Contraband
Sometimes you wake up needing adventure.
My happy trekking shoes.
So I put on my happy trekking shoes and walked out the front door. My destination: Contraband Coffee. Had I ever been there? No. Was it close to home? No—twenty blocks away, to be exact. Was that going to stop me? Heck no.
I started walking.
Pepto pink was the color of my walk.
A young studly guy walked a small fluffy white dog who wore a pink sweater. Neither one looked happy about it.
A woman strode by swathed in black, except for the slash of pink around her neck.
A VW Cabriolet in the same pink was parked on the street. What kind of person drives a pink Cabriolet? I’m picturing a goth rocker.
I'm thinking of making a modest one like this.
Gingerbread houses!
I'm thinking of making a modest one like this.
I passed by a store that had gingerbread houses in the window. I stood and stared in for a moment before I realized it was workshop where you could make your own gingerbread house, like those ceramic shops where you paint dishes. How cool is that?
Have you ever made a gingerbread house? I’ve ALWAYS wanted to but never have, but I think this is my year. Who’s going with me?
Nibbles of interest.
Along the way, I walked by a new bakery that giving out bites of treats. I took the scone sample because I didn’t want the dude peddling calories to feel rejected.
I also saw this cool-looking bar called Black Sheep. How appropriate, right? For those who don’t know me… In my family, I’m the oddest one out. I’m the one who doesn’t have a real job, who goes dancing all night, who skips out of the country on a lark. Black sheep, thy name is Kate.
I show you guys a lot of cafe pictures. It's better than the alternative, I guess.
My sister is odd too, but somehow I have the reputation. She seems to blend in better. I don’t understand that. She’s the one more likely to run off to join the circus.
Twenty blocks, a dozen good mornings, and two fewer layers later, I arrived at Contraband.
The sun streamed through the windows, bright and happy. Since I’m a creature of the light, this instantly lifted my spirits, which were already pretty high.
And they have white orchids in the center of the main communal table. I picked at bright spot at one of the tall tables and sat down with my latte.
Adventure achieved.
A Grab Bag of Goodies
It's one of those random, stream-of-consciousness blog days. But, Kate, aren't all your blogs like that? you ask.
To which I reply: Pfft.
Temptation and abstinence, a two part story.
Part one: I went for a walk on Sunday to Recoleta, specifically this bench in Recoleta next to the cemetery. I like to sit there and watch people go by.
So I'm sitting in the sun, lapping up the warmth, watching the happy people doing the same, when I realize almost everyone is eating ice cream. Just like that, I needed some.
But I'd had ice cream the day before—a lot, by my standards. I didn't need to do that all over again. The temptation was so great, that I...
Which brings us to part two: the abstinence part. Instead of succumbing to temptation, I pulled out my notebook and began to make notes on a new idea I'm working on. As I was jotting the outline for the first two chapters of the book, I noticed people were slowing down and staring with great interest at my journal.
Each one of my housemates has stopped and goggled over my notebook too, flipping pages and exclaiming over it. I mean, it's a nice notebook, but it's not that nice. I wonder if it's my small, serial killer script that fascinates people.
Stepping back a moment.
I've never seen a country that embraces ice cream the way Argentina does.
No—embraces is not the word. Argentina is obsessed with ice cream.
I mean, in France and Italy people ate ice cream often, but not in the quantities consumed here. There's an heladaria pretty much on every corner. And they deliver to your doorstep.
The ice cream is like gelato—a remnant of the Italian influence here. The flavors are exotic but not strange. Marscapone with boysenberries (the bottom scoop in the photo) is one of my faves. I also like dulce de leche with brownies (each heladeria has at least eight varieties of dulce de leche).
For the record, Humphry still holds my heart. Secret Breakfast and Balsamic Caramel rock.
Vote for Pedro.
I was thinking about my time here in Buenos Aires. The best thing I'm going to take away from my time here? The cooking tips from my housemate Pedro, a.k.a. Guo Hao from China.
Pedro has been to cooking school and was a chef for a couple years. It shows. And I'm reaping the benefits. I've learned how to make kick-ass fried rice and a stir fry that'll make you get down and beg.
Bastards.
The mosquitoes have declared open season on me. They aren't being coy about it either—they've launched a full scale attack. So far today, I've been bitten eleven times. Isn't that just excessive?
And lastly...
When I up and decided to live in Buenos Aires, I knew there would be things I'd miss, but I wasn't sure what they'd be. What you end up missing is never what you expect.
Now I know. So I'd like to end this ditty on a list. But you knew that was coming.
A Short List of Yearnings, by Kate
- My friends. Of course. I can't wait to see them again and talk with them face-to-face over wine.
- Peanut butter. I miss it. Bad. Same goes for cottage cheese and feta.
- A single 16oz latte. Café con leche is good and all, but it's no latte. And it doesn't even compare to Ali's latte, from Central Coffee & Tea in the Haight. Ali's coffee deserves a moment of silence before taking the first sip, it's so good.
- Books. I thought I could live on e-books. Ha! When I go back, I'm going to bury myself under a pile of paperbacks for at least a week.
- The smell of the ocean. Cleansing and much healthier than breathing in the fumes from the death buses here. I miss the sound of the waves too, and walking on the beach at night, even when it's bristly cold.