Mi Casa Saltshaker, tu casa

Friday, July 16, 2010
Barrio Norte, Distrito Federal, Argentina
The end of my first full day, and I figured I should start meeting some people. So, taking up a recommendation from Luke (gracias, Luke!), I booked a seat at Casa Saltshaker (www.casasaltshaker.com). It's a 'closed door restaurant' ('restaurante a puertas cerradas'), for which the chef opens up their home so that punters can come and share a table, a meal, some wine and chat.

It was strange turning up at someone's house for dinner . Dinner parties are odd at the best of times, even when you know some of the people there. However, I recommend the Casa Saltshaker website, which contains all the info you need to make you feel more familiar with the concept before you get started.

I'd also worried about being the only English- (or rather non-Spanish-) speaker there, but I needn't have. Everyone spoke English all night...although obviously this would vary night to night.

The food was absolutely delicious. Even the "cruciferous salad" - which, on paper, appealed to me the least - was lovely. My favourite was the twist on macaroni cheese. Now, I love macaroni cheese (it runs in the family - my dad was once hospitalised for eating too much of the stuff), but add some nuts, breadcrumbs, home-made pasta and chilli oil and the results disappeared down my gob quick as buggery (I thanks one of my grandparents for that elegant turn of phrase).

I liked not having to think about what to order - the five-course taster menu is pre-designed, even down to the accompanying wine for each course. And everything was home-made; from the bread that came with the starter to the mascarpone that came with the desert.

I thought there were some really lovely people there (six people came in twos and four came as ones, making ten in all...if that makes sense), and, trust me, I am fussy when it comes to people. There was a concert pianist, a guy fresh from a medical conference, a software intern and a tango-obsessed socialite. As a tango-averse socialist, I clashed a bit with that last one.

The conversation a-went a little a-like this:

- But you have to love the tango. It is so amazing, so fabulous. As a woman, I am led by the man. I do not need to think about what moves to make; I just follow the lead of the man. If a woman enters the room with a man, she is never approached and asked to dance, as she is seen to be 'taken'. But the man may still be asked to dance.

- That kinda stuff confirms my suspicions about tango just being sexist.

- Sexist? No, no. Men in America and Europe just don't know how to be men. They are so concerned about not offending women that they are not real men. Who wants that?

- Sexist or wet? These are not the only options. How come this kind of sexism is still socially acceptable?

- Oh, honey, where are you living? I mean, where are you?

In the 1950s, it would seem.

We also heard, from the socialite, that there is a convention that if someone looks at you from across the room and you want to tango with them, you look at them and smile. If you are not interested, you turn your head in disgust, and they will not bother you again. I said I was very familiar with the operation as we run with a similar cruising policy in gay pubs, although there the object isn't to get a dance. The line got a giggle from most people...not the socialite.

In the end, a dinner party wouldn't be a dinner party without me accusing someone of sexism, so I was pleased I managed to tick that box, and slight the whole Argentinian institution of tango with it. (I've never been one for cultural relativism where gender politics are concerned.)

Overall, at U$D50/£32 (including drinks), the Casa Saltshaker experience, whilst apparently expensive by Buenos Airean standards, was worth every centavo; back home, I can easily consume that in wine alone. If they'll have me and my anti-sexist ways back again, I'll gladly go...although, until I've learned a bit of Spanish, I'll be crossing my fingers for a repeat of the English-only experience.




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