Dijon Purple Peruvian Potatoes

(warning: this one is long, but it's some of the material I'm practicing with...thanks for tuning in!!)

I had the opportunity to go out to dinner last week to reacquaint myself with local Texas fare and old friends. The venue we chose was full of a hustle and bustle that kept an easy pace with the boisterous chatter which bubbled up from surrounding tables. A jolly older gentleman was quick to our service and quick to excitedly inform our group about the menu. It wasn't until he launched into a monologue gushing over the once in-a-lifetime deliciousness of the Wild Alaskan Salmon served over Dijon Purple Peruvian Potatoes, the daily special, that I realized we may not be in Texas anymore.

Since when was Texas floating off the coast of Alaska. It’s dinner. Where is the beef? If that wasn’t strange enough, they were serving Dijon Purple Peruvian Potatoes. First of all, by definition Texas cuisine is not purple. I would also say that although a select few folks may be able to locate Peru on the map, their potatoes certainly weren’t fit for grandma’s potato salad or mom’s mashed potatoes. And what’s up with Dijon mustard? Isn’t that for those frenchy kind of people? What international fare was this? Certainly, it didn’t classify as local. So what the waiter could possibly be raving about, almost to the point of convulsions, was a curious thing indeed.

Though my interest was definitely peaked, I’ll be honest and tell you that I stuck with the beef. After many months of beef done up Argentine style, I was ready to return home so to speak. My friend’s wife took the plunge for all of us though. And twenty to twenty-five minutes later we were finally introduced to Wild Alaskan Salmon served over Dijon Purple Peruvian Potatoes.

We marveled over the sight of the Peruvian’s perfectly preened purple potatoes that had been whipped into a creamy state and effortlessly cradled two pieces of Alaska’s freshest salmon. After a moment of much deserved silence for what lay in front of us, we primed our weapons. By pure instinct all our forks lit into the potatoes first. Ohhhh…hummm… not what anyone was expecting, plain to be honest. Compared to my friend’s traditional buttery mound of lightly salted melt in your mouth piece of mash potato heaven, the purple stuff seemed less than impressive. The salmon was very nicely grilled though, and tasted as fresh and pristine as the advertisement suggested. Overall, however, the group was left a bit disappointed with the dish.

It’s only two weeks later, after repeated purple potato hauntings, that I now see brilliance. Maybe it has something to do with the catchy name that twists the tongue or the energy of the waiter that night, but I think it’s more. In a culture of big flavors, beef and the grab-you-by-the-yum-yum-and-leave-you-begging-for-more dishes we can serve up in Texas, this was subtle on all accounts. That subtlety though has left me ruminating, interested, and driven me to the point of a one page essay on the subject. I’m reminded that the hallmark of class is often tasteful simplicity and understatement is often the most alluring form of temptation. Truly, it was a once in-a-lifetime Wild Alaskan Salmon served over Dijon Purple Peruvian Potatoes delicious brilliance. Thank you Kent Rathburn for making it all possible.

Dear Torrontes, I love you and will miss you.

Sometimes there are meetings that shake you. Ones that produce that butterfly feeling in the stomach and leave a sense of Mona Lisa's wonderment fluttering on your lips. Ones that leave you as gidee as an eight year old over the first snowcone of summer and your imagination ever chasing the hope of next time. And so it was with me and Torrontes, the little acclaimed white grape from Argentina.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I felt virtually consumed by Argentina's Red Goliath, Malbec, and all my work in the winery centered on Mendoza's well known yummy red elixirs. It probably goes without saying then, that even before the first sip, I was wanting for something different, radical, pure rebel. All of a sudden, in walks Torrontes and out walks my heart.

It's every bit the head turner I was looking for amongst a sea of red. Torrontes is a regional grape from Argentina that is used to produce some amazing white wines. It has a deliciously powerful bouquet that promises spring flowers and the refreshment of summer's citrus. But it's the bitter note on the finish, right in the back of the throat, that captured me. I had the opportunity to taste Torrontes across quality ranges and it was present, to some degree, every time. It seems this bitter end is a characteristic unique to the varietal. At first, I was a little put off, frustrated it didn't finish every bit as floral and fluttery as the bouquet suggested. A slight edge was persistant though. A slight edge, that quickly became an endearing quality of Torrontes that will undoubtedly be missed as I say goodbye to Argentina for this season.

