El Gordo Magnifico (Blocho's Blog)

You are now reading Blocho, guest blogger for Eric Benson during these next three weeks. And Blocho's got a bone to pick.

First, before I even delve into my many adventures since my momentous arrival here late Thursday night, I've got to respond to the "Big Night" heresy propagated by Benson in his most recent post. First, while Timpano is undoubtedly a great dish, I actually have had it. I ate a timpano at Centolire, that quiet outpost of relaxed, sophisticated old world Italian dining on Madison Avenue. I highly recommend the place. Second, as any person who has seen "Big Night" knows, the film takes place in New Jersey, not New York. So yes, it may be the quintessential New Jersey restaurant movie. And let's hope the two locations never get mistaken again.

For the quintessential New York restaurant movie, I recommend "Dinner Rush," starring Danny Aiello. A fascinating amalgam of a mob movie and a family drama set against the background of haute cuisine and changing times in New York, the movie is supremely rewarding with its panoply of characters and interconnecting vignettes. It was also filmed inside Gigino, a lovely trattoria in TriBeCa.



Now let's get back to the BA, where El Gordo Magnifico (my Argentine alter ego) has been holding court over the past couple of days. In between ravenous visits to local steak joints, adventures at underground jazz jam sessions and a brief interlude at an Armenian Cultural Center, EGM has managed to penetrate the ex-pat journalism community and travel much of the city by foot and bus.

But all this was secondary to my first experience with mate, that soulful beverage that represents all that is true in the Argentine soul (you know, because I really understand the Argentine soul after less than 48 hours here).

Benson, who I will refer to as Tanto Gusto from now on, prepared a mate concoction yesterday, carefully pouring the yerba into his meticulously cured gourd and then going through a labyrinthine process of preparation. One of the tasks included was carefully heating a kettle of water not to boiling but rather to 80 degrees celsius. And how does Tanto Gusto know when he has reached this point? The great mate connosieur (aka addict) can feel it in his tailbone - and sometimes in his ankles.

All this was secondary to the insertion of the bombilla (pronounced bomb-ee-sha), the metal straw/instrument of torture/filter through which the mate is imbibed. My first taste of the fabled elixir was redolent with wonder and thorough disgust.

"How can something smell so good and taste so shitty," I inquired, to which TG laughed heartily, or perhaps ominously.

A mate and bombilla

Second and third tastings were no better, and I yearned to know what attracted the hordes to this bitter syrup. Was it good for the soul? Did it contain antioxidants? Was it fabled to cure ailments both small and deadly? Did it evoke the spirit of Wynton Marsalis? Would your ancestor float out of the gourd and dance in the aromatic air? Did the drink stir intellectual explorations? Would I yearn to know the Pampas? Would I find my SudAmericano soul? Did it increase virility? Would I grow stronger or more determined?

No, mate did none of these things. It just tastes bad.