A smørrebrød selection with a twelfth-floor view at the Club Danés.

In fact, it was as an exchange student, in Denmark as a teenager, that Marenco developed a taste for this Nordic cuisine, because there was a certain something he missed, and probably dreamt of, on his return to Argentina: creamy, smooth, luscious pork liver paté.

But more about the Danish Club on the twelfth floor of a Retiro high rise in a bit.

Last month, and in honour of Denmark’s Queen Margrethe II’s birthday on April 16 (which unfortunately transpired to be the day that shipping mogul Maersk McKinney-Møller passed away at the ripe age of 98), the Danish embassy hosted an interesting and rather challenging dinner at Chila in Puerto Madero.

Rather than just trying to replicate Danish gastronomy with ingredients such as herring that are difficult to get hold of in Argentina, the challenge was set for Danish chef Simon Lau Cederholm, who owns Aquavit restaurant in Brasilia, and his Argentine colleague and Chila’s executive chef, Soledad Nardelli, who is one of Argentina’s most prominent chefs thanks to her TV programme on El Gourmet. The task? For both chefs to come up with a starter and a main course using exactly the same Danish-inspired ingredients.

And fascinating it was too. One delicious amuse-bouche — and when it is that amusing it is definitely acceptable to eat something so teeny tiny, was the tucupi shot accompanied by oysters from Chubut. Given that the yellow tucupi sauce, which is taken from wild manioc root has its origins in Brazil, I‘ll bet on that being Chef Cederholm’s concoction.

Of course salmon featured strongly in the starters, and to be honest, I know they were delicious although they weren’t terribly memorable. What an awful thing to say. But that’s because the night’s outstanding dish was the merluza negra in a Torrontés pilpil and the creamiest cauliflower mashed base — and nothing stood a chance against that main.

One of my Danish dining companions had been busily passing over her remains to her husband, who happily lapped them up. And once I finished that Patagonian toothfish, I wished I was her husband, greedily finishing off those fishy remains like a starving alley cat. Outstanding.

And so with a taste of the Nordic whirling about my mind for a few weeks, I thought it was high time to visit the Club Danés which has been on my hit list for quite some time.

I‘m not quite sure how I ever heard of it, but I had a vision of some old boys’ den, pipe smoking elderly gentlemen with jolly cornflower-colour eyes fighting over their preferred smørrebrød from the comfort of weary leather armchairs.

Far from it, the Danish Club is modern in as much as it looks quite 1990s, but it is definitely not old school, although once upon a time only the Danes were allowed in.

Only catering at lunchtime, Monday to Friday, the club has been run by the same hands for the past 17 years by Eduardo Marenco and Giaco Macagno, and very hands on deck it is too.

Parked in a window seat with a harbour view, the wonderful feeling of being far removed from the city below washed over, as the lorries crawled their way down the road, the waves probably gently lapped at the shore and the only vehicles in a hurry were cargo ships and ferries making their way in and out of the harbour. Watching the world go by was a welcome break from the daily bustle.

Four lunch specials are on offer, including the aptly named “economical” menu, and diners can expect to pay around 50 pesos for a main with coffee and a soft drink, fairly standard prices for downtown. For every group of 10, one diner gets to eat free.

Frikadeller (meat balls) with creamy mash and tempting fried onions.

Sampling four smørrebrøds (bread and butter) — two lacha ones, with a curry sauce, roast beef and the by-now infamous pork liver paté — the tastes were explosive. Lacha is what the chefs use to substitute pickled herring which is complicated to import, according to Marenco, and although it is called the Argentine herring which he described as being as chewy like gum, there was no giveaway that it wasn’t Baltic fresh.

The liver paté totally won hands down, for its creamy consistency on perfect rye bread, made in house, topped with beetroot and pickle, and now I know why Marenco perhaps developed a small obsession with replicating that flavour. Lacha with simple onion rings was sharp and fresh, while the roast beef tasted like an English Sunday roast and was sliced just as thinly. Fried chunks of onion completed the beef. And although I am always, always, a fan of curry, I just found it too overwhelming to get a good taste of the local fish on the fourth smørrebrød.

Mains wise, Mr Links was adamant he would sample the pork frikadeller (meat balls) and he was not let down — the flavour was bursting through, the mash was creamy and there were more tempting fried onions pieces to go with it.

Now salmon often is my top pick if it is on the menu and the pink goulash, seasoned with dill, was quite delicious. What was so fabulous about the Danish Club was tasting flavours that are seemingly hard to come by, but which appear to have been prepared quite simply.

Wining On verdict: Book ahead for a table with a view, a touch of escapism and Nordic taste sensations.

Club Danés
Av. Leandro N. Alem 1074,
Floor 12, Retiro
Tel: 4312-9266

Published in the Buenos Aires Herald on May 13, 2012
Photo by Allan Kelin

ArteBA is a hugely important event from the galleries’ perspective because it allows them to showcase the best of contemporary Argentinian art. The event gathers local gallery greats, such as Ruth Benzacar, Teresa Anchorena and Jardín Oculto, and the emerging such as Rayo Lazer and Mite, giving one and all the chance to shine brightly with exhibitions and installations from their prized artists. Exhibitors are divided into various categories, including the ‘Barrio Joven Chandon’ for emergent artists, ‘Galleries at arteBA 2012’ for the more established venues and the ‘Petrobras Visual Arts Prize’.

