Sublime buttocks

I’ve been thinking for a while about a thread to connect several Argentine experiences together and I think I’ve found it.

If Argentina is known for three things, they could be meat, football and tango. So, with my parents in the country for 10 days, Erin and I thought it only appropriate to show off this power trio.

The tour began in Buenos Aires with a hearty helping of fine beef. I may be playing a bit loose with facts, but I remember hearing Argentineans eat more beef per capita than any other people on the planet. You can’t swing a cat in the capital city without hitting a parilla, or what we would call a steak house.

And ordering a steak in Argentina means strapping on the feedbag. Servings remind me of the opening scene of the Flintstones, where Fred is delivered an order of brontosaurus ribs that tip the car over. The only difference is people in the Southern Cone like to eat at a relaxed pace - drive thru isn’t really their thing down here. It’s just too hard to drink malbec and wolf down beef while negotiating Buenos Aires’ notorious traffic.

But what, you might ask, does this have to do with a fine posterior? Everything, if the buttocks you are referring to belong to a sweet southern heifer, seemingly a favorite cut down here. In fact, Erin once had a rump steak larger than her head served up on a plate. There’s something truly impressive about an enormous piece of meat served on a plate without a single garnish. No apologies offered in the form of an under-baked potato or even piece of parsley. Just a honking piece of beef. Sublime.

After eating so much meat, I generally feel downright manly. And nothing says “man” like a battle to the (near) death on the futbol pitch. As in Brazil, futbol is not a sport in Argentina, it’s a religion. So parents in tow, we headed out to watch River Plate take on Gimnasia de Jujuy. River is one of the most popular teams in Argentina, and in their last 15 meetings, they have lost to Gimnasia only once. Sitting protected by high barbed-wire fences in the tourist section, we watched in rapt enjoyment as the locals rocked the end zones with non-stop singing, chanting, jumping and stomping.

Interestingly, the game had been moved from River’s home stadium in La Boca to another venue in the suburbs, due to a slight riot at their last home game. Nothing like a police force fully clad in riot gear to add excitement to the match.

While the experience was great, the game was only mediocre. River played a sloppy match and lost 1-0 to Jujuy. On the bright side, we learned several new Spanish phrases, as the excited River fans screamed their favorite vulgarisms at the team owner (seated just above us). It seems people aren’t happy about River’s new coach. With veins popping out of their necks, the River fans shared their opinions of the owner’s decision at top volume. Luckily the riot police kept tempers from flaring into action.

As for the thin literary device connecting the pieces of this rambling entry? Well, it was hard not to take note of the effect of all that running and kicking on the posteriors of the teams on the field, even for a newly married hetero male like myself.

But just as I took a scientific interest in the muscular buttocks of the futbol teams, I also noted the shapely bottoms flitting across the stage at the Madero Tango. Outfits painted on, it was difficult not to notice the athleticism required to be a dancer. And what athleticism it was.

As the birthplace of tango, any trip to Buenos Aires would be lacking without seeing a dinner show. Sure, there are dancers in the streets, cafes and plazas, but a dinner show really provides an opportunity to witness the dance carefully. Served alongside a fine rump steak (what else?), the dinner show at Madero Tango was enough tango to last me a lifetime. With dancers twirling, jumping and even stomping a bit, ala Riverdance, the passion of tango was in full effect. Born out of the brothels of Buenos Aires La Boca district, the dance – while not exactly forbidden – is nonetheless quite randy. Especially when the dancers are wearing sheer outfits.

Which brings me back to the beginning. Three prototypical Argentinean experiences, one connective thread: Sublime buttocks all around. No wonder so many people wear white pants down here.