Archive | Fashion RSS feed for this section

European Adventure 2011–Amsterdam, Day Three

24 Jun

I woke up at nine, and it was pouring–thunder, lightning, the whole bit.  So I rolled over and went back to sleep.  When I got up again, it was still raining, but it had slowed to a drizzle.  So I pulled myself out of bed and walked to the book market, which is held in the Spui square every Friday.  Obviously accustomed to rain, each vendor was ensconced in her or his own little tent, and I spent a happy hour or so browsing.  There were plenty of English language books, but most of them were fairly boring paperback editions, travel guides, etc.  There were some cool-looking older books in Dutch, but yeah, I don’t speak Dutch.  Or read it.  So I walked away empty-handed.  If I were an expat living in Amsterdam, though, that would be an awesome place to stock up each week. 

I then headed to the western part of the city, the half I didn’t explore yesterday.  I had reservations at the Anne Frank House at 3:15, and my big plan was to wander the surrounding neighborhood until then.  Luckily, I picked an excellent neighborhood in which to wander.  The area called Nine Streets is filled with little boutiques, most of them containing vintage or new-but-looks-old items.  I popped in and out of stores, charmed by the quiet of the area, the houseboats on the canal (see left), and the distinct lack of coffee shops. 

–An interjection.  I have nothing against weed in theory, and I think it should be legal if alcohol is.  However, I personally am not a fan.  And I’ve been finding it a little jarring to be walking down a street at like 11 AM and be suddenly overwhelmed with the unmistakable smell.  So just to answer the question I know you’ve all been asking yourselves, no, I didn’t smoke weed in Amsterdam.  And I don’t mean that in the Bill Clinton sense.  Nor did I eat a brownie.  Not because I thought it was wrong, but just because it didn’t seem like a super fun thing to do by myself.  And the people who hang out at those places aren’t really the types of people I want to make friends with.  Moving on.–

So the highlight of my morning, as dorky as it sounds, was that I finally found a teapot.  It’s really cute, very brightly colored with painted flowers all over it.  I would show you a picture, but the woman wrapped it up in like twelve layers of paper.  The shop itself was adorable, too, with a mixture of new and old household items and kitschy things like vintage lunchboxes.

I went to The Pancake Bakery for lunch, where I almost wished that I was stoned or that I had about ten other people with me.  There was a truly dizzying array of pancakes to choose from.  Sweet or savory?  Traditional or fancy?  Too. many. options.  I wound up satisfying my savory craving with an appetizer bowl of French onion soup and then ordering a sweet specialty pancake that had apples baked in and came with cinnamon ice cream.  Though I should have known, I was not quite prepared for the pancake to be the size of a large dinner plate (see right).  I ate about half of it, though, which I think is a pretty impressive amount.  It was seriously delicious, but really, there was no way I could finish it.

Shortly after lunch, it was time for the Anne Frank House.  I was glad I’d booked my ticket in advance because the line was every bit as long as the guidebooks promised it would be.  Walking through the house is heartwrenching.  You start in the public areas and move up towards the annex where Anne Frank and her family lived.  In almost every room there’s an accompanying video and explanatory notes.  The rooms are unfurnished, at Otto Frank’s request, but the room where Anne Frank lived has pictures on the wall of celebrities and such that she cut out and posted to make the room cheerier.  The rooms past the annex tell you what happened to the family after their hideout was discovered and how the museum came to be, and the final room shows Anne’s original diary and samples of other writing that she did in the annex.  By the gift shop there’s an exhibit about contemporary issues related to tolerance, free speech, etc. that shows a short video and lets people vote on the issue; it’s such an interesting expansion on the theme.  I was very impressed with the way the museum was put together, and I was very moved. 