For the rest of this story, please check out The Real Argentina.

Writing in English, her website Pick Up The Fork also attracts Argentine visitors and it was the following comments that instigated hate mail from die-hard pizza fans angry about her opinion.

“It’s no surprise Argentina has the reputation for the worst pizza in the world. Yes, you heard me correctly, like many other foreigners, I do not like the pizza in Buenos Aires. Despite the large Italian influence, and love for the cheesy pie, pizza here consists of rubbery cheese and tasteless dough, no sauce, and very little flavour.”

So the girl’s got an opinion. What of it? Apparently it takes all sorts to make the world go round, and fortunately she takes it in her stride, given that Argentines also, at times, agree with her honest views on eating out in BA.

Lazar admits to being jaded and tired of the usual fare, and that she misses good ethnic food.
“Chinese, Vietnamese, Thai, Indian. You can find them all but it is ridiculously expensive. When I go back to the US, the first thing I do is get Japanese food, delicious and under US$10. But here you can’t get anything delicious and if you do, it’ll be expensive.

“It’s also hard to find places that are consistent. I might recommend a place and go back and find the service is terrible, or a different dish is awful. That’s why I don’t go back to the same places and always look for new places.”

Service, or the lack of care that goes into it, is the one gripe I hear time and again about restaurants, and Lazar agrees. “It feels like the staff are doing you a favour. It isn’t service-oriented and maybe it’s because they don’t make that much money in tips… but bad service will ruin a place for me. I don’t mind regular service but mala onda, or waitresses being huge bitches is not acceptable. There are also few restaurants where they know a lot about the menu. I just want to go somewhere and ask them “what best represents this place?” and they never know how to answer me.”

Adding that she believes her standards have slipped — “I think seven is the new 10” — Lazar’s current complaint is the exorbitant price of imported goods.

“Going to Barrio Chino used to be my favourite thing in order to see what new sauces they had in. But it kills me paying so much. Take Tabasco. There’s a new smoky one and it costs 40 pesos and I know it’s US$2 in the US. If I had the best of both worlds I’d have access to cheap kitchen appliances but live here. I’ve had dreams about being in BA but I’m walking into Trader Joe’s.”

Read the original Expat interview with Allie here.

When was the first time you came to Argentina?
It was in 2006, when I came here to study abroad. I stayed, for silly reasons, really, the weather, I wasn’t ready to go back to normal life in the US, and it was cheap at the time. I wasn’t ready for the real world and it was the best option out of other bad or worse options! Aged 21!

Was it easy to extend the study abroad programme?
I did the first six months and was studying at UBA, and I really liked it. I felt my time in Buenos Aires wasn’t done after those six months so I turned that into a year, and after that I thought about staying for me if I took a year off from school.

What was studying at UBA like?
It’s a lot different from my US college. There were always strikes and the social science classes I took were challenging because they were in Spanish. But because I’m a foreigner they gave me quite a lot of breaks. My university at home is based in a college town, with a big bar scene, a stereotypical US university.

Did you already speak Spanish?
I had some because when I was in high school I did two volunteer programmes of two months each, one in Honduras and the other in Mexico, living with a family, with no running water or electricity.

Where did you live at first?
The year abroad programme puts you with a family, so I lived in Almagro in this ridiculously tiny room, which was the domestic help’s room, and was awful. I barely spoke to the family and I was a vegetarian at the time, and they didn’t know what to cook me so they’d leave rice in the microwave.
The room had space for a tiny little bed — and I’m pretty tall — and just about my suitcase. I had a bathroom but it was one where the shower goes over the toilet so I had to shower bent over. They had two entrances — one for the help and the other for the regular family — and I went through the help way. I lasted three months there.
Then a friend was living in a beautiful house so I decided to move and got to pick where. I moved in with a lady who lives on Paraná and Santa Fe, and had an impeccable house. Her father was the ambassador to the Vatican during Perón’s era, and I stayed there for the next nine months. It was cool seeing all the different neighbourhoods, though, and getting to know them as each one is like its own little city.
I haven’t spoken to the Almagro family since, though I am in touch with the Recoleta lady…

What did you get up to?
Apart from working at the hostel, not much. I was quite bored but I didn’t want to teach English and I wasn’t positive I wanted to stay in Buenos Aires at that point. I wasn’t serious about finding work and still had the luxury of my parents giving me money! But when I did move back, luckily I found a job quickly.
In my spare time I went to a lot of movies, read and studied Spanish. And I cooked, which is when I became interested in food.

Where did you like to eat back then?
There weren’t many options. And there weren’t many ways of finding out about places, online or otherwise. So I’d walk about and go to random places. Nothing really stood out. I used a guide book to help me as I didn’t know where else to look!
This was 2007, and it wasn’t too frustrating because although there wasn’t much variety, I wasn’t yet tired of empanadas or milanesas, all the things that are “blurgh” for me now. And I did a lot of cooking.

