On Being Fat in Argentina

Compared to the United States, shopping for clothes in Argentina is a breeze. In fact, most of the time, I don't even have to leave my house. I'd like to attribute this phenomenon to an increase in the number of online clothing retailers doing business in Argentina or a team of fabulous personal shoppers who've got my style down to a T and do all the hard work for me. But the truth is that shopping here feels so effortless because I just don't bother—I'm not going to find something that fits anyway.

It's tremendously difficult for me to find stylish clothes that fit me here in Argentina. I am 5'7" (170 cm), and I wear a U.S. size 18/20 (ARG size 48/50) or XXL (ARG size 5). Even when I'm lucky enough to find a skirt or top in my size, it often looks more like something my grandmother would wear rather than a vibrant woman in her early thirties. In fact, I'm pretty sure I've seen my grandmother sporting more stylish duds than the dowdy get-ups recommended to me in some of the stores here.

Many shops try to skirt the size issue by offering clothing in the dreaded one-size fits all. I'm hear to tell you that it doesn't, and no amount of coaxing or cajoling on the part of the sales assistant is going to make a too-tight garment look good.

In the three years I've lived in Argentina, I have bought exactly three pieces of clothing here. And it hasn't been for lack of trying. I've never been a clotheshorse, but I can assure you that in my previous life, I purchased more than one item of clothing per year. Let's just say that it's a good thing I like accessories, or else I'd never spend a centavo in the stores here.

Sharon Haywood, director of AnyBody Argentina, a non-profit organization dedicated to changing negative cultural attitudes about women's bodies, related her Argentine shopping experiences in a recent article:

Last year when I was searching for a wedding dress, all I had to do was observe the saleswoman's reaction when she looked my way and I knew that I wasn't going to find anything. Almost always, I heard the same worn-out phrase, "We don't carry your size."¹

If I hadn't read Sharon's name in the article's byline, I would have sworn I'd written that statement myself. It mirrors exactly what I encountered last year when searching for a dress for my own wedding. The dismissive attitude of shopkeepers and saleswomen and lack of options transformed what should have been a fun, exciting shopping experience into a nightmare.

What's most disturbing to me is not necessarily that I have a hard time finding clothes that fit me, but that normal, healthy weight women can't find clothes that fit them either. According to a survey performed by AnyBody Argentina, about 65% of the Argentine women interviewed stated that they've had difficulty finding fashionable clothing in their size.²

Slaves to Image
According to a 2010 study by the International Society of Aesthetic Plastic Surgery, Argentina ranks among the top 25 countries in the world for the number of cosmetic procedures performed, with liposuction far and away the most frequently chosen procedure.³ In fact, many health insurance plans here provide coverage for one cosmetic surgery procedure per year.

While many Argentine women opt for plastic surgery in the quest for a more perfect body, thousands more succumb to eating disorders as they strive to meet a near-impossible standard of beauty. Figures on eating disorders in this country are scarce, but the most recent data from a poll conducted by Argentina's Association for the Fight Against Anorexia and Bulimia (ALUBA) indicated that 1 in 10 teenage girls between the ages of 14 and 18 suffer from an eating disorder. It's also estimated that the prevalence of eating disorders in Argentina is three times higher than in the United States.⁴

High rates of plastic surgery and eating disorders suggest that Argentine women feel extreme societal pressure to be thin and attractive, no matter what the cost.

Dr. Mabel Bello, executive director of ALUBA, frames the Argentine obsession with beauty in the following manner: "We are slaves to image. Appearances are more important than who a person is. We have to look a certain way, be a certain person. This is our cultural imperative."⁵

Ley de Talles // Size Law
Back in November, I bought a cardigan—one of the three pieces from the sacred trilogy of Argentine purchases—from a shop here in Necochea. It's owned by a stout, red-haired woman who obviously understands that the entire universe does not wear a size small. She stocks a variety of sizes [up to ARG size 9] in styles that I'd actually consider wearing. Sadly, her shop is an anomaly.

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In December 2005, a Buenos Aires provincial law known as the Ley de Talles took effect, mandating that all clothing stores offer an assortment of sizes from 38 to 48 (U.S. 8 to 18). In addition, the law looks for the clothing industry to standardize sizes, as sizing here varies wildly from one brand to another. A similar law was passed by the City of Buenos Aires in late 2009. Shop owners who fail to comply with the law face fines of up to $10,000 pesos and closure, while clothing manufacturers and importers face fines ranging from $15,000 to $50,000 pesos.

Clothing manufacturers and shops have opposed the law since its inception, and given the lax enforcement of fines, the reality is that most within the clothing industry pay little heed to the Ley de Talles. In fact, compliance with the law is estimated at less than 25%.⁶

According to Haywood, noncompliance centers around three separate issues: heavy resistance from the industry; corruption in the form of bribes to inspectors; and the fact that Argentines have completely bought into the "cult of the body."⁷

Obesity in Argentina
Argentines are quick to point out the obesity problem in the U.S., but what may surprise you is that Argentina doesn't trail far behind.

According to the report World Health Statistics 2011 from the World Health Organization (WHO), 31% of women and 27.4% of men in Argentina aged 20 years or older qualify as obese [based on 2008 figures]. The rates of obesity in the United States for those aged 20 or older are higher, but not by much, coming in at 33.2% of American women and 30.2% of men [based on 2008 figures].⁸

It appears that despite Argentina's societal obsession with being thin and beautiful, its citizens are losing the war against obesity. Although the same can be said of the U.S., in the last couple of decades, retailers have begun to recognize the trend and have finally started to accommodate the ever-expanding American waistline by offering a broader range of sizes. But as previously discussed, the vast majority of Argentine businesses have turned a blind eye to the needs of larger and even average-sized customers.

Given such abysmal rates of compliance with the Ley de Talles, the situation for Argentine consumers appears rather grim. However, AnyBody has launched a campaign to recognize Argentine clothing brands and shops that respect the diversity of the female form. Retailers that strive for compliance with the Ley de Talles are rewarded with a decal that can be found in their display windows, allowing shoppers to easily identify women-friendly businesses.