I was in a sad/slow/contemplative mood afterwards, so I took a long meander back to the hotel and spent a couple hours resting and packing (always packing and unpacking) before a very special final dinner in Amsterdam.  I had to take a taxi to the outskirts of the city; De Kas is located in Frankendael Park.  There’s a greenhouse attached to the restaurant where they grow most of their own produce, and the dining room is almost all windows–very light and bright (see pic at left).  The food, as you would expect, was incredibly fresh-tasting, starting with the most amazing pesto that they brought out with the bread.  They do a set menu with no choices, though they do ask if you have any allergies or if there’s anything you really dislike.  Being the adventurous sort (I like to think so at least), I let them bring me whatever.  The meal began with three appetizers that were all presented at once.  I would have preferred if they’d come out one at a time, but they tasted incredible.  There was ravioli with very crisp peas and beans, a flaky pastry with tomatoes, a seared scallop, and a vanilla cream, and leeks with squash.  Everything was accented with edible flowers.  The main course was a white fish, bone-in, covered in a lobster sauce with mashed potatoes and a simple green salad.  Fish definitely wouldn’t have been my preference for the main course, so that may be the reason I thought it was good but not great.  Dessert was excellent, though–a simple yellow cake with fresh cherries and ice cream.  The cherry they placed on top was so big and ripe that it was almost like a plum.  De Kas is a very different kind of restaurant, not for the picky, but I really enjoyed it. 

I was a bit worried about getting home, since there wasn’t a taxi stand, and it was about an hour’s walk.  After I’d walked for about fifteen minutes, though, I managed to hail a cab and get back to my hotel quickly and easily.

European Adventure 2011–Amsterdam, Day Two

23 Jun

So I woke up this morning, got ready, and set out for the Red Light District–an odd choice for a morning’s walk, I know.  But a) I wanted to see it for myself, b) I absolutely did not want to see it at night, and c) Fodor’s said there was a good bakery there.  My logic is flawless, I know.  Turns out the bakery next door to the bakery that Fodor’s recommended smelled far more delicious, so I grabbed a ham and cheese croissant, butter cake with vanilla sauce, and a latte there. 

Latte in hand, I walked towards De Oude Kerk, or The Old Church.  The Dutch are so good at naming things.  I turned the corner and saw a beautiful church straight ahead of me, a coffee shop to my right (coffee shop=weed; cafe=actual coffee), and prostitutes’ windows to my left.  More than a little disconcerting.  I listened to a family as they spotted the windows; the mom told her teenage son he could “just walk by and look and then walk back.”  I was amused but also upset that these women were basically like zoo creatures.  I knew I was just as bad for wanting to see, though I hoped I was being slightly less conspicuous. 

I was ready to leave, but the only way out was further in, it seemed.  I found myself walking down a narrow alley lined with windows on either side.  Many of the women were pressed up against the glass in their lingerie; some were knocking against the glass.  Though I’m sure it was largely in my imagination, the men walking towards me looked slightly menacing. 

I felt relieved when I escaped the Red Light District and suddenly very sad.  Theoretically, I’m for the legalization and regulation of prostitution only because I know that it will happen whether it’s legal or not, and government regulation is the best way to keep the women safe.  But seeing it is another matter, and pragmatics aside, scantily-clad women (only women) for sale in windows just felt like the ultimate objectification.  In related news, a couple blocks later, a guy whistled and made some dumb comment about how I was looking good or whatever, and I think he was stunned by the stream of profanity he got in return.   

I spent the rest of the day at small museums.  My first stop was the Rembrandthuis, where they’d recreated Rembrandt’s primary residence in Amsterdam.  (He went bankrupt at some point and had to downsize.)  It was pretty fun; I enjoy seeing old furnishings and such.  Box beds, for instance, look unbelievably cozy to me.  They also had an etching demonstration in one room, where someone demonstrated the process of making plates, coating them in ink, and rolling them through a press.

Next, I went to the Museum Willet-Holthuysen, a seventeenth-century canal house that was left to the city to be turned into a museum in 1895.  It retains the late nineteenth-century furnishings and art collection.  There’s not a ton to see here, but as you can probably tell, I enjoy seeing how other people live or used to live.  The gardens were very nice (see left). 

