El Museo Evita + luncheon

An afternoon out for US$12:

Last year I had this imaginary list of all the things that I didn't have time to do while I was in Buenos Aires: the museums; the restaurants; the milongas.

Well, be careful what you ask for because here I am with hours (and hours) of free time on my hands and a list a mile long with places to see and things to do.  What am I waiting for?  Well, I'm not quite sure.

I've been diagnosed as a "Classic Ambivert" which sounds as wild and exotic as it does scientific and of paramount importance.  Simply, it means: "a person who is intermediate between an extrovert and an introvert."

Which explains a lot.  But, I decided that since the sun was shining and temperatures had stabilized around 17 degrees (64 degrees F) that my extroverted side and I needed to go on an outing.

And while we were at it, why not go to a place toted for it's lovely garden and affordable prices: "Museo Evita".  The museum was just a short ride away on No. 37 (folks, that is US $.20 one way) and located in a beautiful old mansion that was once a half-way house for women from the interior.  With three floors; a tower and a beautiful refurbished (and heated) outdoor garden it makes for a delightful afternoon.

The museum itself was arranged nicely and included a collection of photos, papers, clothing from Eva's life.  Reviews said that it cast a heavy handed halo over Evita who, surprisingly, isn't always received with the same zeal that we might imagine.  One of the first rooms is darkened and lined with mirrors and dedicated to a short film with scenes from Evita's funeral procession.  It set the tone for the museum which is beautifully arranged and set to some Bajofondo Tango Club music and if you keep your ears open, it is almost impossible to get lost.  The arrangement is chronological and has placards in English and Spanish. 

The museum then does a back track of Evita's life and life works including women's suffrage as well as the establishment of orphanages and half-way houses for distressed women from interior provinces.  Sure, her Peronist agenda was undeniable (see photo), but in this case the power play of politics didn't sour the milk for me.  In fact, by the last room of the exhibit I had to hold back some unexpected tears as the details of her (sudden) death at the age of 33 unfolded via a tasteful video montage and audio clips. 

In her final speech Evita asks God to let her return to good health not for her sake, but for her husband's (queue tears).  Still more sadly, Evita's remains where hidden away by succeeding governments and then shipped (in disguise) to her husband in Spain until they were reclaimed by the Argentine government in the last ten years and laid to rest (finally) in Recoleta cemetery here in Capital Federal.  


Was it worth US $2.43 to get in?  Of course.  I would certainly do the guided tour if I went again, but you have to sign up for that in advance.

To make it up to myself, however, I had lunch at the museum café.  I had the "Menú del día" (US $8.29) which gives you the option of beef or chicken or the "cazuela" / "stew" or "casserole".  I am a "cazuela" kind of girl so I didn't bat an eye when the waitress said it was "albondigas de carne con arroz" / "meatballs and rice".  Other than the celery, carrots, peppers, onions and tomato in the sauce, there was not a vegetable to be seen.  Except for the homemade potato chips that came as part of a garnish along with some peppery microgreens.  The rice was a little heavy on cream and butter - to the point of becoming a risotto - but, generally, it was: yum.

The daily special comes with bread; water or a soft drink; the main course and either dessert OR coffee.  Obviously, there was no question: 

Dessert (a short crust filled with chocolate mousse; orange peel and some... wait for it... pistachios), along with a little white chocolate sauce.  It was decidedly not your typical Argentine dessert.  Was it spectacular?  By bite number three the wild extravagance of pistachios and orange peel had run it's course so you'll be happy to know that I didn't finish it.  

I sat in the heated gazebo on the patio side of things at one of the little tables nestled just so that I could watch my fellow diners (most of whom were having tea and medialunas since it was 3:30pm).  I made some cultural notes as well as a few recordings of ambient sound (per someone's suggestion) and generally, felt like I had passed the afternoon in style.

Go me.

Vocabulario útil:

sentarse: (v). seat yourself 

cazuela: (n).  stew or casserole 

cacerolazo: (n).  a demonstration where protesters bang on pots and pans

tomar: (v). to take / to drink 

una guarnición: (n). a side dish / NOT a garnish 

Study 1: La medialuna

 Argentine croissants (take 1):

It has come to my attention that people are living vicariously through me, or would like to.  So, I'm doing something I promised myself (and my waistline) that I wouldn't do: buy medialunas.

I mean, I was going to buy them sometime - and probably for somebody else - but in the name of friendship and heartwarming Skype chats, I'm doing this today.

I'm doing this for Divya.

Yes you, Divya.  

And for Doug who sagely advised me in a Facebook message: "do everything, even things you should not do..."  Well Doug, buying four flaky, buttery, sugar sweet croissants on Day 4 is something that I should probably not do, so when (and if) I can't fit into my jeans when I get home I'm blaming you.  



A medialuna is the Argentine version of the French croissant and, chemically speaking, probably doesn't vary too much from the original.  In English we could call these "half moons" or even "crescents", but that doesn't sound half as romantic as medialuna and they are eons and light years away from what Pillsbury squeezes into a can.

Take a moment and say it: medialuna (med-e-a-loon-a).  