The women of Argentina, and indeed, of the world, still have a long way to go on many fronts. In the meantime, while we're working on the bigger issues, is it too much to ask that retailers stock clothes that actually fit?

[Photo credit: HA! Designs]

Resources

¹ "Yes, We Carry Your Size," AnyBody
² "Yes, We Carry Your Size," AnyBody
³ ISAPS International Survey on Aesthetic/Cosmetic Procedures Performed in 2010, International Society of Aesthetic Plastic Surgery [PDF] 
⁴ Eating Disorders 101 Guide: A Summary of Issues, Statistics and Resources, Renfrew Center Foundation for Eating Disorders [Word doc] 
⁵ Battling the Beauty Myth in Argentina, AnyBody
⁶ Any-Body in Argentina: Seeking Size Law Compliance, Endangered Species Women
⁷ Battling the Beauty Myth in Argentina, AnyBody
⁸ World Health Statistics 2011, World Health Organization

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Tuesday the 13th | martes 13

In the Spanish-speaking world, it's Tuesday—not Friday—the 13th that carries the threat of bad luck. The number 13 has long been linked with misfortune in both the Anglo-Saxon and Hispanic cultures, but how did Tuesday, rather than Friday, come to signify a day of mala suerte?

The combination of unlucky number 13 and Tuesday may have arisen during the Middle Ages, as the city of Constantinople fell to the Muslim Turks on a Tuesday. Christians of the period considered this event to be most inauspicious, and it seems that Tuesday's reputation remained forever stained as a result. Another possible explanation lies in the origins of the Spanish word for Tuesday. Martes stems from the name of the Roman god of war, Mars, and as Tuesday is ruled by this deity, the day became associated with destruction, violence and bloodshed. Lastly, legend holds that the confusion of tongues at the Tower of Babel took place on Tuesday the 13th.

If you're the superstitious type, take heed of the following Spanish proverb that advises against marrying or traveling on Tuesday the 13th.

En martes 13, no te cases ni te embarques.

Has anything unlucky ever happened to you on Tuesday (or Friday) the 13th?

[Photo credit: chrisinplymouth]

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Breastfeeding in Argentina

With Daniel's cousin Mery expecting her first child in September, there's been a lot of talk about babies around these parts. The other day at a family get-together, the discussion turned specifically to the topic of breastfeeding and Argentine attitudes toward the practice, particularly in public settings.

For the record, let me just state that I support women's right to breastfeed in public. I view breastfeeding as a normal, natural activity that women shouldn't be made to feel ashamed of. Since I consider it a time of bonding for mother and baby, a distraction-free environment seems ideal, yet I recognize that mothers on the go with hungry infants need to meet the needs of their children. And frankly, I don't think women should have to hole themselves up in a filthy public bathroom in order to feed their babies.

However, I do feel that a measure of discretion should be involved when a woman is breastfeeding in public. I understand that a certain amount of a woman's chest will be visible while the baby nurses, but it's perfectly feasible for a mother to comfortably feed her baby without exposing her entire breast.

With that said, I've been taken aback on numerous occasions by the complete lack of modesty or discretion by some breastfeeding mothers here in Argentina. The most jolting example of this was when a woman passed me in downtown Necochea, her top pulled down to her navel, with her child clinging precariously to her fully exposed bosom as she strode down the street. I couldn't help but imagine that both mother and babe would be better off seated, and I know I would have preferred that the woman cover up a bit more.

I commented to Mery that I never saw breastfeeding mothers in the United States reveal as much skin as an appreciable number of Argentine mothers seem to, and honestly, I haven't quite gotten used to it. Perhaps it's some puritanical American hang-up that I have…¿qué se yo?

Normal daytime, casual attire – at least in the part of Argentina where I live – doesn't include plunging necklines, and topless bathing is prohibited. In other words, the average Argentine woman doesn't generally let it all hang out, so why nursing mothers feel comfortable baring everything in public while feeding their babies is beyond me. For a woman to nonchalantly "whip it out" for the whole world to see (and yes, gawk at) just strikes me as unnecessary.

What's your impression of Argentine attitudes toward breastfeeding? If you live in Argentina, do you think nursing mothers here show too much skin?

[Photo credit: naturemandala]

Update: I just happened to read that August is World Breastfeeding Awareness Month. Who knew!?

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A No-Go for a Cup of Joe

Set amidst the wide expanse of the Argentine pampa, the sleepy town of Juan N. Fernández – population 3,000 – lies just 50 miles (80 km) north of Necochea. Early this afternoon, on a blustery, chilly, autumn day, I piled into a bus with my fellow singers from the Coro Alta Mira to entertain some of the residents at an old folks' home in Fernández.

We arrived in town roughly 45 minutes before we were scheduled to perform, so we decided to grab a cup of joe at a nondescript coffee shop on the corner, not far from the plaza.

A small contingent from our group of 20 entered the café to investigate, with hopes of sitting down to a pleasant cup of steaming coffee to drive away the cold. The establishment's lone patron, a diminutive, quirky-looking man, sat at a table near the door, and the sound of our footsteps echoed through the otherwise empty coffee shop.

A young woman immediately approached us, and the leader of our group greeted her and stated our intention to order a round of coffees. With an unapologetic smile, the employee said, "Oh, sorry, but I just turned off the coffeemaker."

Allow me to make it clear that with our potential order of 20 cups of coffee, this small-town café stood to pull in more cash in half an hour than it probably makes in the entire day, yet the lazy server couldn't be bothered to turn the coffeemaker back on at a coffee shop.

Just an example of Argentine customer service and business savvy at its finest…

[Photo credit: Ballistik Coffee Boy]

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More Argentine Hand Gestures

As I mentioned in a previous post on Argentine hand gestures, the people here are masters of the art of nonverbal communication. Nearly all Argentine speakers punctuate their conversations with animated facial expressions and/or gesticulations, in contrast with other cultures such as the Japanese, who tend to keep bold hand gestures to a minimum.

