Happy-ish Thanksgiving

I had been looking forward to this Thanksgiving since last Thanksgiving. As is so often the case, I built up this one night in my head so that it never could have lived up to my expectations. Which is not to say it wasn't a successful dinner - for the most part, it was. Let's start with the bad.

First I burned the pumpkin pie crust trying to get the filling to cook. I did everything I could - reduced the temperature a bit, covered just the crust's edges with foil - but the bottom and the sides still got burned and the pie just wasn't as good as the test run last week. Luckily by the time we got to the pie everyone was too stuffed to eat it. But let it be said it was FRESH! Also in the picture is a can of candied yams I happened to find at a grocery store here, which the yam eaters were happy about (we were never a sweet potato family so it's not a tradition of mine).

Second, the mashed potatoes tasted good but had the consistency of glue. I think it had to do with the sour cream substitution I used (since sour cream does not exist here) and then beating them with a hand mixer instead of good old fashioned mashing. Ironically, this was the only dish that did NOT have leftovers. They must have been good under gravy, which luckily did turn out well.

Third, I had originally planned on cooking a 10-11 pound turkey. Sol's boyfriend George took charge of the task of securing said turkey, and told me he reserved a 15.5 pounder. I only found out AFTER dinner that Sol and George kept the truth from me that the turkey was, in fact, nearly 19 pounds, but they decided not to tell me since I was already stressed out about it being too big. Somehow I managed not to give us all food poisoning since there was no helpful pop-out thermometer to tell me it was, in fact, done.

Everyone sung its praises and one American girl told me it was possibly the best she'd ever had, so despite not having American bacon to cover it with (which was still probably the most popular snack food I offered), real maple syrup to baste it with, or fresh sage to season it with, the turkey was a success. Here's the beast with the always-popular bacon cover:

Fourth, almost everyone was late. Ironically the Argentineans were more on time than the Americans. After 10 hours of cooking, two days of prep, and months of planning, I couldn't help feeling sort of disrespected by late arrivals. It's not like it was an early dinner party either, I told people to come at 8. But, I breathed through it, reminded myself that everyone had a good excuse and it wasn't meant as a personal offense against me, drank some wine, and kept basting the enormous turkey. I'd like to point out that the kitchen is miraculously clean for it being so close to dinner time in this self-portrait.

Ok, on to the good. It was a hot day but there was nearly no humidity so the apartment stayed cool and my 10 hours in the kitchen weren't insufferable. The blueberry sauce turned out really well, as did the green bean casserole and the stuffing. And, the gravy - always my biggest stressor! - was quite tasty. I made too much Waldorf salad but that too was delicious. Here is a shot of my meager effort to de-seed the grapes for the salad.

People were grateful to have been invited. The Americans were glad to have a place to celebrate and reveled in the authenticity of the traditional food, while the Argentineans were happy to experience a new holiday and get a delicious meal out of it at the same time.

Overall it was a fine Thanksgiving - no disasters like you see in the movies, nothing caught fire, nothing was inedible - but it lacked the magic of last year's. I appreciated my Mom telling me on the phone later (waaay later, 3 am my time) that she has prepared many a holiday meal that she would have rather thrown at her guests than served to them. The good news is, next year I will have no expectations whatsoever so it will probably be my best Thanksgiving ever!

For now I'm off to heat up the last of the green beans and stuffing, plus some turkey and blueberry sauce for good measure, before heading off to watch my neighborhood's "soccer" aka futbol team play in the local stadium. It seems like a sort of symbolic transition from American traditions to Argentinean ones.

Thanks and an explanation

Thank you so much to everyone who commented on my last post (after I admittedly badgered you into it). I know I have 40-60 people visiting my blog each day, but I have no idea WHO those people are, and sometimes it makes me a little crazy. So, thank you to those of you who revealed yourselves!

I think there might be a misconception about why comments are so important to me, so I'd like to try to explain myself.

