Childish Games? In Buenos Aires?

Recently, reviewing the English translations on a Chilean hotel website, I came upon the bewildering phrase “childish games” as one of the hotel's features, and I had to refer back to the Spanish original to find the term “juegos infantiles” to realize that what they meant was “playground for kids.” They'd apparently relied on translation software—thanks, Google!—to promote themselves to English-speaking audiences.

Recently, in the New York Times travel section, Danielle Pergament offered an account of seeing Buenos Aires through her children’s rudimentary Spanish. For Pergament, who proudly proclaims that neither she nor her husband speaks a word of Spanish, this was a potential interesting conceit, but one that failed in its execution—at least in my opinion and my Argentine wife’s.

So far as I can tell, Pergament ignored what should have been visible evidence regarding the status of children in Argentina, and Buenos Aires in particular. I say that as someone who helped raise a half-Argentine daughter, with many Argentine nieces and nephews whom I’ve known since their early childhoods.

Somehow, Pergament concludes that children are peripheral to local life—she cites the example of an English-speaking waitress and a concierge who chose to address her rather her kids—but she mightn’t think that if, somehow, she had noticed that young children often accompany their parents to very late meals, often well after 9 p.m. In fact, dinner at home is often that late and even the youngest children are an integral part of the event, though if it’s a big family dinner the kids may have their own separate table.

Children watch a street performer at the Feria Plaza Francia.

She also missed a big opportunity by not having her kids—ages eight and ten—interact with their Argentine counterparts by paying more attention to parks and playgrounds. Easy walking distance from her lodgings at Recoleta’s Hotel Mío Buenos Aires, the Feria Plaza Francia (a sophisticated crafts fair that she dismisses as a “trinkets market”) often has street performers that appeal to children, and the Plaza Emilio Mitre has a fine playground.

Plaza Emilio Mitre is one of many where Porteño parents bring kids.

Freddo is a fading presence in the quality ice cream sector.

She does recognize one aspect of Buenos Aires that certainly appeals to kids, and that is ice cream. Sadly, her kids appear to have sampled only chains like the moribund Freddo (no longer the go-to choice it once was), Lucciano’s (very decent) and Rapa Nui (a chocolates specialist that originated in Bariloche but has branches here and in beach resorts). In fairness, these were conspicuous locales the Pergament and her family were likeliest to come across in their walks around the tourist-oriented northern neighborhoods, so more distinctive choices like Heladería Cadore were not on their itinerary.

Rapa Nui is primarily a chocolatier that got its start in Bariloche, in northern Argentine Patagonia.

At Palermo's Jardín Japonés, the colorfully carp-filled ponds appeal to kids.

Other child-friendly sights she suggests are the Abasto Shopping Center, the Centro Cultural Recoleta with its motto of ¡prohibido no tocar! (not touching prohibited!), Palermo’s Jardín Japonés and Planetario Galileo Galilei, and the often quirky Museo de Arte Latinoamericano Buenos Aires (MALBA). All of these are worthwhile, especially the MALBA, but I can’t stop thinking of her own childish oversights.

A young Porteña stands alongside the late León Ferrari's dark-themed "Mushroom Cloud" at the MALBA.

The Use (and Abuse?) of English in Argentina

The London City cafe is a landmark of Buenos Aires's downtown financial district.

According to a recent survey, Argentines are the most proficient English speakers in Latin America. That said, Argentines have an ambivalent attitude toward the English and their language that started, probably, with the British invasions of Buenos Aires in the early 19th century. After independence, the commercial influence of the British became pronounced—the Argentine capital’s financial district is called “La City”—recalling the City of London—and major infrastructure still bears a British stamp. Trains, such as the Subte (Underground) move on the left, and signs remind passengers to keep left (in Spanish, however).

Signs on the Buenos Aires subway remind passengers to keep left.

There are many landmarks associated with the British, most notably the Anglo-Argentine community’s Torre Monumental (renamed from the Torre de los Ingleses after the Falklands War of 1982). There are lesser commercial locales, such as San Telmo’s Gibraltar Pub and Retiro’s Tabaquería Inglesa, but today I’d like to focus on something different—the sometimes quirky English of Buenos Aires (and elsewhere in Argentina).

San Telmo's Gibraltar pub is bilingually Anglophile.

In California, where I live permanently (though I also own an apartment in Buenos Aires), we often see what I like to call “real estate Spanish,” residential complexes with Spanish names of dubious authenticity—despite the state’s Hispanic tradition. One of my favorites is the Berkeley Hills street name “Lomas Cantadas,” which I can only presume is a mutilated translation of lomas encantadas, which would mean “enchanted hills” (as written, the actual name would mean "sung hills," which obviously makes no sense).

The name of this Recoleta clothing store suggests the British origins on Argentine English.