I thought it would be fun to highlight a few other commonly used gestures, one of which was discussed at length in the comments section of the other post.

I don't know./I have no clue.
[The chin flick: tilt your head back a bit and sweep the back of your fingers forward from under your chin.]

Unlike its meaning in places such as Italy, where the gesture can be considered quite rude, the chin flick – when used in Argentina – simply signals that the speaker doesn't know the answer to your question.

Behave or else!/Be good or you're gonna get it!
[Place your hand at a 45º angle, and moving your hand from the wrist, make a short, back-and-forth chopping motion in the air.]

A useful gesture to let spouses/children/friends know they're skating on thin ice.

What the hell are you talking about?!/Just who do you think you are?
[Bring all of your fingers and your thumb together with your hand pointing upward. Move your hand up and down at the wrist.]

This hand gesture can actually mean a number of things. Here are some of the comments that readers made regarding its most common meaning and usage:

According to Gabriel from Live from Waterloo: "If you…move your hand up and down, then it means 'What do you mean?' or 'What the f*** is wrong with you?'"

According to Chris from In Patagonia: "…for when the hubs [husband] is way out in left field or just being crazy."

Other meanings for this gesture include:

To indicate that a venue was packed with people [Same gesture but shake your hand vigorously]

To show that you're scared [Same gesture but open and close your fingers]

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A special thank you to my friend and English student, Laura, for demonstrating these hand gestures. We had a good laugh together during the photo shoot!

For more on this topic, check out my posts "Argentine Hand Gestures" and "Argentine Hand Gestures: World Cup Edition."

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Notes on the Argentine Approach to Cooking

Argentine home cooks' approach to the country's food classics tends to reflect something of the national character: fly by the seat of your pants, make do with what you've got, and don't stray too far from what you know. The beauty of Argentine dishes lies in the fact that they deliver simple flavors and rarely demand pricey, obscure ingredients or kitchen gadgets for their successful preparation; however, those with perfectionist tendencies would do well to work up some culinary courage before tackling these recipes, as they're often plagued by a dearth of specific instructions. Here are some of my notes on the challenges of cooking estilo argentino.

1. The Recipes
One of the biggest problems with Argentine recipes is that they often don't exist in the first place. Tucked away in the mind of Daniel's great-aunt Rosa lies an absolute treasure trove of gastronomic knowledge. Without fail, her meals turn out flavorful, succulent, appetizing, [substitute your choice of adjective here]. Does she have any of this vast repository of recipes documented? Sadly, the answer is "no."

Should you be fortunate enough to encounter a written recipe, it's often lacking the most basic details (e.g. exact amounts, temperature, estimated cooking time). It's easy to get lost in the ambiguous directions and inexact measurements—puñados, pizcas and poquitos—doled out in heaping helpings in some of these recipes.

To avoid precision, Argentine cooks also love to list the amounts of key ingredients as "a gusto" (to taste). Salt and pepper to taste? OK, I can handle that. But when virtually every component of the recipe reads "add to taste," the collection of ingredients ceases to be a recipe.

Friends in my chorus actually teased me a bit the other day when I translated a well-written English-language recipe for dulce de leche brownies for them to Spanish. "It's so...detailed!" they exclaimed. Cue sigh.

2. The Measurements
Your average Argentine does not own measuring spoons, measuring cups or any other standardized measuring implements (nor does this fact keep him or her awake at night). I remember the look of wonderment on the faces of Daniel and his mom Hilda when I unpacked my set of gleaming stainless steel measuring cups and spoons and my Pyrex liquid measuring cup.

The other day I was researching recipes for vitel toné, a holiday favorite here in Argentina. One of the recipes I came across (by a noted Argentine chef, no less) called for half of a taza chica (small cup) of vinegar. How small, exactly, is this cup? Now, I recognize that using a "half of a small cup" instead of a standard 1/2-cup measurement won't spell the difference between life and death; however, in recipes requiring more exactitude, for example, baked goods, using sloppy measurements may lead to a less-than-desirable result.

Then, of course, there's the recipe I saw a while back that called for 17 teaspoons of sugar. I don't know about you, but I'll pull out my 1/3-cup measuring cup and call it a day. Hell, I'll even use a 1/3 of a "small cup" rather than count out 17 teaspoons.

True to her Italian roots, Hilda makes tallarines (tagliatelle) from scratch. The first time I watched her make the long strands of pasta, I commented to her that I'd like to jot down the recipe. She replied, "Oh, sure. You just use one egg per person and a handful of flour for every egg." Never mind the fact that my hand is about 50% larger than hers.

3. The Ovens
In the beginning, I used to ponder why hardly any Argentine recipes give an exact cooking temperature. I later discovered that when your oven offers three choices—yellow, orange, and red—achieving anything more precise than "medium heat" becomes a real challenge. I'd like to be able to blame this issue on the fact that my oven dates to the 1960s; however, a quick trip to the local appliance store confirmed that even brand spanking new ovens lack a thermostat/temperature control (unless, of course, you're prepared to shell out about $4,000 pesos [US $1,000] for the one oven in the store with a thermostat, which most people, myself included, are not).

Perhaps I'm a spoiled yanqui, but I really crave more precision than that provided by a needle bobbing between the "yellow zone" and the "red zone." The oven thermometer I purchased has helped me tremendously, but the process of regulating the oven temperature still gives me a headache, given that just a barely perceptible flick of the wrist makes the difference between undercooked blobs of dough and incinerated ones.

Let's get kitchen confidential. Share your culinary trials and tribulations in the comments.

[Photo credits: reiven and autumnsensation]

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You Might Be a Yanqui

While many Latin Americans refer to those of us from the United States as gringos, here in Argentina we're known as yanquis [pronounced shahn-kees]. Here are 15 telltale signs that may tip you off as a yanqui.