My favorite museum of the day, though, was the Tassen Museum, which houses the world’s largest collection of handbags.  It sounds dumb, I know, and I was a little embarassed about going in there.  But it was really very interesting.  The exhibit is arranged chronologically, so it began with the tidbit that interior pockets weren’t invented until the seventeenth century, so everyone had to carry some sort of bag.  They had all kinds of specialty bags on display, such as gaming purses with flat bottoms to sit on tables that were popular in Elizabethan England.  I loved the special purpose bags, such as the opera bag which came with special compartments perfectly sized for opera glasses and a program.  As the exhibit moved forward in time, they showed bags made from different materials and by different designers, including both classics like the Hermes Kelly bag and more unusual creations like a bag shaped like a cruise ship.  I stopped in the bright, lovely cafe and got a snack: a perfect little goat cheese sandwich with apple slices and honey.  Even the bathroom was charming; they put handbags in every stall (see right).  And I was happy to see that they had handbags for sale in the gift shop.  There’s nothing more annoying than looking at fashion and not being able to buy any.  I realized the last time I moved, though, that I have more handbags than I could ever possibly carry, so I didn’t buy one.  I did, however, buy a green leather dinosaur keychain.  Rawr.

While I was going to all of these places, I was basically making a giant half-circle around the eastern part of Amsterdam, so naturally, I snapped a few pictures along the way.  To the left you have your obligatory canal shot.  To the right is the coolest doorknob I have ever seen.  Below is a close-up of an amazing gable. 

 

 

 

After a little afternoon rest, I went back out for dinner.  I hadn’t made reservations, and after my massive walk, I didn’t feel like going too far, so I opted for Cafe de Koe, just a few blocks from my hotel.  The menu was in Dutch, so I could only read about half of it, but my waitress very kindly read it to me.  I started with one of the best salads I’ve ever had.  I’m not a salad person, in general, but this one was arugula with sundried tomatoes, fontina cheese, and pine nuts, covered in what tasted and appeared to be only the best parts of bacon, with a truffle vinaigarette.  All of this added up to salty, savory goodness.  My main course was veal with roasted potatoes.  The veal was a bit overcooked/dry, but the flavor of the sauce was very good.  I walked home in the bright light of 11 PM, much happier with my second day in Amsterdam than my first.

European Adventure 2011: Naples

13 Jun

I’m combining my two days in Naples into one post because it’s pretty chill here.  I was a bit nervous about coming.  Almost everyone was like, “Naples?  Really?  It’s so dirty and dangerous.”  Like most dire warnings, though, I feel like it’s all been a bit exaggerated.  First, I braced myself for the train station, which was supposed to be a dingy place filled with unlicensed taxi drivers waiting to accost me.  Instead, it was clean and bright, and I waited in a short, civilized line before getting in a cab with a driver who took me directly to my hotel and charged me a reasonable fare.  Oh, the horror.  Ok, to be fair, there is a LOT of graffiti; it’s everywhere you look.  And I did see one trash heap yesterday, but today there were men in masks cleaning it up.  So maybe I caught Naples on a good couple of days, maybe it’s changing, maybe I’ve just skillfully avoided the bad part of town, I don’t know.  But I haven’t been groped or mugged or anything terrible.  And really…there are cruise ships here.  And a Disney store.  How bad can it be?

I arrived yesterday (Sunday) around noon after a quick, one-hour train ride from Rome.  I’m so pleased with my hotel, the Costantinopoli 104,  that it’s ridiculous.  I wasn’t sure what to expect; getting INTO the hotel was a bit of a chore.  You have to ring an intercom on the sidewalk, get buzzed in, walk through a courtyard, around a corner, and then get buzzed into ANOTHER door.  But then this is what I saw:

Is that not gorgeous?  And there’s a pool.  And my room is huge–TWO STORIES.  With a large bathroom and bathtub, thank you very much!  The cherry on the sundae is that it’s nearly half the cost of the hotel in Rome.  Love.  Love love love. 

