Oui Oui, Monsieur!

I don't know if you know this about me, but I like to eat.  More than anything else, though, I adore eating out for breakfast.  Not only is it my favorite meal of the day, but I LOVE having someone else prepare it for me. 

That being said, I have previously mentioned that there are (at least) 2 quality establishments for breakfast here.  One is Tea Connection (which I will save for a later date).  The other is Oui Oui, which is this tiny, hole-in-the-wall restaurant that has maybe a baker's dozen of tables inside and, when the weather is fine, they set up a handful of tables out on the sidewalk.  (I am almost always on the sidewalk - either because it's easier to find seating there or because I have Maggie with me.)

The waitstaff leaves much to be desired, as is pretty common here in Argentina.  They do not care about efficiency or profit, so there is no such thing as a 45-minute table turnover here.  In fact, they are also very good at not meeting people's eyes, so they pretty much can walk past you 15 times without ever once acknowledging your existence.  I've almost gotten used to the treatment, as it means that I can sit at my table for a leisurely brunch and never feel like I'm being rushed out the door.

So, regardless of the table service, I LOVE this place.  It's very pinch-you-cheeks adorable and they bake their own breads, muffins, and pastries.  The lemonade is made from real lemons and is uber refreshing, I consumed my first submarino here, and all the plates, cups, saucers, and bowls are just perfectly chipped as to make everything seem so homey.  I highly recommend the pate, huevos completos (scrambled eggs, bacon, their version of homefries which are to DIE FOR, a salad and your choice of tea, coffee or a submarino), the pumpkin soup, and anything else you have the mind for.

I am at Oui Oui pretty much once every weekend - I LOVE THIS PLACE!  (And yes, if you come visit me, I'll be taking you here...)

Why sometimes I don't write

It's not that I don't love you, but occassionally I like to get out and enjoy this life that I'm living.  I work so many hours every week and often when I'm home, I'm still trying to get everything settled (although all my household effects are now here, I still have arranging, organizing, filing, etc. to do).  Which is why I sometimes choose making new friends over writing to the internets...

The Friday night dinner crew at M Restaurant, a Peruvian Japanese fusion joint.

The not-quite-awesome-but-decent-nonetheless ceviche clasico.  And remember, my standard is the Peru standard, which, being the birthplace of ceviche, is hard - nay, impossible - to beat.

My shrimp and scallop stirfry.  Mmmm, I'm hungry...

Petra, Monica, and yours truly, doing some late night, post-dinner hanging out at Bullers Brewpub.

Not quite dancing ON the bar, but there was plenty of dancing IN FRONT OF the bar...

Boys will be boys.

Marc almost looks like a normal guy.  Almost.

On Argentine men

This past week I related one of my favorite stories about Argentine men that I've experienced thus far, completely inappropriately to a female contact of mine during a work lunch.  It was after we had talked business and we were comparing notes on what we've heard about dating Argentines.  So I tell her the following story:

At the pirate party (see previous post), I met Juan Pablo pretty early on (i.e. before he could use the excuse of overconsumption of alcohol) and we were having a totally normal conversation, when...

Juan Pablo: ...You look pretty fit.  What do you do?
Ryan: (sound of car tires squealing in brain as her thoughts put on the brakes...wha?  Hmmm, let's treat this as totally normal...) Well, I run.  And I also recently started doing yoga again for flexibility.  You know, because when you run, you're shortening your muscles and I was never very flexible in the first place.  That, and it's good for my back.
Juan Pablo: You know, instead of yoga you should try sex (insert strange, uncomfortable pause here)...with Latin men.
Ryan: (gut-wrenching laughter...um, excuse me???)
Juan Pablo: (before Ryan can totally recover her senses) I shouldn't say these things.  After all, I sort of have a girlfriend...
Ryan: (hell yes you shouldn't say these things!  And a "sort of" girlfriend?  What the f*$% is that?)

So I tell my contact that this change in the conversation at least gave me room to totally ignore the sex comment and move on to other things - like this "sort of" girlfriend of his.  And then, at the end of the night, the selfsame Juan Pablo warned me against Argentine men.  Well, dating them, at least.  He still advocated "having fun" with them - LOTS of them, even - but nothing serious.

Which is a pretty common refrain I hear from Argentine men, says I to my contact.  Argentine men are always warning me against other Argentine men.  I'm not sure that they're helping their case any.

Meanwhile, in the corner of the restaurant, this approximately 70-year-old Argentine man gets up to leave and walks by our table.  He stops directly next to me and addresses me, in perfect English:

Old man: So, what did you choose?
Ryan: (total blank stare)
Old man: Yoga or sex?
Ryan: (double take, pause, and then...) Yoga, absolutely.
Old man: Well then I guess I'll go.

I promised you pictures

In Puerto Madero, with the "Ladies' Bridge" in the background.

Kaitlin gets cheeky over Labor Day weekend.

Wandering through the weekend market outside of Recoleta Cemetery.

Meandering through the Recoleta Cemetery, with no rhyme or reason (and before the mad search for Evita's grave).

More Recoleta Cemetery, which to me looks like a city of the dead straight out of a Tim Burton movie.

The lovely roots of a rubber tree.



I told you I like to brunch.  And, as far as I'm concerned, there are only 2 places to do so here in Buenos Aires.  I brought Kaitlin and Matt to Oui Oui, where both Kaitlin and I enjoyed submarinos (hot milk in which you melt dark unsweetened chocolate).



I can't just have a submarino!  Huevos completos are totally necessary.  And their version of homefries?  Freakin' fantastic.

Note Matt's excessive attention to the particulars of fork and knife use-ery at the brunch table.

The Casa Rosada (Argentina's answer to the White House) is wide open to visitors.  There are no metal detectors, no guards, no nothing.  You can just walk right in and take your picture with Evita's portrait.

Matt was so happy until he lost his "44" sign.

Stopping for a rest after wandering the neverending market on La Defensa.

When you don't have a reservation, you wait outside on the sidewalk forever.  But the free champagne makes it all okay.  (Note Matt's sporting of the 151st belt buckle!)

Nile, who I am convinced is the world's most fashionable baby, seen here in her Labor Day best at Evita Cafe.

Nile and Mommy Megan.