In years past, what excited me most about going home for Christmas was the eating (I love you, Mom). It became a ritual. Somewhere around September or October I’d begin working out again – not because of the approaching
True to form, pastrami became a thing in Buenos Aires from one day to the next. No aviso previo, not a single heads up, just a hey guys, I’m here. Even a paro naciónal gives a brother some warning
When I moved to Buenos Aires at the ripe age of 23, fresh out of college, mostly (read: completely) skill-less and ready to drink as much fernet and coke as it took to transform into a porteño, I was above all things, poor.