Newsflash, for those I haven't told already: I'm back in the US and planning to head to California in a few weeks to spend sometime in the wine regions out there. If all goes well, I'll be out there to work harvest in another winery. None of this was part of the original plan when I set sail on this little adventure, but through meeting amazing people and great conversations, I realize that experiencing California wine is a must-do. It was a difficult decision as I love Spanish and was just beginning to get comfortable with the culture, but in the end, here I am back in the States and far from Torrontes. Though there are a few brands of Torrontes being imported to the States, the vast majority and the good stuff, if you will, isn't for export yet. No, Torrontes is still a sleepy Argentine giant that won't realize it's strength for at least another five years.

You can be sure that our parting won't render this adventurous spirit helpless or pause however. There are plenty of wines to be pursued between now and the "arrival" of Torrontes. I go forward with a new spring in my step and sparkle in my eye for the discovery though, and the hope of next time.

Until we me again Torrontes.

Always yours,
Karen

p.s. If you are passing through Dallas, you will find me here with my fingers crossed for the Celtic's as they play the last two games of the Eastern Conference Finals and bike riding. I've decided to keep posting to the blog though, as this ship has in no way landed and it's a good excuse to practice my english. As always, you're free to come and go as you choose. Thank you again for all the support.

Real World Winery

It's done, my friends. Yesterday was the last day of Real World Winery. It was my last day working as a harvest intern at Elvira Calle Bodega in Mendoza, the wine capital of Argentina, bringing my first winemaking experience to conclusion. I've heard that some of you were under the wild impression that I was lazily passing my days in an Argentine hammock taking full advantage of the lengthy siesta rituals observed here. No, the past two months have been anything but a siesta, more like baptism by fire!

I took on this job as a harvest intern, partly because I've always wanted to work a grape harvest, but also because I've been tossing around the idea of working in the wine industry professionally, post my semi-sabbatical. Working a harvest and learning how this wine stuff is really produced seemed like a smart idea. Turns out it wasn't just smart, it was brilliant!!

It's a small bodega so I had the opportunity to do about everything. I spent time in the lab learning how to analyze the grape juice coming in for this year's vintage and the wine from past vintages. I also spent a great deal of time selecting and sorting through the various deliveries of grapes until ridiculous hours in the morning. It was in those wee hours that I did my most English teaching too. My fellow Argentine counterparts kept wanting me to remind them how to say "I like beer". To be honest, the thought of becoming a sworn beer connoisseur, in those cold deliriously exhausting hours starring down 100 boxes of grapes left to go was pure intelligence. There were plenty of bee stings to be had in two months and there was the typical dousing of wine, or wine blessing we like to call it, that anyone would expect in a winery. I ran up and downstairs, pulled pumps and hoses around, took readings and samples, cleaned out tanks and buckets, swept and washed floors, learned to roll up a mean water hose and squeegee uphill. The only chore of basic winery work I feel that may have gone unmastered is shoveling. Of the six of us on the production team, my shoveling was found lacking right up until the end. There seems to be some flip of the wrist that evades me, but luckily all my compatriots, Spanish and English alike, were gracious the entire way.

Amongst the all-star cast of characters on Real World Winery, there were 2 intern winemakers form California who turned out to be the best teachers on anything wine and California a gal could ask for. Both have transversed the globe working for different wineries and have excellent palettes from which to learn. Both also love to eat good food and talk about it........so when you’re out in rural Argentina, after a 12 hour work day, what else is there to do but mix up a mushroom risotto with prosciutto paired ever so elegantly with a bottle of Semillon, then sit around for several hours talking about it and various other sundry topics! I already look forward to our first reunion over a few pints of beer to recount our stories.

And so as Fall slowly tapers into the cold begins of Winter here in the South, harvest 2010 at Elvira Calle, aka: Real World Winery, comes to an end. With my first winemaking experience now under my belt, I’m wiser to the world, what I want from it, and I'm confidently looking forward with full anticipation...