So I was in a very good mood when I hit the streets yesterday.  I went off in search of a restaurant but couldn’t find it; the streets just didn’t connect like they appeared to on the map.  I could’ve kept wandering, but I was starving and hot, so I opted for what was right there: the Pizzeria Brandi, which has been around since 1780 and is where the margherita pizza was allegedly invented.  The reviews weren’t fantastic, but it’s famous, and did I mention I was starving?  As I ate, I wondered if I was missing something because I thought it was delicious.  I started with the bruschette di terra, a quartet of bruschette that included traditional tomato, bufala mozzarella, roasted peppers, and spinach, and then I had the pizza margherita (obviously).  It was cheesy and delicious.

Almost everything was closed since it was Sunday, so after lunch, I just wandered through the streets taking random photos; I’ve posted a couple of my favorites here.

                                                                          

Next, I hung out by the pool for a bit and then went inside and fell asleep in my sitting area (happy sigh).  When I woke up, it was almost 9 PM, and I wasn’t that hungry.  I decided that skipping a meal would probably be good for me, a decision reinforced by the fact that the only open restaurants were a half hour’s walk away, ate a granola bar from my backpack, took a bubble bath, and went back to bed.

This morning I wandered through the historic center for a few hours and visited the Cappella Sansevero, which is just full of sculptures, most notably the Veiled Christ, which you can see on the front page of their website (once again, no pictures!).  As with the Berninis in Rome, I’m just astounded that something like this could be created from marble; the transparency effect is really remarkable.  The other um…remarkable? items on display are the Anatomical Machines, truly horrific skeletons that show the circulatory systems.  For years, they thought the actual veins and such were on display, but it’s been proven that it’s just wire and beeswax.  Trust me, though, it is still a very macabre sight. 

Amazingly enough, I was hungry after that, so I kept wandering through the streets until I got to Da Michele, the most famous pizzeria in Naples.  (By the way, I should mention that wandering the streets of Naples is somewhat terrifying as there is not nearly enough room for you, the other pedestrians, the cars, the scooters, the produce carts, etc.  Horns are blaring constantly, and you’re always jumping out of the way of something.)  So Da Michele is where the pizza scene in Eat, Pray, Love takes place, but it’s been famous long before that.  There’s supposed to be a line of people out the door, but when I arrived, I was seated right away!  I did have to share my table, but oh well.  So I have to admit…Da Michele’s pizza was good…but I preferred Pizzeria Brandi.  I know, it’s blasphemy, but I really like cheese, and there was almost none on my pizza at Da Michele.  I guess I should have ordered double mozzarella (an option on the menu), but I wanted the basic, authentic experience.  The crust was good, and the sauce was delicious…but if I’m going to share a table and be rushed in and out, I want exceptional pizza, and I don’t think they delivered on that.  Though that did not stop me from cleaning my plate.  In fact, the waiter tried to grab my plate with my last bite still on it (my cheesy, perfect bite that I was saving), and I yelled, “NO!”  The men at the table next to me laughed uproariously.

After lunch, I burned that pizza right off with a loooooong walk back to the ritzier side of town where I was on the hunt for coral and cameos, two things for which this part of Italy is known.  I’d hoped to find antique versions of both, since the art of craftmanship is dead and all, and I’m happy to say I succeeded!  It’s a bit hard to tell from the picture at left, but the background to the cameo pendant is a milk-chocolate brown, which I love; it was the only one of that color I saw.  Most of them were beige, blue, or pink.  Then I also bought a coral ring, pictured at right.  When the woman took it out of the case, she told me it probably wouldn’t fit me as it was very small.  (Actually, she pantomined that; she only spoke Italian.  There’s not a ton of English spoken in Naples, so if you’re looking for authenticity, give this city a try.)  When the ring slid easily onto my ring finger, I felt like Cinderella.  How could I not buy it after that?

