTH the 1500$ plane ticket to Buenos Aires - I. kid. you. not. The next morning I was still full. It didn't really hold me back from having quite possibly a heart-stoppingly wonderful dulce-de-leche filled pastry warm from the oven of a bakery we accidentally wandered by in La Boca. But... I feel like there should be a but and then something that justifies that pastry after such an extravagant meal. A 'but' that legitimates the insanity of such perfect steak and pastries in such an imperfect and broken and hungry world. A 'but' that puts it in worldly terms so that the whole experience makes sense. But there is no 'but' in Buenos Aires. There is only senseless joy of senses. To that I can truly add nothing. Provecho!