Bar Uriarte

I’m just going to say it: people who prefer the company of animals over humans freak me out. Now that that’s off my chest, Bar Uriarte is a cool place. I’m glad I came here, even if it had to be by myself, and the hostess looked at me funny. Oh well, I am here and I will write and I will eat. I was facing the outdoor garden, but the sun was too bright so now I’m facing the bar and the exposed kitchen. Jenny and I stopped in here yesterday, but after perusing the menu she claimed she couldn’t find anything she wanted on the lunch menu and would prefer to come here for dinner when there are more people and you get charged twice as much for the same portion sizes because she’s still on her parents’ dollar. I added the second part myself, but there were French fries on the menu so I think the part she didn’t say was the real reason she didn’t want to eat there. And also I think she had her heart set on Morelia’s so we ate there yesterday for lunch. And I offered to postpone Bar Uriarte until dinner, because either way I could still order my risotto appetizer, but she is set on Hard Rock macaroni. Since Iguazu is falling through, and I’ve been working so much lately, I figured I could splurge on a few meals. But I’ve never been a fan of macaroni, so I’m here at Bar Uriarte by myself. Mis croquetas de risotto y queso fresco are here and they are tiny. Looks like I’ll be filling up on bread and crème brulee.

I look silly, I realize, but sometimes doing what you want means taking a risk and doing it on your own. Even if you look like a fool. I’m over it though. Annemarie says entertaining yourself is a life skill. (I credit Mom for having me play by myself with Lego’s and Barbie’s in my room while the older kids were in school.) And I figure that Emily was correct when she told me that if you continue to do the things you enjoy on your own, you eventually will meet people with similar interests. But sometimes you end up stuck with creeps like Derik.

This place is bright white with sleek wood tables. It’s a hard place to eat alone because they don’t quite know where to put you, and you don’t get to seat yourself. I imagine I would’ve chosen some of the low couch seating by the bar because everyone over in this section looks like they’re having a celebration or a business meeting. (Business meetings here are typically done over lunch.) The waitress asked me if I’d like to see the English menu. I told her no, and made a point to use as much Spanish as possible with her. (To be fair, after my arrival a lot of English-only tourists came by, but I don’t consider myself a tourist.)

Yesterday Jenny and I went to ACORN, and it was not what I expected. I suppose I thought the children would be younger or that there would be more structure. But we got there and it seemed almost a free-for-all. The oldest kid, Alejandro, is 13 and the youngest, Fabrizio, is 4. We played games and helped bake “Estados Unidos cookies,” which were a modification of Nestle Tollhouse’s recipe. (We swapped coconut powder for baking soda and added Argentina’s attempt at M&Ms, Rocklets, and a grated chocolate bar instead of chips. The end result was delicious.)

baking cookies with Janna

I don’t think Jenny realized how rough the kids from La Boca would play, and she was pretty competitive during musical chairs. She eventually got thrown off a chair onto the ground by a 12 year old. Serves her right for stealing his chair in the previous round. I took pictures, and when I showed her the one of her genuinely smiling she said, “It was because I had just stolen the chair from that boy.” Oh wow.

Jenny stealing a kid's chair in a rowdy game of Musical Chairs

the camera was a big hit

Can I get it back now?

My favorite moment though was when Rosario and some older boy were the final two vying for the chair. When the music stopped, Rosario pushed the boy out of the way, dragged the chair in the opposite direction in a pink blur, and then sat down with her legs crossed and a smirk on her face, leaning against the back of the chair all cool and cocky with a “What’s up, now?” expression. It was awesome, by far the best musical chairs move I had ever seen. Eventually musical chairs was deemed to violent, so we moved on to “La Bomba,” or “Hot Potato” as it’s known in The States. I got out in the first round – wasn’t about to argue with Rosario, who is perfectly sweet but tough – so I played with Fabrizio and a balloon. I asked him if he had any brothers or sisters, which in Spanish is just “hermanos.” He told me he is going to have a sister, “porque mi mama tiene un bebe adentro de ella.”

Fabrizio

The breadbasket here at Bar Uriarte is divine, and they just refilled it for me. The kitchen window faces the street, so I figure culinary cleanliness is strictly enforced.

