Así andan

Las Piernas

Que tanto caminaron

En busca de un buen tango

Que las baile hasta el olvido.

A Dejá-Vu and one more beer please

düsseldorf, germany 

-one of the many places where the cure played a lot-

I might be the virgin of the snow according to my native ¨mapuche¨ name... WHATE-E-VER! This is the only time I have doubted my identity, my origin, my purpose. 

Man, it was a kookoos, maniac, dingy cold, soooo cold! And yo,  If i was ever cold in my life, suffering cold ... this was the second time in ... many years! Once in chile, when i was so young, I still remember in pain! 

I was walking down the streets, sightseeing : -12C can't be so bad, right? (who sent me on a walking tour after hanging out in KualaLumpur's weather?) and all I could think about was that I just wanna get inside wherever because my feet are so cold I'm afraid they're gonna fall off, you know?

It was lovely though, just lovely. This frozen river across the city and the trees, bare and whitened, and every building is just gorgeous to look at, I mean, one may or may not like the style, but every square cm is just so worked out, like a piece of art itself... thats something that still amazes me of europe ~  so peaceful all in all... 

Of course my walk ended up in this old area where the "longest bar" in the world is, or that's what they (when I say THEY I refer to people who knows about what they talk, or at least so They think) say. I thought I was going to find a just enormously long bar. But I did not. THEY don't mean a real bar, but just a street full of bars. And they also sell postcards :) 

I just walked in impulsively when my feet could seriously bear no longer any more cold. I didn't look around, I didn't choose.  I find myself in this very typical restaurant/brewery... It reminded me soooooooooooo much of my grandma's place! No kidding, same wooden dinner tables, the chairs: just identical! Can you believe it? Even the lamps! This classic german beer glassware, the china, everything...Even the ambiance, decoration. It was a flash, a good one. Just never thought that such a whatever restaurant would give me this kinda dejá-vu. 

Many months later, talking with my grandma, she tells me that she moved boxed, shipped and dismantled her german house in sweet home Buenos Aires, and now I get it all.

Then it was toooo cold, toooo dark to keep walking around... my camera decided not to work anymore. Yes, it was so cold that even the camera went on strike! 

The Cure on the iPod, heated train, this is the first world! I just hit it back to hotel's bar. There I asked for the house's "reddest" beer in color that they had. Yes, I meant an Ale, but I only learnt this later on. It was the best beer I've had ever! Smooth, bewitching, persuasive, irresistible, rounded and with so many levels of notes, smells, tastes. So complete. Too bad I don't even know the name because it was so german, so hard to understand. Apparently, from what I got from the bar attendant's english, it is like Düs' local beer, so shouldn't be hard to find.  It was just soooooooooo good I still dream about our reencounter. And so cheap I had to drink so oooo ooooooh much! Shame, I know, I just didn't want to come back with loose change in my pockets.

Germans at the place were quite funny. singing along the piano.... At first it was all quiet, everybody silently enjoying their drinks, piano playing mello songs. But it ended up almost like a karaoke full of drunk, tall, blonde and red faced germans singing out loud, very elegant they were. This surprised me as well. Maybe is just the profile of 5* hotel? Whatever. I was just sitting and ejoying my beers, writing, they made me feel soooo inspired! and those peanuts... mmm... crunchy, spicy, delicious! 

What I wouldn't give for one more kiss of that beer in my lips? 

mouthwatering

As you walk up Queen St. asian food places, from Korean barbeque to specialized Japanese take up the streets. Auckland starts feeling like Seoul. In between all these little eateries (where one can work out a meal for as little as 6.5NZD) stands “Le Garde Manger”. 
 

After a week on the road, or better said in the air, my appetite craves some “real food”, similar to what I would eat at home. I check out their board on the street. It’s already dark and getting cold, I don’t feel like walking much more. I am tempted by the French onion soup and walk in, despite the prices. 

