I should have been suspicious of this town from the start. It's hazy now on why I decided to go there in the first place. The nickname of the town should have tipped me off that this wasn't my kind of town. It's nickname is "hippie paradise." Maybe I was thinking that it would be a relaxed, laid-back town. Honestly, I am embarrassed to admit it but, I think I wanted to go there because the guidebook mentioned something about waffles.
I always miss American breakfast in other countries. There are pancakes in Argentina, but they are not the same as American pancakes, and they are served as a dessert item. I managed to find bacon on a sandwich at an expat bar, which was a real treat, but otherwise bacon is non-existent. The traditional breakfast items in Argentina are medialunas: little mini-croissants that are often less fluffy, less buttery, and less flaky. I have found some good medialunas at my local cafe, Del Pilar, but I can only eat so many. Apparently, I thought a two hour bus ride and a few days in hippie paradise were worth it to get a waffle.
That is a belgian waffle with strawberries, blackberries and rasberries with real cream.
Arguably, I am more embarrassed about the lengths I went to in order to satisfy my peanut butter cravings. I understand that peanut butter is a typically American delicacy. I am also okay with the natural, oily peanut butter found in other countries. Before I left the U.S., I considered bringing some. However, I figured that if I could find some semblance of peanut butter in Ecuador, then surely I could find it in a major world city like Buenos Aires. Needless to say, it has been a difficult search. While we were in Bariloche, I thought about opening a store there with items backpackers would be missing from home. James asked me what else I would sell in the store, and the only thing I really ever came up with was peanut butter.
It's not like I am a peanut butter addict. At home, I indulge every once in a while. The problem here is that I do not eat ham. Ham is the meat of choice in Argentina, and it comes in a wide variety of forms, but it is basically the only lunch meat option. I wander the grocery aisles and stare in the fridge, but when it comes to lunchtime, I'm at a loss. I got by on salami and hot dogs for a while, but I'm not that wild about those two in the first place, so that didn't last long. Then, one day I had an epiphany (or a breakdown, I'm not sure which). I thought, I like peanut butter and banana sandwiches. I have bananas. I have peanuts. Why not combine the two?
James, bless his heart, went along with my scheme. We bought bread, bananas and a package of peanuts. This was our picnic at the Villa Traful in Bariloche. I took pieces of banana and put them on the bread. Then, I took peanuts and smushed them into the bananas. It was a desperate act, but I can't help but think what would have happened if we had just bought regular peanuts instead of fried. Luckily for James, a jar is on its way with his parents and arrives Easter morning.
I always miss American breakfast in other countries. There are pancakes in Argentina, but they are not the same as American pancakes, and they are served as a dessert item. I managed to find bacon on a sandwich at an expat bar, which was a real treat, but otherwise bacon is non-existent. The traditional breakfast items in Argentina are medialunas: little mini-croissants that are often less fluffy, less buttery, and less flaky. I have found some good medialunas at my local cafe, Del Pilar, but I can only eat so many. Apparently, I thought a two hour bus ride and a few days in hippie paradise were worth it to get a waffle.
That is a belgian waffle with strawberries, blackberries and rasberries with real cream. Arguably, I am more embarrassed about the lengths I went to in order to satisfy my peanut butter cravings. I understand that peanut butter is a typically American delicacy. I am also okay with the natural, oily peanut butter found in other countries. Before I left the U.S., I considered bringing some. However, I figured that if I could find some semblance of peanut butter in Ecuador, then surely I could find it in a major world city like Buenos Aires. Needless to say, it has been a difficult search. While we were in Bariloche, I thought about opening a store there with items backpackers would be missing from home. James asked me what else I would sell in the store, and the only thing I really ever came up with was peanut butter.
It's not like I am a peanut butter addict. At home, I indulge every once in a while. The problem here is that I do not eat ham. Ham is the meat of choice in Argentina, and it comes in a wide variety of forms, but it is basically the only lunch meat option. I wander the grocery aisles and stare in the fridge, but when it comes to lunchtime, I'm at a loss. I got by on salami and hot dogs for a while, but I'm not that wild about those two in the first place, so that didn't last long. Then, one day I had an epiphany (or a breakdown, I'm not sure which). I thought, I like peanut butter and banana sandwiches. I have bananas. I have peanuts. Why not combine the two?
James, bless his heart, went along with my scheme. We bought bread, bananas and a package of peanuts. This was our picnic at the Villa Traful in Bariloche. I took pieces of banana and put them on the bread. Then, I took peanuts and smushed them into the bananas. It was a desperate act, but I can't help but think what would have happened if we had just bought regular peanuts instead of fried. Luckily for James, a jar is on its way with his parents and arrives Easter morning.
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