You Might Be a Yanqui if:

1) You smile at complete strangers as you walk down the street. [Oops, I learned the hard way on that one.]
2) You anticipate that public bathrooms will be stocked with toilet paper.
3) You look straight ahead (or even up) as you walk instead of with your eyes glued to the sidewalk to avoid dog poop or broken concrete.
4) You think all Argentines eat, sleep and breathe the tango.
5) You wear your seat belt at all times and generally observe the rules of the road. [Argentine drivers scare me!]
6) You arrive on time or [gasp!] early for an appointment, event or meeting.
7) You show up to eat dinner at a restaurant before 9pm or 10pm.
8) Your spice cabinet contains items hotter than black pepper.
9) You snicker at brand names such as Barfy, McPussy and Bimbo. [Yes, they really do exist.]
10) You expect napkins and other paper products to have some measure of absorbency and utilitarian value.
11) You think you can return items to a store for a refund.
12) You expect to be able to complete simple government paperwork or procedures in just one day. [Silly me!]
13) You extend your hand in greeting instead of proffering your cheek for a kiss.
14) For females: you use tampons. [Yep, I wrote about that.]
15) You expect to both pay for and receive your item in one single, efficient transaction when making a purchase.

Go on, add to the list. You might be a yanqui if…

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What's In a Name?

Catalina, Katia, Katherine and even Katu. All of these names appear on the list approved by the Civil Registry of the Province of Buenos Aires. The name "Katie," however, is absent from the list and with good reason: virtually no one here seems to be able to pronounce it.

Although a bit frustrated, I am no longer surprised by the reaction I get from the vast majority of Argentines when I tell them my name. The scene, without fail, follows this script:

1) With a kiss on the cheek, I introduce myself to my new acquaintance. I watch as the official list of names unfurls in her mind; she scrolls through the familiar Argentine standards such as Ana, Florencia, Gabriela, Laura, María, Teresa.

2) After a moment or two – once her neurons return the "File not found" error message – she does a double take, and her face screws into an expression of puzzlement.

3) She asks me to repeat my name at least two more times, as she bends and contorts the English sounds to conform to her Spanish ear.

I've been on the receiving end of many odd looks and responses regarding my exceedingly common English name. For example, the 80-something seamstress who made my choral uniform exclaimed, "¡Qué nombre rarísimo, che!" ("Boy, what a strange name!") when I first met her, while a worker at the immigration office in Quequén recently rechristened me "Chicha" because he couldn't pronounce my name.

I frequently find myself feeling slightly embarrassed and apologetic as a result of my name, and I wonder if it would just be easier to adopt a more Spanish-friendly pronunciation or to simply change my name altogether. Occasionally, in one-off situations where I'll never meet the person again (for example, when reserving a table at a restaurant), I'll give my name as Kati (Kah-tee) to avoid the otherwise inevitable explanations and/or butchering of my moniker.

Other times, I feel a bit indignant and determined to teach people the right way to say those two syllables, no matter how many times I have to repeat myself. After all, a little old diphthong and an American 't' can't be that bad, can they?

Although I wouldn't exactly characterize Argentines as conformists, few people stray from established naming conventions. [Read more about rules for selecting a child's name in Argentina at yanqui mike's blog.] In my chorus, for example, seven out of the 20 women have a name that includes María: María Nelly, María Fernanda, María del Carmen, María Angélica, María Ester, María Teresa, and María Guadalupe.

Names that deviate from the official list prepared by each province must be submitted to the Registro Civil, along with a fee of $50 pesos, for approval. It seems that most parents are content to name their little one Facundo, Valentina, or Nicolás, and they later shake things up with one of the countless nicknames that exist here.

I applaud a bit of diversity and originality in names, and I'm proud of my own strange, yanqui name; however, some days, I admit that I just wish I were a María.

[Photo credit: p!o]

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Argentine Hand Gestures

In addition to an arsenal of colorful slang known as Lunfardo, Argentines make extensive use of non-verbal language. With so much Italian blood coursing through the veins of the Argentine people, it's no wonder they have a habit of talking with their hands. In fact, some Argentine hand gestures are similar, if not identical, to Italian ones.

When I stayed with my friend Beatrice Murch last year, I thumbed through a bilingual book from her home library called Sin Palabras: Gestiario Argentino/Speechless: A Dictionary of Argentine Gestures by photographer Guido Indij. I found the book quite entertaining, as it provides loads of insight into the vast vocabulary of gestures employed by the Argentines. It was fun to discuss the different gestures and compare them to those used in the United States. For example, American concertgoers flash the horns as they rock out to heavy metal, but the very same gesture directed at someone in Argentina insinuates that his or her spouse is a cheater.

As a complement to his book, Indij created the website Gestiarium, which seeks to "decipher humankind's gestural genome." Besides viewing hundreds of gestures from around the globe, users can collaborate by submitting their own photos and explanations of non-verbal language. You can read more about Indij and the origins of his book and website in an article by The Argentina Independent. [Update: the Gestiarium project and website have been discontinued.]

Here are some of my favorite Argentine hand gestures and their meanings:

¡Ojo! – Be careful!/Watch out!
[Pull down your lower eyelid with your index finger.]

Vení (acá) – Come here
[Extend your hand, palm down, and curl your fingers up toward your palm repeatedly.]

Tacaño – Cheapskate
[Tap your right elbow with the palm of your left hand.]

¡Ma sí, andá (a cagar)! – Get outta here!/ F*ck off!
[Throw your arm back toward your head.]

Just right/Perfect/Impeccable/The best
[With your hand forming the OK sign, make a short, quick downward motion in front of your chest.]

Speechless: A Dictionary of Argentine Gestures is available online through Amazon [Spanish edition] and Barnes & Noble [dual language edition], as well as at bookstores throughout Buenos Aires.

Do you have a favorite Argentine gesture?

