aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaYum?
I am seriously campaigning to have the word "blich" added to the Oxford English Dictionary. And until such a time as this new term is safely ensconsed between "blepharostoma" (Noun: a taxonomic genus within the family Pseudolepicoleaceae) and "blimp" (Noun, colloquial: A military middle class Englishman intolerant of others´ ideas), I am in the unfortunate position of being unable to describe just why I cannot get used to Argentine cuisine.
a
You see, Argentine food is almost the direct opposite of what I was eating before I came here; the British University Diet. My wealthier friends used to be horrified by the diet of fried egg, baked beans, baked potatoes, chips, sausages, toast, tuna and pasta that I survived on in university, but besides for being all that I could afford, I liked it. The fact that your raw ingredients are usually not of the best quality forces you to be creative in the kitchen, mixing flavours and spices in what usually results as good, filling food.
a
In Argentina, flavours are rich and authentic, but they do not mix; You steak is a wonderful hunk of braised flesh, but that is all it is - no sauce, no salsa, and no room for carbs. Your pizza is cheesy; in fact, it is almost 99% cheese, melted into great lava flows that obscure crust, toppings, and often the plate. Your pasta is handmade (unheard of in England), but that alone is expected to suffice by way of flavour, with only a small blob of light sauce added a concession to variety.
a
How does one describe the effect of this sort of thing? It can never be described as bland, as such. Quite the opposite, in fact. Cabbage is bland. Potatoes are bland. If anything, the meat and cheese dishes of Argentina are the opposite; very, very rich. But the sheer uninterrupted wall of salty flavour is strangely boring. Rich, yes, but sort of bland, too. Brich, you could say. And please do. The more people who use a term, the more likely the OED is to take notice...
a
You see, Argentine food is almost the direct opposite of what I was eating before I came here; the British University Diet. My wealthier friends used to be horrified by the diet of fried egg, baked beans, baked potatoes, chips, sausages, toast, tuna and pasta that I survived on in university, but besides for being all that I could afford, I liked it. The fact that your raw ingredients are usually not of the best quality forces you to be creative in the kitchen, mixing flavours and spices in what usually results as good, filling food.
a
In Argentina, flavours are rich and authentic, but they do not mix; You steak is a wonderful hunk of braised flesh, but that is all it is - no sauce, no salsa, and no room for carbs. Your pizza is cheesy; in fact, it is almost 99% cheese, melted into great lava flows that obscure crust, toppings, and often the plate. Your pasta is handmade (unheard of in England), but that alone is expected to suffice by way of flavour, with only a small blob of light sauce added a concession to variety.
a
How does one describe the effect of this sort of thing? It can never be described as bland, as such. Quite the opposite, in fact. Cabbage is bland. Potatoes are bland. If anything, the meat and cheese dishes of Argentina are the opposite; very, very rich. But the sheer uninterrupted wall of salty flavour is strangely boring. Rich, yes, but sort of bland, too. Brich, you could say. And please do. The more people who use a term, the more likely the OED is to take notice...