Where is the bank?!

The standing travel joke seems to be that as long as you know how to say, "Where´s the bathroom?" in the language of the country you happen to find yourself at that inevitable moment of inconvenience, then you can survive anything there. Well, my friends, I´m here to tell you that "Where´s the bank?" might be just as critical, if not more so. I had to take a quick trip across the border to Santiago, Chile this weekend in order to have my passport stamped and thus earn another three months of legal travel upon retuning to Argentina. (Ah...the sweet inconveniences of foreign politics!) After a gorgeous eight hour bus ride over the Andes though, it´s no surprise that upon my arrival to Santiago that two things were true. First, a bathroom was a non-negotiable. Second, I had no Chilean pesos. Let me tell you folks this only makes for an evil, and painful, combination when every public bathroom charges for usage!!! Yep, I´m dancing in my pants without a hope of breaking into the steel fortress of s bathroom door without Chilean pesos. Thankfully, I have a strong bladder and iron determination- I held it, until miraculously I located an ATM next to a bathroom. Talk about an oasis in the desert!! I will say, however, that all the bathrooms are very clean and sufficiently stocked with toilet paper. Maybe paying isn´t such a bad thing after all.... Other than that little adventure in Santiago, there isn´t much to say. I only slept there for the evening and returned to Mendoza, Argentina the following day with my new passport stamp! Now isn´t exactly the safest time to be hanging around Chile long periods of time for anything much else than legal requirements.

On another note, I realize I´ve been terribly remiss these past three weeks in not posting. Forgive me! Three months of traveling finally took it´s toll and left me without much of a desire to do anything communicative. Mostly because traveling alone has a way of leaving you vulnerable to your own mind. Time with yourself is abundant, wildly abundant. This isn´t necessary a bad thing, but know that all those self-realizations, moments of catharsis, and stark reality we may do well to suppress in our day to day lives, or ignore all together, catch up with you when your out on the road alone. They not only catch up with you, they demand to be heard, and demand your consideration. And that´s where I´ve been these past three weeks folks, under refinement. Hashing it out with myself- who I´ve been, who I want to be, and the work required to get there. But I´m back...still dealing with myself, but in action!

Happy Spring to you all! The cool weather of fall is waiting in the wings here, which excites me, though I´ll miss all New England´s 101 pumpkin edibles and apple cider doughnuts.

Never Underestimate the Power of Tissue….(and a few other great thoughts)

Two months in Argentina has passed in the blink of an eye and yet I feel as though I’ve learned a lifetime worth of valuable lessons. The most important of these may be the Power of Tissue. Tissue is one of those things I’ve dismissed most of my life, mostly because I never need to blow my nose and it was always something else to remember. Argentina has proven to be a great teacher of many things though, and a good reminder of others.

BA (Buenos Aires), though often called the Pairs of South America in the guidebooks, in my opinion, was the Pairs of South America before its financial collapse almost ten years ago. This certainly doesn’t mean it’s not worth visiting, but unless you plan to stay only in Recoletta, the most affluent neighborhood in the city, it’s dirty. Sidewalks are often in disrepair and the lose titles have a way of spitting “water” or weird stuff on your foot at the worst moment. More than once I’ve found goo on my foot, from where or what I don’t want to know, with only a tissue of a friend to rescue me! Also, toilet paper can be a rare bird here. It just doesn’t seem to be a concern, even in some of the nicest of places. Tissue to the rescue! Water also drips from many of the window air conditioning units that are working overtime to beat the heat. If wiping the various splashes on your best dress or pristine pants aren’t viable options, tissues to the rescue once again!! I’ve been through enough of these situations now to have at least one pack safely at my side at all times. You’d be so proud of my preparedness Joyce!