What would be your signature empanada?
Some friends and I thought about opening up an empanada shop in Chicago but they would be accompanied with sauces or dips. You could have a spicy meat empanada with a blue cheese dip.

How did things come together?
I knew I had to graduate and that until I could get my degree, I couldn’t make a commitment to any job here. So graduating then coming back here was when it came together and I got a job after three weeks.
Also, after being in the US after being in Buenos Aires, I knew I wanted to be back in BA. I like the laidbackness here, people aren’t so serious, the craziness of the city, the late dinners — the whole lifestyle.

Did you have square-peg, round-hole syndrome after two years?
Yes, but I think I already had it from before, from travelling in high school so I also knew I wanted to do something different. I was bored staying still and following the path of graduating, getting a job — it sounds completely boring to me. At least I was doing something in a different spot, with the challenges you don’t have in your own country such as the language, the cultural differences, and those are what kept things interesting.

What were the high and low points of working for an Argentine firm?
It could be frustrating at times as there is a different work ethic! But high points were meeting lots of people from all over, getting experience I couldn’t get at my age in the US — I was in charge of a team and had a lot of responsibilities.
I started my blog during that time as I was going out to eat a lot and I figured I should put that to good use. It was a good creative outlet plus there still wasn’t that much information about restaurants online at the time, in Spanish, and even less in English. I just wanted to share my love of food with other foreigners.

How do Argentines react to your blog ‘Pick Up The Fork’?
If I say anything bad about Argentine food, they get extremely passionate about it! Pizza fuelled one debate as I don’t really like it here and I’ve received hate mail from Argentines telling me to “go back home, you suck” among other things. But I think Argentine food is boring, and when I say it’s not healthy, people go crazy and say “but you’re from the fattest country ever”.

Has the food community developed?
The online one has definitely grown, with blogs, resources and people are getting into it — food has become trendy, although I don’t like the word “foodie”. There’s more variety as it used to be really hard to find anything vegetarian or ethnic.

When did you stop being veggie?
When I lived with the lady in Recoleta. She said to me: “I’m not going to cook vegetarian food for you. It’s Argentine beef so you’ll like it.” I’m easily persuaded… She cooked a beef stroganoff, which was okay but not great. In that first year I gained 10 kilos, because I was eating all the bread from the restaurant baskets.

Where do you live now?
In Palermo Hollywood on the edge of Colegiales. It’s not crazy Palermo, filled with annoyingly trendy people blocking everywhere but it’s close to cafés, bars and restaurants without being in the middle of it. I like to look out of my window and see all the beautiful trees.

What’s your most Argentine characteristic?
Flakiness. Saying I’ll do something and then not following it through. But some characteristics are so normal to me that I wonder “what are Argentine characteristics?”

What’s been your worst trámite?
So many! Between my bank and my work visa… I must have been to Immigration 20 times.
I once went to (the club) Museo while I was a student and met a guy who said he worked at Immigration. We hooked up, then a few weeks later I went to Immigration and he helped me with my application but had no idea who I was. He still works there…

Where have you travelled to?
I’ve been to Córdoba — although that was for Oktoberfest so it doesn’t count — and to Bariloche, El Bolsón. Top of my list is Salta, Jujuy and Tucumán. There’s an (Oriental) Indian community that lives in the north, in Tucumán I think, who were extras in Seven Years in Tibet. I think they may be Sikh. Well, I really want to go there because they’ll have really good curry!

Published in the Buenos Aires Herald on May 13, 2012
Photo by Diego Kocavic.

For Allie’s Expat Extra Eats, Shoots Photos and Leaves, click here.

Bright and beautiful: Cebiche criollo with flounder.

With just one brand-new entry — London’s Dinner by Heston Blumenthal — coming in at number nine, the only other restaurant to make the top, which clambered up the poll by 14 places to squeeze its way in at number 10, was of course a brash New Yorker, Eleven Madison Park.

However, it was Copenhagen’s Noma, which serves up Nordic delicacies such as poached sea urchin and powdered cucumber, which was named the “World’s Best Restaurant” for the third consecutive year.

Two weeks before this accolade was confirmed, Buenos Aires’ Danish Embassy flew in Simon Lau Cederholm, fellow countryman, and chef and owner of Aquavit in Brasilia, who, alongside an Argentine chef, prepared a menu based on new Nordic cuisine in Puerto Madero.

Although I’ve visited Copenhagen, sadly there was no Noma on my list that time, but now I have a taste for the Nordic, there will be more from Denmark in next week’s Wining On.

Latin America did make it to the top 10, although no Argentine establishment even makes the top 50, and in fact Sao Paulo’s D.O.M. climbed three places to rank four this year.