Although I do revel in the thought of strangers reading and enjoying my blog, and it gives me a certain sense of (satisfaction? accomplishment? ego?) seeing increased traffic to my site, that's really not why I write. I certainly have no commerical aspirations; if I did, I'd have to make this blog a lot more concise/interesting/relevant. So, people who don't know me are more than welcome and I love to read their comments as well, but high readership is not my real objective.

I write for two primary reasons. The first is to create a journaled account of a time and space in my life. I'm traditionally a very bad journaler, so having this flexible place dedicated to documenting whatever it is I think might be interesting to me to read in 10, 20, 30 years is great, especially since I can type it out. I'm a much faster typer and as my family and close friends will attest, my handwriting is interesting but often illegible, even to me.

Okay, here's an ugly confession. I'm a very practical person and to keep myself from being sad about not seeing the people I love, I focus on what's present. It might sound harsh, but 95% of the time I don't think about what's outside my current life and location. I do the same when I'm in Seattle, Philadelphia, Buenos Aires, you name it. It's a defense mechanism and it works really well. If it didn't, I couldn't maintain this transient lifestyle. It's not all magic and puppies when you constantly uproot yourself; among the priviledges of experiencing another life and culture are sacrifices and really lonely days. So why do I do it, you might ask? Man, I hate that question! I just don't have a good answer for it. I do it because I am compelled to.

All of this brings us to the second reason I write, which is to maintain a sort of lifeline with the people I care about. I can't belive how cheesy that sounds and I tried to rewrite it several times to make it a little less so but it's the truth.

I try to stay in contact with people individually but there's always the blog to come to if someone is missing me or wanting to know what's going on. At least, I tell myself that people use it that way, and that unto itself is a comfort.

But when a week goes by, two weeks, three weeks, with no comments and not that many people reaching out in other ways, well... it makes me sad, sometimes, because I know as much as I'm willfully trying not to think about people at home to avoid depression, people at home are not thinking about me simply because I'm not present. I'm a very reliable person but the life I've had for the past several years has made me a very unreliable friend in terms of geography. I can't blame people for thinking of me that way, but it does make me insecure. I mean, obviously! There are probably (hopefully??) people reading this right now saying, "can she really be thinking that?" I've had people tell me that they don't reach out since they assume I'm having an amazing time and that there's no way our friendship/relationship could ever be put in jeopardy by a little space, but being so isolated it's hard to remember that sometimes.

So, that's it. My big, dark secret is that yes, I get lonely, yes, I miss everyone, and yes, I crave contact from people in whatever form. Even if you aren't the commenting type, please do know that the smallest gesture, no matter what the form, means a lot.

Pumpkin pie from scratch

For the readers who noticed I stopped doing a blog a day in November (did anyone notice??) I would like to say that although I was fully prepared to finish the month out, it seemed like overkill. No one was commenting and it was perhaps just too much information to take in. So, I called it quits. And now on to today's blog.

Thanksgiving is one week from tomorrow. I have a guest list of approximately 13 people and I plan on making 8 dishes. There has been a change of plan and now we are doing Thanksgiving at our apartment, which means using this kitchen:

This will be the third Thanksgiving I have prepared on Thanksgiving day (not to mention 3 others I've done at random times of the year just for the hell of it) and the second from this country, so I'm confident in my ability to pull it off even in a minuscule kitchen and with almost no culinary supplies.

What I wasn't confident about, however, was the pumpkin pie. You see, I've only made two or three pumpkin pies before, always using canned pumpkin, and I don't remember them turning out especially well. Also, canned pumpkin is not available here. Last year Katharine brought a can with her, and although Renée's friend Jen is coming this week, I thought to myself several weeks ago, "Why not try it from scratch?" (What I cannot make from scratch and what Jen will bring because there is simply NO substitute is a can of French's fried onions. Mmmmm, green bean casserole.)

Of course, this wasn't something I could try the day before and have it be a disaster, so last night I set about making my very first pumpkin pie from scratch. (I have to say, it's a much different experience baking a winter pie in a summer dress with 90% humidity making me feel gross and sticky.)