On a more serious note, I have come to better understand the rhyme of life. No this isn’t some new age book picked up in the airport, but living without a vehicle, which this is the first time I’ve been without since I was 18, puts you much more at the mercy of the daily forecast. Taking advantage of beautiful days becomes much more critical, saving rest for the rainy or overcast days. One would think I would have picked up this lesson while living in the north, and experiencing the drama of all the seasons there, but vehicles do a lot to enable us to live apart from natural conditions. In fact with the help of a vehicle, air conditioning/heating, and a cell phone, it’s possible to busy oneself 24 hours a day 7 days a week, I suppose, and the inherent value of inclement weather quickly diminishes to a mere burden. In short, I’m learning to happily honor the days of rain as the rest I think they were intended to be and the days of sun as the activity.

And lastly, I’ve been reminded, once again, that we do not get through life alone and that as I have been given unto, I to must give. While packing my bags for my trip out west, it was clear I needed to part with some of my things in an effort to lighten my load. I strongly considered mailing a box of stuff home, but it poured rain for three days and the mail system here is as cumbersome as the banking system. Instead, I offered some clothing and remaining cooking stuffs to the lovely woman who cleans the house. She seemed so excited, hugging and kissing me several times. Admittedly I was a little taken back, as none of it seemed of that much value, but I left the experience reminded that we often operate day to day unaware of how we affect others. Today, please know that I feel amazingly blessed to have received so much support from friends, family, and even many of the people I’ve meet here along the way, Tamaska!, than I can ever repay, but I’m going to do my best to try.
Cheers and Besos (kisses in Spanish)!!

A picture worth a 1000 words!

Ok, I haven’t actually counted whether or not this picture says that many words, but it says a whole hell of a lot. Displayed on the front page of the newspaper for an article discussing the 1% increase in the inflation of the country’s meat prices, I think many would be hard pressed to find a better photojournalistic image that better summarizes the essence of Argentina better, meat and femininity, femininity in its most traditional western world sense. Calm down my American feminist friends! It’s true that America might have every reason to be up in arms regarding such an image, expecially being titled CARNE, meaning meat in Spanish. But I’d like to suggest there are probably no things nearer, or dearer, to the heart of Argentineans than the meat they eat and females. So for the first time, might it be possible that being compared to a good cut of meat be a compliment? It's hard to say, and though I’d really like to write an argument in favor of such a conclusion, I’m afraid of the lashing some of you might give me for even the most academic of attempts! At this point then, I will be satisfied to point out three glaring facts and leave the rest to the more philosophical types.

First, meat is serious here, seriously yummy and inexpensive!! I heard this before arriving, but serious is a little of an understatement. It’s more like meat is the STAR of every meal. Side vegetables really are sides, boiled, stemmed, plain, salutes to the ever more illustrious star of the show, the cut of meat. The love of meat is such a strong force here that there is even a very popular brand of cracker that comes in several meat flavors!! And where there is a meat flavored crackers, Lay’s potato chips can be found as a noble competitor with various tasty gourmet meat flavors of its own. The Lay’s beef steak with caramelized onions is actually one of my favorites. What would Dr. Atkins say about that? Ha!

Second, Argentina is femininity on steroids. Dresses are much more popular here than in the states, especially when going out for the evening. This has been a real challenge for me to get my act together, and out of my jeans habit. Hard to believe eh, Brenda! Then there’s the extra long straight hair that most females keep here, note I said straight. This is critical because straight hair seems to associated with money and upper classes. (It goes without saying that my curly hair is going over a little better than a brick.) Regarding the length though, I’ll never have to worry about a stylist cutting my hair too short, in fact my experience has been the opposite in that they won’t cut it short enough. And as everyone knows that where there is long hair there is also tons of hair “things” to be found, and considering the number of females with long hair in this country, there's probably a ton X 10 here! Rubber bands, bobby pins, berets, and yes, even those ever alluring flowers so strongly associated with the Latin culture, are all very much in abundance. The Tango hall may actually be the best place to watch the femininity play out though, as females are alway found in longish dresses/skirts, fabulous high heels, and always the more dynamic of the dancing duo.

Lastly, I would simply like to point out that this photo would never have passed the editor’s desk in any legitimate newspaper in America, large or small, any day of the week, for any page, especially the front. With that said, I’d like to leave the other 384 words I didn’t mention about this picture to your own imagination…...

Love you all and thank you for the support!

Cut and Paste Heartbreak...