I had an unfortunate near-miss with D.O.M. two years ago, and yes, the reason was that it was impossible to book a table. Although it obviously isn’t the only SP restaurant serving up produce from Brazil and its Amazonian region, including foodstuffs from the rainforest — I went to the similar Brasil a Gosto in the ultra-cool Jardins district, but then many of the SP eateries that make “cool” or “best” lists are found in Jardins — Alex Atala, the chef and owner of D.O.M., is obviously getting it better than right.

I did, however, totally luck out with Restaurante Fasano, at the boutique Fasano Hotel — a veritable European treat which fortunately someone else was picking up the tab for, and Jun Sakamoto, a Brazilian-Japanese chef whose sushi is so fabulous I swore I’d never touch it in Buenos Aires again. (Wrong.)

Four Latin American eateries made The World’s 50 Best List: Lima’s Astrid y Gastón rose seven places to 35, Mexico City’s Pujol soared 13 places to 36 while Biko, also in DF, slipped seven to 38.

Although no one took me to Peru this week for lunch, not even to the Little Lima of Buenos Aires, I managed to get as close to a World’s 50 Best as I ever have done.

Owner and chef Gastón Acurio has rolled out his Astrid y Gastón restaurant concept — which started out as traditional Peruvian but has now morphed into something more sophisticated to become a Peruvian-haute cuisine hybrid — across the continent as well as into Spain. With establishments in Mexico, Colombia, Chile, Brazil, Venezuela and Ecuador, the local branch of A&G is located in Palermo Chico, just two blocks from Avenue Libertador, but quiet and tucked away nonetheless.

First things first, it certainly did not have a chain feel to it. Once I’d found the main entrance after a fight with a velvet curtain, there are several dining rooms spread across the ground and first floors, as well as tables out on the back terrace.

Seated in the white room, more opulent velvet curtains blocked the view to the outside world, but given the number of mirrors (perfectly placed for discreetly picking out coriander from gappy teeth), eating by the light of three chandeliers was sufficient.

Peruvian waiter Christopher was extremely well-informed as to the components of each course, giving a little history to ingredients or the names of dishes. Even when he didn’t serve us, a different waiter knew exactly what was going on as well.

I did work out that Christopher wasn’t calling the cebiche criollo “peculiar” — what he meant was that it was a different variation on a classic, rather than a queer fish which had leapt into my dish.

Clearly there is little cheap about A&G, but the seven-course tasting menu — three starters, three mains, a dessert, plus coffee and a glass of Malbec or Chardonnay — coming in at 240 pesos is about average in BA at the moment.

HG by Hernán Gipponi, which is at the Fierro — “the hotel for the gourmand” — costs 190 pesos for a nine-course dinner while Trip Advisor top dog Aramburu, whose chef and owner Gonzalo Aramburu whips up 12 courses of molecular gastronomy from his Constitución kitchen (take a cab) for 280 pesos.

But back to Astrid y Gastón. The first step was memorable but then I am always a sucker for a fishy dish. The cebiche criollo was a mix of the classic marinated white fish but also jalea, lightly fried seafood which in this case was baby squid. The flounder (lenguado) was perfect, fresh, succulent, and was surrounded by leche de tigre (the citrus-based ceviche marinade), perfect for slurping up the flounder chunks. Cubed sweet potato popped like a little cloud on the tongue.

Round two was a twist on the classic causa de pollo. A potato base, stained with red pepper, supported shreds of chicken and mayonnaise, and there was plenty of creamy salsa huancaina for mopping up the colourful remainder and edible flowers.

A pea risotto and sausage-stuffed, grilled then pan-fried baby squid was the third starter and one of the meal’s most interesting. Despite the autumnal weather, I was transported forward to spring, and this week’s saus-urge was cancelled out immediately. Who’d have thought I’d be wolfing down a banger in the name of Peruvian-haute cuisine?

Of the three mains — Chilean octopus, a lenguado stew in a basil jus and succulent beef cheek slow-cooked for 12 hours — it was the grilled then pan-fried eight-legged friend who won out for me, hidden under foam, and surrounded by squid-ink tainted gnocchi.

Although most of the seafood courses were flounder-based, Christopher had been quick to point out that the menu naturally depended on what the market was offering — but no matter, it was all creative and more to the point, delicious.

Clearly this is not the award-winning number 35 restaurant on the World’s Best list, but for some fresh and exciting tastes, Buenos Aires’ little sister restaurant is doing great things of its own accord — and without the Peruvian ingredients so readily available in Lima.

Wining On verdict: Ace for a foody date, especially if the date is paying.

Astrid & Gastón
Lafinur 3222, Palermo Chico
Tel: 4802-2991

Published in the Buenos Aires Herald on May 6, 2012.
Photo by Allan Kelin.

The move came, when Powell was told he needed surgery which would cost him US$2,500. He could not afford it, and so the private hospital called an ambulance to take him to a public hospital.

He says: “I waited three or four hours in the worst pain of my life, and they were pumping me with painkillers, which of course I had to pay for every time they do it. I got to Rivadavia (see photo) as high as a kite…

Although he has to wait, often for several exhausting hours at a time, for an appointment, what is the reality of receiving adequate, even good, cancer treatment at a public Argentine hospital?

