I also hadn’t seen a parrilla, or eaten an empanada, or seen Tatiana since I’d left Argentina either.
So this was a big night for me.
Three of us piled into a taxi in SE Portland, and headed for Ox, an Argentine-inspired restaurant, whose menu I had been fantasizing about for weeks. Chorizo. That’s all I ever wanted to hear. Chorizo. I’d say it aloud, trying to roll my rrrrr’s while salivating. Chorrrrizoooo. Me muero.