[Photo credits: All images courtesy of Guido Indij/Gestiarium]

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Just How Awful is Offal?

Though known to strike fear in the hearts of many, organ meats never fazed my grandmom. She often sang the praises of braunschweiger on rye and calf's liver with onions, and she enthusiastically doused her turkey, stuffing and mashed potatoes in giblet gravy at the holidays.

Daniel's grandmother – another organ meat aficionado – could attest to the fact that offal is no stranger to the Argentine table. In addition to the famed steaks, a typical Argentine barbecue features a number of organ meats including mollejas (sweetbreads), riñones (kidneys), chinchulines (small intestines), and morcilla (blood sausage). Hearty stews such as locro commonly contain mondongo (tripe). Lengua en escabeche (pickled tongue)  and queso de chancho (head cheese) are frequently on offer at Argentine delicatessens.

Although today most Americans wrinkle their noses at organ meats, it wasn't always the case. In the past, frugality combined with a greater understanding and appreciation of where our food came from meant that Americans ventured into offal territory more often. According to a post on food blog Offal Good, "before the Second World War, Americans consumed almost all of the offal produced"; however, in the 1950s and 1960s, consumption of offal declined significantly. [1]

I'm a fairly adventurous eater, yet I have more or less given up on offal. I have tried mollejas, chinchulines, and morcilla (twice, in fact), but I find it difficult to overcome my psychological hang-ups about these foods in order to be able to savor what I'm eating. In all honesty, the mollejas in particular weren't half bad, but I literally started to gag when I thought about what I was eating. I do, however, freely admit to enjoying scrapple fried thin and crispy, a Pennsylvania Dutch classic, and smoked ham hocks have worked their way into many a  bean soup in my kitchen. Go figure.

If we routinely stomach the "mystery meat" encased in a hot dog or a slice of scrapple, can we Americans take a cue from the Argentines and a number of other cultures to make the shift toward preparing and cooking offal on a regular basis? Chef and food activist Dan Barber would certainly like to see us try.

"…Barber writes about the 'protein paradox,' or the huge waste of edible animal parts such as liver, kidney, and tripe. Barber really wants us to like, or learn to like, organ meat — the bits and bobs typically saved for hot dogs, sausage links, and yes, dog food. He hopes that people will eat meat modestly, and when they do, consider the carcass scraps." [2]

What's your take on organ meats? Should Americans quit whining and learn to love offal?

Sources:

[1] Offal Good, The Art of Having Guts
[2] Serious Eats, Dan Barber Says We Need to Like Organ Meat

Photo credit: Charles Haynes

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There's still time to enter for a chance to win free Spanish language learning software courtesy of Bueno, Entonces… (a $147 value)! Click here and leave a comment for a shot at the prize, but hurry…there are only two days left!

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The Goatherder

A tale of two cultures, as told to me by Tomás Viñuela.

A group of American tourists arrived in Argentina, eager to explore all the wonders the country has to offer in as short a timeframe as possible. They were clad in the uniform of the stereotypical American sightseer –  jeans and white sneakers with cameras dangling about their necks – their appearance made all the more cartoonish by the gaucho hats they wore in hopes of blending in with the locals.

Among the tourists there was one fellow who preferred to go it alone instead of sticking with the tour group. He thought himself very evolved; he was a traveler, not a tourist. He wanted to get to know the authentic Argentina.

The final stop on the group's whirlwind tour brought them to an estancia for a traditional asado and show of gaucho horsemanship, but the more adventuresome traveler arranged to strike out on his own. He skipped the tour of the estancia, and instead, he took a bus destined for a small town that barely registered as a speck on his map. The bus let the traveler off at a depot on the edge of town, and after giving a cursory glance to his surroundings, the traveler set out on foot for parts unknown (at least to him).

While walking down a dusty country lane, the traveler came upon a goatherder resting in the shade of one of the few trees to be found on the expansive plain, as his flock grazed nearby. Eyeing the approach of this man who was clearly out of place, the goatherder raised the brim of his hat to get a better look. With a big grin and a silly wave the American shouted, "Well, hello there!"

Grateful for a respite from the unrelenting sun, the traveler plopped down beside the goatherder. With the traveler's decent grasp of Spanish and the aid of gestures, the two were able to communicate fairly well. Encouraged by his success, the traveler proceeded to bombard the goatherder with questions about his livelihood, the goats, and the land. The traveler fell silent for a moment, and then he asked, "Have you ever considered raising cattle?"

"Well, no. I'm a goatherder. I've raised my goats on this land for thirty years. This is what I know. I'm not interested in cows."

"But cows yield more profit! You could start off with a few cows, and with the extra money that you'll earn from them, you could buy a few more head of cattle. As your herd continues to grow, eventually you'll have enough money to buy a pick-up truck and a bit more land. With a larger parcel of land you could raise even more cows!" the traveler exclaimed.

"But why, señor?"

"Because then you would make even more money, and with your truck you could be more efficient and deliver the cows directly to the slaughterhouse. Then eventually you'll have enough money to buy your own slaughterhouse and maybe even a bit more land!"

"But I don't understand...why, señor?"

"Ah, well, that way you could keep expanding your business! Eventually you'd have so much land and so many cows that you could buy your own export company and ship Argentine beef around the world. Everyone knows how good Argentine beef is."

"Sí, sí…but what's the point of doing all of that?"

"Well, because some day, when you've built up your business, once you've created your cattle empire, you can finally sit back and relax," declared the traveler in a triumphant manner.

The goatherder chuckled softly as he tugged the brim of his hat over his eyes and leaned back against the tree with his fingers interlaced behind his head. "But señor," he responded, "that's what I'm doing right now."

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One for the Ladies

Warning: If the word "tampon" makes you squeamish or offends your sensibilities in any way, I suggest you skip this post get over it.

Although Argentina is a Catholic country, attitudes toward sexuality have shifted, and many Argentines have developed a more liberal viewpoint on controversial topics like premarital sex, homosexuality, and nudity. However, it seems that certain topics pertaining to the realities of the human body remain taboo.

