There is an Argentine man that I cannot forget about. I never got his name but he pops in my head whenever I eat in a restaurant. I remember his smile more than anything.
I was in a nice restaurant in Salta, getting ready to order after reviewing the menu. The waiter came to me. He looked like Erik Estrada but with thicker hair. I told him I wanted a particular chicken dish and he looked at me, smiled, and with great energy said, “Perfecto señor.” Holy shit I ordered the best thing on the menu! I don’t remember the last time I dined at a restaurant like Panera and the pimply faced teenager said my sandwich choice was perfect. Erik Estrada approved of my selection, and because of that approval we had a bond that transcended between two very different cultures. The way he held the smile as he spoke and said “Perfecto señor” will forever burn his face into my brain, more so than the actual dish. This is starting to sound gay so I’ll stop but good luck getting that kind of treatment at Applebees.
Postscript: It seems like saying “perfect” is a common thing waiters do in Argentina, but Erik’s perfect was real. He knew me from my vibe.
If you liked this post then I think you'll like Roosh's Argentina Compendium, a 64-page strategy guide designed to help you sleep with Argentine women in Argentina without paying for it. It contains dozens of moves, lines, tips, and city guides learned after three months of research in the country, where I dedicated my existence to cracking the code of Argentine women. Click here to learn more.