EricMBloggie


SundayWe awoke late, having been up too long partying. It was a lazy day for everyone. The entire family gathered once again for a late lunch, after which we said goodbye to Christina, Dave, Kelly, and Marina, who had a flight to catch.

The soccer game started just before dark, a small match between the USA and Argentina. Juan and I tried our best to keep up with Rudy and Consalo. The goals were the small space between the legs of a lawn chair, and a large old tree took up a chunk of the midfield. I was dead tired within minutes, but we pressed on, eventually joined by Roberto. He played for their team for some time, eventually switching to ours. There was plenty of pushing and elbowing going on to make it competitive, but not too much to get in the way of joking around. After the game, we talked at dinner table, hydrating and panting, soaked in sweat.

That night, Rudy dropped us off in Palermo Hollywood, where we met up with Juan´s distant cousin, Daniela, her friend Roxy, and Roxy´s friend whose name I have forgotten. We ended up at a dance club in Palermo Soho where Daniela taught me some Salsa. This would be a fun hobby to take up. I´ll check out “Cuba Libre” in Philadelphia to see if I can rustle up a Latino gal to show me some more moves. Later on, I met a nice (cute!) girl named Cecila, who told me I looked like the guy from Dr. 90210. I Googled it the next day– I´m going to need a tan if I´m going to make a convincing Halloween costume this year. We wrapped up the night, completely exhausted, by eating breakfast at a diner around seven in the morning.

Monday

Rudy manned the parilla (grill) in his backyard, wearing a Statue of David apron, complete with stone penis. Adriana brought out the salads: shaved carrots and corn, avocado with lemon juice, tomato and basil with port wine cheese, tomato and olive oil, lettuce, and coleslaw. The first thing to come is always the choripan, which is grilled chorizo, split in half, sandwiched in a baguette. It´s simple and one of my favorites. There was pork belly, some pork from around the neck area, beef, and morcilla. I have gotten over the fact that morcilla is made from blood, and enjoy it spread on bread. I´ve never seen it in Philadelphia, but I´ve certainly never looked for it before. I don´t think I´ll attempt making my own. It might stain the counter tops something awful.

After eating, Sophia and I played the piano and guitar together. Their chord notations are different than ours. Rather than C, D, E, etc, they use Do, Re, Mi. It was easy enough to learn theirs, so we translated songs back and forth. She says she´s never played with anyone else before, which I can hardly believe, because she took to it like un pescado en agua. After she showed me some of the stuff she´d been working on, we played a totally awesome version of “Sweet Child of Mine.” I felt a little out of my league– she has a ton of natural talent, and it really showed when we found and played a couple of Amy Winehouse songs. “Rehab” and “Back to Black” sound really nice with two people on the piano. It took some time for her to get comfortable enough to sing, but Sophia has a beautiful voice and can naturally and effortlessly find and hold a tune– a welcome substitute to my often off key wailing. I could see how proud Adrianna and Rudy were of her as they watched.

We arrived at the indoor futbol place, where Roberto has been playing every Monday for fifteen years. I split off to go to the bathroom. I went into one marked ‘Damas.’ Luckily, it was empty, because I should have been in ‘Caballeros.’ I caught up with Roberto and Juan, and jogged out onto the field to meet my teammates, a couple of guys I recognized from the party. The field was short cut artificial grass, big enough to fit our four-on-four game comfortably. It was dangerously slippery with my almost treadless shoes. The game got underway, and within minutes both Juan and I were cramped and panting. The guys told us to slow it down, take it easy, instead of trying to be everywhere at once. That helped. About halfway through the hour and a half game, I took over for the goalie, only letting in one (two? Let´s just say one…) goal. I came out of goal to play offense. The opposing goalie stopped shot after shot– he was good and he knew it. We developed a wordless rivalry. It was gratifying when I finally scored on him. We had a good laugh about it. Our teammates told Roberto we played well, which I was concerned about. I didn’t want to be the crappy player, ruining their weekly soccer game. I like to think that we represented America well.

That night, tired and sore, we went out with Sofia and her friend Denise. Palermo Hollywood and Soho, the most active nightlife spots in the city, were a ghost town. We had a quiet night of whiskey, wine and pizza. At a nearby table, a group of guys glared and stared at our group, upset at the Americans with the Argentinian girls. It turns out it´s a common occurrence. Too bad, guys. When we dropped Denise off, Sofie went to see her to the door. The cab driver was obviously jittery and fully expected to be robbed. After too much time passed, Sofie returned and we sped off, running nearly every red light home.

