Feliz


This past weekend some girlfriends and I spent a day eating and drinking coffee. It definitely wasn’t our first day following this theme, but it still held a great note of specialness. I found a cafe that serves coffee in a bowl, not a tea cup. I give it a few days before they know me by name and by what I order. One bowl of coffee is not enough, two is much closer. That’s how they’ll know me; the girl whose body is 78% coffee. Our dinner was comfort food from back home for two of us. Being from Texas, and Christina being from L.A., we take comfort in taco seasoned beef over a layer of rice and corn, and beans topped with avocado, lime, sour cream, and cheese. Delicious! Each dinner we have follows with a more intense than the last food coma. This evening was extra special because we all dove into boxes filled with pictures of our Argentine friend’s past. It’s always shocking to see how far you’ve come from when you were 15. I’m glad it was her box we were looking through and not mine. I need a shovel to dig a hole and burry those.

 

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Venti para Chally

black tank: Cheap Monday,   sweater: James Perse

pants: American Apparel,   boots: Salvatore Ferragamo

shawl: vintage from a Texan grandma,   leather bag pack: Frye

My go to coffee spot has changed for the last time. I used to sit at a few other cafes and eye the beautiful pastries on display, and order round after round of cafe con leches or cafe dobles. But now, I found a spot that I never thought I would frequent. It’s not for their quality, but for their quantity. I get so much coffee for the amount of Argentine pesos I pay. What is my go to coffee spot? It’s Starbucks, I know, I’m from Austin, TX where homegrown coffee shops grow faster than our grass. Places like Caffe Medici and Houndstooth used to be my go to places, but now that I’m in the land of small servings of coffee, Starbucks is the only place that recognizes my north American needs. I order a Venti cafe americano, which explains my dehydration, and I add a small amount of steamed milk to it. A coffee half the size of my arm for 14 Argentine pesos has changed my life. What’s funny is how many times I go to the same Starbucks in my neighborhood, Palermo Soho, and I order from the same cashiers, but they never get my name right. I even emphasize the “r” in my name by putting the latin style on the pronunciation and sounding it out as, “Charrrrrrrlie.” Then I made a second attempt by making a cultural reference that they could relate to and tied my name to the name of a living rock star legend in Argentina, Charlie Garcia, who is a crazy drug addict and quite the performer. They give me faces of confusion more so as to why I’m named after a drug addicted rock star and not as to why there is a girl in front of them with an english boy’s name. I’ve given up, and I’m fine with the name written on my Venti cup being, “CHALLY.” As long as the waterfalls are actually coffee, I’m fine with being Chally. Thank you Starbucks for satisfying my northern American needs. Hugs and kisses, Chally.