ciao ciao, un beso fuerte, saludos a la gente alli, te quiero, ciao ciao, que dios te bendiga, un abrazo, ciao, adios
8.20.2007
8.16.2007
meat dreams
In Bolivia, I decided to stop eating meat. In Argentina, I decided to start again.
It was the first night in Argentina. After 30 hours on two freezing buses and a 5 am border crossing, you could say I wasn't conscious of what I was doing. I ordered a salad thinking my body needed cold raddishes and lettuce. Then Mario's plate arrived. It was a plate made out of meat. I judged him as he teared the flesh from the bone. But then he offered me a bite and like I said, I was not thinking, so I tried this dish that has made Argentina famous, and as Mario would tell it, light suddenly came into my eyes and it is very possible that due to the richness and flavor of that juicy carne, I cried...
and ever since I have been under the spell of the cow.
They are very proud of their meat in Argentina and reprimand the butchers for a bad cut. A good carne takes 2 hours to cook and is only permitted to come into contact with salt, no sauces, no salsas, no A-1. One evening, our gracious hosts had prepared a bbq and as we sat down to eat, I struggled a little cutting into it, my knife just not wanting to find the plate below. The usually robust table got quiet, and the host put down his fork and concentrated on me. I knew that I was clearly disrespecting his meat, same as if I were to paper his house or break his only son's heart. I got nervous, started sweating, sawing with all my might at this frustrating piece of blubber. He finally said, "That knife must not be cuttin´" and his wife quickly added "Sí, must be the knife, it's not the meat." "Not the meat" "Not the meat" everyone at the table rapidly chimed in from their bowed, embarassed, places over their meat plates. Finally, I freed the piece from its thick body and stuffed my mouth full, remaining silently chewing for several awkward moments. You don't disrespect the meat.
So, like that, I left behind the world of the round onion, the crisp carrot, the sleek green bean. I am a meat-eater. Each day at lunch, I eat a Steak Milanesa, at night, a dripping rack of ribs. I go to my bed and fall asleep and the meat visits me and gives me dreams more vivid, more disturbing, more real than any I have ever had. Literally, becoming ...
dreams incarnate!!!
It was the first night in Argentina. After 30 hours on two freezing buses and a 5 am border crossing, you could say I wasn't conscious of what I was doing. I ordered a salad thinking my body needed cold raddishes and lettuce. Then Mario's plate arrived. It was a plate made out of meat. I judged him as he teared the flesh from the bone. But then he offered me a bite and like I said, I was not thinking, so I tried this dish that has made Argentina famous, and as Mario would tell it, light suddenly came into my eyes and it is very possible that due to the richness and flavor of that juicy carne, I cried...
and ever since I have been under the spell of the cow.
They are very proud of their meat in Argentina and reprimand the butchers for a bad cut. A good carne takes 2 hours to cook and is only permitted to come into contact with salt, no sauces, no salsas, no A-1. One evening, our gracious hosts had prepared a bbq and as we sat down to eat, I struggled a little cutting into it, my knife just not wanting to find the plate below. The usually robust table got quiet, and the host put down his fork and concentrated on me. I knew that I was clearly disrespecting his meat, same as if I were to paper his house or break his only son's heart. I got nervous, started sweating, sawing with all my might at this frustrating piece of blubber. He finally said, "That knife must not be cuttin´" and his wife quickly added "Sí, must be the knife, it's not the meat." "Not the meat" "Not the meat" everyone at the table rapidly chimed in from their bowed, embarassed, places over their meat plates. Finally, I freed the piece from its thick body and stuffed my mouth full, remaining silently chewing for several awkward moments. You don't disrespect the meat.
So, like that, I left behind the world of the round onion, the crisp carrot, the sleek green bean. I am a meat-eater. Each day at lunch, I eat a Steak Milanesa, at night, a dripping rack of ribs. I go to my bed and fall asleep and the meat visits me and gives me dreams more vivid, more disturbing, more real than any I have ever had. Literally, becoming ...
dreams incarnate!!!
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