I have my Aunt Kathy's perfect pie crust recipe memorized so that wasn't a problem. I couldn't find a rolling pin at the store where I bought the pie dish so I made do:

Then it was on to the filling itself. I boiled, drained, and pureed about 4 cups of fresh pumpkin. Although I consulted several recipes I didn't follow any one and improvised to my own tastes while accounting for Argentinean ingredients. For instance, condensed milk only comes sweetened down here and I don't like very sweet pies, so I didn't add any sugar. I also really, really like a cinnamony pie so I added about twice as much cinnamon and nutmeg as most recipes called for (I did not have cloves, allspice, or ginger). I used 2 eggs instead of 3 or 4 since I like a nice dense pie, and mixed everything together:

I love that color! The filling looked and tasted delicious and had the right consistency. I even managed to make pretty pie edges which is a constant shortcoming of mine (which might have also influenced why my Halloween empanadas fell short since the concept is the same). It looked good to me, pre-oven:

Of course, then there was the matter of the oven itself. You might recall that since I can't turn the oven on I don't use it, but the pie left me no choice. Sol was on her way out the door but gave me a tutorial on turning the oven on and then turning it back on when it goes off, which it did several times. Every time I was able to turn it back on and I have to admit I was pretty proud of myself. Don't laugh.

Most recipes recommended baking for 15 minutes at 425 farenheit (210 celsius) and then 40-50 minutes at 350, but guess what, folks? Ovens here don't have temperature settings in farenheit OR celsius. It's just a nob with varying sizes of circles indicating 'hot' and 'less hot.' So, I baked for 15 minutes on 'hot' and then a full hour on 'less hot' after checking it several times. When I finally took it out, it looked perfect:

Renée came over for dinner and sangria and, after letting my orange masterpiece cool for several hours, we finally cut into it. The vanilla ice cream came from the heladería next to my apartment and the pie came from heaven itself:

My first bite was so satisfying. It was a perfect, American-style pumpkin pie and my nervous little heart swelled with pride for the second time in one night. I am not much of a baker and I hate using recipes (greatly contributing to my not being a good baker). This will be the first Thanksgiving where I make the dessert so it was sort of like the last Thanksgiving "first" I had to face.

Renée admitted to me that she was sure she'd enjoy it but never expected it to taste so much like the pies her sister makes. "No offense but I thought it would taste more... earthy" she confessed as she took a second slice.

One thing I definitely could have done - a constant issue with my pies and quiches - is make the crust thinner. Limited counterspace, no rolling pin, and a decisive lack of patience all contributed to a thick crust. I also forgot to brush the edges with egg whites but they were still flaky and delicious. For Thanksgiving I'll be sure to remember both of these things.

So, I'm one step closer to being ready for the much anticipated holiday. I would love to hear your Thanksgiving plans and what, if anything, you will be cooking. (Read: a thinly-veiled request for comments. Stop being a lurker and write something if you're a regular reader! Post anonymously if you want! It's painless and gratifying!)

Sooner or later we're going to have to figure out how and where to SEAT 13 people... but there's more than a week for such plans so, fiddle-dee-dee. I'll think about it tomorrow.

Crazy, stormy afternoon

This afternoon as I was in the middle of an extraordinarily productive work day, mother nature decided she had other plans for me and brought forth the largest storm I have witnessed yet here. It rained so hard it leaked through the windows, thunder rattled the building and lightning struck near enough to take out power on my entire block and possibly more. There was no way I was venturing out in that mess so I settled in for a nap, hoping the lights would be on when I awoke. They were not.

Tonight I am going to dinner for the Festival of India sponsored by the Indian embassy. I got ready in the dark and set out in search of internet to wrap up some work things and post a quick blog.

Walking out of my building onto the street I saw that our neighboring kiosk was filled with candles and the ice cream shop next to it had storm lanterns to illuminate the store, but I'm guessing a lot of that ice cream will be lost. Everyone was out and about with candles and flashlights, and you know what? They all still seemed to be in a pretty good mood. I really appreciate that even in less than ideal circumstances like a packed bus on a sweltering day or in the middle of a power outage with no end in sight, Argentineans will still "exchange exasperated smiles" as I heard one person put it instead of getting cranky and violent with each other.