So I've been working on this great post about my gastronomic adventures in Argentina, but of course, in one flip of the wrong button I have managed to erase all evidence of my thoughtful work on the subject. A terrible case of cut and paste heartbreak.... In the spirit of "the show must go on" though, onto the next story.

Tango is going well so far. I am taking lessons with DNI Dance Company, a very rebuttable group known globally for their incredible shows and teaching instruction. Unfortunately, taking under such a name does not automatically qualify me as a know-it-all or even an enthusiast; I'm merely another aspiring heart in a long line of dreamers. And that's an ok place to be too...

The dance studio is every bit the space anyone would want to find them self learning. It's a room on the second level of their building with a wide open wooden dance floor, a mirror that spans an entire wall, and full french doors on either side of the room leading out to balconies, which are always open for the cross breeze. In the corner of the room, an old worn navy sofa, offers up a seat to dancers slipping off the day's street shoes and into something more comfortable, men to their polished leather loafers and ladies to their most temptable high heels.

With the first turn of the that ever mournful music, a parade of flashing colors, tension, expectation, and waiting.....begins once again, as it has so many times before. And from the street, the familiar sound of a Tango sextet can be heard wafting through the air and every passerby has a hint at the classic story being told.

Happy Valentines Day friends. It goes with saying this is the best one I've celebrated yet, even with a bad case of cut and paste heartbreak blues! Lots of love to you all!!

around the house

Three weeks and counting....

Hard to believe, but oh, so true....... I've only three more weeks left in Buenos Aires, before heading out west. The curious little kid in me wants to spend every single second of the time cramming all the rides and sugary treats into every single moment I have left. And yet, to do so would go against the great lesson of Birgitta-"doing" everything isn't important, is only important to love and enjoy the few things that you choose to the fullest.

Spending time learning and practicing Spanish over the next three weeks pretty much goes without saying. I'll be in Spanish classes everyday, but as of five days ago, I only speak Spanish. I feel sorry for the people that have to endure my fubling around, but besides communicating with those of you in the States, speaking only in Spanish here really is the only way to learn. Many people in BA speak English so it would be possible to get along without it, but once you begin traveling outside of the city it's more difficult to depend on it. One of the German gals, Luciana, in the house is fluent in Spanish. She has turned out to be a wondefully patient Spanish reference, teacher and friend.

Other than that, Tango lessons are on the top of the list of things to try. Tango dancing is no joke here in Buenos Aires. It has a cult following of sorts that if I didn't know it was only dancing, I might be afraid to pursue it too intently. It's a serious sport here, for the seriously passionate. There is a documentary film on the subject, Surrender Tango, which I haven't seen yet, but I'm told it suggests that the rules and roles of the Tango are a metaphor for relationships. Sounds like the best self-help book I could ever dance!! I saw my first show last week, Tramatango. There are no words to describe the amazing dancers, but legs and high heels were flying! What more could I ask for, good excersice and relationship therapy all in one package.

I also hope to visit a very famous cemetary here, Recoletta, Casa de Queso, a cheese store (hehe), and El Ateneo, a gorgeous theater from the 1920 that has now been convered into a bookstore. And the rest, well, I think I'll enjoy it more if I allow it to bloom up along the way.

Good-bye Birgitta...

Birgitta left today. And I'm sad to see her go... She's the first of the Northern Europeans in the house that's heading back home within the next week. I've had a great time getting to know them all, seeing various shows, going to markets, taking weekend trips, shopping, and having coffees that last two hours minimum. Birgitta taught me the most though, using the fewest words in the least amount of time.

She is probably late sixties or slightly seventy and the spiciest, most elegantly eccentric little trick (in a good way) I've ever met. (And I've had the privilege to know a few of you gals!) If I where to compare her to food, she would be like an Indian curry of sorts, a mix of coriander and cayenne pepper that is ever so delicately balanced with coconut milk and cinnamon.

