It feels like summer down here in San Francisco. 65 degree blue skies without a hint of rain. I haven't worn gloves since last year. It's like we're in the Southern Hemisphere with our winter acting as summer, but we're not. I know it becuase Margarine and Big Emma took us there a week ago. Not literally, mind you.
They cooked empanadas and locro, an Argentinan stew translated on their Patagonian menu as Cow Meat. There were bits of cow in there, along with plenty of beans and a few veggies, just the thing you'd want after a 15 mile hike (if you're Margarine and Big Emma), but what I really miss isn't that or the Malbec they served with it, but salsa on our ice cream.
Apparently, the Argentinians put dulce de leche on everything, according to the travellers, from their bread and coffee in the morning to the last thing they have before bed. The bottle they brought back simply said Salsa on the front and I did what Margarine did when Wood Duck handed him his bowl of ice cream and salsa, picked up the bottle and squeezed double the amount on top. Not a day has since passed since that I haven't thought of it (or you guys, M & B.E.).
They cooked empanadas and locro, an Argentinan stew translated on their Patagonian menu as Cow Meat. There were bits of cow in there, along with plenty of beans and a few veggies, just the thing you'd want after a 15 mile hike (if you're Margarine and Big Emma), but what I really miss isn't that or the Malbec they served with it, but salsa on our ice cream.
Apparently, the Argentinians put dulce de leche on everything, according to the travellers, from their bread and coffee in the morning to the last thing they have before bed. The bottle they brought back simply said Salsa on the front and I did what Margarine did when Wood Duck handed him his bowl of ice cream and salsa, picked up the bottle and squeezed double the amount on top. Not a day has since passed since that I haven't thought of it (or you guys, M & B.E.).
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