Powell says: “One thing that has always surprised me is how accessible the doctors are. I don’t know how they keep their buena onda, because the system is warped, and there are so many people. When I go to Marie Curie now, it’s a six-hour wait. That’s daily. The doctors are always patient, answer all your questions and even when I can talk to them in Spanish, they want to speak to me in English. I’ve been amazed at the care of the doctors.

However, Powell is less positive about the facilities. “That’s a different story. In Rivadavia, they scared me and said the next step would be chemo and that I should sell everything I owned and go to a private clinic. Because in the public system there aren’t any modern radiation machines. It is cobalt, it’s radioactive material. They put you in a big, lead-lined bunker and they radiate your whole body. But they said ‘you’re young, the prognosis is good…’ I like being called young at 50!

“We investigated private clinics which would cost 25,000 pesos and wasn’t possible. So we had to search around, and it turns out public hospitals do deals with private clinics. Marie Curie, which also has a cobalt machine, said they would find me a private clinic, as cobalt is for the last stage, for people who are dying. So they arranged for me to go to a private clinic.

“In Argentina they feel very strongly that you deserve to be treated if you are sick, period, and the only problem I’ve had has been with bureaucrats from the States. I’ve had doctors talk to bureaucrats as I don’t have DNI and technically I needed something, in order to access get a private clinic. But my doctors explained I could not wait, and so they worked it out.

“If I were in the States, I’d probably be dead.”

www.rickfightscancer.com

Rick Powell still takes visitors on art tours of San Telmo despite recently completing chemotherapy.

Tell me about the first time you came to Argentina.
It was when I moved here, in September 2009. I’d been in Prague for five years and was tired of it. I’m not very good with bureaucracy, and I liked being able to go across the border, get my stamp and come back, like you can here.
Well, the Czech republic got into Schengen, which means first, there are no borders with Germany or Slovakia, so you can’t get a visa — you have to go outside of Schengen — and that was too much of a hassle.
Then they were clamping down, on North Americans particularly, all the reciprocal stuff. Prague’s a beautiful city but I’d been there five years, and that was long enough.

So why Buenos Aires?
I started talking to people about where I should go and everyone said there was a good gay scene here. I didn’t necessarily care that much about that, only in terms of comfort levels. In the Czech Republic most people are closeted and everyone is concerned about privacy.
And lots of people said “oh we had a great time in Argentina, oh it’s so cheap” — not any more! — so it was between Istanbul and Buenos Aires.
I don’t know what tipped me over. It wasn’t the cheapest destination in terms of getting here. But I think the arts scene intrigued me.
The first place I stayed at was Art Factory hostel in San Telmo and that’s how I got into the street art scene. I often think I lucked out, if you can call it luck, because healthcare is free. It’s in the Constitution that if you live here, whether you are a citizen, you have to be treated — and I don’t think that would have been the case in Turkey.

Tell me about the early days.
I couldn’t believe how big the city was. I decided to take the bus from the airport, just because I thought I would never have the chance to go through all the neighbourhoods it passes through. I knew it would take a long time, but it took so long I thought, “surely I have to be getting somewhere soon.” I knew it was one of the top-10 cities but had no idea it was that big.
So I got off, got lost, and had two backpacks and was wandering around. I finally ended up in San Telmo and felt very comfortable there. It was like neighbourhoods I’d lived in in Chicago, a real urban space, and not as beautiful as Prague but I liked it immediately.

What was the plan?
I didn’t have a plan and I rarely have one! I sort of wing it. I had a limited amount of money and I must have stayed at the hostel for two months. A friend visited from Prague, as he was also tired of how expensive the Czech Republic was, and I moved to Palermo which was totally different. I’d never lived in such a neighbourhood in my life: where I could just walk out to find boutiques and nice restaurants. It was nice but it’s not my comfort level, really.
I ended up going back to Art Factory as I started working for them, doing tours, writing their blog, and got free accommodation in return, which was enough at that time.
I’d have the cute little bungalow on the roof, a space which I loved, but when I had to sleep in a dorm with backpackers, it was too much for me as someone in their late 40s.

What other projects were you involved with?
I’d be thinking about doing a gay website, as there really wasn’t one, in collaboration with someone else. I wanted to do something fresh. So I met a guy, who said he would finance it and could also live with him.
It took a while to get started and I needed a young gay male to be out on the scene, writing in English but who could be edited, but we could not find that person. I had no interest in doing the bar scene at all. So I shelved that.
As I was already interested in the art scene and doing the tours, I decided to set up “Juanele” and start blogging. Everyone who had already worked for us was more interested in the arts blog that the gay one. We had a fairly deep site that never launched, and it has been difficult to get Argentines to understand what blogging is, that it’s every day, that it’s okay to write in the first person. And that was how Juanele, a Spanish and English art blog, was born.

What’s your background in arts?
I went to film school in the States, but had been alienated from the scene there as it’s all about selling, and the marginal stuff is very cliquish and not accessible. And in Prague I didn’t pay any attention to it all — my life was about something different entirely!
But when I came here, and started talking to gallery owners and doing tours, they were very accessible and happy about the idea of people coming to their galleries, just to show what they have. I found them to be very open and we never had a problem getting people to work with us. It was pleasantly surprising.