Then we all baked cookies with Janna, who, it turns out, just so happened to be our “leader” for the ACORN pub crawl a while back. I thought her annoying then, but after learning she’d been working that job 3 nights/week for five months, I forgive her. She’s 26. From Houston. Studied child psychology and theatre at Northwestern. We got to chat quite a bit on our two-hour bus ride home. Some sort of protest blocked the route. I thought I knew what a protest was when I lived in Austin. Nothing compared to Argentine passion. So anyway, we cooked up our modified “United States cookies” in the gas oven, and they baked rather quickly. Or rather the ones on the bottom shelf just two inches above the flames did, and they burned. But for the most part they still tasted pretty good. Maybe it’s all the hand mixing and super-clean kitchen standards we upheld, as we told the kids not to eat raw batter because of the eggs and then scooped up spoonfuls for ourselves. I brought the cookies out on a tray once we eased them off of the greased cooking sheets. Several of them were too gooey and broke, so Jenny and I split those. Others were burnt so we sampled them for quality.

Matt made fun of me for using the tray superfluously at work this weekend, but when you carry a tray you have authority. The same way sitting behind a desk makes everyone think you know what you’re talking about.

The kids kept calling the cookies “feas,” or ugly, which can also sometimes refer to food’s flavor, but I think they were talking strictly appearance. In retrospect, American chocolate chip cookies are pretty ugly in comparison to Argentina’s Parisian-inspired pastries. “Son feas pero ricas,” I told one of the boys. “¡No! ¡son feas!” he grimaced. “¿Tan feas que comimos todas?” I asked him, and the girls next to me chuckled chocolate chip cookie laughs.

Post-Cookie Dance Party

Last night we went to Practica X, and thankfully Derik was not there. The place seems like a mix between a bar and a dance studio. I had my camera, but I didn’t want to look like I was trying to steal anyone’s moves, so I paid my $8 pesos and watched the dancers while avoiding giving any men “milonga eyes.” One man asked Jenny to dance, and she refused. I think my circa 1999 brown suede Urban Outfitter shoes set the tone that I wasn’t dancing. But watching was entertaining enough, and these people were good, so I’d hate to make a fool of myself stumbling across the floor while the other ladies in stilettos gracefully glided by. (I would recommend Plaza Dorrego for the cultural experience, but Practica X for the dancers’ talent.) There seems to be a universal dancer’s outfit: fitted tops and low-slung pants, often covered by a flowy skirt to enhance the feminine movements. And T-strap shoes. Heels are a must for tango. The couples seemed as if they had routines pre-calculated, but perhaps they were just adept at improvisation. Every now and then couples would trade off for a few dances, then reunite and share what they’d learned with their partners. This dulce de leche crème brulee is good but it is rich.

Around midnight we walked around the corner to La Catedral, where Derik promised me a live orchestra and Green Leopard Shirt from a while ago confirmed to Jenny that there’d be tango electronica. We followed a guy carrying a guitar case up the stairs, which seemed both promising and portentous. We asked the lady about the orchestra before shelling out our $15 pesos. “Si, hay. En un rato.” En un rato, eh? I was yawning in Practica X, despite the dancers’ ability to hold my interest. “¿Cuándo empieza la orquestra?” I asked the lady at the desk. “En una hora, mas o menos.” Sorry, Jenny, but I couldn’t wait for (what would most likely be over) an hour for the orchestra to play so we could watch the same dancers in a smoky, dark bar. “And the music they were playing was not tango electronica,” Jenny noted. (If you want to hear tango electronica, walk down Calle Florida and buy a Narcotango CD. Or just download some Gotan Project off of iTunes.) Plus the black curtain was up, so for all I know the place was empty and we would’ve been waiting alone. She can check it out for me after I leave.

So after that we cabbed it home and I slept until I my wake up call from Mr. Charlie Horse at 8:18 am. Then I tried to book a ticket to Iguazu, admitted defeat, and headed over to Palermo Soho. Tried on the cute leather flats in a size 38, but I really need a 39, even if they do stretch a bit. Simple ballet flats in a supple buttery tan leather with a messy knotted bow at the toe. But at $315 pesos, and the dollar devaluing at such a rapid pace, over $100 USD seems silly for shoes that aren’t perfect. And they weren’t as cute on as I had hoped. Perhaps because they’re too small, perhaps because I’m so pale. So now I guess I’ll pay the bill and wander more in search of shoes/accessories for me and Will. I only shop at the chains for clothing, because at least they have quality standards. But all of the stores Jenny drags me into are chockfull of fabrics that will pill and polyester. I finally told her I’m a fabric snob, and now she holds it against me. Honestly, I don’t think it’s a bad thing to have good taste.