Luckily it stopped raining but the humidity is still at about 90%. Here we go!

Internet Obsession

For someone who spends all day working on my computer, I somehow manage to spend even more hours of the day trolling the internet. It's not healthy I tell you. I obsessively check certain sites and blogs over and over for updates and I'm an active participant on several websites.

One such website is called BAExpats which is a public forum for all of us English-speakers (and even a few Argentineans) to ask questions, post events, vent problems, and generally have an outlet to get in contact with others in similar positions. I recently noted a significant increase in the number of hits to my blog per day and then noticed that BAExpats has been listing my blog under their "Daily URL" section. So, thanks for the shout-out, and welcome expats! Please leave comments and let me know you are reading; anonymous posters welcome. I can't wait to meet a bunch of you this Sunday at Captain Dave's. (Non-expat readers: be jealous of where Captain Dave lives and that you can't attend his amazing events. Photos to come on Sunday or Monday's blog.)

Even with all of these internet outlets I still find time to fill online, so today I started doing something I've meant to do for a long time: re-read my blog. I started from the very first post back in November 2007 and am currently up to March 2008. I'm proud to say that I have found just one grammatical error, the use of "farther" where it should have been "further" (I only very recently learned the rule for that one). Overall I've been entertained by my writing, thus far suffering none of the embarrassment that sometimes is the result of time/perspective. It's been a fun trip down memory lane and I look forward to reading more. I'll let you know if I find anything cringe-worthy past March.

Now I am going to put an end to today's obsessive internet use/too much at-home time and eat sushi with Renée. In the restaurant, not delivery. I should just be ending my first aerial silk class, but what can I say, a convenient excuse came up and I am chicken about starting! Next up is Saturday's class, which I have very, very good intentions of attending.

Photos! High School! Beach House!

As promised, I spent a good portion of the morning uploading and captioning photos from my jaunt to Uruguay. To check them out click on the Picasa link to the right (you might have to scroll down a bit to get to it). Or, just click here. Thanks for your patience, and enjoy.

My high school was and continues to be awesome

Yesterday one of my coworkers sent me this amazing video and I have been busy spreading it around since then. I actually have very fond memories of this era in my life and consider myself lucky to have attended such a cool school. I mean, come on, Weezer played a concert in our cafeteria when I was a freshman.

Anyway, the video is a combination of my all-time favorite "going out song" and the still-impressive artistic endeavors of Shorecrest High School's creative students. "Hey Shorecrest, how do you feel? We feel AWESOME, oh we feel so awesome UH!" I just can't stop smiling at this.



Here's the actual Youtube link. (Side note: although I am totally stoked on this video and love the song, did the administrators fail to listen to the lyrics or research Outkast at all? Or are they really just that much cooler/relaxed than in my day?)

A Month at the beach

In other news, I recently placed a deposit on a beachfront apartment for the month of February. As one porteño put it, being in Buenos Aires in the summer is like having a fat, sweaty man on top of you all the time. Lovely. I have been bracing myself for the inevitable 100 degree days + 95% humidity, and I was mostly resigned to and ready for it. At a certain point I realized, however, that there's no good reason not to escape at least some of it.

I did a lot of asking around (there are a ton of beach destinations in Argentina and picking the right one for your style and needs is very important) before I found the perfect spot for me in Villa Gesell, a relatively chill spot compared to the soul-crushing crowds of Mar del Plata. It's an apartment that is literally on the beach - open the door and step onto sand. It's about 12 blocks from the center, so I can get into town easily but will also be somewhat removed from the crowds. It sleeps 4 so I expect plenty of visitors. Here are some pictures, but they aren't entirely accurate since it's getting a remodel in December.

This is the living room/dining room. The sofa opens into two single beds.

This is the view from the bedroom (all the rooms have beach-facing views).

Elizabeth the acrobat. No, really.

In other, other news, I am starting aerial silk acrobatic classes soon. More information and probably some hilarious/awkward/falling on my head stories as they emerge.