In that context, I’d like to offer, anecdotally, some of the most amusing Anglicisms I’ve found in Buenos Aires. It’s worth adding that, though British English is the default option for students in Argentina, some of the more commercial phrases may correspond more closely to US English—perhaps acquired from Miami, where many prosperous Argentines take shopping trips.

Summer Sale!

In trendy Buenos Aires boroughs such as Palermo (where our apartment is), English apparently lends your business a certain cachet. At least the operators of this lingerie shop appear to think it’s better than ofertas de verano.

This Palermo lingerie outlet lets you know their wares are suitable for the season.

20% Off!

A hybrid sale sign in our Palermo neighborhood

In our own Palermo neighborhood, this household goods retailer forgoes descuento del 20 por ciento in favor of its English equivalent—a phrase that’s a common sight around town. Unusually, this particular shop provides discounts for credit card purchases, even though Argentina remains a cash economy, but apparently does not feel confident enough in its customers to provide that information in English.

Though no longer in Buenos Aires, Citibank was a US company.

If you prefer to pay in cash, though, you can still take advantage of 24-hour banking.

Delivery

This Palermo grill will bring the barbecue to your house or hotel.

Many Buenos Aires restaurants, even some high-end places, will prepare your dinner and bring it to your home or hotel. There’s a perfectly good Spanish-language phrase for this, reparto a domicilio, but “delivery” is now almost universal—even in the provinces. Whether they’ll provide a cooler bag, though, is questionable.

Our Specials

This Palermo restaurant serves a diversity of lunchtime dishes.

Platos del día would be the Spanish equivalent but, considering that all the dishes here are in Spanish, the English phrase appears to be an affectation.

Tickeadora

Purchase your parking permission at this streetside vending machine.

Spanglish seems less frequent in Argentina than in the US or Mexico, but this parking dispenser is an exception (a parking ticket, by the way, would be a multa).

No W(h)ining? An Uncommon Tasting in Palermo

Mendoza is the heart of Argentina’s wine country, and one of my favorite destinations in the country. On my recent trip south, though, I barely got out of Buenos Aires and, so, a tasting trip to vineyards and wineries was out of the question. I had to look elsewhere.

In principle, there’s no reason not to grow wine grapes in the vicinity of Buenos Aires – to the best of my knowledge the nearest commercial Argentine vineyard is in Sierra de la Ventana, 550 km to the southwest, but there is a substantial cluster of wineries in nearby Uruguay, just a short hop across the River Plate. In fact, if I recall correctly, vineyards used to form something of a greenbelt on the Argentine capital’s outskirts, until the military dictatorship of 1976-83 uprooted them for highways and suburban sprawl.

That said, there are plenty of places to sample Argentine wines in the city, without even having to hear it through the grapevine. One of those is the Bar du Marché (pictured above), in the Palermo Hollywood area, which purports to have 50 different wines by the glass. It’s a place to which this blog will return in the near future, but in a behind-the-scenes manner that its façade does not even hint at.

In early November, shortly after arriving in Buenos Aires, I described my experience at Vinos de Lujo as a “wine-tasting free-for-all” that left me more overwhelmed than enlightened. Later in the month, though, I was able to attend a more manageable tasting at Anuva Wines that I found far more satisfying.

Founded by US resident Daniel Karlin, Anuva (pictured above; the name comes from combining the indefinite English article “an” with “uva,” the Spanish word for grape) is about a 20-block walk from my own Palermo apartment. The inconspicuous streetside door – two Brazilians arrived late because they walked past the entrance without recognising it - opens onto a lengthy staircase that reaches a spacious tasting room that’s also suitable for more formal events. During a previous stay in the city, I had dined here at El Tejano, a “closed doors” restaurant that now operates its own venue for Texas-style barbecue nearby.

Anuva is not a restaurant, but it does offer tapas paired with a selection of five wines at each tasting. All its wines come not from high-profile Mendoza producers like Catena Zapata and Santa Julia, but from smaller, lesser-known wineries that reflect the industry’s geographical diversity, including vintages from the northwestern Andes around Cafayate and from the Patagonian province of Neuquén.

Our own tasting, beginning around 7 p.m., began with a sparkling wine from Viña Las Perdices, in the Agrelo district a short distance north of Mendoza. I’m personally not a fan of sparkling wines, but our sommelier, a fluent English-speaking Argentine named Florencia Campicelli, pointed out that small bubbles characterize the best and, by that standard, Las Perdices passed the exam.

The next sample, a Mairena Torrontés preceded by a cracker with fresh-sliced pear, basil and a walnut, was more to my liking. Torrontés is Argentina’s signature white grape (we almost always have some in the fridge) and, this one, from the high-altitude vineyards around Cafayate, was typically aromatic. I’d buy this one, but I’m not sure how objective I am, as I’d try almost any Torrontés, especially when complemented by raspberry and lemon sorbets (pictured below).