Purchases in hand, I went back to the hotel to escape the midday heat for a bit, then wandered the streets until dinner.  I encountered a …protest?  prayer march?  I have no idea what they were doing, but there were lots of people, a band, icons, the works…if only I spoke more than restaurant-level Italian.  My final meal in Naples was at the highly-recommended Palazzo Petrucci, which proved to be another delicious meal.  My favorite course this time was the starter, a Neapolitan onion soup, which is like French onion soup, minus the Gruyere, plus pecorino and a coddled egg.  So good.  Though I wasn’t at all impressed by the amuse bouche (far too fishy, and was that a bone?), I was won over with the sourdough bacon bread.  That’s right, I said bacon.  In my bread.  And the sommelier was fantastic.  I had the best glass of Prosecco ever, followed by a bottle (don’t judge) of a delicious, smoky, unlike anything I’ve had before white wine.  My second course was a pork ravioli with clams in some kind of broth–very different and very good.  My third course was seared lobster with crispy bacon and spring onions.  It tasted good when it was all put together, but I wish that I didn’t have to do so much work in assembling it.  Dessert was fine but not great, again.  I’m very picky when it comes to desserts.  But the complimentary platter of miniature pastries was fantastic.  They’re usually an afterthought, but there was an almond-chocolate thing that made me drool. 

I walked back to my hotel unbothered by the supposed mean streets of Naples.  It’s a bit rougher around the edges here to be sure, but it’s not nearly as bad as people say.  They have good shopping, picturesque streets, a healthy sea breeze, and amazing food.  I’m sad to be going, and I’d be happy to come back.

Frieda and Nellie Bracelet

29 Jun

I just ordered this bracelet from Frieda and Nellie, and I’m ridiculously excited for its arrival.  I read about the bracelets in US Weekly a few weeks ago.  I’ve been coveting them ever since, but I had to wait for the right one to become available.  The Friedas are all classic friendship bracelets woven together with rhinestones.  The Nellies accent the friendship bracelet with vintage charms and baubles.  And the Metal Mamas add chain bracelets or bangles to the woven friendship portion.  Every bracelet is different and one-of-a-kind, priced at $130+.  I knew I wanted a Frieda with neutral colors, so it was just a matter of checking the website each day until the perfect one showed up.  When I saw it tonight, I added it to my cart immediately.  Can’t wait to have it sparkling on my wrist for the rest of the summer!

Buenos Aires–Day 6

31 May

I had another overnight flight back to Texas, so after packing, I still had several hours before it was time to leave for the airport.  I hadn’t bought gifts for anyone, so my first stop was Havanna, a local coffee shop chain known for their alfajores, sandwich cookies filled with ducle de leche or some other sweetness and frequently coated in chocolate.  I actually didn’t get the chance to sample any while I was here, but my friend took me to an Argentine bakery in Miami a few weeks ago, and they are seriously delicious.  I’m going to work on finding a good recipe for them when I get back. 

My next stop was a shoe store I’d been eyeing since my arrival, Divia.  I could tell just from the window that their shoes were fantastic, but I wanted to make absolutely sure that they were the most fantastic shoes in the city before committing.  They undoubtedly were, all handmade and unique.  And I was fortunate enough to find a pair in my size that looked more summery, so I’ll be able to start wearing them immediately upon my return.  Shoes, teapot–my trip is complete. 

I wanted to eat a big lunch to minimize the need for airplane food, so I went to a Palermo restaurant called Bar 6.  I took another stab at ojo de bife, though since Bar 6 isn’t a parrilla, the steak came coated in a mustard sauce, more similar to bistro food.  The meat was very tender, though very overcooked.  It didn’t matter as much with the sauce, but I do like my steaks as rare as I can get them, and that’s how I ordered it.  The mashed potatoes that came with it were excellent, though, and it certainly filled me up. 

I’m off to the airport now, and I’m keeping my fingers crossed that everything goes smoothly.  I’m not ready to go, but once the departure process is in motion, I’m not a fan of delays.

