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parrilla
Déjà vu at Don Battaglia
“You want to go someplace I would eat?” Alberto, the mustachioed taxista from Caballito who’d picked us up on Avenida Cordoba in Villa Crespo, was incredulous.
I assured him that that was exactly what my co-adventurer (a former high school Spanish teacher from California) and I were after.
“Let me see. What are you looking for?
Chiquilín
Chiquilín,
dame un ramo de voz,
así salgo a vender
mis vergüenzas en flor.
Little one,
give me a strand of voice
so I can go out and sell
my embarrassments in flowers.
So goes the chorus of “Chiquilín de Bachin,” the heart wrenching tango by Horacio Ferrer that chronicles the desperation of a Buenos Aires street child.
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La Dorita
OK, I admit it – beginning a taxi adventure knowing exactly what I want to eat undermines the spirit of going where the taxista takes me. But on this day, my longing for kebab and baba ghanouj is more powerful than my willingness to surrender to the whims of just any driver.
Seized with this
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The Little Pigs
I scanned the menu and suppressed my alarm.
Twelve laminated, leather-bound pages sang the praises of dishes that spanned the globe and defied the season: Asian stir fry, homemade pasta prepared forty ways, caprese salad, Moroccan-style chicken in curry cream, and salmon crepes with pink sauce to match.
Los Chanchitos (translation: The Little Pigs) also devoted
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