Oh Buenos Aires. You held my roommate up at gunpoint, held me up at finger point (I’m pretty sure it was a finger), and robbed a friend of her computer. And yet, I still don’t know how to quit you. Having easy access to Fernet and Cola probably helped.
This is Gancia and fresh Lemon Juice. I guess it’s commonly served with Sprite, but you know me. Always have to do things the obnoxiously fancy way. Gancia, btw, is an aperetivo but I couldn’t tell you what it tastes like because, whoa! Did they ever add a shit ton of sugar to this drink! I was immediately reminded of my childhood delicacy: a mound of sugar on a piece of white bread.
Here’s to finally making a friend my last week in Argentina. But don’t worry, I still find myself talking to the over 70 crowd quite frequently. Bitches be yappin’! (No. Really. Bitches be yappin’ and everything is always lindo except for Cristina who is apparently quite the opposite.)
This is a small batch malbec that complimented the hunk of cheese, a tube of cured salami and a handful of bread. We walked around (yes, like winos, we walked around) holding each item in our hands, taking a bite out of each interchangeably, to create the taste of heaven in our mouths. I can’t tell you how many people came up to compliment our approach. Fine. I can tell you. 5 people.
Today I went to see To Rome With Love and like, for real, during the opening credits a few old ladies and I belted out the lyrics to Volare. Those Italian classes I took: totally worth it. This beer was enjoyed after and really has nothing to do with that story, but had I not been sitting alone I probably would have been telling my drinking buddy (complete with reenactments, obvs) all about my singalong.
I recently went on a bike ride around the city and then this bird shat on me and of course I wear a helmet (because safety is cool, kids!) but it didn’t protect me. Nope. It just sat there on my head doing nothing while this professional marksbird took a shit right in the holes of my helmet. There’s probably a name for the holes of the helmet, or maybe not, but I am genuinely so lazy that just thinking of the effort required to google “bike helmet facts” has me breaking a sweat. So, right. There I was with bird shit on my head and I could have gone home and taken a shower but instead I rinsed off in this shady bathroom located in a parking garage and then rewarded myself with a beer. The Antares Porter tastes like amateur home brew but The El Buho Porter tasted pretty decent. Whatever. I had bird shit on my head. Does my opinion of these beers really matter?