The afternoon sauntered on, and even by 3:30 most of the tables were still filled, customers lingering over coffee or, in the case of the couple behind us, a bottle of champagne. Toward the end of the meal, Ramon Couñago, Sabot’s owner for the past 41 years, joined us. “Ninety percent of my guests come here to talk business,” he said. “No one eats for less than two hours. Sometimes coffee can last an hour alone!”
Because: This piece is an intoxicating read about one of the cultural characteristics I love most about Buenos Aires: how people take their time—as much as possible, as much as they want—to enjoy their meals. Two days after this was published I participated in this classic ritual with a two-plus hour work lunch at Cabaña Las Lilas (highly recommend the place, by the way) in riverside Puerto Madero. At the end of it I biked slowly back home in the Friday sun, fully sated and slightly, delightfully bleary-eyed from the whole steak-and-potatoes-and-four-courses-more ordeal. There’s nothing quite like lunch in Buenos Aires.
The Northwestern Wildcats are not only undefeated this year, they are well-rested thanks to a regimen that emphasizes good sleeping habits.
Because: Let’s pun with this article about my alma mater: (Wild)cat naps!
Really, though, I find this quite cool, even if I never lasted in the stands for the entirety of one whole game. That Northwestern has a winning football team participating in sleep research is very quintessentially Northwestern to me, and exemplifies the well-roundedness that drew me to the school.
Because: As a quote collector, I was quick to click this piece when it appeared on my Twitter feed. I’m not an obsessive Thought Catalog follower like a number of other 20-somethings, but this one I found worth sharing, especially since I could call to memory a similarly “unintentionally profound statement” I had encountered in recent memory.
Mine was at a saccharinely cute brunch place in Palermo Hollywood, Buenos Aires. The placemat read, “Today is a good day to have a good day.”
Because: I’m playing the minor, nay, PeeWee, league compared to this guy, but I still related to this piece and thoroughly enjoyed reading it. Being a journalist can be ever-so glamorous and thrilling. Overall, people think it’s a cool profession, as I can tell by their reaction when I tell them what I do. It also can be lonely inglorious and caloric, among other things. This writer captures all that with deft humor and wit.
One thing is for sure, though, and that’s that none of us went into it (especially recently) for the money.
“Sex and the City,” once one of HBO’s flagship shows, was pigeonholed as a sitcom. In fact, it was a bold riff on the romantic comedy: the show wrestled with the limits of that pink-tinted genre for almost its entire run. In the end, it gave in. Yet until that last-minute stumble it was sharp, iconoclastic television. It was a brilliant and, in certain ways, radical show.
Because: Don’t put Sex and the City in a corner. I often am frustrated with how easily female-centric shows are labeled. Something else I find bothersome: The double standard of how women are (expected to be) fans of entertainment featuring and often targeting males, but that converse crossover (men to women) is not expected. Good entertainment is good entertainment, and I know many males who were secretly glued to SATC, though few would openly admit it. And there’s a reason so many people were riveted to SATC, a reason much deeper than the pretty couture and comical romps.