Buenos Aires–Day 4

29 May

“And the rain, rain, rain came down, down, down”…on the fourth day, it rained.  Hard.  All day.  But since I have no idea when or if I’ll be in Buenos Aires again, I dragged myself out of my cozy bed and grabbed my trusty Juicy Couture umbrella.  (Three years in torrential Boston rain, and it’s never flipped inside out.)

My first stop was a nearby parrilla (steakhouse) called Don Julio.  I can’t believe it took me so long to make it to one; for a carnivore like myself, parrillas are as close as it gets to heaven.  Dan from Casa Saltshaker last night told me that, in his opinion, Don Julio has the best ribeye (ojo de bife) in the city.  Since that’s my favorite cut of meat, I was excited to try it, but I ended up a little disappointed.  Traditionally, parrillas  don’t marinate the meat or use seasonings, and it tasted a little bland to me–though it was much improved with just a dash of salt.  The bigger problem was the quality of the beef; it was far too fatty and nearly impossible to saw through.  For $10, though, it wasn’t bad.

After lunch, I grabbed a taxi (stepping in a giant puddle in the process) and went to the MALBA–the Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires.  It was much smaller than I’d anticipated.  The top floor was blocked off for some reason, so it was really just a handful of rooms.  Nevertheless, there were some fantastic pieces.  A bench created by Pablo Reinoso had wooden slats that extended on one side in a riotous heap of tangles that climbed the walls of the museum.  And I loved Armando Reverón’s Mujer desnuda leyendo (Nude woman reading).  Unfortunately, pictures weren’t allowed, and I can’t find an image online, but it was a large canvas painted entirely in a flesh tone with just the hint of an outline of the figure–so subtle and lovely.  If you’re interested, however, you can see some of Reverón’s other works here.  White Landscape has a similar style. 

Since it was still pouring when I left the museum, I walked quickly around the corner to the Paseo Alcorta mall, which is supposed to be one of the more upscale malls in the city.  I believe that because the prices were a little steep by Argentine standards, but otherwise, I would have no idea.  The best part about shopping in foreign countries is that you have no label preconceptions.  In high school, I would never buy anything from Banana Republic because ALL of the other girls at my school shopped there.  I could have been shopping quite contentedly at the BsAs equivalent, however; I certainly didn’t know the difference.  It’s very freeing.  It also means, though, that you have to go in almost every store…not such a hardship, on second thought.  Argentines are teeny tiny (one person told me they come in second to Japan in the number of people with eating disorders), so pants were a definite no.  But I did buy a magenta shrug embellished with something akin to leather paillettes on sale at Trosman and a camel sweater with topaz (my birthstone!)-colored stones sewn on the sleeves at Maria Cher.  My mood always lifts when I feel the weight of shopping bags on my arms, and I was happy to go back to the hotel for a brief rest before dinner.

An hour or so later, I met Kate and Stacy, my new friends from the first night’s wine tasting, for dinner at Bereber, located just a few steps from my hotel and distinguished as the only Moroccan restaurant in Buenos Aires.  It’s also one of the few places in the city that serves cocktails, and so I started with a Gazelle–strawberry, lime, vodka…and possibly some ingredients I couldn’t decipher.  Notwithstanding my less than stellar language skills, it was delicious.  We ordered two appetizers for the table: a sampler with hummus, tabouleh, etc. and an amazing sort of pastry stuffed with chicken, raisins, and spices.  I wish I could remember its proper name because it was delicious.  For the main course, I had the Habra, which was lamb with a chimichurri sauce on a bed of field greens with a roasted red pepper and feta salad and honey soaked crisps.  Separately, it was all very good, but the flavors never coalesced.  We shared two desserts: something advertised as a crispy chocolate cake that looked like a giant Ho-Ho and wasn’t very good and a much more successful almond filled pastry called the Snake with creamy ice cream to accompany it. 

