A Hard Day's Night, Part 2

Back at Café Havanna today. Today is a national holiday, I thought it was Independence Day, but apparently it’s Día de la Revolución, or Revolution Day. It’s cold today and all I’ve heard that you do to celebrate is eat lochro criollo, so perhaps I’ll eat that for dinner. I got home around 8:15 am, just as Jenny was getting dressed for church. Last night “A Hard Day’s Night” played at least three times and I felt the weight of the lyrics in my feet. But I make it a habit not to know the time while I’m working. As long as it’s busy, I can manage. It was Jamie’s birthday. Or still is, I suppose. She hopped over to bartend when things were busy, then pulled me up to dance on the bar with her when things slowed down. Dancing on the bar is a lot more fun than cleaning up empty glasses and being made fun of by porteños for always asking “¿Todo bien?” Ezequiel came back, as promised in his text message, and wants to take me out today. I suppose it wouldn’t be bad, but what has he got to offer? He speaks English (so I can’t use him as an opportunity to practice my Spanish) and, as Matt said, “He’s got no game.” It’s true. He’s kind of lame. Matt used to date his cousin, that’s why he hangs around.

When I got to work, Andres asked me, “How’s our star waitress?” I told him I could use some coffee. Paula was already helping a table in the back. I was basically assigned the front territory. “If that’s how you want to do it,” Paula told me. “No, that’s how I want it,” Con told her. Mid-fifty year old Recoleta types ordered gin & tonics and Irish coffees by the window during happy hour. They wanted something to snack on, peanuts? bread? Pero no hay. Later on we had pochoclo, popcorn, to offer; but they were gone. A French lady really got a kick out of practicing her English with me. She spoke Spanish though, too, so we were able to communicate. I wish I knew French. And some Michigan kids, I swear, thought they were ordering from a full-blooded Argentine when they spoke to me. Even though I was code switching and would confirm their orders in English. "Kwah-troh peen-tahs." "You want four pints of Quilmes?" I finally told them I was from Texas. They've been in Buenos Aires twice as long as I have, but I don't think their Spanish is quite up to par.

I think Buenos Aires’ smoke has cut my contact lenses’ lives in half. They cloud up and stick to my eyes in a week’s wear. I’m not sure if I can do locro criollo tonight. It’s like a stew from northern Argentina. I think I sampled it with Pedro at El Sanjuanino, the restaurant that everyone says reminds them of Salta. I don’t know Salta, and if it’s really like the restaurant, I don’t know if I want to go. I want breakfast food. Eggs. Migas from Angela’s. In a month or so (after I’ve left the southern hemisphere,) Sugar is opening a restaurant portion with breakfast options. Bacon and eggs. Real maple syrup from Canada.

My body is tired. Legs aching, arms sore. Yesterday’s River game was fun, but I didn’t realize what a production it would be. An all day affair. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to help Juan Jo, especially in exchange for free tickets. He says I need to come back in October for the River-Boca game. (Voted one of the 50 Sporting Events You Must See Before You Die.) Maybe some day…

The ex-pats last night were snobby. And for people who have chosen to transition to life in Buenos Aires, they spoke very little Spanish. I overheard someone say recently that ex-pats in Buenos Aires tend to have the most complaints (as opposed to ex-pats in other countries, I imagine.) I was thinking I should keep an ongoing list of things I’m going to miss:

1. café con leche
2. Finlandia queso crema (much better than Philadelphia cream cheese)
3. staying out until 7 am
4. cheesy pick up lines in bars and cat-calls in the streets by Latin men
5. Rollinga fashion statements
6. public transportation
7. walking everywhere
8. slow service in cafes
9. the 3:1 ratio
10. empanadas de cebolla y queso
11. speaking Castellano as opposed to Español

Things I will not miss:

1. jamón
2. hard-boiled eggs
3. bank fees

I suppose in a way I might even miss lines, so I don't dare add "inefficiency" to any list.

I need a nap. And food. I don't know what there is to do today: Sunday and a national holiday. Damian wanted brunch, but when I e-mailed Annemarie this morning she said, "Don't hold your breath." But now I want brunch. And Olsen potatoes. I can fix myself Brie and apples with green tea. Or toast with cream cheese and raspberry jam. These are the groceries I have: green tea, Cajun seasoning, red pepper flakes, vegetable broth bouillon cubes, psyllium husks, peanut butter, low-carb dulce de leche, sesame crackers, wheat crackers, All-Bran cereal, green bananas, two fat apples, Brie, cream cheese, two eggs, Sancor Bio drinkable yogurts, Activia mueslix yogurts, raspberry jam, celery stalks, wheat bread, hummus, and Babba Ganoush. I kind of want an empanada. But I made myself a new delicacy: burnt toast with Brie and melted raspberry preserves. I told myself I'd go to La Pharmacie today for lochro criollo. It's only $18, the cheapest price I've seen posted. If it's bad, I'll get an empanada maybe. It's been a while since I've had one of those. And it's still National Pizza and Empanada Week. Now that I'm rolling in dough, I feel like I can spend it. And by "rolling in dough," I mean I've made $227 pesos this week. But I figure I've saved $6 USD in ATM fees, at least for a week or so, and I've saved the money I would've spent going out: cabs, cover (which I rarely have to pay, thanks to my PR buddies,) and drinks. It's a good deal. And I like the people I work with. Kristen and I bonded over popcorn in the kitchen, and she'd try to mix us drinks on the sly because it was too busy to even pour yourself a cocktail. And Jamie's great, obviously. Mallory's fun. And Andres is great too. Nice guy. Matt said the reason he called was to make sure I wasn't with him, and that he'd tell him we were making out in McDonald's (which did not happen.) I suppose boys will be boys. Even if they're 43.