Manso "The Holligan"

We’ve a dog in Argentina; he’s called Manso, which in Spanish means tame.
This is an irony on itself because our dog is a Hooligan.

Our pets don’t behave like they KNOW; rather they behave the way they’ve LEARNED (not necessarily well) to behave.

Manso "the Holligan" learned to bark, be rude and incite fear on every visitors.

I stay at my home in Argentina at least two times a year.

This guy knows me and my husband, but every time we arrive at the door and press the ring bell, we have to be careful not to be eaten in pieces because he’s barking and chewing at the steel bars trying to get to us.

I’ve resourced to soothing voices, calling ahead so someone can wait for us at the door, but most times, Manso it’s the dictator at the door, barking away like a stressed/high dog.

He needs a daily Valium dose. That would be my prescription to make him normal.

In the mean time, I’m sure he’ll continue to be a thug.

A thug/hooligan/ruffian called “tame”. 

This is the weirdest paradox ever!

Family recipes... puff!

Women are very secretive, mainly about our period, our virginity and most important of all: family recipes.

At first, I started noticing that my cooking skills were going down the drain, but this only happened when I was trying some of my friends’ recipes.

If I was following up the steps from an online website or my mother-in-law’s recipes, I was sure to get the final result as similar as possible to the end product.

This started bugging me, because I attended dinners to some of my friend’s houses and the food was amazing (especially desserts), but when I tried the ‘so called’ family recipe in my kitchen, I was never able to replicate the dish as I had tested it during our get together.

Dripping Flans, weird looking corn puddings, dull dishes and a non-stop chain of failures.

And then, I finally got it! 

I was being completely cheated of the ‘secret ingredient’ of every recipe I was given. All the events were an ‘almost got it’ type of situation, but I never was able to ‘get it’ correctly.

So dear old friends: I’m onto you.

We talk about the weirdest things and share our most deep secrets when we’re together, but a simple family recipe can throw all that down the drain, all for the sake of continue being the one and only person on our circle that can cook that perfect dish without the overshadow of some of us stealing your thunder.

Well, two can play that game.
I’ll be sure to start switching ingredients on my recipes, or removing some key component so all you’ll get will be tasteless, shapeless, inedible dishes.
And when you come back to me and ask me: What happened? Why I didn’t do it as you?

I’ll tell you the true: because I wanted to be the only one to get it right.
Family recipe… puff.
I’m only giving ‘changed’ family recipe from now on.

The roundness of the wine, the square of its taste, the line of its smell

My husband and me had a business/pleasure dinner yesterday in a restaurant called Marea, just across the Central Park.

My husband has been teaching me to become a social drinker since we first started dating. 

I can now enjoy a glass of wine without tripping on my way to the bathroom… I used to have zero alcohol tolerance.

However, even though I can now attest to being a social drinker, I still lack the sophisticated palate to discern a bad grape juice from a refined wine.

We have an inside joke (that only I can do in public) when the Maitre d’ comes to our table for the first wine pouring. My husband had just ordered a Barolo wine, and when the waiter poured it for us, I imitated my big sister (who supposedly did a wine tasting course herself), by:

1.       Grabbing my wine glasses

2.       Swirl  the wine around the glass

3.       Put it against the light to see the thickness or darkness of the liquid

4.       Sip the liquid into my mouth and twirl it with my tongue to get the best flavors in.

And then, I start saying how 'round' it is, how the ‘squareness’ of the smells explode on my nose and my tongue can perceive the 'straight line' of its taste. 

How the taste of the wine it’s like a 'pentagon' (since it can’t possibly be just, simple, old wine) with a flowery scent.

I can come up with a lot of geometrical shapes to meet the wine’s character… I’m just that good!!

If you’ve ever witnessed an 'expert' doing a wine tasting, you know exactly what I’m talking about, and if you’ve seen my sister, then you can picture how ridiculous it looks to me, since I've never done a wine tasting course . 

I'm merely a social drinker with no palate, but sans course and all, I manage to look as ridiculous as her... for free!

My pals: Djoki vs. Davy @ the US Open

This past weekend we had our first US Open experience.

After living in New York for the past three years, we finally decide to give this tennis event a chance, or at least, I decided, since my husband has always been wiling.

Arriving was easy, but the “VIP” parking was two kilometres away and we had to walk a lot to get to the stadium. By the time we arrived my feet were a sweaty mess and I was eager to be seated, even if it meant to endure five hours of non-stop tennis.

The crowd at the Open was a pastiche of people: different smells (mostly sweat), different nationalities (mostly Americans), different styles (mostly non-fashion) and different characters (mostly fans).

We went to see Djokovic vs. Davydenko, the number one player versus the thirty-nine ranked player in the world (not rocket science to figure out the winner of that one); but we first had to endure the Women’s single match. You don’t know the players (neither did I) so no need to summarize that one.

After the Women's match, came the match between David versus Goliath, and of course, Goliath beat the crap out of poor little Davy.

During the game, at the end of each set, the crowd would make games, coordinate waves; we even had a dirty dance session by a crazy guy who danced his belly off along a rap song while the complete stadium did a standing ovation for his performance. He slightly looked like Conan (not the barbarian, the red headed one) and the crowd loved every piece of it.

After my dear pal Djoki won the match against Davy, he even joined the fun and performed an awkward ‘serpent’ dance that confirmed to all of us that he just plays tennis. 

Doing everything else with his body will be borderline impossible since he has zero style.

Dear Djoki: keep up with racket swinging and leave dancing to the experts please.