Courtesy of Sanita Fejzic
Sometimes things don't go as planned – and those moments often make for the best stories. Tripping columns offer readers a chance to share their wild adventures.
Holding a heavy steak knife was a forgotten art, and the medium-rare round eye in front of me looked like the Grand Canyon's topography, with its nuances of red, brown and white. But I'm a vegetarian, I hadn't eaten meant in nearly two years. What was I doing in La Cabrera, one of Buenos Aires' trendiest steakhouses?
Let's rewind. I'll spare you the details about the vegetarian plane food that was surprisingly tasteless on the flight over (they gave us steamed vegetables and placed them between two buns, forgetting the sauce, not even bothering with salt and paper or butter for the bread). Bland is the word you're looking for.
I was starving by the time we got to the airport; in a moment of desperation, I ordered a coffee with a croissant from a random vendor. No croissants? No problem, I said, I'll take a vegetarian sandwich of any sort. Result: grilled cheese and ham. Of course...
I got sick the day after we landed with some sort of 24-hour stomach flu. After that, I tried to keep it minimal, drinking water and eating dried goods until I felt better. And when I did feel better, I was hungry. Real hungry.
Unfortunately, every restaurant we went to had vegetarian options that only left me begging for more: salads made of greens (they couldn't specify which greens), tomatoes with an olive or two, sprinkled with processed cheese. Or white toast with grilled cheese, panini style. I barely finished my plates.
Some restaurants had excellent vegetarian pizzas, falafel sandwiches and empanadas, but I grew tired of eating so much dough and got discouraged by how few vegetarian options there were to choose from. It was like being in a candy store where there were no caramels or licorice or Dulce de leche. An impossible situation.
I was hungry for a good meal. Starving.
So I ordered a steak and frites with a glass of Malbec.
When it arrived at last, I was on the edge of beastly hunger and could not see, could not even imagine, the cow that it once was. The smell of pepper, nuts and charcoal opened my nostrils wide – I barely remembered that I was a vegetarian.
The first bite was like a first kiss. It left me begging for more. Most amazing was the way my tongue remembered the taste and texture. I ate that bloody steak with indelicate abandon. It was chewy yet extremely tender, meaty, strong and filling.
It was amazing.
I wouldn't do it again but I regret nothing; what happens in Buenos Aires stays in Buenos Aires.
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[Editor's note: Due to an editing error, the writer referred to landing at a Chilean airport. This version of the story has been corrected, removing the adjective Chilean.]