On Monday I went to lunch in a cafe across from a large park. The park had trees that looked like this...
Strange and beautiful trees that grow thick and wide. A tree designed for climbing. Argentina is not in a hurry. I sat in the cafe for many minutes waiting to get a menu and wondering how many children climbed the tree before they fenced it off.
I was friendly with the 60-something waiter, who, like me, only spoke one language. His was Spanish. Mine was English flavored with bits of Spanish from growing up in Texas. I was able to order nonetheless, and I ate a delicious beef tenderloin sandwich with cheese and tomatoes and lettuce and with sparkling water and a double espresso. The coffee is delicious in this slow moving world. After my relaxing lunch, the waiter insisted that I order the lemon pie for dessert. He kept telling me in Spanish that it was the best. I instantly felt connected to my mother, because she enjoys a good lemon pie. She likes tart desserts, whereas I do not like lemon in my sweets. Since I didn't know the Spanish words to politely decline the demands of my waiter, I ordered the lemon pie and another double espresso. It would have tasted better if my mother was eating with me, but I emailed her the photo and told her this story. It was a solid lemon pie nontheless.
I was most impressed with the meringue crown on the pie; as if the cook secretly added marshmallow cream to her mountainous meringue. I want to try that combination when I get back home.
So you see, I wasn't really on a solo vacation; my mother was with me and that lemon pie!