#argentinia

Another #paleostream sketch

Its a small Argentinian cafe ran by, shockingly in the MidWest, real Argentinians.

Tumblr users will laugh but often such places are ran by a dozen other ethnicities (Chinese food by Hispanics, Sushi by Russians and so forth in a testament to both diversification and a finger to the screamers of cultural appropriation)

This location makes hands down the best and closest to authentic empanadas and steaks I have had in the US.

They also have an excellent selection of wine.

Bought myself a few interesting looking bottles today, one of which was Fernet Vittone. Vittone was the first fernet to market, beating the iconic Fernet Branca by several years. Its US availability has been spotty over the past few years, but it is apparently back. It's been described as less minty than Fernet Branca (the mint being my major problem with Branca, I find the existence of Branca Menta nothing short of baffling), which is accurate to my taste. So, I decided to make like the Argentines and mix myself a Fernandito.

70 ml Coca Cola (Mexican Coke)

30 ml Fernet Vittone

Add ingredients to glass with ice and stir. Garnish with lime wedge.

I used ml here because an Argentinian friend of a friend insisted on a strict 70-30 ratio of coke to fernet.

And they were right. This is, without a doubt, the absolute best Fernandito I've ever had, and I now understand the fuss. Positively heaven-sent. The relative loss of the menthol allows other notes to shine, leaving the drink perfectly bittersweet and moreish. And it's about the easiest drink to make, too.

A Place in the World (1992). Mario and Ana, in voluntary exile from Buenos Aires, live in a remote Argentine valley with their 12-year-old son Ernesto. Mario runs a school and a wool cooperative; Ana, a doctor, heads a clinic with Nelda, a progressive nun. Into this idealistic family comes Hans, a jaded Spanish geological engineer – surveying the land for the local patron, to see if it can be dammed for hydro-electric power, which would drive the peasants from the land into the cities.

From the Center for Biological Diversity:

Check out recent wildlife-cam footage of an Argentinian mama jaguar and her three beautiful cubs.

El hombre, el paisaje y su canción Atahualpa Yupanqui 1969, Odeon

Atahualpa Yupanqui was a titanic figure in Argentine music. As an ethnomusicologist who formed a bridge between various forms of Indigenous folk music and the younger artists of the nueva canción (new song) movement; a first-rate composer; and a political revolutionary imprisoned numerous times for his beliefs, Yupanqui is a fine representative of that era of Latin American creators whose artistic quality was equaled by the courage of their convictions. Due to his Communist Party affiliation, Yupanqui didn’t record much until he was already in his 40s, which robs us of the voice of his youth, but also enforces his image as a fatherly figure, a living link with the past.

Once he started recording though, the torrent was overwhelming—between his remarkable productivity and the tendency of labels to constantly repackage his work, forging a semblance of a linear discography is beyond my skills. I’m not altogether sure of the provenance of El hombre, el paisaje y su canción (The Man, the Landscape and His Song), a 1969 record I picked up on a lark a few years back that became an instant favourite in the Wifeleft household. There was an album of the same name released the previous year that shares four tracks, suggesting my Hombre may be a compilation—on the other hand, he recorded many of his songs numerous times, so it’s possible these are from an entirely different session. The album certainly sounds as though it was recorded in one sitting.

No matter, this is my favourite of the handful of Yupanqui albums I’ve heard to date. He is presented solo, as usual, accompanied only by his own acoustic guitar, and over a scant 30 minutes or so draws the listener entirely into his world. I feel as though I am watching the master singing for a small audience gathered on his porch, his fingers translating the weariness of the day’s labours into something more somber and romantic, his voice that of a man who understands his role is to witness and recount. The lyrics often look directly at the travails of working people, as on “Trabajo, quiero trabajo” (“Work, I Want Work”) and “Campesino” (“Peasant”), but there is also that mystical element common in Spanish poetry, as on “Guitarra, dímelo tú” (“Guitar, Tell Me”):

Guitar, you tell me Men are dead gods Already long collapsed Not even his dreams were saved Only the shadow has remained

El hombre also includes a pair of instrumentals that show off the expressiveness of Yupanqui’s playing to great effect—“El llanto” (“Crying”) is as poignant as its title suggests, while “Malambo” (named for an Argentine folk dance) reminds me a bit of the American Primitive fingerstyle associated some distance north with John Fahey.

I doubt there is such a thing as a poor-quality Atahualpa Yupanqui album, and I think any collection would be enriched by his inclusion. He makes a great entry point to South American folk, some of the most timeless and impassioned music of the 20th century.