Back in Buenos Aires and final thoughts on Uruguay

(*Note: I am under the gun to publish this by midnight and promise to post photos here and to Picasa tomorrow. Really, truly! Complete with interesting captions!)

I arrived safely back in Capital Federal today. My very friendly 70-year-old cab driver expressed relief that I did not want to go into the center, explaining that due to yet another subte (metro) strike and various protests, it was taking about an hour to go just a few blocks. "Yep," I thought, "I'm back all right." Then we had an amiable conversation about how Argentina's education system needs to improve if the politics are ever going to change. Amen, brother! An educated people is a dangerous one for corrupt politicians. I wonder why the education systems in so many countries with a history of corrupt politics doesn't improve...?

Anyway, my trip to Uruguay was overall very good, very relaxing, and a nice change of pace for a few days. After Punta del Este I was half convinced I could live in Uruguay happily for ever and ever, but Montevideo was a bit of a letdown, largely due to the dominance of rundown 1960s and 70s architecture. Even the historic part of town is filled with these depressing structures, with old-style buildings of character only dotting the landscape.

One thing I will give downtown Montevideo is its abundance of plazas. Within a 10 minute walk you can get to 5 different plazas right in the center of town. Also, during my cab ride to the airport today I was able to observe that their beaches are shockingly nice and sandy and the water surprisingly blue for being so near a city.

U.S. and Uruguay: Kindred Spirits?

I rarely consider myself a 'comparer,' i.e. someone who MUST compare everything to something familiar in order classify and compartmentalize one's experiences without giving anything the benefit of being unique, but I couldn't help but notice some interesting similarities between the U.S. and Uruguay.

First, people in Uruguay are really nice. Really, really nice. Too nice, according to Sol. And, this extends to customer service. Argentina has a lot going for it but customer service is not generally one of those things. And even people on the streets are friendly. People smiled at me without me smiling first. And, although it probably gave my mom a heart attack thinking about me hitchhiking, Uruguay seems like the safest place around, largely due to its relatively booming economy and the general attitude of the inhabitants, i.e. "We're so sweet it gives you a toothache!" kind of nice. (Mom I swear I never hitchhike when alone.)

Second, things are bigger here. Namely, cars and people. I saw some pretty huge cars, which you don't see elsewhere in the Southern Cone, and I also saw some really fat people. I'm not talking a little bit overweight; I'm talking really, truly, Biggest Loser-esque large. I don't think I've ever seen such obesity in Chile or Argentina, though they seemed to have similar diets. (Special note to any Chilean residers, specifically Valparaiso: Uruguay has its own version of chorrillana! Looking at those pictures makes me sick to my stomach, not to mention thinking about how many of them I ate while there... Anyway, it's called revuelto gramajo. I saw someone eating it and couldn't help but laugh.)

Also in the vein of bigger (I'm not sure if this applies everywhere or just to Montevideo), on my way to the airport we passed suburbia. Miles of miles of new, beautiful, huge waterfront properties and behind them block after block of equally lovely homes without any sort of commerical activity. Suburban sprawl is a rareity anywhere outside the U.S. as far as I'm aware, but Montevideo seems to have latched on to this wholly unsustainable concept.

Finally, Uruguay is currently engaged in a fierce anti-tobacco campaign. While Argentina has a 'live and let live (or die from lung cancer, whatever)' policy, Uruguay and its inhabitants are out in full force with a strong campaign against smoking. I saw ads on TV and in newspapers, stickers adhered to every possible surface, and no fewer than 3 stands within a 10-block radius surrounded by groups of 3-5 people handing out information about the dangers of smoking and providing resource options to those who want to quit. Also, smoking in most public places has been officially made illegal, including in taxi cabs. Uruguay, you could do without the suburbs but I salute your anti-smoking efforts!

In general I'm happy to live here and not there, though I'm also happy that it's just a short flight or ferry ride away when I want to spend a relaxing and friendly few days outside Capital Federal (and when I need to renew my visa, of course).