What captured you about BA’s scene?
Besides being very accessible, they are definitely doing their own thing. If you follow some of the blogs and newsletter in the US and UK, I have more affinity for the UK, but I don’t get it, like I don’t get Damien Hirst. There are a lot of idiosyncratic artists here, working their own visions, and I find that admirable and refreshing and I connected to a lot of them in a way I never had in the States.

Have you been to ArteBA?
Sure, we covered it, we had to. It was fun to go the first night, drink all the Champagne and see (Mayor Mauricio) Macri break a sculpture! Apparently he never paid for it… but it’s exclusively for collectors but I got to see stuff I wouldn’t normally see. I really liked Barrio Joven and a lot of the galleries we had relationships were in that section.

What has happened with Juanele?
I’d like to continue with it, but it’s in a legal limbo at the moment.

So what are you up to?
I’m still doing the art tours but most of my time seems to be between law suits and going to hospital for doctors’ appointments. I just came off an eight-week chemotherapy and radiation cycle and got the MRI. For a while, my ex-landlord wouldn’t give me back my medical records after changing the locks, but I have them now.
If you have metastasized colorectal cancer you have to have every MRI available as they have to cut out every place where the cancer was on the liver even if it shrank. So you need to have MRIs from the beginning for the doctors.
I have an appointment coming up with surgeons to see when I go under the knife.

Has the chemo worked?
It’s been working well as the lesions on my liver have gone and the tumour has shrunk but they still have to take it out or it will come back.

How did you find out you had cancer?
I had a catastrophic December 2009 and wasn’t able to defecate as the tumour had blocked my colon. And I nearly died. But I had emergency surgery at Rivadavia Hospital, then more, two weeks later, from which I went into septic shock.
All I’ve been doing is dealing with the cancer. I’d go into surgery tomorrow if they told me to. I’m so ready for the next step as my life has been in limbo — “am I going to live?”

Do you have health insurance?
I don’t, which was stupid of me. I went to one private hospital, and of course you have to pay — I have a receipt for every single thing they did to me. And you have to pay right then or they won’t go any farther. It got to the point where they said “right, now we need to operate on you, it will cost US$2,500” which is cheap — if I had US$2,500, which I did not. So they said, “well if you can’t pay it, we’ll call an ambulance to take you to Rivadavia.”

For the Expat Extra and more about Rick undergoing chemo in a public hospital, click here.

Published in the Buenos Aires Herald on May 6, 2012.
Photo by Diego Kovacic

Heart-warming, and should probably come with a heart warning: lunch at Gambrinus.

Just last Friday, I was lounging alongside a friend’s swimming-pool, dreaming about daiquiries, any flavour, and sopping up some day-off sun, much more welcome when you feel you’ve really earned it.

Three days later, and it was a mad scramble to find woollen garments, keeping them away from my cat who has adopted a queer fetish for such clothes before wrapping up warm. The flat cap is back, the leather gloves are on, and frankly if I look like a fashion reject, then so be it: I’m as snug as a bug and I don’t need a rug.

It’s weather like we’ve had in Buenos Aires this past week that possibly makes me yearn for home the most. (Sorry, mum.) The thought of tucking into a Sunday roast, lamb or chicken, roast potatoes — crunchy on the outside, fluffier than a cloud on the inside — slathered in gravy, is a distant one, and what did get the juices flowing this week was an advert on a D line subway train.

Those wretched people from cold-meats producer Paladini had plastered a picture of sausage completely perfect for making some toad-in-the-hole all along the train carriage — the brash-looking mortadela was distinctly less appealing — and from that moment on, all I could think of was sausage.

But where to get some decent pork numbers fit for a toady battering?

Actually, one new event taking place this week, although I’m not sure how it will differ from any of the organic markets in existence, such as Palermo Viejo’s Mercado Bonpland or El Galpón in Chacarita, which could prove to be the icing on the proverbial cake, sausage wise, is the Buenos Aires Market.

Hosted by Planeta Joy and the city government, the idea is to bring together producers who will be selling more than 400 organic, healthy goodies at “reasonable” prices.

Held today and yesterday on that most picturesque of San Telmo avenues, Caseros, between Defensa and Bolívar, which is also home to some restaurants I’ve been dying to try such as Hierbabuena, I will be headed there today with one thought on my mind: sausages.

But my yen needed to be filled before this weekend, so the first port of call was some kind of German eaterie. Although one particular favourite Bavarian watering-hole is Untertürkheim (named after a railway station in Stuttgart), for its three-litre “pint” glasses — perfect for comedy drunk photos — a great tapas tasting menu, German-style, and also some decent brews. But given the sense of urgency, San Telmo seemed rather far away so I kept my saus-urges local.

Several months ago I’d lunched at Palermo’s Hermann, and while the bangers of a Frankfurter variety accompanied by mash were decent enough, the service was a bit hasty, and not terribly friendly.