Tuesday

We ate some really good empanadas (corn, chicken, beef, and ham & cheese) with three generations of Cardarelli´s. We talked current events, women, and whatever else with Juan´s grandfather, his uncle Pablo, and Pablo´s son Tommy. The conversation was mostly in Spanish, but turned to English here and there. I tried my best to keep up. The crime in Buenos Aires is a huge problem, and Tommy had a story as proof. On his way to college one morning, he was approached at knife point for his money and cell phone. He shoved the assailant away and ran off, saving his possessions. No one on the busy street bothered to help and there weren’t any police around to do a thing. This would never happen in Center City at nine thirty in the morning, but it´s commonplace here. You always have to be looking over your shoulder.

We took the train back to Pili and Don´s house, which was a nice ride. I sat by an big open window, and was careful to not get my arm chopped off by everything passing by right outside.

Now it was Roberto´s turn to man the parilla. Juan says he wasn’t able to get the meat he wanted because of the violent strike going on right now about the percentage of profits farmers have to give to the government. Even so, I didn’t notice a shortage of food. First came the red wine, this one a strong blend of Cab, Merlot, and Malbec. Next, the choripan, which we ate before getting to the dinner table. At the table, there was a tomato and olive oil salad, lettuce, baguettes, and an endless stream of morcilla, beef ribs, and filet mignon or Lomo as it´s called in Argentina. There were a few different Malbecs through the meal, each one distinct and delicious. The dinner plates were cleared, and a Spanish lesson began. We went over phrase after phrase of dirty words, which I´m getting comfortable using. I could really piss off an Argentinian if I wanted. I got excited at the appearance of bowls and spoons, which telegraphed that the Saverio ice cream was on it´s way. There were around twelve flavors. They were all delicious. Juan went to play an Argentinian card game similar to ´Bullshit,´but with more rules, and I continued to learn more Spanish. Laughter filled the house. We got home at 2:30am, and decided to stay home, since it was raining, and we had plans for tomorrow.

Wednesday

Juan, Pili, and I went showed up to Saverio late, because the strikers had blocked some of the roads. We had to take a long alternative route. We sat in Roberto´s office, and he explained the ice cream production process. First, the raw ingredients of cream, sugar, and flavors are combined. The recipes use top quality, fresh ingredients, and no preservatives to ensure the best quality end product. The ingredients are pasteurized in something that looks like an over-sized washing machine. If it´s going to be sent of to a restaurant, it goes to a machine which emulsifies it better, so it´ll keep longer, otherwise it goes straight to a freezer. They have freezers from Italy and Argentina, as I understand it. The ice cream is quickly cooled to under freezing temperature while also being aerated. Next, it´s put in large buckets and transferred to freezers. We tasted chocolate, American creme, and dulce de leche straight from the freezing machine. The consistency was more like a milkshake since it hadn’t been frozen for long. So good. We checked out the guys hand making the ice cream cakes and bonbons and the storage facilities, then hopped in the car to see the new Saverio. It´s a corner spot right in the city, with big vinyl prints of original Saverio artwork on the back wall, a hanging glass menu, bright and white, and a curved counter top, which is echoed by a curved ceiling. Put on of these on South Street and Rita´s and Ben & Jerry´s will have some problems.

I hope I got all of that right.

Roberto took us to see River Plate (that’s the name of the soccer team) play Chile in futbol. It was his little daughter Marlena´s first ever game, as well as mine. She and I held hands all the way to the stadium– cute! Consalo went even though he´s a Boca Juniors fan, and hates River. Don, Sophia, and Oriana came along as well, the car was jam-packed. We parked on the street and had to pay $2 to a teenaged kid to “watch the car.” Notice how I write “had.” If you don´t pay, he´s the same kid that will smash your car. It´s a great system. We were frisked three times by police officers entering the stadium. Futbol fans are a rowdy bunch.

We had great seats, overlooking midfield. To our left was the Bara Barabas, the wild River Plate fans in the upper deck cheap seats. To our right, fenced in by barbed wire, a small section of rabid Chilean fans. The game got under way, and within less than a minute, River Plate scored. The Bara Barabas erupted and didn’t stop cheering or beating their drums until long after the game was over. Every attempt the Chilean fans made to cheer loudly was quickly overwhelmed by a stadium full of River fans. What a scene.

I took this opportunity to practice all of the swears that I had learned the night before, yelling every obscenity I knew at the Chilean team. River Plate won, 2-0. It was a hell of a time.

Thursday

We left to hugs, damp eyes, and heartfelt goodbyes. I look forward to seeing this beautiful family again.