No one seems terribly bothered by the enormous poster around the corner that prominently features a woman's tanned backside (it's an advertisement for car batteries – go figure). I frequently pass newsstands and kiosks filled to the brim with men's magazines, with little to no attempt made to cover up "the goods." Birth control pills are available here without a prescription – simply ask and ye shall receive. 

Yet when I go to a pharmacy to purchase tampons (sinful, sinful!), they must be carefully wrapped in paper and taped up like some bizarre Christmas stocking stuffer and then placed in a plastic bag, lest someone see that I've bought a box of this downright scandalous feminine hygiene product. To make matters worse, if you happen to be in a pharmacy where they have everything stocked behind the counter, you're subjected to the horrified looks of other customers as you ask for your 20-count box of regulars. Dear God, she uses those things! I'm pretty sure I saw an older woman faint once right after I bought a box.

If you're visiting Argentina and are choosy about the products you use, I suggest you pack your own supply. There are only two brands of tampons available in Argentina – o.b. and Days – neither of which have applicators. There is a bright side to all of this though: if you use pads, you're in luck because pharmacies and supermarkets here have enough stock of those to last through to the next Ice Age.

P.S. It looks like the tampon situation is just as drastic in Chile.

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Mind Your Manners: Etiquette in Argentina

The site Travel Etiquette attempts to unravel the mysteries of proper etiquette and social customs around the globe by providing advice broken down by country. Here's a snippet on how to mind your Ps and Qs in Argentina:

"…punctuality is not rigorously adhered to in Argentina. It is not considered rude to be 30 to 45 minutes late for a dinner invitation…."

Based on my experience, I'd have to agree with this statement. Argentines tend to hold a more relaxed view of time and are rarely punctual when it comes to social events. If you're a stickler for timeliness, try to loosen up a bit or else you will go insane here.

On a related note, friends and family don't generally call in advance to arrange a visit. Be prepared for visitors who drop by when you least expect them, as well as last minute invitations to asados and other get-togethers. Plans are made very spontaneously here, so just go with the flow. [Tina from Tina Tangos talked a bit about this recently on her blog.]

Here's another cultural difference that the Travel Etiquette article highlights:

"…don't be alarmed or surprised to hear what you might consider to be name-calling or swearing amongst friends. In this instance, political correctness certainly does not rule supreme, and Argentines might readily use phrases such as 'fat'…when talking to friends."

I can't tell you how many people here have descriptive nicknames like "El Gordo" (Fatty), "La Rubia" (Blondie) or "El Negro" (in this context, usually used to refer to someone dark-complected or olive-skinned but not necessarily black). I'm fairly certain that most women (and probably a few men) in the U.S. would be horrified if their friends christened them with a nickname like "Fatty," but it really and truly is not considered offensive here. 

The Argentines call a spade a spade, and no one gets worked up about it. That's not to say that these words are never construed as an insult—it's all a matter of context and tone of voice—but among friends they're regularly used as terms of endearment.

Read the full text on etiquette in Argentina, and add your two centavos' worth in the comments.

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To Smile or Not to Smile…That is the Question

Research shows that a smile is one of those universal facial expressions that is recognized no matter where you go. Though I don't exercise nearly as much as I should, I do like to make sure my facial muscles get a daily workout. In the United States I always smiled at people that I passed on the street; I just considered it a friendly thing to do. Usually (though not always) people would smile back.

When I moved to Argentina, it never occurred to me that my habit of smiling at strangers on the street may not be as well-received as before. In fact, I've found that flashing my pearly whites at a desconocido usually garners one of the following responses:

1) A stone-faced look of indifference
2) That expression that shows the gears are turning as the person wonders, do I know her?
3) Very rarely, a smile (usually from an older woman)

One day I brought up the topic at lunch with Daniel's family. They confirmed that most people here will not smile at you on the street, and if you grin at a stranger, the person will likely think he or she knows you from somewhere. I received an additional warning from Daniel's grandmom: if you smile at a man, he may very well think you are interested in him. I decided that perhaps I should try to kick the habit (easier said than done!), but Daniel's aunt insisted that I stay true to myself and keep on smiling.

On Thursday I boarded an overnight bus bound for Buenos Aires (photos and more stories to come) to spend the long weekend there with friends. As I settled in for the six-hour ride, a soldier dressed in the uniform of the Argentine Army walked down the aisle searching for his seat. I happened to glance up, and of course, I smiled at him (though he didn't return the gesture).

He sat directly behind me, and as I looked out the window I saw a woman standing on the curb waving enthusiastically and blowing kisses in the soldier's direction. We had barely left the station when his cell phone rang, and I overheard a torrent of passionate "I love yous" just before the interior lights of the bus dimmed and I drifted off to sleep.

An hour or so into the trip I was awakened by the jostling of the bus, and I was startled to find that my face was only a few inches from the soldier's. He had not reclined his seat at all, while mine was so far back it was practically a bed (the long-distance buses here are first-rate with seats that go way back). I asked if he was uncomfortable, and I offered to adjust my seatback, but he told me not to worry.

As I curled up with my iPod and attempted to fall back asleep, the soldier reached over the back of my seat and passed me a slip of paper. In my sleep-induced stupor and the near-complete darkness of the bus, I couldn't tell what he had handed me. I cast the light of my iPod on the piece of paper to discover that he had given me his name and phone number.

Then, extending his arm over the back of my seat, he offered me his hand, and in the suavest voice he could muster, he introduced himself: "Soy el capitán." A bit stunned by the whole La Bamba moment (and unsure of whether to laugh in his face or be completely disgusted), I ignored his proffered hand and said matter-of-factly, "Nice to meet you, but I have a boyfriend." Unfazed, the captain pressed on, more or less asking if all was well in the relationship department. Apparently neither the captain's significant other nor my boyfriend was an obstacle for him. I mumbled a response, curled up in my seat, and shut my eyes.