Her entire presence seems to move to a rhymn I've never known. She only ever wears black and white with accents of red, right up to her hair, which is short, raven black with a touch of red dye in her bangs. (It's difficult to describe that in a good way, but she looks amazing!) She speaks very calmly and quietly, almost like a waterfall. Every morning she took at least an hour to enjoy her coffee on the terrace, basking in the start of a new. I only saw her rush once and that was when she was rushing out the door for an evening of Tango with friends, which really was nothing unusual. She seemed to go Tango dancing every night till 4 and 5 in the morning, after many of the young ones had long gone to sleep. If fact, her whole purpose in being in Buenos Aires for two months was in pursuit of the Tango, and I'd like to think in pursuit of a life lived fully. (This is not to suggest that everyone needs to travel or live in another country to live fully...maybe only that we try to live more of the things we love.)

I hope that Birgitta and I will cross paths again one day, but even if we don't, I've experienced a new way of enjoying and living to the fullest at whatever age, at whatever moment one finds themself. It doesn't seem to be about how much we do in life, but how much we deeply indulge in the moments we're given.

Goodbye Birgitta... you'll be missed.

Antarctica

Before writing any further about my time here in South America, I'd like to do a quick recap of my time in Antarctica over Christmas. For those of you who are Facebook friends and have seen more than your fair share of pictures, feel free to tune me out just this once. ;)

Antartica was an experience of a lifetime. Other than palm trees and gorgeous sandy beaches, I didn't really know what to expect, maybe a penguin here and there. It was beyond imagination though. The colors in Antarctica were simple, black, gray, blue, and white, and more often than not the landscape is deafeningly quiet. The secret to beauty of Antarctic is all about textures and shapes carved out soley by the hand of nature. The wildlife experience was incredible, as well. The birds, penguins, whales, and seals were plentiful. None of the wildlife acted fearful of humans, in fact they almosted seemed to want to greet and play with us. The seals were a little bit of an exception though. They were completly uninterested in our presense, hardly sturring from sleep when passing by. Most of our time was spent hiking, sleding, swimming, touring a research station, iceberg watching, and all sorts of wildlife watching. The great people we meet along the way was only the cherry on top of the entire experience....

Let me say that I could not feel more lucky to have had the opportunity to make this trip, but that much more special that I could make it with my Dad. He has been interested in going for many years and I'm more than glad to have flown as his wingman. Lots of love to you Dad! You know I'll be your wingman anytime- no matter how big or small the adventure!!

Landing in Buenos Aires

This post comes to all of you much later than I had intended, and yet I don't know that I could have written it much sooner. Though I've been in Buenos Aires for fifteen days, I finally feel like enough stress has melted away that I have space available for more than survival!


One of my main concerns before arriving in Buenos Aires was finding friends and ways to connect. Maybe this fear comes from having wrestled with the guarded nature of New England culture for over seven years. Let me assure you, however, that I've had no problems at all with meeting great people and other gals interested in experiencing all that Argentina has to offer! My second day here I meet a wonderful German gal and two Danish gals. We were actually still up chatting away the night when it rolled into December 31, 2009, my birthday! They were the first to wish me a happy birthday and invite me out for later that evening to celebrate a new year and a new age. That same day, I was also lucky enough to be serenaded with happy birthday by 8 German gals who sang to me in German, Spanish, and English!! It was one of the coolest gifts I've ever received!!! Since meeting them, it has been almost none stop action between seeing the city and meeting other new friends. Honestly, I could not feel more lucky, though I'm struggling with the opposite problem of needing to focus on getting more rest!


In terms of housing, I'm staying in a cute little guesthouse in the middle of Buenos Aires near my Spanish school which is run by a little family. There is a gorgeous patio right off my room with amazing plants (my favorite) and plenty of sun which acts as a common space for everyone. It's not only a lovely space, but a great way of meeting and reconnecting with everyone in the house on an almost daily basis.

All things begin considered, I'm fairly settled in expect for needing to take care of an annoying little issue regarding a cell phone. The idiosyncrasies of the front door, the laundry system, and exchanging money have all been successful tackled for the most part. I can already say, after only having been here for something like 15 days, that I know that this was a great decision for me and already I'm a better, stronger person.

The Happiest of New Years to you all!
p.s. It's hotter than Hades here, and I'm enjoying ever minute of it for myself and all of you shoveling snow!!!