From there, we proceeded to the reds, starting with a San Gimignano Malbec aged six months in French and American oak. Malbec is my favorite red – we even named our beloved Alaskan malamute after it – and this Mendoza vintage is a worthy one. The tasting finished with two others– the Amauta IV blend of Malbec, Cabernet and Syrah from Bodega El Porvenir of Cafayate (the only winery of this bunch that I know personally) and a Mairena Bonarda from Mendoza. The Bonarda’s acquiring a certain notoriety among connoisseurs here, but it’s got a ways to go before it catches up with Malbec.

Throughout, we snacked on paired cold cuts and cheeses, plus a savoury empanada, and finished with a sample of bittersweet chocolate truffles. By the time we finished the two-hour tasting, I was more than satisfied and, despite the fact that this was never supposed to be dinner, it was all I needed for the night.

I’ve avoided sommelier-speak here, partly because I find it opaque and partly because I know more about wine tourism than I do about wine itself – I know what I like to drink, but I don’t presume to impose my tastes on others. Still, Anuva provides a useful introduction for wine-lovers just getting to know the options in Argentina.

Given the fact that the five wines and tapas cost US$52, it’s fair to mention that you could sample more for less at some wine bars and, at wineries, you might spend even less. Many Argentine wineries charge little or nothing for tours and tasting though, of course, you have to get to Mendoza, Cafayate or Chañar first.

Anuva, of course, wants to sell wine as well, and has a wine club that will ship two, three or four bottles per month to your US address. Even so, their tastings are sociable experiences, soft-sell events at which they will not pressure you to join.

"Grossout" Wines? Bargains from Argentina, Chile & Elsewhere

Recently, on the BA Expats website forum in which I occasionally participate, there’s been a debate about where to buy wines in Buenos Aires. Leaving aside considerations of price, the consensus is that specialty wine shops are best (Palermo’s Terroir, pictured below, is an outstanding example), but I would argue that supermarkets such as Carrefour and Disco have dedicated wine departments with a broad selection of vintages.

The least desirable source, also by consensus, is the city’s chinos, to use the colloquial term for its corner groceries (many of them run by ethnic Chinese, but some by Koreans). While I’ve bought perfectly good wine at the chino around the corner from our apartment, it’s probable that storage conditions may be sub-optimal in a city where summer temperatures often reach 35° C (95° F), even when the locale in question has air-conditioning.

Meanwhile, though, I’m back in California without the same access to South American wines that I would have in Argentina or Chile, I still manage to find them at variety of sources. Probably the best, in my part of the East Bay, is the Wine Mine, which carries moderately priced premium vintages from those two countries and even a sample from Uruguay, and offers very inexpensive Saturday tastings (just US$1, occasionally from South America).

More frequently, though, I choose my wines at Berkeley Bowl, where I do my weekly grocery shopping. In addition to a spectacular variety of produce, it carries a selection of wines from around the globe, including uncommon vintages, such as the Mayu Sauvignon Blanc (pictured above) that I bought yesterday, from lesser-known regions from Chile’s Elqui valley. I haven’t yet opened it, but the combination of dry warm days and cool nights is ideal for premium whites.

Of  course, both Wine Mine and Berkeley Bowl are easily accessible only to East Bay residents, but there’s another option – comparable in some ways to the chinos of Buenos Aires. For many years now, my wife and I have done selective shopping at Grocery Outlet, which we jokingly call “The Used Food Store” because it carries discount items at bargain prices.

While most of Grocery Outlet’s products are basic, it has a surprisingly large wine section that, in all likelihood, come from distressed shipments. Once, several years ago, I found a remarkably good Argentine Torrontés from French winemaker Michel Rolland for about US$5 per bottle; later that same year, when I returned to Buenos Aires, it cost more than twice that. Last year, I found a Spanish Charquiño Albariño 2011, which usually goes for around US$15 per bottle, for the same price. Yesterday's choices included the 2011 Chilean Carménère pictured above.

Based in Berkeley, Grocery Outlet has stores in all the Pacific states and those that border them, as well as Pennsylvania, so it serves wine-lovers on a budget in many locations. It also has drawbacks, though - prices are modest, but much of its inventory comes from overstock elsewhere and the turnover is substantial, so there’s no guarantee that a given wine will consistently be available.

Thus, consumers need to be savvy when purchasing wine here – it can be something of a lottery. One rule of thumb is not to buy a white older than two or perhaps three years; my usual tactic is buy a single bottle, which rarely costs more than US$5-6, and sample it at home. If it hasn’t turned to vinegar, and I like it, I’ll go back for more; last year, for instance, I bought out the final dozen bottles of the Charquiño.

For further guidance, there’s an independent blog that goes by the whimsical title of Grossoutwine (non-native English speakers, please note: the colloquialism “grossout” is best translated as asqueroso, but it’s really a pun on the store’s name). In accessible language, the site reviews what’s in stock, and is searchable: see, for instance, the most recent offerings for Argentina and Chile.