After dinner, we went to a birthday party at Antares, a little further down the street.  The girls had started talking to the couple sitting next to them during a very lengthy dinner the night before.  Their neighbors turned out to be a couple from New York who were working in BsAs for the next few months, and the guy invited them to his party.  It was a good thing we went because most of his Argentine friends bailed on account of rain.  But we had a great time chatting about expat life and sampling the house-made beers.  I went back to the hotel around 2 A.M. with tentative plans to meet up with Stacy and Kate at the San Telmo market tomorrow if the rain stopped.  Buenos Aires social network: check.

Buenos Aires–Day 3

28 May

Another late night; another late start.  No alarm clock trouble this time, but my hotel room looks out over a lovely little park.  Sadly, however, this means that I get all the park noise…people drunkenly shouting until 5 A.M. and then a hundred dogs barking as if they’re being stabbed with red hot pokers starting at 7 A.M.  And two hours of sleep just isn’t enough.  Definitely need to bring earplugs or stay on a side street next time. 

When I finally got moving, I walked to the Evita museum and had lunch at their cafe.  The cafe is very nice, with a large patio and plenty of greenery.  They have a crepe stand outside, so I started with a fruit and nut pate crepe topped with three different kinds of cheese.  The taste was good, but I thought the cheese would actually be baked into the crepe, and I think it would have been better that way.  The main course was fantastic, though–extremely plump pumpkin ravioli in a sage cream sauce. 

Then I headed into the museum itself, which was created in an early 20th century house used as a shelter for women and children by the Eva Perón Foundation.  The museum was a bit disappointing in that there was a lack of original materials, featuring instead things “of the same period,” or reproductions of photographs, with numerous quotes on the wall from Eva’s book, The Reason of My Life.  I did really enjoy all of her clothing on display, though, and since my only knowledge of her life up to this point came from the musical, I learned a lot.  I had no idea that she’d moved to Buenos Aires with her mother (not a man she’d slept with), and I also didn’t know about her leadership in the women’s suffrage movement in Argentina.  Very educational.  And I’m still dreaming about the gorgeous black velvet round toe pumps with a champagne silk ruffle.

That night, I had dinner at Casa Saltshaker, a puertas cerradas (closed door) restaurant–essentially dinner at someone’s apartment with a bunch of strangers.  Casa Saltshaker is run by an American expat, Dan, and his partner, Henry, out of their Recoleta apartment.  They feature a different theme each week; ours was the anniversary of the Cloud Club, a private dining club in the Chrysler Building that was started in the 1930s.  Dan served five courses: a duo of savory profiteroles (roasted red pepper and eggplant purees), mushroom veloute, whole wheat pasta with chickpeas and truffle oil, a take on Philadelphia chicken that was wrapped in pastrami and stuffed with goat cheese, then served with glazed carrots and roasted cherry tomatoes, and a light almond cake with caramelized bananas for dessert.  The food was all good, and the first and last courses were exceptional. 

The company was as much a part of the experience as the food, though.  There were seven other guests in attendance (and two no-shows): three couples, all from New York City but traveling separately, and a British man who decided to live in Argentina for a couple years to play polo.  Two of the couples seemed nice and normal; the third was odd.  They asked the other couples how they met and then told us all they’d met at a party.  “But a special party,” she added. 

We all giggled nervously, and one of the other men said, “You have to tell us what you mean…cause my imagination is just going out of control here.” 

She smiled and said, “Special…not too special, though.”  And that was that.  I have a feeling this is going to torture me for awhile; it’s just rude to make allusions without clarifications. 

The British guy was also quite the character.  He continually asked for more alcohol and claimed to know the scientist who cloned Dolly the sheep.  Everyone was friendly and social, though, and since I’m traveling alone, it was a treat to chat with people in English for awhile.  I’d return to Casa Saltshaker, for the lottery factor, if nothing else.  You never know whom you’ll be sharing your table with, so there’s always the possibility of getting the story of your life along with your meal.  I wasn’t quite that lucky, but $50 for five tasty courses with wine pairings and pleasant conversation seems reasonable enough to me.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.