“Alo, table for one?” In pure French accent. “Yes please”

Wooden tables, many small squared tables for two one next to the other, with enough space to make them private, votive candle lighting the night. Patterned red and white tablecloths dress the tables and the lamps on top. Very French, very warm and cosy. Calming colour in the walls and many old pictures of French kitchen characters. Indulgent aromas and a quiet crowd talk on top of French music, Amelie soundtrack, Stacey Kent, Edith Piaf… Ah! Can it get any better? I am wondering.

The server comes to me, welcomes me again, and hands in the big menu. (No, it can't get any more better than this! If food is as good as him, my god!) Two pages, one with the specials, one with the menu. In the fixed menu starters include greens salad, les galettes (pies) with a wide choice of fillings or soup: French onion or soup du jour (butternut squash and almonds tonight). The mains: one fish and one meat dish that can be paired with green beans or salad. On another board, hanging on top the cashier is the wine list: Whites, Reds, New World and French. By the glass and by the bottle. 

Everything is very simple, one might think too simple for the prices they offer. But as the server comes with the dishes for the table next to me, the herbs that float around the tenderloin with the potatoes and the onions, and the mustard grains from the salad seem to come to life and my mouth is watering. When the server comes to me I ask him a couple of things about the ingredients of the butternut squash soup and about the paysanne salad. He replies to me very confidently, as if he had prepared them himself. True love and pride in his broken English make up for his lack of words –which fortunately didn’t matter much because I can handle a bit of French–  I order the French onion soup and the salad and glass of the house French red. He walks to clear another table and gets lost in the kitchen. 

Despite the small size of the place and the open door kitchen the sounds are not loud and every now and then the Chef pops out his head, spies the dinning room and goes to the backyard. He returns with a bunch of fresh herbs in his hands.

Maybe after five minutes the warm bread bun and butter are brought to my table, salt and pepper already in the table, and the glass of wine plus a small glass bottle of tap water. It highly surprised me in a great way, for I didn’t ask for it but was more than welcomed. After another five minutes the soup and the salad, all at the same time, as per request. Lovely. I can’t wait to dip my spoon and break this cheese layer covering the onions. And the romaine is so green and crispy, the mustard vinaigrette so silky and balanced that not only I do not regret coming here to spend 4 times more what I would in any of the many Chinese/Korean/Japanese little eateries around town, but I congratulate myself of my choice. 

As I am finishing my dishes the place is close to full. Service was very good, casual and smart at all times and at all tables. My glass of wine is empty. As my dirty dishes are neatly cleared off my table they offer to pour another one. “No thank you, but you can tell me where the ladies room is”. Basic and very clean. When I come back the server suggests me to try the chocolate fondant with the warm liquid heart but I have had enough. Portions were not huge, just the right size. And at the slow easy going French rhythm for eating they seemed much larger than they actually were. I ask for a cup of tea that comes with evidently home made pastille d’orange as petit four. 

Overall, I had what I consider one of my best meals in Auckland so far. (Though othing beats Tanuki's cave, great company and the taste of reencounter!) Better than the seafood buffet at the 5 star hotel and better than the classic mussels anywhere you go and way too much better than any of the so popular (and some very good and so cheap) Asian food. Was it worth? Yes, definitely. It did calm my home made food crave and the experience was très bon! 

a Taste of Cairo

    It felt like starring in a Hollywood movie full of guns and terrorists – lots of persecution. From the airport into the city, four lanes in the road but nine lanes of cars brought back from the past, an orchestra of  horns, and men shouting at each other in incomprehensible Arabic. Yet you could imagine! Everyone smokes. Cigarettes in the car, sheesha in the cafes, hash in the house... Nobody asks if you mind, only if you want. The sun setting, squared concrete buildings on the sides of the road with clothes hanging out and absorbing smog.

"Is this your first time here?” Magdi asked us.

A staggered “Yes,” is all my friend could reply. My jaw dropped, I was mute with my head out of the window trying to cross into that different dimension, and a little bit afraid too.

Magdi smiled at us through the rear view mirror and blurted out "Welcome to Cairo my friend! Welcome to Cairo!"