Checking out reviews for other German restaurants, most of them have middling “atmosphere” scores. But is that any surprise? I don’t wish to alienate a whole nation, but surely all a German waiter of heritage wants is to get the hell out of there after a long shift and drink ein bier…

So I kept it super-local, within seven blocks, and returned to an eaterie I’d had the pleasure of attending for a Man’s lunch (I humbly remind readers that I am not of that sex) in aid of Christmas: Gambrinus.

Although it is called a cervecería, don’t be lulled into a sense of false security — it’s pretty much just Quilmes on tap. But do pull down a seat at one of the wooden booths and gaze up at the vast, booze-inspired, paintings which have adorned the walls ever since it was called Otto and owned by failed businessman José Palenk some 50 years ago (the waiter’s words, not mine).

In fact, he was a veritable star, and in my haste to wolf down sausages I forgot to ask his name. But he was happy to chat, spill some beans, and said to call him over despite the fact that he, too, was lunching with his colleagues and the local copper.

Heart-warming, my two bratwurst served with chucrut should probably have come with a heart warning. They hit the spot, despite the chucrut being a bit too greasy, until I tried Mr. Links’ Frankfurters, which despite exploding after too much time in hot water, were tastier thanks to the smoked flavour.

But the mission was accomplished, the saus-urge was sated, and lunch for two cost a reasonable 102 pesos, meaning that with careful selection, Gambrinus could well qualify as a “Change from 100” dinner-time candidate.

Untertürkheim
Humberto Primo 899, San Telmo
Tel: 4307-3265

Gambrinus
Federico Lacroze 3779, Chacarita
Tel: 4553-2139

“I found talking to taxi drivers helpful as you could get into a cab, make a fool of yourself, then never see the person again!

“When I first got here, I was fascinated that all the taxis were numbered. And I thought ‘wow, wouldn’t it be great to get into taxi number one day?’ So I was always looking out of the corner of my eye for it. One day I saw 212, then next time, a number 13.

“One day, I saw number one so I flagged him down and got in. I didn’t have anywhere to go, so when he asked me, I said: ‘I don’t know. I wanted to get in because you’re taxi number one!’ He thought it was so strange, but he didn’t even know the story as it wasn’t his car. I never saw taxi number one ever again.

“I have a fascination with taxis in general and have a fantasy of driving a cab in Buenos Aires. I’ve often thought it would be a good source of songs, the shock and amazement when the passengers get in and realize a yanqui is driving them around. That in itself would be worth it for a couple of days!”

Shindell wouldn’t be the first North American to take to the mean streets of the capital. He says: “There’s a guy from New York who runs a taxi service, and he has the only Lincoln in the Southern Cone.”

Despite the quirky obsession, Shindell says he is genuinely tired of driving in Buenos Aires and bought a folding bike a month ago. Given that he is relatively new to the cycling circuit, I ask whether he has participated in the monthly Critical Mass bike ride. Incredulous that it has been going on under his nose without his knowing, he says: “But this sounds fascinating! I’ve got to find out what these people think and why they think it!” Now he is mobile in a different fashion, the songwriter is on a new voyage of discovery.

“I’ve always continued my nocturnal power walks — it’s one of my ‘things’ — but walking, you can only go so far and I got fed up going to the same places. So if I do the same thing on a bicycle, I can go way further and see way more.

“The day after I got my bicycle I went from Belgrano to La Boca. I went completely crazy! But it only has one gear and these small wheels so you pedal, pedal, pedal. It’s not designed to travel the 14km I went that day — in fact I almost destroyed it!”

Which quirky porteños make the final cut into future songs remain to be seen but with so many streets to cycle down, Shindell won’t be short of a new balloon man or street juggler.

For Richard Shindell’s Expat interview, click here.

What do you remember your first visit to Argentina?
I saw exactly nothing of the city. We were in 1995 and it was my first visit with my Argentine wife after marrying a few years before. We rented an apartment on Paraguay, and I was excited. But just as we got here, our daughter, just a baby at the time, came down with a horrible fever and I spent the entire time, as my wife was working, staying in the house with the baby for two weeks.
What I did see was a three block radius around those streets which didn’t leave a really great impression — it was winter, cold, grey.

Why did you decide to move here?
We came back in 1998 and we rented another apartment on Córdoba and Riobamba, around the corner from the Aguas Argentinas building, that incredible piece of work, and on that trip I got a chance to walk around and see the place. I remember standing in the kitchen with my wife and I let slip the fatal words: “I could live here.” I think she almost twisted her neck turning her head so fast, to say: “You said it, not me.”
So the seed was planted and we started talking about it. By then we had two kids who were aged four and one, and it just evolved into an actual project, from something you say off hand to being something concrete. It took us a couple of years to get it all together and we landed here on June 2, 2000. I believe there was a general strike that day…

Was it a definite move?
Yes but when you have little kids, you think things are plastic, that they don’t generate their own momentum and turn into inertia. I never thought about it as a long-term thing — though I should have — and kids get older, they make friends, you make friends, you buy a place, you get used to a place and all of a sudden, six years later, this is where you live. Period.
It’s an interesting psychological transformation that takes place. You go from being a tourist and think everything is wild and exotic, everythng new, I’m learning a language, and where all the streets are and little by little that changes into something, which I don’t have a name for, and then you are a local. And that’s what we are now. The kids are definitely more Argentine than North American and it occurred to me, about a year ago, that I have lived in this apartment longer than any other place in my life. That gave me a pause — you tend to think of a childhood home, but no, I lived there for six years. I’ve been here for 11 years now. That’s the longest I’ve lived anywhere so it’s definitely, in some sense, permanent.