Note to self: No more smiling at soldiers.

[Photo credit: Amanda *Bake It Pretty*]

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Under the Spell of Advertising

There's no doubt that advertising is a powerful tool used by companies. Legendary ad campaigns for products like Campbell's Soup, M&Ms and Nike have become part of the collective American psyche. While many of the brands I've grown to love are no longer an option now that I'm living in Argentina, I can vouch for the fact that it's no small feat to rid oneself of years of ingrained advertising mumbo jumbo.

Many brand preferences are developed in childhood and passed down from our parents. I'm often drawn to a specific product simply because it's what my mom always bought when I was a kid (if it passed muster with Mom it has to be good, right?). Now I'm acquiring new Argentine brand preferences from Daniel and his family as well as through my own trial and error.

Stores here typically carry two or three brands for most items, such that supermarkets in Necochea are easily half the size of their U.S. counterparts. Not only are there fewer convenience products, prepared foods, etc., but you just don't find the mind-boggling array of brands for each and every item. Of course, this statement does not apply to yerba mate, of which there are approximately one bajillion different types to choose from, even in the smallest corner market.

Brand recognition makes shopping easier in some ways. When the consumer is faced with many choices, having a go-to brand takes a lot of the guesswork out of shopping. Despite the fact that there are fewer options here, it often takes me a long time to make decisions in the store because I wonder if I am choosing the best product. [Although I must say that encounters with Argentine brands such as Barfy (hamburger patties) or Poo (spices) help solidify my choices of what not to buy.]

While American brands are relatively easy to come by for items such as personal care (Colgate toothpaste, Johnson & Johnson face wash, Dove deodorant), for many types of products – particularly food – you simply won't find brands from home and if you do they are often frightfully expensive because of import taxes.

Of course, before the price tag ever hits me, I am seduced by 30 years of advertising floating around in my subconscious. You don't know how I am drawn to the familiarity of American brands! When I spot a well-known American emblem on a package among a sea of unfamiliar products it's like a classroom full of students where most of the kids are staring at the floor hoping they won't be called upon while the class overachiever waves his hand, desperately hoping to be chosen with shouts of "Ooh, ooh, pick me! Pick me!" Even though you know you should give one of the others a chance, it's hard to ignore that one kid that you know has the answer. I have to admit though that price usually wins out in the end. I refuse to pay triple or quadruple the price for Scott toilet paper when other (much cheaper) brands do just fine.

As a final thought, it's my opinion that the majority of Argentine consumers are not as easily influenced by labels and name brands as Americans. This may not hold true in the more stylish and image-conscious capital, but out in the provinces I would say people are not so brand-focused in Argentina. I think above all they are cost-conscious. Perhaps we'd all be wise to adopt that mentality given the current economy.

Photo credit: Stuck in Customs

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Holy Week & Easter in Argentina

Someone has kidnapped the Easter Bunny. I'm convinced he's been taken for ransom because I haven't seen hide nor hair of him here in Argentina. Did I mention that the kidnapper made off with all the Easter baskets, fake grass and plastic eggs too?

Easter in Argentina is primarily a religious celebration, and as such, many of the non-religious traditions that we associate with Easter in the United States are notably absent here. There are no Easter egg hunts, no baskets filled to overflowing with candy, and no hippity-hoppity Easter Bunny.

But none of this means that Argentina is devoid of tradition at Easter. Here are a few of the Argentine customs associated with Holy Week and Easter.

Semana Santa (Holy Week)

Every year during Holy Week, thousands of Argentines make a pilgrimage to the city of Tandil, situated about two hours north of Necochea. The Vía Crucis, which features 14 groupings of stone sculptures depicting the Stations of the Cross, attracts the faithful who look to worship and meditate upon the sufferings and sacrifice of Jesus.

The Catholic practice of abstaining from meat on Fridays during Lent is not widely observed, though most Argentines refrain from eating meat on the days leading up to Easter, beginning with Holy Thursday. Empanadas de vigilia (empanadas that feature non-meat fillings such as tuna or vegetables) figure prominently on the menu at this time along with fish dishes.

In Argentina, Palm Sunday is called Domingo de Ramos (Branch Sunday), and olive branches are blessed and distributed by the priests instead of palm fronds.

Viernes Santo (Good Friday) is a national holiday in Argentina, and most businesses are closed until Easter Monday. In fact, a number of shops will close their doors one day earlier on Jueves Santo (Holy Thursday) to make a four-day weekend of the holiday. The traditional meal served on Viernes Santo is a stew that includes bacalao (salt cod). Daniel's family typically prepares bacalao con garbanzos (salt cod with chickpeas).

La Pascua/Domingo de Resurrección (Easter Sunday)

On Easter Day, most families gather to celebrate with an asado, with lamb as a popular choice. After the Easter meal, Argentines tuck into a large, hollow chocolate egg (huevo de Pascua) or small Kinder eggs (hollow chocolate eggs with tiny candies or toys inside). The rosca de Pascua, a bread ring topped with sprinkles, candied fruits, chocolate drizzles and/or pastry cream, is also very traditional.

What the Argentines lack in terms of candy and visits with the Easter Bunny at the mall, they make up for in time spent with family and an appreciation for the religious meaning of the celebration. ¡Felices Pascuas!

[Photo credit: Celina Ortelli]

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Driving in Argentina

When I was a kid, my dad was fanatical about seat belt use, and he always insisted that my sister and I buckle up. In fact, we were repeatedly told that the car simply wouldn't move until the aforementioned seat belts were fastened. Apparently this mindset stuck with me because I've always been very conscientious about using my seat belt and asking that others riding with me use theirs too, even if they weren't accustomed to wearing it.

Generally speaking, I'd like to say that I'm a reasonably safe and courteous driver. I will own up to having a bit of a lead foot, but overall I wouldn't classify myself as a menace to society when I'm on the road. Well, maybe if you're a groundhog, but that's a completely different story.

