1. Mayonnaise. It wouldn't surprise me if the national food of Argentina were mayo. Locals put mayonnaise on everything. It is more ubiquitous than ketchup in U.S. restaurants, however whereas ketchup often shares the stage with mustard and occasionally relish in America, mayonnaise enjoys a complete monopoly on the condiment market down here. I witnessed someone in a steakhouse get turned down when she asked for ketchup for her hamburger and fries, because all they had was mayo.
Before coming to Argentina, I'm pretty sure the only food with which I consumed mayonnaise was tuna fish. But here, the topping goes on any and all foods. It's so common that it's just a natural part of life for Argentines, like oxygen, or yelling. My biggest shock came when I saw a commercial for Hellmann's light mayonnaise in which a spoon is seen dumping globs of the stuff on top of salad and fish and chicken as I looked on in horror. I couldn't find the commercial on YouTube, but this mid-90s one should suffice in demonstrating the local affinity, while test you on your Spanish food vocab.
2. Stray dogs. I'm not a dog person, so I was a little unnerved to see dozens of dogs roaming the sidewalks any given day. They're everywhere. Sometimes I even start up a round of Dead or Sleeping, a little guessing game I like to play when I see a dog lying on its side with its eyes closed, or one time with an old guy on the Subte. The dogs seem to have adjusted smoothly to city life — they will wait politely at the curb until the light changes before crossing the street, and will walk harmlessly side-by-side with humans as they commute to their local dumpster. But I could do with out the barking and pooping and fear that one is going to leap up and bite my jugular.
3. Restaurant policy
This one's a catch-all topic that comprises everything I hate about eating out in Buenos Aires. Here's why:
- Cubierto. Cubierto is a mandatory fee tacked on to your check at most restaurants. Ostensibly it is a 2-to-8 peso charge for using silverware, although I highly doubt you can reject silverware and opt out of the fee. Cubierto lies dormant like a samurai in the back of your mind throughout the meal before ambushing you when the check comes out.
- No free refills. All restaurant drinks come in glass bottles here, meaning fountain soda and the free refills they come with are a foreign concept to locals. Besides being most likely terrible for the environment, the bottle policy forces you to ration your drink for the entire freaking meal. Have you ever wanted to take a sip but wouldn't let yourself because you wouldn't have enough left for your entree? It's the worst feeling in the world. In the U.S. you get your money's worth. The second that soda comes out I drink half the goddamn glass because in the United States there are endless free-flowing rivers of soda and I know my waiter's just waiting for the chance to ask me if I'd like some more.
- Water. Water comes in glass bottles too, meaning it's not free like in U.S. restaurants. This means every college student's diabolical scheme to save money and order "just water, please" is immediately foiled. At more low-key places you could probably order tap water but there's a decent chance it would be filled with like algae or something.
4. Fernet and Coke. Fernet is a terrible, terrible alcoholic beverage derived from owl pellets that Argentines mix with Coke to mask the dirt aftertaste. I've heard from multiple sadomasochistic sources that you "acquire the taste" after three or four times drinking it, although I've drunk it enough times to just up and say it tastes like ass. Fernet and Coke is somehow worse than the national drink mate, a bitter concoction of hot water and grass clippings. But while I enjoy taking part in the tradition of preparing and passing mate, fernet and Coke is one drink I'll be fine never tasting again. (By the way, can someone explain the concept of acquiring a taste to me? I've never understood why a drink can't just, like, taste good to begin with.)
5. Pizza. I figured with such an Italian influence, Buenos Aires would boast some impressive pizza. Wrong. Pizza here is less of a food and more of a congealed food-glorb. Olives come standard on every pie, and if you order meat, your pizza will come covered in what is essentially an enormous sliced up cold cut. Onion pizzas across are more like an entire chopped onion with some dough and cheese sprinkled underneath. Once on the Subte, I saw an advertisement for a pizza place, and the one pizza they chose to display was smothered in anchovies. It says something that the best pizza I ate all semester was in a British pub. And you know something's backwards when the most famous pizzeria in town is called Kentucky Pizza, which is like seeing a place called Quebec-Style Tofu or Mozambique Tacos or Ice Cube's School of Acting (Hey-o!)
Next up: Five things I miss about the United States
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