Augustin the Argentine

I've come in contact with a number of characters over my few months here; Augustin Naif is one of the most memorable.

I met Augustin and his wife Angela at a Rotary meeting. They are both long-time members - Augustin is in his sixties and I think he was one of the founding members of the San Vicente club. He often jokes about his Santa Clause gut, but eats the choripan and cerdo anyway. Augustin is a second generation-Argentine, meaning his family came here before many other San Vicentinos. Yet Augustin can still speak a bit of German and says that his favorite music is polka - not the Hispanicized kind.

In the eighties Augustin started his own company which rents tractors to farmers. Now his son runs it - his job: show up with mate in the afternoon. He clearly takes great pride in his work - he anxiously invited to show me his factory with the same eagerness that my grandpa Moe would explain the plumbing of a New York building.

A few weeks ago, I took Augustin up on his offer. I arrived at his house in the afternoon and Angela, Augustin and I shared mate. Afterwards, I helped him prepare for that evening's asado - a pig roast for his daughter-in-law's birthday. "Let's go prepare the pig" he said. We entered his garage, and there in a little tub laid a small dead pig. "Caught by surprise" is an understatement.

Augustin laughed as I jumped back. Nevertheless, I helped Augustin carry the pig onto the table to be cut, trying my best not to look at its tiny tail poking over the side of the tub. Augustin cut sliced up the pig without any reservations; I watched from a few feet away.

Later in the afternoon he showed me around his factory, his farm and his two horses. Then around 7 we brought the pig to the grill and started cooking. Two and a half hours later, the whole family had arrived (twenty-something people in all), and the pig was ready.

Now, "pig" is one of those foods which I don't usually eat. One would assume that after seeing it the way it looked alive and then seeing little bits of meat on a platter, pork would be even less appetizing. This was not the case.

I devoured the pork. I loved every bit of it - the skin, the spices, the meat, tearing away the bones, the juice that oozed out as I stuck my fork in.

Augustin congratulated me on broadening my palette. Perhaps next time he'll successfully tempt me to eat ham. We'll see.