At the present moment, I'm relegated to the passenger seat because I don't know how to drive stick (it's very rare to find a car with automatic transmission in Argentina). I'm not exactly complaining; being chauffeured around town isn't so bad. I'm sure I'll get around to learning one of these days, but honestly, I'm not entirely convinced I want to drive here. Why? The answer is simple: the Argentines drive like lunatics.

Lane markers...merely a suggestion. Speed limit...what's that? Traffic lights...generally obeyed. Stop signs...almost non-existent, which results in a free-for-all at 4-way intersections. Seat belts...apparently they're meant for decoration because hardly anyone uses them. Yielding to pedestrians...maybe if it's an old lady with a cane, but even then, highly unlikely. Speed bumps...everywhere [very annoying!]. Road rage...amazingly, not so much.

I don't think my parents truly believed my description of how people drive here until they saw it with their own two eyes. Fortunately, things are a bit calmer here in Necochea than in Buenos Aires but not much.

Think I'm exaggerating? Here's an excerpt from the U.S. State Department's page on Argentina:

"Traffic accidents are the primary threat to life and limb in Argentina. Pedestrians and drivers should exercise caution. Drivers frequently ignore traffic laws and vehicles often travel at excessive speeds. The rate and toll of traffic accidents has been a topic of much media attention over the past year. The Institute of Road Safety and Education, a private Buenos Aires organization dedicated to transportation safety issues, reports that Argentina has the highest traffic mortality rate in South America per 100,000 inhabitants."

If you couple the devil-may-care attitude about driving safety along with the fact that a good number of cars on the road are poorly maintained and/or lacking advanced safety features such as airbags, it's no wonder that Argentina has such a high mortality rate when it comes to car accidents.

Still think you'd like to take a crack at driving in Argentina? If so, I suggest you read fellow blogger Taos Turner's attempt at finding some sanity while behind the wheel: 15 Rules for Stress-free Driving in Argentina.

Fortunately, Daniel's driving habits seem to buck the general trend, as he is a very cautious driver (in fact, I tease him for driving like an old man). I know I'm in good hands with him, but he's not the one I have to worry about - it's the rest of the crazies out there. Do you think I could somehow wear two seat belts?

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Luxury, or Necessity?

A few weeks ago my stepdad's 3-month old microwave stopped working. He quickly called a repair technician, but in the meantime, everyone was relegated to using the stove (perish the thought). A couple of weeks passed before he and the rest of the household could once again nuke yesterday's leftovers with the mere press of a button. Events like the microwave incident highlight just how attached we are to our creature comforts. But if push came to shove, could you live without items like your cellphone, cable TV or your dishwasher?

A recent article by The New York Times,"Luxury, or Necessity?," presents information from a poll regarding the items Americans feel they just can't do without these days.

"In response to coverage of strapped households, a reader points us to the Pew Research Center’s 2006 report on what kinds of goods Americans consider "necessities" versus "luxuries." The results show that, as their incomes rose, Americans have gotten somewhat needier over time. For example, the percentage of Americans who call microwaves a "necessity" rather than a "luxury" has more than doubled in the past decade, from 32 percent in 1996 to 68 percent in 2006."

I don't think any of the items discussed in the report constitute a necessity in the truest sense of the word, but I can't deny that some of these items really do make life easier or more comfortable. Below, I've given my take on the necessity vs. luxury debate. The first answer of the yes/no pair indicates whether I consider the item a "necessity," and the second response indicates whether I'll have access to it in Argentina.

Clothes dryer.................yes/no (a clothesline is in my future)
Dishwasher.....................no/no (unless you count Daniel)
Home Computer............ yes/yes (3, in fact - yes, we're nerds)
Cable or satellite TV...... no/yes
Home air conditioning... no/no
Car air conditioning....... no/no
Microwave..................... no/yes
Car.................................. yes/yes
Clothes washer.............. yes/yes (no washboard for me)
TV set............................. no/yes
cellphone........................ no/yes

Clothes dryers, dishwashers and air conditioning are not standard equipment in most Argentine homes (the same is true in Europe as well). I wonder what the results of a similar report would be if these questions were posed to Argentines, though I suspect very few of these items would be rated as necessities.

So go ahead and weigh in on the debate! Which of these items are indispensable in your opinion? Read More......

Argentina's Passion for Fútbol

The Argentines are a passionate people, and their devotion to fútbol or soccer is legendary. Their fanaticism for the game and its heroes reaches a level virtually unrivaled among American sports fans. Argentina's golden boy, Diego Maradona, is unfailingly worshipped by Argentine soccer fans in spite of numerous scandals over the years. In fact, he was just selected as the coach of the Argentine national soccer team. Read about it here.

While there are many aspects of Argentine culture which I readily accept, the great passion for soccer does not count among them. I just don't feel that jolt of excitement when watching a soccer game; frankly, fútbol just leaves me feeling bored and indifferent. Apparently I am not alone in that mindset, as soccer is one of the least popular spectator sports in the United States. Soccer is as much a cultural phenomenon as it is a sport, and I suppose it just doesn't translate well. This article explores various theories as to why soccer fails to draw admiration from American fans.

While I find it difficult to get behind soccer, I joyfully celebrated a tremendous victory last night in the quintessential American sport: baseball. My hometown team – the Philadelphia Phillies – garnered the team's first World Series title since 1980 and the city's first professional sports championship since 1983. Click here to watch the strikeout that ended it all and clinched the 2008 World Series for the Phils! The curse has been lifted.

Argentine soccer fans continue to endure a similar title drought, with their last World Cup win coming in 1986 from a team led by none other than Maradona. I guess we HAD something in common after all. ;)

I'll wrap up this post with a parting confession. There is one thing I love about soccer: I can't help but break into a grin when the announcers scream "¡Gooooooooool!" Have a look at Maradona's "Goal of the Century" from the 1986 World Cup:

[Photo credits: jbelluch & Scott Ableman]

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