If you read my earlier post on being invited to Christmas dinner there and the comments that followed, you know that Katy from British Columbia who is traveling here wondered if it was a private party or if the restaurant was open.

It was a private party, and when I got there the hostess pulled me aside and took me to the owner, who seemed worried.

She showed me the e-mail she had received from Katy who "had read on Elizabeth Large's blog that she was having Christmas dinner there" and was wondering if she, Katy, could make reservations. I got the feeling the owner thought Katy was a friend of the wedding party and had printed the e-mail out to show it to the hostess.

I did my best, but blogs are difficult to explain if you don't know about them. Later when the hostess told some of the other guests, there was even discussion of finding Katy at the nearby Bella Italia Cafe where she was having dinner as a second choice and inviting her to the party; but nothing came of it. At that point the champagne was flowing freely. 

I didn't expect my first meal in Argentina to be Italian, but apparently Buenos Aires has a sizable Italian population. Hors d'oeuvres had been passed with the champagne, which I ate perhaps too many of because it was late.

Dinner started with plates of olives and cheeses being passed around, followed by pizzetas de jambon rudos y rucula (with prosciutto and arugula), then an upscale version of eggplant parmigiana. When a plate of one was finished another one appeared, so it was hard to stop.

The main course was a choice of escalope de lomo (remember what lomo means; you'll need it to follow this trip) in a wine sauce, ravioli, or risotto with calamari. (It was the first of my four beef meals here so far. I've had a lomo sandwich with roasted peppers for lunch twice.)

In a moment of admirable restraint, I chose for dessert the spuma de lima, a light, citrusy mousse over fresh orange segments and a fruity sauce, instead of the tiramisu or chocolate mousse.

At the very end, each table was presented with the most beautiful panettone I've ever seen in honor of the holiday. Only one person at our table cut herself a piece, though, and that was only to wrap it up in a napkin and take it home for breakfast. 

I'm doing very well on this schedule by staying on Baltimore time the whole trip, so I have no trouble staying up for 9 p.m. or 10 p.m. dinners. The only reason I'm up to write this is that the man in the room next door must have gotten in a fight with his girlfriend/wife/significant other because he or she locked him out naked and he banged on the door and yelled until he was finally let back in. 

When I leaned out the door to inquire, he responded with a flood of apologetic Spanish; but since all the Spanish I know comes from watching The Magnificent Seven, and anyway he was naked, I just ducked back in my room.