My landlady in Argentina was often times like a mother to me, taking the place of my actual mama who was no longer just a T ride away. She’d sometimes become annoyed when I’d leave my room in disarray and she’d tell me (in front of friends) “Te engordaste. Se ve en tus brazos” when…

Raw morcilla, he said. I thought he was joking. He’s a man who is freaked out by meat that has to be chewed off bone. So….no chicken wings. He also doesn’t “do” garlic unless he is blissfully unaware of its presence in a dish. But uncooked blood sausage? No problem. I took his word when…

At the beginning of my trip back to the Bee-Ay there was nothing I craved more than the traditional stuff I had subsisted on when I lived there. I wanted steaming hot empanadas, gooey provoleta sprinkled with oregano and the array of steaks and offal that make up any proper Argentine asado. At one point…

I’ve been hungover in a variety of cities and have learned the perfect local cure in a handful of them. In Chile it’s a plate of chorrillana. In Hong Kong it’s a mango puree in Mongkok and char siu bao from the closest bakery. In Argentina it’s choripán. I’ve serenaded this thing, referring to it as the “king of…

I received the following photo through a What’s App message sent at 2:30 a.m. a few nights ago. “I was a little drunk but now I feel good. Use the picture for the review you’re going to write about the shawarma place.” The shawarma place referred to is Sinior Shawarma, a Palermo Soho landmark situated…

After five days in Patagonia I was ready to enjoy the summer of the Western Hemisphere a bit closer to the Equator. I had come for, seen and conquered Perito Moreno. I had stood, mouth gape, paralyzed by the beauty of this end of the world. But the winds and cold were cramping my style…