We wandered down to the neighborhood of San Telmo to visit the National History Museum. We were the only people there, which means we were outnumbered by security guards 12:1. No sword- or other-old-artifact-stealing possible today, folks. On the way back we stopped for Indian food.
The absence of ethnic food options here is alarming. In a city the size of Buenos Aires, you'd think you'd be able to find whatever you wanted. And it's not that you can't, necessarily, it's just that you might have to travel a long way to do it. We've come across three Indian restaurants (which we found out today are all the same one, in three locations), a couple of Thai and Chinese restaurants (not counting in Barrio Chino, where there are a dozen or more within a few blocks), a few sushi places, and two Mexican establishments. Twelve million people, but they're all eating steaks.
Spicy is just not on the menu here. The first time we went to the Mexican restaurant down the street, Brent asked for hot sauce. The waiter looked puzzled and pointed to the red sauce already on the table. Nope. Not spicy.
Sometimes we buy peppers at the vegetable stands, and the vendador swears up and down that they're muy picante, which we usually find to be untrue when we get them home and chop them up in our food. (Except for the time I found jalepeños, a rare treat in these parts, and I blended half of one into a curry. Brent was sweating.)
At the bar, locals consistently ask for picante aparte or no hot sauce at all on the chicken wings. Just the other night, I cleared a plate of wings that had hardly been touched, and the woman explained to me that they were just too hot, with a look that clearly said I should do something about that. (To be fair, that sauce actually is pretty hot.)
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