El Encuentro

            On my way down Calle Saphy, I take a right and turn onto a street called Tigre. At the end of the sign, I catch sight of an unobtrusive sign, which reads “El Encuentro, Comida Vegetariana.” The sensation that I have interrupted something washes over me as soon as I open the door (on my second attempt). The first room is entirely full of Peruvian customers, and I see no waiters from whom I can seek assistance. I hear no English and see no empty seats. I tentatively make my way into the back room, where I take a seat at a corner table. The walls in the back room are bright red, an archaic and blocky TV hangs in the corner, and the dark wooden tables boast a card table structure. To my right, a red-spray painted depiction of the Virgin Mary and a baby Jesus adorns the only white wall.

            A mild waiter brings me a menu after a few minutes, alleviating my concern that I had somehow irreversibly destroyed the established order of the restaurant. Customers sit at nearly every table in the restaurant, but the relative hush makes the restaurant seem less crowded than it is. The menu offers cheap food for a relatively poor clientele. After my initial feeling of being a tall, bumbling, and obnoxiously loud giant wears off, I notice that a hum of music underpins the hushed customer voices. The chefs occasionally ring the small bell hanging from the top of the order-up window. 

            The only non-Peruvian customers sit to my left. Three French tourists, two men and one woman, sit to my left, distinguished by the intensity of their discussion. I understand no words, except for when the tall and blonde man savors the word “jacuzzi,” drawing it out an impressively French manner. Across the room, a Peruvian man drinks a beer alone, waiting impatiently for his food. He wears a black leather jacket, a black Western style hat, and has brown hair down to his ribs. I confirm his status as a regular when he goes up to the order-up window and checks in with the chef about the status of his order. It seems to me that his confidence in navigating this quirky restaurant could only come from frequent attendance. 

            Nearing the end of my meal, a little Peruvian boy comes into the restaurant, following the waiter like a yipping dog. His desired goal is “un panqueque con fruta y chocolate,” or a “pancake with fruit and chocolate.” He takes certain liberties with the waiter, annoying him in the way that I believe only a family member can. The waiter, exasperated with the sugar-craving child, tries to negotiate. A lemonade, perhaps? My impression is that this meal will not be paid for, hence the waiter’s antipathetic stance. From my corner seat, I witness a negotiation in brisk (but not at all loud) Spanish. Eventually, the boy achieves his goal, and the waiter approaches the order-up window to put in the order of gratuitous “panqueues.”

            I left “El Encuentro” with my wallet only slightly lighter than before. I felt quite satisfied with my find, and not just because of the food. While it made me quite uncomfortable to be the only American in the restaurant, I felt like I witnessed several interesting interactions. Of course, I would love to know if my conjectures were correct—was the leather-clad Peruvian a regular? Was the impish Peruvian boy a younger cousin or brother of the waiter? And, lastly, how did a jacuzzi come up in the French tourists’ conversation?