Yes, it even sounds delicious.

Here in Buenos Aires every panadería / "bakery" or "breadshop" or confitería / "pastry shop" has medialunas and most of them are more than happy to declare they have the best in the city.  A little research, however, led me to Guber which was listed as one of three locations in the city known for these afternoon delights.

Conveniently, it wasn't far from where I'm staying and with the whole of Buenos Aires downtown on Avenida de Mayo for the Independence Day celebrations I took a quiet stroll (1 mile there and back to be exact) to Aguero 2291 in the heart of Recoleta.

For Divya.  

The shop itself was hidden two blocks from the intersection of Peña and Aguero and halfway up the first block I almost turned back.  It's sandwiched in a quiet, less than elegant, residential area and had it not been for the direction of the wind; a serendipitous breeze and my acute sense of smell I might have missed it entirely.  There were some trays of masas finas (delicate bite sized pastries), as well as facturas (think Danish and cream filled donuts) and churros (piped fried dough very popular in Spain), but the long glass case was filled with medialunas.  It's no wonder: the are sinfully delicious.

So, I bought four (two made with butter and two with lard).  

And brought them home.

And loved them from the start.  

But, before you meet them, let's go over a little medialuna etiquette:

• Should be eaten for breakfast with coffee, tea or mate or with the same beverages for tea time.
• Before entering a panadería always know which type of medialuna you are in the mood for.  Otherwise, you'll either a) end up buying a dozen and regretting it or b) you'll frustrate the attendant and give yourself away as a tourist.
• Slicing a medialuna open and filling it with ham and cheese is allowed and especially encouraged during tea time.  The medialuna then becomes a sacramento / "sacrament" and is nothing short of a religious experience.  Otherwise, skip the knife and fork and leave the butter and jam for toast.
• In most larger bakeries you will need to take a number and wait to be called.  Very often you will pay at the register before you receive your delicacies.

But, I'm afraid just writing about the taste and feel and smell of them isn't enough, so I made a short video.  Sadly, the edited and beefed up version of this video failed to upload to blogger so excuse 1) my hair and 2) the edgy, independent film quality of it :-) Also, I use absolutes at the drop of a hat - you would too if you'd just had two medialunas and three cups of tea.

Important Phrases:

Cuánto sale la docena: "How much does a dozen cost?"

Quiero una docena de medialunas de manteca: "I want a dozen medialunas"

Termotanque: (n). a hot water heater

What to do when the "termotanque" explodes:

The first 15 hours of my next 3 months in Argentina went something like this:

My chic little kitchen par-boiled.

1.  Pause your Skype conversation when you hear a little "wind" / hissing and then a little "rain" / pouring hot water.  Shut off the pot lamps that are dripping with hot water.

2.  Run out of your apartment in your worst flannel pajamas and race down four flights of stairs to the empty desk of the daytime "portero" / "doorman".

3.  Run back up the stairs.

4.  Attempt to call your landlady with an inactive; uncharged cell phone.  A dozen times.  It could work, right...

5.  Run to the next door neighbor and attempt to convince them to let you call your landlady with their phone.

(They refuse twice before agreeing to come to your apartment and see what is going on).

6.  Run back to your apartment and grab every dry towel; dish rag; wash cloth; sponge and bath mat you can find.  Attempt to stem the flow.

7.  Run back to the neighbor and ask them to come see the horrific waterfall of steamy water running down your overhead cabinets and into the sink; down the cabinets pooling on the hardwood floor below.

(Phone rings)

8.  Pick up. Your downstairs neighbor is calling to tell you that water is dripping through his ceiling.  Calmly explain that your "termotanque" / "hot water heater" has, more or less, exploded.  Intrigued, he comes up to see it.

9. Admit that you do not know where the "llave" / "water valve" is and that you didn't ask either.  You were only coming for six weeks, after all.  

(In your defense it wasn't under the sink, or beside the toilet even if you had looked.  Luckily, the downstairs neighbor finds the valve artfully hidden in the bathroom and shuts it off.  Even if the tank is already almost empty).

10.  Thank your downstairs neighbor profusely by saying, "Sos un dios" / "you're a god" and politely introduce yourself to the adjoining neighbor with a smile.  Accept her motherly advice to always ask where the electrical and water shut-offs are and admit to yourself you're still a little bit of a child.

11.  Then, pick your jaw up off the floor when both neighbors shrug and calmly say good night leaving you to await the arrival of your landlady, ankle deep in wet pajama bottoms.

12.  Mop up as best you can and sit down for another glass of wine.

13.  Admit to yourself that your first night would have been downright boring without this little snafu. 

14.  Take a sip.

15.  Give yourself a proverbial slap on the back for having articulated your entire emergency in Spanish with musical "rioplatense" pronunciation and all the proper (and improper) gestures.

The dry half of the kitchen and dining room.

Useful emergency phrases: 

• "Es una emergencia" - "It's an emergency!" 
• "Ayudáme, por favor" - (Vos) "Help me, please!" 
• "Hay agua por todos lados" - "There is water everywhere."
• "Mil gracias por ayudarme" - "A thousand thanks for helping me."