Mostly About Cheese... Mozzarella to be Exact

So about yesterday.

I woke up, late as usual. And I was determined not to be cold. 

In order to conquer this weighty goal of warmth, I put on two pairs of socks, long johns, a long sleeved sweater, and white jacket for good measure, a full-sized coat, and, to top the outfit off, a creme-colored knit scarf. 

And then I grabbed my map of the city and set out to find the famous cemetery of Recoleta. 

I walked out the door of my apartment loft, and onto one of the avenues.

The sun was shining--proof that when you work toward something the universe works with you. 

By the eighth block, I was well on my way toward being hot. I think, under those eight layers of clothing, I almost broke a sweat. 

I thought about taking off my coat, or at least untying my scarf, but instead, I savored the moment. 

(For credibility's sake only, I will admit I undid my scarf enough for it to stop choking me.)

I never did go inside the cemetery. There seemed to be an actual funeral going on, and i didn't think it was quite appropriate to break them up for my tourist needs. 

I thought about it though.

"Umm... Excuse me. Apparently your familiar enough with this place to bury a loved one here. Could you point me in the direction of Evita?"

Since I didn't have any pesos anyway, I decided to err on the side of appropriateness. 

So after a long walk, I decided to get something to eat. Something that wasn't a Kashi bar or a oreo-like cookie filled with lemon flavoring. 

And so I found a quaint little cafe and seated myself in the middle of the room. 

This was around 5 p.m.

Everyone was drinking their café with their little shot glasses of orange juice on the side. They were nibbling pastries and chatting away about life. 

But I was hungry. And I don't drink coffee. And there is no one here for me to chat about life with. 

So I pulled out the tourist card and ordered a full scale dinner. 

Ordering dinner at 5 p.m. in Argentina is sort of like bringing a picnic into a Starbucks on a Monday morning sometime around 11:15.

While everyone else sips glasses of hot coffee, the server brings you, the dinner-eater, two table cloths, a glass with a napkin in it, and a giant bread basket. There's no being discreet about the fact that I AM A TOURIST and I EAT DINNER at 5 PM because, GUESS WHAT, by 9 PM, I WILL most definitely BE ASLEEP. 

So I sat in the middle of the room, chomping away on the items of my bread basket, thinking how wonderful it is that I have decided to no longer be a cheese-a-phobic, because this cheese butter stuff is absolutely amazing. 

And then the server came and took my order. 

And since I was already completely inconveniencing them by ordering dinner at a strange hour, I decided I should probably order something that cost more than 80 cents. 

So I added one of the fancy salads to my 4 peso empanada order. 

I didn't really know what the salad had in it, but it said something about mozzarella and olives, so, obviously, I was all in. 

Then they brought me that salad. 

And it was only mozzarella and olives. With a few sliced tomatoes tossed in the middle. 

We're talking like four pounds of mozzarella cheese here people. 

And all I could think was, "That's a lot of cheese." Over and over again.

I eventually came to a point when I simply couldn't eat one more square of cheese or else I would hurl. 

At that point, there were 3 pounds of cheese remaining. 

Luckily, this time the kind people at the restaurant gave me a box. Which is really fortunate, because I have no idea how to buy cheese at the supermarket. As far as I can tell, most of the cheese here comes in a can. And that just doesn't sit too well with me. 

Already, the left over cheese has made 2 meals. And their is sufficient mozzarella for at least 2 more. 

And before we move too far from this topic, I should let you know that I have found it. 

It being that thing that will keep Argentina in my heart. It being that thing that will cause me to look fondly on the past and say things like: I could use a return trip to Argentina.

It is not the bustling city, or the night life, or the even the way they beautifully say their double l's here. 

Actually, it is two things. 

1. Dulce de Leche.

2. Empanadas. 

Whew, I was afraid I wasn't going to find an it food here. 

These two thing have, singlehandedly, made me abandon my search for peanut butter, almost.

 

There are a few other things that I love about here. But I'll save those for later.

Right now, I am going to go huddle by the fridge and spoon out possibly an entire tub of dulce de leche. 

And if ever starts to taste boring on its own, I think I'll try it on top of some cheese--mozzarella to be exact.