EricMBloggie

It takes a day of travel from Philly to Baltimore, then DC, before finally arriving to the airport in Buenos Aires, where we meet Juan´s grandparents on his mother´s side, El Don and Pili. I was half conscious through most of the eleven hour plane ride thanks to a couple of sleeping pills, but I can´t say that the twenty four hours of travel was enjoyable.

The Argentinian countryside on the way to Buenos Aires is familiar. It´s a mix of New Hampshire and Europe.I´m stirred awake as the car pulls into the garage. Anna Maria, the maid– yeah, there’s a maid–, helps us with our bags. The street could be one of the nicer blocks in West Philadelphia, except the houses are more European and better kept.

Juan´s grandparents live in a gated compound of sorts. Well, compound makes it sound bigger than it is, I suppose. There´s a well manicured lawn leading to the main house, a pool, a patio and grill, and a guest apartment where Juan and I will be staying. It´s well furnished, without being stilted; comfortable and welcoming.

In the kitchen there are pastries. Buttery half moon croissants and the one with fresh dulce de leche are my favorite. There are a variety of meats on the counter. Beef ribs, pork belly, little and big sausages, and Morcilla (more’see’sha) the famed Blood Sausage. It´s Juan´s favorite food, and I´m ready to eat it– coagulated blood and fat shoved in intestines. That´s good? Okay.

We shower off the day of travel and change in anticipation for the family´s arrival. Juan´s aunt Adrianna and uncle Roberto show up with their spouses and children. There’s no way to remember all of these people and their names. Hours and hours of feasting commence.

First come appetizers of cheese, ham, salami, olives, and bread. Then, some drink called G? Americano. I can´t remember, I´ll have to ask Juan. It´s very casual, everyone´s meeting, talking, and catching up with each other. They light the traditional Argentinian grill, the parilla (pa-ree-sha), for an asado or barbecue. A natural charcoal called ‘carbon vegetal’ and wood are lit in a metal basket, fall to the brick underneath, and are spread out under the grill. The grill can be raised or lowered with a crank. It´s slowly cooked and simply seasoned, and served alongside salads, wine, soda, and breads. The food is great, the company is better. You can hear that Juan´s laugh has been passed down through the generations. I wonder if his great grandfather had the same one. The meal goes on and on, and is informal, social, and familial. They are astounded at the amount I can eat, but I just don´t want to miss anything new. Speaking of new things, the first thing I go for is the blood sausage. It´s not firm, which is unexpected compared to other sausages. I like the way it tastes, but it´s hard to push away the fact that it´s coagulated blood. I mean, it feels like coagulated blood. But when I spread it on bread, it´s pretty good. This one´s going to take a few tries.

The Ice Cream!

Juan´s uncle Roberto owns Saverio, an ice cream factory and a few shops in Buenos Aires. He brings out two big Styrofoam containers each with eight-or-so flavors of ice cream. It´s like gelato, but icier, and it’s fresh. Each flavor is distinct and perfectly strong. There is raspberry, blueberry, and lemon, dulce de leche, chocolate with orange peel, chocolate with a liqueur, mascarpone, and more more more. It´s amazing in the way that I stop paying attention to anything else just pay attention to how crazy-good the ice cream tastes. I have way too much, but they insist on refilling the bowl. I make half-assed attempts to say no, but I really want to overindulge.

After the meal, I lay on the grass like a big, fat beached whale, soaking up the rest of the sun. Later on, we kick around the soccer ball, pass around the mate and wine, and I decipher what I can of the stories everyone´s telling. The remnants of my Spanish education is getting a workout, but Juan and his mom are translating, and the family knows enough English to make it work.

It feels like 2am when the family leaves. It´s actually 9:30. What a long day. We turn in early.

But not before eating again. And then the ice cream comes out. I over-overindulge once again.

There´s another day of travel ahead.