Voulez Bar

Jenny and I had brunch today in the most fabulous spot in all of Buenos Aires. We discovered it ourselves, I don’t recall ever seeing it in a guidebook. It’s a well-kept secret: Voulez Bar. I had been craving eggs this morning after my initial breakfast of a small red apple, water, and CNN news. After reading that Obama had lost his cool at a reporter in a diner (we all lose our cool, buddy. Keep the faith,) I realized: A DINER! That’s what I want. Not some café with pastries but a place with real, filling, breakfast food. I had to have scrambled eggs (I also pictured hash browns, but I don’t even really care for those.) So Jenny and I set off in the direction we went when we took a much-longer-than-necessary route to El Jardín Japonés. I bought the 100% wool, fully lined burnt orange coat I had been coveting as a congratulations to myself (Jenny had already bought the same one in her size the day after we found it, when I was bedridden and sick.) The store was called Olive and it had some really cute feminine tops and dresses. I also bought a blue-grey dress. So, basically I spent two weeks’ budget in one store, but when you’re basically living off $400 - $500 pesos a week, that’s pretty easy to do in a Barrio Norte boutique. And I figured it a justified celebration. Perhaps we’ll make it to Olsen Sunday brunch and I can wear my cute dress. From Olive we headed toward the street we had wandered down on Friday – something with Árabe in it – and I’m getting hungry and grouchy. Are we sure we’re going the right way? Jenny points out chain cafes with pastries she wants to try for Dessert Day. I only have a limited amount of Mondays left; I’d rather not spend them at chains like Delicity. She is so obsessed with sweets she might just convince me to go back on South Beach. (I told you I was grouchy.) So we end up at the place. I remember being intrigued with it when I saw the patio filled with Friday’s lunch crowd. Today there were plenty of tables outside in the partial shade, so we sit by the door at the street corner, looking over a plaza, or rather, an extended road median. The chairs we sit in are antique metal glazed with green paint, and inside the dark wood tables are inviting (but so is the warm air and cool breeze outside.) The waiter hands us our menus, and the first thing I notice is: this place is cheap. Or at least reasonable by Argentine standards. It does not look cheap, and it has way more character than the now-demoted Café Tolon. (Sorry, Bruno. Sorry, Frank.) I peruse the menu: coffees, pastries, breakfast, sandwiches, salads. Nothing is over $25 pesos. I focus back on the breakfasts. The “Oh-La-La” plate comes with coffee/tea with milk, scrambled eggs, bacon, orange juice, and toast with cream cheese and jam (a common combination here, and quite good. Cream cheese with jam; try it if you haven’t.) I feel as if I have hit the jackpot. There’s also a healthier option that strikes my fancy: yogurt, granola, fresh fruit, and café con leche. But I stick to my gut. My body needs protein. My body wants scrambled eggs. (Also, I’m not really sure if I like Argentine yogurt.) So I order the “Oh-La-La” sin panceta, and Jenny gets jugo de naranja con medialunas. (At this point we have plans to meet Annemarie at Morelia’s for lunch in a few hours, but she was still sick in bed when 2:30 pm rolled around so we decided to reschedule.) Jenny’s two medialunas come out – fat and flaky – on a delicate china plate with orange and brown blossoms. The waitress brings our juices and my coffee in a dainty teacup with a chipped handle. I want to take a picture but I don’t. I also want to take a picture of the dog-walkers who pass by, but I resist that as well. Jenny let’s me sample a bite of her medialuna since I have become quite the connoisseur. They are divine. Not too sticky on the outside, but sweet on the inside. Like it was baked-in, not just glazed. And soft and flaky and fat – almost to the point of appearing to be square as opposed to their namesake crescent shape. Eventually my eggs come out in a bowl alongside three pieces of thick toast. It is perfect. The eggs are soft-scrambled but not too runny. And – can it be? –possibly seasoned with something. I pile the eggs on my toast. Sourdough? Didn’t know they had that here. The servers are young and hip. The place reminds me of Austin. And how I can’t wait to be there. (I’m bad about living in the present. It’s something I should learn from the Argentines. No te prometo nada. Good, because promises can be broken.) I think about Austin and the things I want to do there. Don’t get me wrong, I’m living the good life in Buenos Aires, but in Austin, the good life is a bit healthier and saner.