How did you prepare for the move?
In a typical North American, half-arsed way, I tried to learn a bit of the language. When I got here I was completely green and learned Spanish by buying newspapers, one of which was the Herald, and La Nación or Clarín, and reading the article in Spanish then compare it to see if what I read made any sense.
Now, looking back, it seems incredible to me that there was a time when I had never heard or been able to understand the expression más serio que perro en bote (as poker-faced as a dog in a rowing boat). My wife’s English, on the other hand, was always excellent. For example, she could deploy (as she frequently did) a phrase like “you’re barking up the wrong tree”. So the balance was all out of whack. I mean, if one spouse is harbouring such an excellent piece of synopsis as más serio que perro en bote and the other party in the marriage is completely ignorant of the fact, then to what extent do these two people really know each other? Call it a fit of sobreactuación, but I suggested that we move to Buenos Aires in order to resolve the question and right the ship. When we arrived, I found out that the dog in the boat was just the tip of the iceberg (hence the serious demeanor). Since then, swimming lessons and lots of splashing. And we very much hope it never becomes necessary to get back into the boat.

Tell me about the first days here.
My wife started her job and I was taking the kids to nursery, and I could write a novel about trying to get our documents in order… In the mean time, I was looking for a place to buy, which was one of the ways I got to know the city as I’d go off on nocturnal walks with a little notepad, looking at buildings.

How did you meet people or find others to relate to?
Well, my wife already had colleagues but I found myself avoiding other anglophones. We didn’t send our kids to an English-Spanish bilingual school, but when I came here I became more Catholic than the pope and my tendency was to throw myself into being a local. That’s what I wanted to do.
I remember going once to see the World Series at a sports bar in Recoleta, sitting there with the Yankee fans. And it felt really weird. There I was with my compatriots but their experience wasn’t mine. So I didn’t go back!

After 12 years, what is your most Argentine characteristic?
I don’t get enough sleep! I have a pet theory that Argentina would do a whole lot better if they had a decree saying that everyone should sleep two more hours a night. Everyone has to eat dinner a little bit earlier and go to bed a little bit earlier. Sometimes I’m on the street and I look around and think “these people show the same symptoms as I do when I haven’t slept enough.” They get cranky, honk horns — I think there is massive sleep deprivation.

You were here in the 2001 crisis.
It was unbelievable. We had bought the apartment, and I was watching all this happen. I read in a paper that “Fernando de la Rúa has decreed that anyone who has a mortgage of less than US$100,000 would now have it turned into pesos.”
I asked my wife, thinking I was having a linguistic problem, and that this could not be, although it was fabulous, for me. She told me that it said what I thought it said so it meant our mortgage was slashed in half, a third, a quarter. That was an interesting milestone and very strange too. Difficult to understand.
I also remember having to learn about economics. When you live in the US most people aren’t investors or economists, and don’t think about monetary policy. But here everyone thinks about it. So I had to bone up on sorts of basic principles of economics just to understand what the hell was going on!
The other thing was that my mother turned up for her first visit to Argentina the day before they declared a state of siege. We were at the Malba when they declared a state of siege. Everyone had to leave, and my mother had no real idea what was going on, as we thought we could lie to her. So we managed to get a taxi, go home, and lots of protests and cacerolazos were going on. In the end, when she finally did know what was going on, she went out onto the streets with a frying pan and a wooden spoon! She thought it was great fun…

Do times like that make their way into your music?
Well, economics has! There’s a song I am working on called Satellites which has to do with sovereignty. It’s about what politicians can or can’t do in the face of serious economic problems and civil unrest. That’s a song I probably wouldn’t have written if I hadn’t come to Argentina!

Has anything less obscure inspired you?
One is called A Juggler Out in Traffic who used to juggle on the corner of Salguero and Alcorta. I was watching him one day, then there is Balloon Man, about a guy who walks past our apartment. He is quite picturesque to look at as he carries them on this big cross, swaying back and forth down the street. He’s adorable.
And we have a house in La Pampa so I wrote a song about that, which also touches on economic issues…

Which Argentine musicians are you into?
I made a record with Puente Celeste — everyone in that band is top shelf. I went to see them and asked them if they would help me out on a record I was making a few years ago. I also listen to tango and I like Troilo in particular. I also like Vicentico and Peter Capusotto and Spinetta was really interesting. I’m not a big fan of rock nacional but I guess Spinetta was in his own world. He wrote some absolutely beautiful songs.

For Expat Extra about Richard Shindell’s obsession with taxi cabs, click here.